THE MERCHANT OF VENICE.

The dusky star-set blue of Southern night;

Music and song approaching and receding;

Sweet sudden laughter-showers of masquers leading

Across the moon-white square a merry flight,

With breeze-blown torch and tossing cresset bright;

Gay Love and glad impetuous Youth unheeding,

That float away to the lute’s lovely pleading

Down flowing hours smooth-silvered with delight.

And last, a figure of a race despised

Shadow in light, groan echoing to the laugh;

Bent haggard Age, with uplift shaken staff,

At night’s noon knocking, knocking at the door

Of a gray, silent house, of that he prized

Empty forever and forever more.

II.

Lo, how the lips that Portia pressed but late

Against the opened casket, blessing lead

With the gold beauty of her bended head,

In proud abandonment to that dear fate

It gave her forth, the casket fortunate,—

Lo, how these lips forego their wreathéd red

Above the scroll that speaks his danger dread

Who holds her lover in sad heart and great!

Now in her spacious soul doth Sorrow meet

Warm Joy, that, generous, gives the pale one place,

And in the tremulous lines of her fair face

An exquisite and soft remorse appears

That Love, of right, must take the sovereign seat,

And Friendship lower pass, for all his years.

III.

“I stand for law.” It is the hour: behold

The stem storm-buffeted, a spear grown strong

For sternest deed in wanton winds of wrong.

See Shylock from his sombre garment’s fold

The scales of Justice draw. No lavish gold

Shall weigh with vengeance now; he hears loud song

And triumphing of timbrels from the long

Dim ranks of Israel’s branded dead untold.

Oh, not alone this crooked blade unsheathes,

Empowered at last, one wan and patient Jew:

Just Judah stands for law. A spirit new

Gives answer gracious as from heaven it rained.

A powerful angel through a woman breathes:

“The quality of mercy is not strained.”