XX.

Still shone her face--yet not, alas! the same, But 'gan some dreary touches to assume, And sadder thoughts, with sadder changes came-- Her eyes resigned their light, her lips their bloom, Her teeth fell out, her tresses did the same, Her cheeks were tinged with bile, her eyes with rheum: There was a throbbing at her heart within, For, oh! there was a shooting in her chin.

XXI.

And lo! upon her sad desponding brow, The cruel trenches of besieging age, With seams, but most unseemly, 'gan to show Her place was booking for the seventh stage; And where her raven tresses used to flow, Some locks that Time had left her in his rage.

And some mock ringlets, made her forehead shady, A compound (like our Psalms) of tete and braidy.

XXII.

Then for her shape--alas! how Saturn wrecks, And bends, and corkscrews all the frame about, Doubles the hams, and crooks the straightest necks, Draws in the nape, and pushes forth the snout, Makes backs and stomachs concave or convex: Witness those pensioners called In and Out, Who all day watching first and second rater, Quaintly unbend themselves--but grow no straighter.

XXIII.

So Time with fair Bianca dealt, and made Her shape a bow, that once was like an arrow; His iron hand upon her spine he laid, And twisted all awry her "winsome marrow."

In truth it was a change!--she had obey'd The holy Pope before her chest grew narrow, But spectacles and palsy seem'd to make her Something between a Glassite and a Quaker.

XXIV.

Her grief and gall meanwhile were quite extreme, And she had ample reason for her trouble; For what sad maiden can endure to seem Set in for singleness, tho' growing double.

The fancy madden'd her; but now the dream, Grown thin by getting bigger, like a bubble, Burst,--but still left some fragments of its size, That, like the soapsuds, smarted in her eyes.

XXV.

And here--just here--as she began to heed The real world, her clock chimed out its score; A clock it was of the Venetian breed, That cried the hour from one to twenty-four; The works moreover standing in some need Of workmanship, it struck some dozens more; A warning voice that clench'd Bianca's fears, Such strokes referring doubtless to her years.

XXVI.

At fifteen chimes she was but half a nun, By twenty she had quite renounced the veil; She thought of Julio just at twenty-one, And thirty made her very sad and pale, To paint that ruin where her charms would run; At forty all the maid began to fail, And thought no higher, as the late dream cross'd her, Of single blessedness, than single Gloster.

XXVII.

And so Bianca changed;--the next sweet even, With Julio in a black Venetian bark, Row'd slow and stealthily--the hour, eleven, Just sounding from the tow'r of old St. Mark; She sate with eyes turn'd quietly to heav'n, Perchance rejoicing in the grateful dark That veil'd her blushing cheek,--for Julio brought her Of course--to break the ice upon the water.

XXVIII.

But what a puzzle is one's serious mind To open;--oysters, when the ice is thick, Are not so difficult and disinclin'd; And Julio felt the declaration stick About his throat in a most awful kind; However, he contrived by bits to pick His trouble forth,--much like a rotten cork Grop'd from a long-necked bottle with a fork.

XXIX.

But love is still the quickest of all readers; And Julio spent besides those signs profuse That English telegraphs and foreign pleaders, In help of language, are so apt to use, Arms, shoulders, fingers, all were interceders, Nods, shrugs, and bends,--Bianca could not choose But soften to his suit with more facility, He told his story with so much agility.

XXX.

"Be thou my park, and I will be thy dear, (So he began at last to speak or quote;) Be thou my bark, and I thy gondolier, (For passion takes this figurative note;) Be thou my light, and I thy chandelier; Be thou my dove, and I will be thy cote: My lily be, and I will be thy river; Be thou my life--and I will be thy liver."

XXXI.

This, with more tender logic of the kind, He pour'd into her small and shell-like ear, That timidly against his lips inclin'd; Meanwhile her eyes glanced on the silver sphere That even now began to steal behind A dewy vapor, which was lingering near, Wherein the dull moon crept all dim and pale, Just like a virgin putting on the veil:--

XXXII.

Bidding adieu to all her sparks--the stars, That erst had woo'd and worshipp'd in her train, Saturn and Hesperus, and gallant Mars-- Never to flirt with heavenly eyes again.

Meanwhile, remindful of the convent bars, Bianca did not watch these signs in vain, But turn'd to Julio at the dark eclipse, With words, like verbal kisses, on her lips.

XXXIII.

He took the hint full speedily, and, back'd By love, and night, and the occasion's meetness, Bestow'd a something on her cheek that smack'd (Tho' quite in silence) of ambrosial sweetness; That made her think all other kisses lack'd Till then, but what she knew not, of completeness; Being used but sisterly salutes to feel, Insipid things--like sandwiches of veal.

XXXIV.

He took her hand, and soon she felt him wring The pretty fingers all instead of one; Anon his stealthy arm began to cling About her waist that had been clasp'd by none, Their dear confessions I forbear to sing, Since cold description would but be outrun; For bliss and Irish watches have the pow'r, In twenty minutes, to lose half an hour!

THE DEMON-SHIP.

'Twas off the Wash--the sun went down--the sea look'd black and grim, For stormy clouds, with murky fleece, were mustering at the brim; Titanic shades! enormous gloom!--as if the solid night Of Erebus rose suddenly to seize upon the light!

It was a time for mariners to bear a wary eye With such a dark conspiracy between the sea and sky!

Down went my-helm--close reef'd--the tack held freely in my hand-- With ballast snug--I put about, and scudded for the land.

Loud hiss'd the sea beneath her lee--my little boat flew fast, But faster still the rushing storm came borne upon the blast.

Lord! what a roaring hurricane beset the straining sail!

What furious sleet, with level drift, and fierce assaults of hail!

What darksome caverns yawn'd before! what jagged steeps behind!

Like battle-steeds, with foamy manes, wild tossing in the wind.

Each after each sank down astern, exhausted in the chase, But where it sank another rose and galloped in its place; As black as night--they turned to white, and cast against the cloud A snowy sheet, as if each surge upturned a sailor's shroud:-- Still flew my boat; alas! alas! her course was nearly run!

Behold yon fatal billow rise--ten billows heap'd in one!

With fearful speed the dreary mass came rolling, rolling, fast, As if the scooping sea contain'd one only wave at last!