Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, IN A GONDOLA, by JOHN TODHUNTER


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

IN A GONDOLA, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: In venice! - this night so delicious, its air
Subject(s): Gondolas And Gondoliers; Venice, Italy


I.
[Suggested by Mendelssohn's Andante in G minor, Book I., Lied 6 of the 'Lieder ohne Worte.']

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
To my brain, as I steal down this marble sea-stair,
In Venice! This night so delicious-its air
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
I step in; we are off o'er the street's heaving floor,
And I hear the slow, rhythmical sweep of the oar
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,
Looming ghostly and grim o'er their bases, where clings
I step in; we are off o'er the street's heaving floor,
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
On the porphyry blocks-with a song full of dole,
Looming ghostly and grim o'er their bases, where clings
A forlorn barcarole,
Rank sea-weed which gleams, flecked with light, as it swings
As my gondola glides.
To the plash of the waves, where they reach the tide-mark

On the porphyry blocks-with a song full of dole,

A forlorn barcarole,
II.
As my gondola glides.
And the wind seems to sigh through that lattice rust-gnawn,


A low dirge for the past: the sweet past when it played
In the pearl-braided hair of some beauty, who stayed
II.
But one shrinking half-minute-her mantle close-drawn
And the wind seems to sigh through that lattice rust-gnawn,
A low dirge for the past: the sweet past when it played
O'er the swell of her bosom and cheeks passion-pale,
Ere her lover came by, and they kissed. 'They are clay,
In the pearl-braided hair of some beauty, who stayed
But one shrinking half-minute-her mantle close-drawn
Those fire-hearted men with the regal pulse-play.'
'They are dust!' sighs the wind with its whisper of wail;
O'er the swell of her bosom and cheeks passion-pale,
'Those women snow-fair, flower-sweet, passion-pale!'
Ere her lover came by, and they kissed. 'They are clay,
And the waves make reply with their song full of dole,
Those fire-hearted men with the regal pulse-play.'
'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
On the ripples; and here's the Rialto in view;
Dust-those lovers! But love ever lives, ever new,
And black gondolas, spirit-like, cross or slide past,
Still the same: so we shoot into bustle and light,
And the gondoliers cry to each other: a song
And lamps from the festal casinos stream bright
Far away, from sweet voices in tune, dies along
On the ripples; and here's the Rialto in view;
The waters moon-silvered. So on to the vast
And black gondolas, spirit-like, cross or slide past,
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,
And laughter and strum of guitars from the shore,
The waters moon-silvered. So on to the vast
And sonorous bass-music of bells booming deep
Shadowy span of an arch where the oar-echoes leap
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,
IV.
As my gondola glides.
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
Of a nightingale's notes as his song swells and dies-
Here the night is voluptuous with odorous sighs
While my gondola glides.
From verandahs o'erstarred with dim jessamine flowers,
Their still scent deep-stirred by the tremulous showers
V.
Dust-those lovers! who floated and dreamed long ago,
Of a nightingale's notes as his song swells and dies-
Gazed, and languished, and loved, on these waters-where I
While my gondola glides.

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
In a gossamer veil of white cirrus-then breaks
Dust-those lovers! who floated and dreamed long ago,
The dream-spell with a pensive half-smile, as she wakes
Gazed, and languished, and loved, on these waters-where I
To new splendour. But lo! while I mused, we have slid
Float and dream and gaze up in the still summer sky,
From the open, the stir, down a lonely lane-way,
Whence the great stars look down-as they did long ago:
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,
Their forlorn barcarole,
From the open, the stir, down a lonely lane-way,
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,
And the stars, and the fairy-like city behind,
As my gondola glides.
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
Of the lights, as we turn to the city once more,
Becomes tranced in a vague, subtle maze of delight;
And the music, and clangour of bells booming slow,
And I float in a dream, lose the present-or seem
To have lived it before. Then a sense of deep bliss,
And this consummate vision-St. Mark's! the star-glow
For background-crowns all. Then I step out on shore.
Just to breathe-to exist-in a night such as this;
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)
I am here: here alone with the ghost of the past!
And the music, and clangour of bells booming slow,
But the waves still break in with their song full of dole,
And this consummate vision-St. Mark's! the star-glow
Their forlorn barcarole,
For background-crowns all. Then I step out on shore.
As my gondola goes;
The Piazzetta! my life-dream accomplished at last,
And the pulse of the oar swept through silvery spray
(As my gondola goes)
Dies away in the gloom, dies away, dies away-
I am here: here alone with the ghost of the past!
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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