Within the mountain’s woody bay,
Where the tall bark at anchor rides,
At twilight hour, with tritons gay,
I dance upon the lapsing tides:

And with my sister-nymphs I sport,
Till the broad sun looks o’er the floods;
Then, swift we seek our crystal court,
Deep in the wave, ’mid Neptune’s woods. In cool arcades and glassy halls
We pass the sultry hours of noon,
Beyond wherever sunbeam falls,
Weaving sea-flowers in gay festoon. The while we chant our ditties sweet
To some soft shell that warbles near;
Join’d by the murmuring currents, fleet,
That glide along our halls so clear. There, the pale pearl and sapphire blue,
And ruby red, and em’rald green,
Dart from the domes a changing hue,
And sparry columns deck the scene. When the dark storm scowls o’er the deep,
And long, long peals of thunder sound,
On some high cliff my watch I keep
O’er all the restless seas around:

Till on the ridgy wave afar
Comes the lone vessel, labouring slow,
Spreading the white foam in the air,
With sail and top-mast bending low. Then, plunge I ’mid the ocean’s roar,
My way by quiv’ring lightnings shown,
To guide the bark to peaceful shore,
And hush the sailor’s fearful groan. And if too late I reach its side
To save it from the ’whelming surge,
I call my dolphins o’er the tide,
To bear the crew where isles emerge. Their mournful spirits soon I cheer,
While round the desert coast I go,
With warbled songs they faintly hear,
Oft as the stormy gust sinks low. My music leads to lofty groves,
That wild upon the sea-bank wave;
Where sweet fruits bloom, and fresh spring roves,
And closing boughs the tempest brave. Then, from the air spirits obey
My potent voice they love so well,
And, on the clouds, paint visions gay,
While strains more sweet at distance swell. And thus the lonely hours I cheat,
Soothing the ship-wreck’d sailor’s heart,
Till from the waves the storms retreat,
And o’er the east the day-beams dart. Neptune for this oft binds me fast
To rocks below, with coral chain,
Till all the tempest’s over-past,
And drowning seamen cry in vain. Whoe’er ye are that love my lay,
Come, when red sunset tints the wave,
To the still sands, where fairies play;
There, in cool seas, I love to lave. CHAPTER III

He is a great observer, and he looks
Quite through the deeds of men:  he loves no plays,
....................he hears no music;
Seldom he smiles; and smiles in such a sort,
As if he mock’d himself, and scorn’d his spirit
that could be mov’d to smile at anything. Such men as he be never at heart’s ease,
While they behold a greater than themselves. JULIUS CÆSAR


Montoni and his companion did not return home, till many hours after
the dawn had blushed upon the Adriatic. The airy groups, which had
danced all night along the colonnade of St. Mark, dispersed before the
morning, like so many spirits. Montoni had been otherwise engaged; his
soul was little susceptible of light pleasures. He delighted in the
energies of the passions; the difficulties and tempests of life, which
wreck the happiness of others, roused and strengthened all the powers
of his mind, and afforded him the highest enjoyments, of which his
nature was capable. Without some object of strong interest, life was to
him little more than a sleep; and, when pursuits of real interest
failed, he substituted artificial ones, till habit changed their
nature, and they ceased to be unreal. Of this kind was the habit of
gaming, which he had adopted, first, for the purpose of relieving him
from the languor of inaction, but had since pursued with the ardour of
passion. In this occupation he had passed the night with Cavigni and a
party of young men, who had more money than rank, and more vice than
either. Montoni despised the greater part of these for the inferiority
of their talents, rather than for their vicious inclinations, and
associated with them only to make them the instruments of his purposes. Among these, however, were some of superior abilities, and a few whom
Montoni admitted to his intimacy, but even towards these he still
preserved a decisive and haughty air, which, while it imposed
submission on weak and timid minds, roused the fierce hatred of strong
ones. He had, of course, many and bitter enemies; but the rancour of
their hatred proved the degree of his power; and, as power was his
chief aim, he gloried more in such hatred, than it was possible he
could in being esteemed. A feeling so tempered as that of esteem, he
despised, and would have despised himself also had he thought himself
capable of being flattered by it. Among the few whom he distinguished, were the Signors Bertolini,
Orsino, and Verezzi. The first was a man of gay temper, strong
passions, dissipated, and of unbounded extravagance, but generous,
brave, and unsuspicious. Orsino was reserved, and haughty; loving power
more than ostentation; of a cruel and suspicious temper; quick to feel
an injury, and relentless in avenging it; cunning and unsearchable in
contrivance, patient and indefatigable in the execution of his schemes. He had a perfect command of feature and of his passions, of which he
had scarcely any, but pride, revenge and avarice; and, in the
gratification of these, few considerations had power to restrain him,
few obstacles to withstand the depth of his stratagems. This man was
the chief favourite of Montoni. Verezzi was a man of some talent, of
fiery imagination, and the slave of alternate passions. He was gay,
voluptuous, and daring; yet had neither perseverance nor true courage,
and was meanly selfish in all his aims. Quick to form schemes, and
sanguine in his hope of success, he was the first to undertake, and to
abandon, not only his own plans, but those adopted from other persons. Proud and impetuous, he revolted against all subordination; yet those
who were acquainted with his character, and watched the turn of his
passions, could lead him like a child. Such were the friends whom Montoni introduced to his family and his
table, on the day after his arrival at Venice. There were also of the
party a Venetian nobleman, Count Morano, and a Signora Livona, whom
Montoni had introduced to his wife, as a lady of distinguished merit,
and who, having called in the morning to welcome her to Venice, had
been requested to be of the dinner party. Madame Montoni received with a very ill grace, the compliments of the
Signors. She disliked them, because they were the friends of her
husband; hated them, because she believed they had contributed to
detain him abroad till so late an hour of the preceding morning; and
envied them, since, conscious of her own want of influence, she was
convinced, that he preferred their society to her own. The rank of
Count Morano procured him that distinction which she refused to the
rest of the company.