Scene, the Space between the Canal and the Church of San Giovanni e San Paolo. An equestrian Statue before it.-A Gondola lies in the Canal at some distance.
Enter the DOGE alone, disguised.
I am before the hour, the hour whose voice,
Pealing into the arch of night, might strike
These palaces with ominous tottering,
And rock their marbles to the corner stone,
Waking the sleepers from some hideous dream
Of indistinct but awful augury
Of that which will befall them. Yes, proud city! Thou must be cleansed of the black blood which makes thee
A lazar-house of tyranny: the task
Is forced upon me, I have sought it not;
And therefore was I punish'd, seeing this
Patrician pestilence spread on and on,
Until at length it smote me in my slumbers,
And I am tainted, and must wash away
The plague-spots in the healing wave. Tall fane!
Where sleep my fathers, whose dim statues shadow
The floor which doth divide us from the dead,
Where all the pregnant hearts of our bold blood,
Moulder'd into a mite of ashes, hold
In one shrunk heap what once made many heroes, When what is now a handful shook the earthFane of the tutelar saints who guard our house! Vault where two Doges rest-my sires! who died The one of toil, the other in the field,
With a long race of other lineal chiefs
And sages, whose great labours, wounds, and state
I have inherited,-let the graves gape,
Till all thine aisles be peopled with the dead,
And pour them from thy portals to gaze on me!
I call them up, and them and thee to witness
What it hath been which put me to this task-
Their pure high blood, their blazon-roll of glories,
Their mighty name dishonour'd all in me,
Not by me, but by the ungrateful nobles
We fought to make our equals, not our lords:-
And chiefly thou, Ordelafo the brave,
Who perish'd in the field, where I since conquer'd,
Battling at Zara, did the hecatombs
Of thine and Venice' foes, there offer'd up
By thy descendant, merit such acquittance?
Spirits! smile down upon me; for my cause
Is yours, in all life now can be of
yours,-
Your fame, your name, all mingled up in mine,
And in the future fortunes of our race!
Let me but prosper, and I make this city
Free and immortal, and our house's name
Worthier of what you were, now and hereafter!
Welcome, my lord,-you are before the time.
I am ready to proceed to your assembly.
Have with you. I am proud and pleased to see
Such confident alacrity. Your doubts
Since our last meeting, then, are all dispell'd?
Not so-but I have set my little left
Of life upon this cast: the die was thrown
When I first listen'd to your treason-Start not!
That is the word; I cannot shape my tongue
To syllable black deeds into smooth names,
Though I be wrought on to commit them. When
I heard you tempt your sovereign, and forbore
To have you dragg'd to prison, I became
Your guiltiest accomplice: now you may,
If it so please you, do as much by me.
Strange words, my lord, and most unmerited;
I am no spy, and neither are we traitors.
We-We!-no matter-you have earn'd the right,
To talk of us.-But to the point.-If this
Attempt succeeds, and Venice, render'd free
• And flourishing, when we are in our graves,
Conducts her generations to our tombs,
And makes her children with their little hands
Strew flowers o'er her deliverers' ashes, then
The consequence will sanctify the deed,
And we shall be like the two Bruti in
The annals of hereafter; but if not,
If we should fail, employing bloody means
And secret plot, although to a good end,
Still we are traitors, honest Israel;-thou
No less than he who was thy sovereign
Six hours ago, and now thy brother rebel
'Tis not the moment to consider thus,
Else I could answer.--Let us to the meeting,
Or we may be observed in lingering here.
We are observed, and have been.
ISRAEL BERTUCCIO.
ISRAEL BERTUCCIO.
Only a tall warriors' statue
Bestriding a proud steed, in the dim light
That warrior was the sire
Of my sire's fathers, and that statue was
Decreed to him by the twice rescued city:-
Think you that he looks down on us, or no?
My lord, these are mere phantasies; there are
No eyes in marble.
But there are in Death.
I tell thee, man, there is a spirit in
Such things that acts and sees, unseen, though felt;
And, if there be a spell to stir the dead,
'Tis in such deeds as we are now upon.
Deem'st thou the souls of such a race as mine
Can rest, when he, their last descendant chief,
Stands plotting on the brink of their pure graves
With stung plebeians?
ISRAEL BERTUCCIO.
It had been as well
To have ponder'd this before,-ere you embark'd'
In our great enterprise. Do you repent?
No-but I feel, and shall do to the last.
I cannot quench a glorious life at once,
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