THE RING.
101
As yet she is not to be own'd as his bride,
For feared Vivaldi his kinsmen's pride;
But safely their anchor at Venice is cast,
And the queen of the ocean is reached at last.
Long had Agatha wished to see
The sunny vineyards of Italy.
Little was here of what she had dream'd:
Funeral-like the gondolas seem'd;
While the dark waters, parting beneath the oar,
Were too like those she had seen before;
And the Count, with his stern and haughty brow,
Seem'd the shadow of one ever present now.
Dreary it is the path to trace,
Step by step of sin's wild race.
Pass we on to a lovely night,
Shone the sea with silver moonlight;
H 3
