THE BRIGAND.

A TALE OF ITALY.

(For the Parterre.)

For aught that I could read,
Could ever hear by tale or history,
The course of true love never did run smooth.

It was a brilliant scene! The setting sun was sinking with refulgent splendour 'neath the blue wave of the Adriatic; the cloudless moon, and feeble twinkling of the infant-like stars, as yet defeated by the broader glare of day, were high in the heavens. On the Lido, and through the various canals of the city, the gondolas were floating, and their sombre appearance gave a soft relief to the gorgeous scene around.,

Yet this sight was unheeded and unseen by the sad inhabitants of the Palazzo di Romaine, whose noble mistress lay on the bed from which it was ordained by Providence she was never more to rise. She was attended by her son the only survivor of the family,

a physician, and a friar. Her last words' had been spoken; she lay in feeble languor upon her pillow, yet the hurried breathing shewed that the spark of life still lingered. The picture was such as Rembrandt would have painted - rich and warm; the rosy tints of evening fell through windows of stained glass, which were reflected by the rich folds of the drapery surrounding the couch; an unbroken silence reigned throughout the apartment, which was lofty, and furnished with regal splendour. The first sound that broke the stillness of the room, was the death sigh with which the Marchesa di Romaine yielded her life to the hands of her Maker; the wailing of the female attendants, who had retired to an inner chamber during the last sad interview between a mother and only child, gave audible intimation of this event by tears and lamentations.

On the son, the fixed expression of grief was evident, from the anguish depicted on his countenance, while burning tears, the offspring of a sorrowed mind, were silently chasing each other down" his youthful cheeks.

He quickly retired to his apartment, and spent the remainder of the night in sleepless sorrow.

The early dawn of morning beheld him still in tears; yet he directed the melancholy task of committing his mother's remains to the grave, with manly firmness, which was done amid the tears and blessings of the poor and friendless. Auguste di Romaine was descended from a long and illustrious line of ancestors his father had settled in Venice; previous to his marriage, and his wealth and power made him an object of fear and distrust to the chiefs of the republic. His union with the daughter of one of their senators, did not in the least reconcile them to his presence, and though possessed of influence sufficient to counteract their machinations against him, still he thought it more prudent to dwell in security, blessed by the society of his wife and child, than expose himself to danger in the councils of St. Mark.

Intent on pursuing this resolution, he fitted up his palace so as to have every resource within itself. It opened immediately on the Adriatic gulf, to which you descended by a flight of stairs composed of the white marble of Paros; at their base, from a landing place wrought in Mosaic work, you embarked on board the gondolas, which were in readiness at all hours.

On the eastern side of the palace was the picture gallery, enriched with paint ings of great value; here was the softened shade of Rembrandt, the savage wildness of Salvator Rosa, the historic splendour of Titian, and the sunny landscape of Claude Lorraine.

The other apartments were equally arranged, and amidst these in the company of his family, would the marquis pass his days in far greater pleasure than those whose rest is broken by the cares and disquiet of wretched ambition.

He had seen his son under his own care, emerge from infancy to childhood, instructed in all the accomplishments of the day, and skilled in the manly exercises of the period. He was now ap proaching his fifteenth year, and having been accustomed to the water from his cradle, could row a gondola better than many more advanced in age.

The King of Naples being at that time in Venice, great rejoicings were carried on, and amongst the rest all the young nobles were enjoined to have a regatta on the Canale Grande, for the amusement of their royal visitor.

Auguste having obtained the consent

of his parents, prepared to be a competitor for the prize, which was to be a golden oar.

At length the important day arrived, bright and sunshining; yet a light wind tempered the heat with a refreshing breeze. On both sides of the canal, and on the bridge under which the boats were to pass, the crowds were immense, from the senator to the fisherman, from the Dogana to the fruit-girl,—all the inhabitants poured forth to witness the spectacle.

The stately Bucentaur, having on board the King of Naples, the Doge of Venice, and members of the dreaded Council of Ten, was the starting and wining point of the rival gondolas; having started, they were to proceed by the Canale Grande, under the broad arch of the Rialto, to a state galley, conspicuous from the flag of the winged Lion of San Marco, around which having rowed, to return the same course, and the foremost boat to be adjudged the prize. The race was open to all noble youths born in Venice, from the age of fourteen to twenty, and an officer was appointed to take down their names, and in what saint's name they chose to commit themselves. The first answered :

"My name is Giuseppe, Comte de Milan, and I trust to San Antonio for victory."

The second was Il Signor Giercumo, and hoped for victory from San Andrea.

The third and fourth, were sons of Venetian senators, and put their faith in San Mark.

The name of the fifth, was Carlo Risconti, and named San Jeremino.

When our hero gave his name as Auguste di Romaine, the officer went to the Doge to know whether he would be permitted to take part in the race; the Prince ordered him forward. "What is your name?" "Auguste, my Lord." "Your title?"

"Viscomte di Romaine."
"What! a son of the Marquis."
"Si Signor."

"Who name you as your patron in the boat race?"

Soon as the signal gun for starting boomed through the waters, a loud roar broke from the assembled multitudes, and the gondolas shot forth, impelled by the lusty strokes of their juvenile masters, with such rapidity, that for some moments it was quite impossible to tell which was first, all seemed so wedged together. But when order was restored, it was evident that the boat of Signor Giercumo held the lead; she was, however, closely followed by that of young Risconti, after whom, and at but a little distance, was Auguste di Romaine; the others formed a tail behind.

From the rate at which the gondola of Signor Giercumo dashed along, it was clear that could the same be retained, she would outstrip all her competitors; and on the other hand, the steady and even trim of di Romaine's boat, which was gaining ground every sweep, seemed to promise a hard contest when returning, for which time, like the skilful rider in a race, he husbanded his strength. In this order, amid the deafening cheers of the multitude assembled on the bridge, they shot in quick succession through the bold arch, and the foam caused by their plying oars had scarcely subsided, when Jacques Tori addressed his neigh bour Giulio Fontedoni in the following words.

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'Giulio, mio amico, who dost think will win the prize?"

"How should I know, Jacques? but let's ask Antonio, who, you are aware is versed in nautical affairs."

The person to whom the latter part of this sentence related, was dressed with the tarred hat, large boots, and short pea jacket of the fisherman on the lagoons, to which class he belonged, and being an old hand in races between all kinds of craft, to him the friends referred for information.

"Signors," said he, "it is hard to tell yet; the boat of the Giercumo is slackening, that of Risconti's can't hold on, and trust me, that of the Viscomte di Romaine will be the victor- by our Lady, he's a rare hand at the oar, and does credit to our city."

All eyes were now turned on the flagship, which was to be rounded; the first which appeared on the return was still that of Giercumo, the next Auguste; that of Risconti's turning too short, got entangled in the rigging of the vessel, which detained it.

The remainder of the race was now strictly confined to the two boats, and well and manfully was the contest main

tained; beautifully did the gondolas plough the curling waves, rising and falling as the billows heaved and fell, with the white water, which in the splendour of an Italian sun gleamed like silver dashing from their bows, and their rapid strokes seemed like the lightning's flash-so quick—so sudden.

Well did the husbanded strength now stand Auguste in good stead, that of his antagonist's was well nigh exhausted; when he put forth his, and to the astonishment of all the spectators, he left their favourite Giercumo several boat-lengths in the rear, as he swiftly bore up for the Bucentaur.

"I fear, mio caro amico," said Jacques, again addressing his companion, "that the stranger's victory will not be well received by those in power, they regard his father with no friendly eye.'

"Be that as it may, and which I'll vouch for," was the reply, "they surely cannot withhold the merited prize from the victor."

Time, that great arbiter of events, which have been, are, and will be,shewed, however, that the surmise of the first speaker was just, for despite of precedent or principle, the prize was withheld from the winner, who was Auguste di Romaine.

It would have been useless, as well as dangerous for the indignant Marquis to have offered any remonstrance against the decrees of St. Mark, and he returned with his family to his Palazzo in a state of mind producing a disease, which laid all that was great and noble, yet fond and tender of man, in the grave, after an illness of six months.

The situation of the widowed Marchesa was such as might excite your sin. cere commiseration. Torn by the ruthless embrace of death, alike unsparing to king or commoner, from him who enlivened her lonely hours by his presence and conversation-who, whether gliding over the silver channels of the "Sea Cybele," by the chaste light of the moon, had been her loved companion, or when occupied in the "delightful task" of training the tender mind of their only child to the paths of rectitude and knowledge, had been her unwearied assistant, it was more than human nature could bear-hers was no every day occurrence. In the midst of a crowd they were alone; isolated from the world, left in short like two lonely birds forced from the society of their fellows, when one of them had died, the other pined away, in vain lamenting her lost mate. Her main

stay of life being taken away, she prepared to follow; but still she had much to see done in this world,—her child claimed her care, sole vestige of her lost lord and could she leave him, no! for his sake she tried to prolong her fleeting hours of existence to the period when our tale commences, at which time he had completed his one and twentieth year.

Among the very few with whom the deceased parents of Auguste kept up any acquaintance, none was so intimate as the father of Angelica Villadomonti. He was the friend and companion of the Marquis from the days of his childhood; and when the latter settled in Venice, he contrived still to keep near the companion of his youth.

The time and manner in which our hero and heroine were first presented to each other, deserve to be recorded; it was on the feast of the Madonna, one of those few days which the Marquis made it a point of appearing with his housebold in a manner befitting his own high rank, as also that of his lady.

The sun was in its meridian, and hundreds of gondolas were gaily stemming the waters; the gondoliers, in their decorated jackets of various hues, forming a most motley scene, some fantastically arrayed in scarlet, some in green and gold; others were clad in sky-blue, studded with silver stars, while others displayed richly embroidered robes of silver tissue, forming a lively contrast to the sombre appearance of their boats.

At length many drew aside, to make way for the gondola di Romaine, which staid its way at the Piazza di San Marco. Never did such a scene of splendour meet the astonished eyes of Auguste. The noble columns were entwined with wreaths of the finest flowers, each of which breathed delicious fragrance. The trophies of the conquering Republic suspended from the dome, proudly floated

o'er

"Many a lord, and lady bright." The insignia of empire hung from the dazzling pinnacles of the temple; every balcony was crowded with nobles and ladies, whose glittering jewels and rich ornaments gave an animated appearance to the marble pillars supporting the roof, while in the aisle, or body of the building, the coup d'œil was no less imposing. Here might be recognised by his high yellow cap, and purple gaberdine, the wealthy Jew. Here stood the Turk in his embroidered robe, as the sunbeams played on his richly gemmed turban;

the spiral cap, and flowing caftan of the Persian; the crescent target and glittering buckler of the Sclavonian; the falling cap and furred pelisse of the Hungarian; the braided jacket and jewelled ataghan of the Moor; and the embossed helmet and scarlet capote of the war-like Greek. Such was the sight, which caused Auguste to doubt whether it was not enchantment that he beheld, when his eyes encountered those of a being, such as he would conceive in his dreams : her figure was exquisitely moulded, and about his own height; her lovely face was shaded in its ringlets of light brown hair, which partly wantoned over her marble forehead, and was partly confined by a bandeau composed of the finest oriental pearls, the clasp of which was a single diamond; her robe was white satin, trimmed with a wreath of olive leaves and silver laurel-blossoms entwined. He was so intensely gazing on her beauteous face, that he started when he was touched by the hand of her companion, who presented her as his daughter, Angelica Villadomonti.

"How fleetly pass the hours in the society of her we love," thought poor Auguste, when for the first time he found out that he had no longer a heart, and he sighed as he thought how many hours would intervene between the time she had appointed for the serenade.

At length it came: hurriedly, and with a beating heart, yet noiseless steps, Auguste stole from his chamber, cast his guitar on his neck, and wrapped in a roquelaire, threw himself into his gondola, seized the oar, and with a few lusty and hurried strokes, found himself on the bosom of the Adriatic.

The night was effectively grand: the full moon shone in cloudless splendour, and shed her silent light on the broad and unrippled bosom of the sea; all had retired to rest; the city was hushed, the hum of its people silent, no cloud disturbed the heavens, no voice the earth; he saw nought, he heard nought, save the lamp in the open window of his inamorata, and the rushing of his boat as she held her course thither.

As the lengthened shadows of the house in which dwelt the lovely Angelica served to cast a veil of shade over him, and effectually to prevent his being visible to any of the inmates of the Palazzo, save her whom he sought, a low soft prelude announced that the instrument was prepared, and after running over a few light airs, which he produced in a masterly manner, he accompanied him

self in the following serenade, which the melodious tones of his voice admirably suited.

The pale soft moon with silvery gleam,

Hath cast her brightness o'er the wave, Her vestal light falls o'er the stream, Which thy loved chambers laveThen come to me in the still dark night, Which silently falls from aboveThen haste, oh! haste, ere the morning's light

Should chance to disclose our love.

Away! away o'er the bounding wave,

In smiles and in joy we'll go

While all is calm as the quiet grave,
As the slumbering surges flow.

Oh! come with me to yon lovely isle,
Thro' its shady bowers we'll rove:
Then haste, oh! haste, that thy sweet smile
May quickly bless my love.

Come forth! come forth to your own true knight,
Come forth, dismiss your fear-
O'er Adria's waves will be our flight,
O'er its waters bright we'll steer;
Then come with me to my own dear land,
Its mistress thou wilt move:

Then haste, oh! haste, that with thy hand,
At length thou may bless my love.

Scarcely had the last note, which was prolonged till it was caught by the echo of the opposite side, ceased to be heard, and the figure of Auguste, as he stood with his instrument in hand, his little skiff rocking at each undulation of the sea, seemed the very model of a young Apollo, so still, and so statue-like, than slowly and cautiously the beauteous face of Angelica appeared.

Oh have you seen bathed in the morning dew, The budding rose its infant bloom display, When first its virgin tints unfold to view,

It shrinks, and scarcely trusts the blaze of day? So soft, so delicate, so sweet she came, Youth's damask glow just dawning on her cheek..

He thought that an inhabitant of the celestial world had descended, as the angel-countenance of his beloved was for a brief moment presented to his sight; he was preparing a prelude for a second song, when a handkerchief, only excelled in whiteness by the hand that waved it, either accidentally or purposely slipped from her fingers, and wafting through the air, fell fluttering into the boat. Auguste picked it up, and placed it in his bosom : a glance convinced him that this was the finale of that night, for the latice was closed; so in a mournful strain, as if lamenting being parted from his mistress, he again seized the oar, and, well satisfied with his adventure, retired to dream of Angelica.

It had been a previously arranged affair, that the two young people should be united, if it was pleasing to both, and as now we are about to arrive at that period when Auguste was his own mas

ter, the reader will have no difficulty in imagining his anxiety to have the project of his departed parents carried into effect, and as soon as arrangements were made respecting the marriage, he determined to obey the dying injunctions of his mother, and leave Venice, at least till such time as injustice and prejudice should be banished from her society.

With no small feelings of joy did Angelica look forward to the splendid prospect which awaited her on her union with the young Marquis di Romaine.

Evening was the time when they most enjoyed each other's society; in the cool twilight hour they would stray through the romantic gardens, or beneath the piazza, but in particular

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It was an evening bright and still,
As ever blushed from wave or bower;

of those brief moments when, heedless of the strifes and discords of this jarring world, we experience feelings "too big for utterance ;" not a frown disturbed the serene face of nature, roseate hues beautifully dappled the azure sky, as the flush of beauty sleeps beneath a night's dissipation; how intensely did the lovers feel, as they viewed the flowering luxuriance of the verdant turf and the tender green of the budding trees, or caught between the opening vistas, glimpses of the varied landscape, richly wooded, and bounded in the distance by the blue mountains,-what were not their thoughts when

They were left to themselves, To the moon and the stars, those fairy elves, To the murmuring wave and the zephyr's wing, That dreams of gentlest joyance bring.

Love, though above all things the most delightful in enjoyment, is by no means interesting in description; the days passed in the society of those we love, are assuredly the happiest we can experience, therefore taking all that for granted, instead of lifting the veil, and relating all the little tender nothings that passed on both sides, and which most of my fair readers, I dare say, having had a little experience in such matters, can well imagine, suppose it had all passed, and that

Now't was done, on the lone shore were plighted Their hearts; the stars their nuptial torches shed Beauty on the beautiful they lightedthe wedding day appointed, and Auguste was to take his departure next morning to prepare his Neapolitan castle for the reception of its future mistress.

With a mind buoyant with happiness did Auguste fly impatiently on his road,