When thro' the Piazzetta

  Night breathes her cool air,

Then, dearest Ninetta,

  I'll come to thee there.

Beneath thy mask shrouded,

  I'll know thee afar,

As Love knows tho' clouded

  His own Evening Star.

In garb, then, resembling

  Some gay gondolier,

I'll whisper thee, trembling,

  "Our bark, love, is near:

"Now, now, while there hover

  "Those clouds o'er the moon,

"'Twill waft thee safe over

  "Yon silent Lagoon."