Vainly from the fowler's clutches
           Would the bird take flight;
      'Gainst the strong is no appealing,
          Here, where might is right."

      They are dancing in the Doge's
           Palace on the sea;
      Down, far down, the cruel water
           Murmurs mockingly.

      But her cheek grows white: he comes not,
          Comes not whom she loves.
      Drooping, vacant, 'mong the dancers
           Listlessly she moves.
      Heard she not the heavy footsteps
           Cross the bridge of doom?
      Nor the iron fetters clanking,
           Of the living tomb?
      Hears she not a sudden splashing
           In the tide beneath?
      Drown'd in tones of mirth and music
           Are the sounds of Death.

      She is leaning from her casement
          O'er the dark polluted tide.
      Long ere set of sun to-morrow
          She will be a prince's bride.
      Little weens the royal bridegroom,
          Dreaming of her in his sleep,
     How she watches at her casement
          In the dead of night, to weep.
     "O thou dark and dismal channel,
          Fisher's net was never cast
      In thy guilty waters shrouding
          Bloody secrets of the past.
      In the day of retribution,
          When thy waves are backward roll'd,
      What an awful revelation
          Shall the startled world behold!
      Yet my spirit yearneth o'er thee,
          And my envious eyes would peer
      Through thy myst'ries, to recover
          All my broken heart holds dear.
      What a pearl lies hid beneath thee!
          I would venture fathoms deep
     To regain my stolen treasure
          Which thy gloomy caverns keep.
      They have made me fast, their victim!
          But I scorn their utmost might.
      I will break my chain, Beloved.
          And I will be with thee to-night!"

      They are waiting in the palace,
          Bridegroom, kinsmen, guest and all;
      Wherefore does the lady tarry
         From the wedding festival?
      What a rare and splendid pageant!
          What a scene of pomp and pride!
     Nothing at the marriage festa
          Wanting, but, alas! the bride.
      Hearts grow sick with hope deferred;
          Livid is the bridegroom's cheek;
      Near and distant for the lady
          High and low in vain they seek.
      Bridegroom, 'twixt thy dreams and waking—
          Blissful dreaming of thy bride—
      Heard'st thou not a spash, a ripple
          Break the stillness of the tide?
      She is safe for ever from thee,
          Wilt thou seek her in the deeps
      Of the foul forbidden water
          Where thy FAVOUR'D rival sleeps?
      Roll on, woful, wicked waters,
          Bear them out into the sea;
      Let them lie all undefiléd
           In the blue immensity!

     There is mourning in the palace,
           In the palace on the sea;
     Down, far down, the dooméd waters
          Throb lamentingly.

     MR. WHELKS AT THE PLAY.

BEING desirous to receive as favourable an
impression as possible of the theatrical
amusements provided for Mr. Whelks in the great
metropolis, we visited the other evening a temple
of the drama—specially devoted to him—which
has the advantage of being situated in close
proximity to the haunts of fashion. In the New
Cut, in Shoreditch, and in the Whitechapel-
road, Mr. Whelks has no opportunity of studying
those arts which refine the manners, &c.;
but here, in a slightly westerly quarter of the
town, it might naturally be expected that he
would derive great advantage from his association
with the nobility and gentry. We judged,
not illogically, we hope, that the Mr. Whelks
who serves salmon and soles to the aristocracy
of Tyburnia must be a being of a superior order
to the Mr. Whelks who serves Dutch plaice and
sprats to the democracy of Houndsditch and
Lambeth. Pursuing this reasoning, we came
to the conclusion that, as in this quarter Mr.
Whelks's tastes were refined by contact with
fashion, the entertainments provided for him in
his leisure hours were, doubtless, adapted to
gratify and sustain those tastes.

The theatre is situated in the centre of one of
the largest and most populous parishes in London,
and there is no rival establishment within
two miles. The district surrounding it, is a city
in itself, containing all the elements which
constitute society, both social and commercial. It
is inhabited by all classes, from the highest to
the lowest, and every kind of commerce, wholesale
and retail, is pursued within its boundaries.
In all this great town there is but one temple of
the drama, and that is devoted to Mr. Whelks.
The theatre is well constructed, prettily
decorated, brightly lighted, and clean. The stage
is capable of scenic effects on a large scale. The
prices of admission are exceedingly moderate:
to the boxes and stalls, one shilling, to the
pit, sixpence, and to the gallery, fourpence.
There is half-price to the boxes and stalls at
nine o'clock, but no half-price to the pit and
gallery. We arrived at nine o'clock, and, on
the payment of sixpence, gained admission to
the stalls. The curtain had just fallen upon the
thrilling drama of the Watercress Girl, and we
had leisure to survey the house. There were
very few in the stalls and boxes, but the pit and
gallery were crowded. We immediately recognised
Mr. Whelks in the front row of the
pit. He was accompanied by Mrs. Whelks,
Master Whelks, and the two Misses Whelks.
Mrs. Whelks was regaling herself and the