The Merchant of Venice
I.
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.”