I was about to speak, when—­’We are even
Now at the point I meant,’ said Maddalo,
And bade the gondolieri cease to row. 95
’Look, Julian, on the west, and listen well
If you hear not a deep and heavy bell.’ 
I looked, and saw between us and the sun
A building on an island; such a one
As age to age might add, for uses vile, 100
A windowless, deformed and dreary pile;
And on the top an open tower, where hung
A bell, which in the radiance swayed and swung;
We could just hear its hoarse and iron tongue: 
The broad sun sunk behind it, and it tolled 105
In strong and black relief.—­’What we behold
Shall be the madhouse and its belfry tower,’
Said Maddalo, ’and ever at this hour
Those who may cross the water, hear that bell
Which calls the maniacs, each one from his cell, 110
To vespers.’—­’As much skill as need to pray
In thanks or hope for their dark lot have they
To their stern maker,’ I replied.  ’O ho! 
You talk as in years past,’ said Maddalo. 
’’Tis strange men change not.  You were ever still 115
Among Christ’s flock a perilous infidel,
A wolf for the meek lambs—­if you can’t swim
Beware of Providence.’  I looked on him,
But the gay smile had faded in his eye. 
’And such,’—­he cried, ’is our mortality, 120
And this must be the emblem and the sign
Of what should be eternal and divine!—­
And like that black and dreary bell, the soul,
Hung in a heaven-illumined tower, must toll
Our thoughts and our desires to meet below 125
Round the rent heart and pray—­as madmen do
For what? they know not,—­till the night of death
As sunset that strange vision, severeth
Our memory from itself, and us from all
We sought and yet were baffled.’  I recall 130
The sense of what he said, although I mar
The force of his expressions.  The broad star
Of day meanwhile had sunk behind the hill,
And the black bell became invisible,
And the red tower looked gray, and all between 135
The churches, ships and palaces were seen
Huddled in gloom;—­into the purple sea
The orange hues of heaven sunk silently. 
We hardly spoke, and soon the gondola
Conveyed me to my lodging by the way. 140
The following morn was rainy, cold, and dim: 
Ere Maddalo arose, I called on him,
And whilst I waited with his child I played;
A lovelier toy sweet Nature never made;
A serious, subtle, wild, yet gentle being, 145
Graceful without design and unforeseeing,
With eyes—­Oh speak not of her eyes!—­which seem
Twin mirrors of Italian Heaven, yet gleam
With such deep meaning, as we never see