Above was the firmament, gemmed with worlds, and sublime in immensity.
Beneath lay the broad expanse of the Adriatic, endless to the eye,
tranquil as the vault it reflected, and luminous with its borrowed
light. Here and there a low island, reclaimed from the sea by the
patient toil of a thousand years, dotted the Lagunes, burdened with the
group of some conventual dwellings, or picturesque with the modest roofs
of a hamlet of the fisherman. Neither oar, nor song, nor laugh, nor flap
of sail, nor jest of mariner, disturbed the stillness. All in the near
view was clothed in midnight loveliness, and all in the distance bespoke
the solemnity of nature at peace. The city and the Lagunes, the gulf
and the dreamy Alps, the interminable plain of Lombardy, and the blue
void of heaven, lay alike in a common and grand repose.
There suddenly appeared a gondola. It issued from among the watery
channels of the town, and glided upon the vast bosom of the bay,
noiseless as the fancied progress of a spirit. A practised and nervous
arm guided its movement, which was unceasing and rapid. So swift indeed
was the passage of the boat, as to denote pressing haste on the part of
the solitary individual it contained. It held the direction of the
Adriatic, steering between one of the more southern outlets of the bay
and the well known island of St. Giorgio. For half an hour the exertions
of the gondolier were unrelaxed, though his eye was often cast behind
him, as if he distrusted pursuit; and as often did he gaze ahead,
betraying an anxious desire to reach some object that was yet invisible.
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