One of those forms which flit by us, when we Are young, and fix our eyes on every face; And, oh! the Loveliness at times we see In momentary gliding, the soft grace, The Youth, the Bloom, the Beauty which agree, In many a nameless being we retrace, Whose course and home we knew not, nor shall know, Like the lost Pleiad[202] seen no more below. XV. I said that like a picture by Giorgione Venetian women were, and so they _are_, Particularly seen from a balcony, (For beauty's sometimes best set off afar) And there, just like a heroine of Goldoni,[202A] They peep from out the blind, or o'er the bar; And truth to say, they're mostly very pretty, And rather like to show it, more's the pity! XVI. For glances beget ogles, ogles sighs, Sighs wishes, wishes words, and words a letter, Which flies on wings of light-heeled Mercuries, Who do such things because they know no better; And then, God knows what mischief may arise, When Love links two young people in one fetter, Vile assignations, and adulterous beds, Elopements, broken vows, and hearts, and heads. XVII. Shakspeare described the sex in Desdemona As very fair, but yet suspect in fame,[202B] And to this day from Venice to Verona Such matters may be probably the same, Except that since those times was never known a Husband whom mere suspicion could inflame To suffocate a wife no more than twenty, Because she had a "Cavalier Servente."[203] XVIII. Their jealousy (if they are ever jealous) Is of a fair complexion altogether, Not like that sooty devil of Othello's, Which smothers women in a bed of feather, But worthier of these much more jolly fellows, When weary of the matrimonial tether His head for such a wife no mortal bothers, But takes at once another, or _another's_. XIX. Didst ever see a Gondola? For fear You should not, I'll describe it you exactly: 'Tis a long covered boat that's common here, Carved at the prow, built lightly, but compactly, Rowed by two rowers, each call'd "Gondolier," It glides along the water looking blackly, Just like a coffin clapt in a canoe, Where none can make out what you say or do. XX. And up and down the long canals they go, And under the Rialto[204] shoot along, By night and day, all paces, swift or slow, And round the theatres, a sable throng, They wait in their dusk livery of woe,-- But not to them do woeful things belong, For sometimes they contain a deal of fun, Like mourning coaches when the funeral's done. XXI.