1. Ber. My lord, you are much moved: it is not

now

That such things must be dwelt upon.

Doge.

Your patience A moment I recede not: mark with me The gloomy vices of this government.

From the hour they made me Doge, the Doge THEY made me

Farewell the past! I died to all that had been,
Or rather they to me: no friends, no kindness,
No privacy of life-all were cut off:

They came not near me, such approach gave umbrage;
They could not love me, such was not the law;
They thwarted me, 't was the state's policy;
They baffled me, 't was a patrician's duty;
They wrong'd me, for such was to right the state;
They could not right me, that would give suspicion ;
So that I was a slave to my own subjects;
So that I was a foe to my own friends;

Begirt with spies for guards-with robes for power-
With pomp for freedom-gaolers for a council
Inquisitors for friends-and hell for life!
I had one only fount of quiet left,

And that they poison'd! My pure household gods 1
Were shiver'd on my hearth, and o'er their shrine
Sate grinning Ribaldry and sneering Scorn.

I. Ber. You have been deeply wrong'd, and now shall be

Nobly avenged before another night.

Doge. I had borne all—it hurt me, but I bore itTill this last running over of the cup

Of bitterness—until this last loud insult,
Not only unredress'd, but sanction'd; then,
And thus, I cast all further feelings from me-
The feelings which they crush'd for me, long, long
Before, even in their oath of false allegiance!
Even in that very hour and vow, they abjured
Their friend and made a sovereign, as boys make
Playthings, to do their pleasure- -and be broken!
I from that hour have seen but senators
In dark suspicious conflict with the Doge,
Brooding with him in mutual hate and fear;
They dreading he should snatch the tyranny
From out their grasp, and he abhorring tyrants.
To me, then, these men have no private life,
Nor claim to ties they have cut off from others;
As senators for arbitrary acts

Amenable, I look on them-as such

Let them be dealt upon. 2

Cal.
And now to action!
Hence, brethren, to our posts, and may this be

["I could have forgiven the dagger or the bowl, any thing, but the deliberate desolation piled upon me, when I stood alone upon my hearth, with my household gods shivered around me. Do you suppose I have forgotten or forgiven it? It has, comparatively, swallowed up in me every other feeling, and I am only a spectator upon earth till a tenfold opportunity offers. It may come yet."- Byron Letters, 1819.]

2[The struggle of feelings with which the Doge undertakes the conspiracy is admirably contrasted with the ferocious eagerness of his low-born associates; and only loses its effect, because we cannot but be sensible that the man who felt thus could not have gone on with his guilty project, unless stimulated by some greater and more accumulated injuries than are, in the course of the tragedy, brought before the perception of the reader. - HEBER.] carrion,

3 [" Nor turn aside to strike at such a wretch.". -MS.] [The great defect of Marino Faliero is, that the nature and character of the conspiracy excite no interest. It matters little that Lord Byron has been faithful to history, if the event is destitute of a poetic character. Like Alfieri, to whom

The last night of mere words: I'd fain be doing!
Saint Mark's great bell at dawn shall find me wakeful!
I. Ber. Disperse then to your posts: be firm and
vigilant ;
Think on the wrongs we bear, the rights we claim.
This day and night shall be the last of peril!
Watch for the signal, and then march. I go
To join my band; let each be prompt to marshal
His separate charge: the Doge will now return
To the palace to prepare all for the blow.
We part to meet in freedom and in glory!

[you

Cal. Doge, when I greet you next, my homage to Shall be the head of Steno on this sword!

Doge. No; let him be reserved unto the last,
Nor turn aside to strike at such a prey, 3
Till nobler game is quarried: his offence
Was a mere ebullition of the vice,
The general corruption generated
By the foul aristocracy: he could not-
He dared not-in more honourable days
Have risk'd it. I have merged all private wrath
Against him, in the thought of our great purpose.
A slave insults me-I require his punishment
From his proud master's hands; if he refuse it,
The offence grows his, and let him answer it.

Cal. Yet, as the immediate cause of the alliance
Which consecrates our undertaking more,
I owe him such deep gratitude, that fain

I would repay him as he merits; may I?
Doge. You would but lop the hand, and I the head;
You would but smite the scholar, I the master;
You would but punish Steno, I the senate.
I cannot pause on individual hate,
In the absorbing, sweeping, whole revenge,
Which, like the sheeted fire from heaven, must blast
Without distinction, as it fell of yore,
Where the Dead Sea hath quench'd two cities' ashes.
I. Ber. Away, then, to your posts! I but remain
A moment to accompany the Doge

To our late place of tryst, to see no spies
Have been upon the scout, and thence I hasten
To where my allotted band is under arms.
Cal. Farewell, then, until dawn!
1. Ber.

Success go with you! Consp. We will not fail-Away! My lord, farewell.4 [The Conspirators salute the DOGE and ISRAEL BERTUCCIO, and retire, headed by PHILIP CALENDARO. The DOGE and ISRAEL BERTUCCIO remain.

I. Ber. We have them in the toil-it cannot fail! Now thou 'rt indeed a sovereign, and wilt make

in many points, his genius approximates, he is fettered by an intractable story, which is wholly remote from the instincts and feelings of mankind. How elevated soever may be his diction, how vivid soever his colouring, a moral truth is wanting-that charm, so difficult to define, so easy to apprehend, which, diffused over the scene, excites in generous bosoms an exalted enthusiasm for the great interests of humanity. This is the poesy of history. It is the charm of the William Tell of Schiller; it is felt in the awful plot of Brutus, and, to a certain degree, in the conspiracy of Pierre and Jaffier; for the end and purpose of these conspiracies were, to redeem their country from insult and oppression. But in Marino Faliero's attempt against the state, we con template nothing but the project of a sanguinary ruthan seeking to grasp unlimited authority, and making, after the established precedents of all usurpers, the wrongs and sufferings of the commonalty his pretence; while, in another aspect of his character, we see him goaded, by an imagined injury, into an enterprise which would have inundated Venice with her best blood. Is this a sublime spectacle, calculated to purge the mind, according to the aphorism of Aristotle, by means of terror or pity? - Ecl. Rev.]

A name immortal greater than the greatest :
Free citizens have struck at kings ere now;
Caesars have fallen, and even patrician hands
Have crush'd dictators, as the popular steel
Has reach'd patricians: but, until this hour,
What prince has plotted for his people's freedom?
Or risk'd a life to liberate his subjects?
For ever, and for ever, they conspire
Against the people, to abuse their hands
To chains, but laid aside to carry weapons
Against the fellow nations, so that yoke
On yoke, and slavery and death may whet,
Not glut, the never-gorged Leviathan !
Now, my lord, to our enterprise; -'tis great,
And greater the reward; why stand you rapt?
A moment back, and you were all impatience!
Doge. And is it then decided? must they die?
1. Ber. Who?
Doge.
My own friends by blood and courtesy,
And many deeds and days—the senators?

1. Ber. You pass'd their sentence, and it is a just one.
Doge. Ay, so it seems, and so it is to you;
You are a patriot, plebeian Gracchus-
The rebel's oracle, the people's tribune-
I blame you not-you act in your vocation;
They smote you, and oppress'd you, and despised you;
So they have me: but you ne'er spake with them;
You never broke their bread, nor sbared their salt;
You never had their wine-cup at your lips;
You grew not up with them, nor laugh'd, nor wept,
Nor held a revel in their company;

Ne'er smiled to see them smile, nor claim'd their smile
In social interchange for yours, nor trusted

Nor wore them in your heart of hearts, as I have:
These hairs of mine are grey, and so are theirs,
The elders of the council: I remember
When all our locks were like the raven's wing,
As we went forth to take our prey around
The isles wrung from the false Mahometan;
And can I see them dabbled o'er with blood?
Each stab to them will seem my suicide. 1

I. Ber. Doge! Doge! this vacillation is unworthy
A child; if you are not in second childhood,
Call back your nerves to your own purpose, nor
Thus shame yourself and me. By heavens! I'd

rather

Forego even now, or fail in our intent,
Than see the man I venerate subside

From high resolves into such shallow weakness!
You have seen blood in battle, shed it, both
Your own and that of others; can you shrink then
From a few drops from veins of hoary vampires,
Who but give back what they have drain'd from
millions?

Doge. Bear with me! Step by step, and blow on blow,

I will divide with you; think not I waver:
Ah! no; it is the certainty of all

Which I must do doth make me tremble thus.

1[The unmix'd selfishness of the motives with which the Doge accedes to the plot perpetually escanes him. Not that he is wholly untouched by the compunctious visitings of nature. But the fearful unity of such a character is broken by assigning to it the throbbings and the pangs of human feelings, and by making him recoil with affricht from slaughter and desolation. In the roar and whirlwind of the mighty passions which precede the acting of a dreadful plot, it is wholly unreasonable and out of keeping to put into his mouth the sentimental effusions of affectionate pity for his friends,

But let these last and lingering though's have way,
To which you only and the Night are conscious,
And both regardless; when the hour arrives,
"Tis mine to sound the knell, and strike the blow,
Which shall unpeople many palaces,

And hew the highest genealogic trees

Down to the earth, strew'd with their bleeding fruit,
And crush their blossoms into barrenness:
This will I-must I have I sworn to do,
Nor aught can turn me from my destiny;
But still I quiver to behold what I

Must be, and think what I have been! Bear with me.
I. Ber. Re-man your breast; I feel no such remorse,
I understand it not: why should you change?
You acted, and you act, on your free will.

Doge. Ay, there it is—you feel not, nor do I,
Else I should stab thee on the spot, to save
A thousand lives, and, killing, do no murder;
You feel not-you go to this butcher-work
As if these high-born men were steers for shambles 1
When all is over, you'll be free and merry,
And calmly wash those hands incarnadine ;
But I, outgoing thee and all thy fellows
In this surpassing massacre, shall be,
Shall see and feel-oh God! oh God! 'tis true,
And thou dost well to answer that it was
"My own free will and act," and yet you err,
For I will do this! Doubt not-fear not; I
Will be your most unmerciful accomplice !
And yet I act no more on my free will,
Nor my own feelings- both compel me back;
But there is hell within me and around,

And like the demon who believes and trembles
Must I abhor and do. Away! away!

Get thee unto thy fellows, I will hie me
To gather the retainers of our house.

Doubt not, Saint Mark's great bell shall wake all
Venice,

Except her slaughter'd senate: ere the sun

Be broad upon the Adriatic there

Shall be a voice of weeping, which shall drown
The roar of waters in the cry of blood!

I am resolved- come on.

1. Ber.

With all my soul !

Keep a firm rein upon these bursts of passion;
Remember what these men have dealt to thee,
And that this sacrifice will be succeeded
By ages of prosperity and freedom
To this unshackled city: a true tyrant
Would have depopulated empires, nor

Have felt the strange compunction which hath wrung

you

To punish a few traitors to the people.
Trust me, such were a pity more misplaced
Than the late mercy of the state to Steno.
Doge. Man, thou hast struck upon the chord which
jars

All nature from my heart. Hence to our task!

[Exeunt.

whom he thinks of rather too late to give these touches of remorse and mercy any other character than that of hypocritical whining. The sentiments are certainly good, but lamentably out of time and place, and remind of Scarron's remark upon the moralizing Phlegyas in the infernal regions,—

"Cette sentence est vrai et belle, Mais dans enfer de quoi sert-elle ?" Yet, though wholly repugnant to dramatic congruity, the passage has great poetic power. Ed. Ree.]

ACT IV.

SCENE I. !

Palazzo of the Patrician LIONI. LIONI laying aside the mask and cloak which the Venetian Nobles wore in public, attended by a Domestic.

Lioni. I will to rest, right weary of this revel,
The gayest we have held for many moons,
And yet, I know not why, it cheer'd me not;
There came a heaviness across my heart,
Which, in the lightest movement of the dance,
Though eye to eye, and hand in hand united
Even with the lady of my love, oppress'd me,
And through my spirit chill'd my blood, until
A damp like death rose o'er my brow; I strove
To laugh the thought away, but 't would not be :
Through all the music ringing in my ears
A knell was sounding as distinct and clear,
Though low and far, as e'er the Adrian wave
Rose o'er the city's murmur in the night,
Dashing against the outward Lido's bulwark :
So that I left the festival before

It reach'd its zenith, and will woo my pillow
For thoughts more tranquil, or forgetfulness.
Antonio, take my mask and cloak, and light
The lamp within my chamber.

Yes, my lord:

Ant. Command you no refreshment? Lioni. Nought, save sleep, Which will not be commanded. Let me hope it, [Exit ANTONIO. Though my breast feels too anxious; I will try Whether the air will calm my spirits; 'tis A goodly night; the cloudy wind which blew From the Levant hath crept into its cave, [ness! And the broad moon has brighten'd. What a still[Goes to an open lattice. And what a contrast with the scene I left, Where the tall torches' glare, and silver lamps' More pallid gleam along the tapestried walls, Spread over the reluctant gloom which haunts Those vast and dimly-latticed galleries

A dazzling mass of artificial light,

Which show'd all things, but nothing as they were.
There Age essaying to recall the past,
After long striving for the hues of youth
At the sad labour of the toilet, and

Full many a glance at the too faithful mirror,
Prank'd forth in all the pride of ornament,
Forgot itself, and trusting to the falsehood
Of the indulgent beams, which show, yet hide,
Believed itself forgotten, and was fool'd.

There Youth, which needed not, nor thought of such
Vain adjuncts, lavish'd its true bloom, and health,
And bridal beauty, in the unwholesome press
Of flush'd and crowded wassailers, and wasted
Its hours of rest in dreaming this was pleasure,
And so shall waste them till the sunrise streams

[The fourth act opens with the most poetical and brilHantly written scene in the play-though it is a soliloquy, and altogether alien from the business of the piece. Lioni, a young nobleman, returns home from a splendid assembly, rather out of spirits; and, opening his palace window for air, contrasts the tranquillity of the night scene which lies before him, with the feverish turbulence and glittering enchantments of that which he has just quitted. Nothing can be finer than this picture, in both its compartments. There is a

On sallow cheeks and sunken eyes, which should not
Have worn this aspect yet for many a year.
The music, and the banquet, and the wine-
The garlands, the rose odours, and the flowers
The sparkling eyes, and flashing ornaments—
The white arms and the raven hair-the braids
And bracelets; swanlike bosoms, and the necklace,
An India in itself, yet dazzling not

The eye like what it circled; the thin robes,
Floating like light clouds 't wixt our gaze and heaven;
The many-twinkling feet so small and sylphlike,
Suggesting the more secret symmetry

Of the fair forms which terminate so well.
All the delusion of the dizzy scene,

Its false and true enchantments-art and nature,
Which swam before my giddy eyes, that drank
The sight of beauty as the parch'd pilgrim's
On Arab sands the false mirage, which offers
A lucid lake to his eluded thirst,

Are gone. Around me are the stars and waters—
Worlds mirror'd in the ocean, goodlier sight
Than torches glared back by a gaudy glass;
And the great element, which is to space
What ocean is to earth, spreads its blue depths,
Soften'd with the first breathings of the spring;
The high moon sails upon her beauteous way,
Serenely smoothing o'er the lofty walls
Of those tall piles and sea-girt palaces,
Whose porphyry pillars, and whose costly fronts,
Fraught with the orient spoil of many marbles,
Like altars ranged along the broad canal,
Seem each a trophy of some mighty deed

Rear'd up from out the waters, scarce less strangely
Than those more massy and mysterious giants
Of architecture, those Titanian fabrics,
Which point in Egypt's plains to times that have
No other record. All is gentle nought
Stirs rudely; but, congenial with the night,
Whatever walks is gliding like a spirit.
The tinklings of some vigilant guitars
Of sleepless lovers to a wakeful mistress,
And cautious opening of the casement, showing
That he is not unheard; while her young hand,
Fair as the moonlight of which it seems part,
So delicately white, it trembles in

The act of opening the forbidden lattice,
To let in love through music, makes his heart
Thrill like his lyre-strings at the sight; — the dash
Phosphoric of the oar, or rapid twinkle

Of the far lights of skimming gondolas,
And the responsive voices of the choir

-

Do not seek its meaning,

But do as I implore thee;-stir not forth,

Ant. His face is muffled in his cloak, but both
His voice and gestures seem familiar to me;

I craved his name, but this he seem'd reluctant
To trust, save to yourself; most earnestly
He sues to be permitted to approach you.

Lioni. 'T is a strange hour, and a suspicious bearing!
And yet there is slight peril: 't is not in
Their houses noble men are struck at; still,
Although I know not that I have a foe
In Venice, 't will be wise to use some caution.
Admit him, and retire; but call up quickly
Some of thy fellows, who may wait without.
Who can this man be?-
[Exit ANTONIO, and returns with BERTRAM muffled.
My good lord Lioni,

Ber.

I have no time to lose, nor thou-
This menial hence; I would be private with you.
Lioni. It seems the voice of Bertram

Antonio.

Go, [Exit ANTONIO.

Now, stranger, what would you at such an hour? Ber. (discovering himself). A boon, my noble patron; you have granted

Many to your poor client, Bertram; add
This one, and make him happy.
Lioni.

Thou hast known me
From boyhood, ever ready to assist thee
In all fair objects of advancement, which
Beseem one of thy station; I would promise
Ere thy request was heard, but that the hour,
Thy bearing, and this strange and hurried mode
Of suing, gives me to suspect this visit
Hath some mysterious import-but say on-
What has occurred, some rash and sudden broil?
A cup too much, a scuffle, and a stab?
Mere things of every day; so that thou hast not
Spilt noble blood, I guarantee thy safety;
But then thou must withdraw, for angry friends
And relatives, in the first burst of vengeance,
Are things in Venice deadlier than the laws.
Ber. My lord, I thank you; but--
Lioni.
But what? You have not
Raised a rash hand against one of our order?
If so, withdraw and fly, and own it not;

The cry of women, and the shrieks of babes -
The groans of men -the clash of arms-the sound
Of rolling drum, shrill trump, and hollow bell,
Peal in one wide alarum !— Go not forth
Until the tocsin 's silent, nor even then
Till I return!

Lioni.

Again, what does this mean? Ber. Again, I tell thee, ask not; but by all Thou holdest dear on earth or heaven- by all The souls of thy great fathers, and thy hope To emulate them, and to leave behind Descendants worthy both of them and thee By all thou hast of bless'd in hope or memory By all thou hast to fear here or hereafterBy all the good deeds thou hast done to me, Good I would now repay with greater good, Remain within-trust to thy household gods, And to my word for safety, if thou dost As I now counsel- but if not, thou art lost! Lioni. I am indeed already lost in wonder; Surely thou ravest! what have I to dread? Who are my foes? or if there be such, why Art thou leagued with them?-thou! or if so leagued, Why comest thou to tell me at this hour, And not before?

Ber.

Say not so! Once more, art thou determined to go forth? Lioni. I am. Nor is there aught which shall impede me!

Ber. Then Heaven have mercy on thy soul !Farewell!

[Going. Lioni. Stay-there is more in this than my own safety [thus: Which makes me call thee back; we must not part Bertram, I have known thee long.

Ber.
From childhood, signor,
You have been my protector: in the days
Of reckless infancy, when rank forgets,
Or, rather, is not yet taught to remember
Its cold prerogative, we play'd together;
Our sports, our smiles, our tears, were mingled oft;
My father was your father's client, I

His son's scarce less than foster-brother; years
Saw us together-happy, heart-full hours!
Oh God! the difference 'twixt those hours and this!
Lioni. Bertram, 'tis thou who hast forgotten them.

of the poem, is adventitious, and obviously transplanted from the mind of the poet. It is the habitual cast of thought, tinged with misanthropy, which is peculiar to Lord Byron, and does not adapt itself to the situation or feelings of the personages of his poem. It is the cool contemplation of a mind raised above the storms of human life, and the pertur bation of its passions, and viewing, as from "a peculiar mount," the strife and conflicts of a world in which it disdains to mix. Ecl. Rev.]