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198 Music of the Waters. |
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With Clough's lovely poem, than which no more realistic description of the gondola exists, I close my remarks on the Italian watermen :—
IN A GONDOLA ON THE GRAND CANAL, VENICE. " Afloat; we move—delicious ! Ah, What else is like the gondola ? This level floor of liquid glass Begins beneath us swift to pass, It goes as though it went alone By some impulsion of its own.
How light it moves, how softly ! Ah, Were all things like the gondola I
" How light it moves, how softly ! Ah, Could life as does our gondola,, Unvexed with quarrels, aims, and cares, And moral duties and affairs, Unswaying, noiseless, swift, and strong, For ever thus—thus glide along !
How light we move, how softly I Ah,
Were life but as the gondola.
" With no more motion than should bear A freshness to the languid air ; With no more effort than expressed The need and naturalness of rest, Which we beneath a grateful shade Should take on peaceful pillows laid !
How light we move, how softly ! Ah, Were life but as the gondola I |
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