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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

IN A GONDOLA by JOHN TODHUNTER

First Line: IN VENICE! - THIS NIGHT SO DELICIOUS, ITS AIR
Subject(s): GONDOLAS AND GONDOLIERS; VENICE, ITALY;
[Suggested by Mendelssohn's Andante in G minor, Book I., Lied 6 of the 'Lieder ohne Worte.']
I.

In Venice ! This night so delicious-its air

Full of moonlight, and passionate snatches of song,
I.
And quick cries, and perfume of romances, which throng
In Venice! This night so delicious-its air
To my brain, as I steal down this marble sea-stair,
Full of moonlight, and passionate snatches of song,
And my gondola comes:
And quick cries, and perfume of romances, which throng
And I hear the slow, rhythmical sweep of the oar
To my brain, as I steal down this marble sea-stair,
Drawing near and more near-and the noise of the prow,
And my gondola comes:
And the sharp, sudden splash of her stoppage-and now
And I hear the slow, rhythmical sweep of the oar
I step in; we are off o'er the street's heaving floor,
Drawing near and more near-and the noise of the prow,
As my gondola glides-
And the sharp, sudden splash of her stoppage-and now
Away past these palaces silent and dark,
I step in; we are off o'er the street's heaving floor,
Looming ghostly and grim o'er their bases, where clings
As my gondola glides-
Rank sea-weed which gleams, flecked with light, as it swings
Away past these palaces silent and dark,
To the plash of the waves, where they reach the tide-mark
Looming ghostly and grim o'er their bases, where clings
On the porphyry blocks-with a song full of dole,
Rank sea-weed which gleams, flecked with light, as it swings
A forlorn barcarole,
To the plash of the waves, where they reach the tide-mark
As my gondola glides.
On the porphyry blocks-with a song full of dole,

A forlorn barcarole,

As my gondola glides.
II.

And the wind seems to sigh through that lattice rust-gnawn,

A low dirge for the past: the sweet past when it played
II.
In the pearl-braided hair of some beauty, who stayed
And the wind seems to sigh through that lattice rust-gnawn,
But one shrinking half-minute-her mantle close-drawn
A low dirge for the past: the sweet past when it played
O'er the swell of her bosom and cheeks passion-pale,
In the pearl-braided hair of some beauty, who stayed
Ere her lover came by, and they kissed. 'They are clay,
But one shrinking half-minute-her mantle close-drawn
Those fire-hearted men with the regal pulse-play.'
O'er the swell of her bosom and cheeks passion-pale,
'They are dust!' sighs the wind with its whisper of wail;
Ere her lover came by, and they kissed. 'They are clay,
'Those women snow-fair, flower-sweet, passion-pale!'
Those fire-hearted men with the regal pulse-play.'
And the waves make reply with their song full of dole,
'They are dust!' sighs the wind with its whisper of wail;
Their forlorn barcarole,
'Those women snow-fair, flower-sweet, passion-pale!'
As my gondola glides.
And the waves make reply with their song full of dole,

Their forlorn barcarole,

As my gondola glides.
III.

Dust-those lovers! But love ever lives, ever new,

Still the same: so we shoot into bustle and light,
III.
And lamps from the festal casinos stream bright
Dust-those lovers! But love ever lives, ever new,
On the ripples; and here's the Rialto in view;
Still the same: so we shoot into bustle and light,
And black gondolas, spirit-like, cross or slide past,
And lamps from the festal casinos stream bright
And the gondoliers cry to each other: a song
On the ripples; and here's the Rialto in view;
Far away, from sweet voices in tune, dies along
And black gondolas, spirit-like, cross or slide past,
The waters moon-silvered. So on to the vast
And the gondoliers cry to each other: a song
Shadowy span of an arch where the oar-echoes leap
Far away, from sweet voices in tune, dies along
Through chill gloom from the marble; then moonlight once more,
The waters moon-silvered. So on to the vast
And laughter and strum of guitars from the shore,
Shadowy span of an arch where the oar-echoes leap
And sonorous bass-music of bells booming deep
Through chill gloom from the marble; then moonlight once more,
From St. Mark's. Still those waves with their song full of dole,
And laughter and strum of guitars from the shore,
Their forlorn barcarole,
And sonorous bass-music of bells booming deep
As my gondola glides.
From St. Mark's. Still those waves with their song full of dole,

Their forlorn barcarole,

As my gondola glides.
IV.

Here the night is voluptuous with odorous sighs

From verandahs o'erstarred with dim jessamine flowers,
IV.
Their still scent deep-stirred by the tremulous showers
Here the night is voluptuous with odorous sighs
Of a nightingale's notes as his song swells and dies-
From verandahs o'erstarred with dim jessamine flowers,
While my gondola glides.
Their still scent deep-stirred by the tremulous showers
V.
Of a nightingale's notes as his song swells and dies-
Dust-those lovers! who floated and dreamed long ago,
While my gondola glides.
Gazed, and languished, and loved, on these waters-where I

Float and dream and gaze up in the still summer sky,

Whence the great stars look down-as they did long ago:
V.
Where the moon seems to dream with my dreaming-disc-hid
Dust-those lovers! who floated and dreamed long ago,
In a gossamer veil of white cirrus-then breaks
Gazed, and languished, and loved, on these waters-where I
The dream-spell with a pensive half-smile, as she wakes
Float and dream and gaze up in the still summer sky,
To new splendour. But lo! while I mused, we have slid
Whence the great stars look down-as they did long ago:
From the open, the stir, down a lonely lane-way,
Where the moon seems to dream with my dreaming-disc-hid
Into hush and dark shadow! fresh smells of the sea
In a gossamer veil of white cirrus-then breaks
Come cool from beyond; a faint lamp mistily
The dream-spell with a pensive half-smile, as she wakes
Hints fair shafts and quaint arches, in crumbling decay;
To new splendour. But lo! while I mused, we have slid
And the waves still break in with their song full of dole,
From the open, the stir, down a lonely lane-way,
Their forlorn barcarole,
Into hush and dark shadow! fresh smells of the sea
As my gondola glides.
Come cool from beyond; a faint lamp mistily

Hints fair shafts and quaint arches, in crumbling decay;

And the waves still break in with their song full of dole,
VI.
Their forlorn barcarole,
Then the silent lagune stretched away through the night,
As my gondola glides.
And the stars, and the fairy-like city behind,

Domes and spires rising spectral and dim: till the mind

Becomes tranced in a vague, subtle maze of delight;
VI.
And I float in a dream, lose the present-or seem
Then the silent lagune stretched away through the night,
To have lived it before. Then a sense of deep bliss,
And the stars, and the fairy-like city behind,
Just to breathe-to exist-in a night such as this;
Domes and spires rising spectral and dim: till the mind
Just to feel what I feel, drowns all else. But the gleam
Becomes tranced in a vague, subtle maze of delight;
Of the lights, as we turn to the city once more,
And I float in a dream, lose the present-or seem
And the music, and clangour of bells booming slow,
To have lived it before. Then a sense of deep bliss,
And this consummate vision-St. Mark's! the star-glow
Just to breathe-to exist-in a night such as this;
For background-crowns all. Then I step out on shore.
Just to feel what I feel, drowns all else. But the gleam
The Piazzetta! my life-dream accomplished at last,
Of the lights, as we turn to the city once more,
(As my gondola goes)
And the music, and clangour of bells booming slow,
I am here: here alone with the ghost of the past!
And this consummate vision-St. Mark's! the star-glow
But the waves still break in with their song full of dole,
For background-crowns all. Then I step out on shore.
Their forlorn barcarole,
The Piazzetta! my life-dream accomplished at last,
As my gondola goes;
(As my gondola goes)
And the pulse of the oar swept through silvery spray
I am here: here alone with the ghost of the past!
Dies away in the gloom, dies away, dies away-
But the waves still break in with their song full of dole,
Dies away-dies away-!
Their forlorn barcarole,

As my gondola goes;

And the pulse of the oar swept through silvery spray
Dies away in the gloom, dies away, dies away-
Dies away-dies away-!




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