Oh! who in such a night will dare

To tempt the wilderness ?
And who 'mid thunder-peals can hear

Our sigoal of distress ?
And who that heard our shouts would rise

To try the dubious road?
Nor rather deem from nightly cries

That outlaws were abroad.

Clouds burst, skies flash, oh, dreadful hour!

More fiercely pours the storm!
Yet bere one thought bas still the power

To keep my bosom warm.
While wandering through each broken path,

O'er brake and cragey brow:
While elements exhaust their wrath,

Sweet Florence! where art thou?
Not on the sea, not on the sea,

Thy bark hath long been gone :

the storm that pours on me
Bow down


head alone!
Full swiftly blew the swift Siroc

When last I press'd thy lip;
And long ere now, with foaming shock,

Impellid thy gallant ship.
Now thou art safe; nay, long ere now

Hast trod the shore of Spain :
'T were hard if ought so fair as thou

Should linger on the main.
And since I now remember thee,

In darkness and in dread,
As in those hours of revelry

Which mirth and music sped;
Do thou amidst the fair white walis,

If Cadiz yet be free,
At times from out her latticed halls

Look o'er the dark blue sea;
Then think upon Calypso's isles,

Endeard by days gone by ;
To others give a thousand smiles,

To me a single sigh.
And when the admiring circle mark

The paleness of thy face,
A half-form'd tear, a transient spark

Of melancholy grace,
Again thou 'lt smile, and blushing shuu

Some coxcomb's raillery;
Nor own for once thou thought'st of one,

Who ever thinks on thee.
Though smile and sigh alike are vain,

When sever'd hearts repine;
My spirit flies o'er mount and main,

And mourns in search of thine.

Yet here, amidst this barren isle,

Where panting nature droops the head,
Where only thou art scen to smile,

I view my parting hour with dread.
Though far from Albin's

cracey shore,
Divided by the dark-blue main,
A few brief rolling seasons o'er,

Perchance I view her cliffs again.
But wheresoe'er I now may roam,

Through scorching clime and varied sca,
Though time restore me to my home,

I ne'er shall bend mine eyes on thee. On thee, in whom at once conspire

All charms which heedless hearts can move, Whom but to see is to admire,

And oh! forgive the word -10 love. Forgive the word in one who ne'er

With such a word can more offend; And since thy heart I cannot share,

Believe me, what I am, thy friend. And who so cold as look on thee,

Thou lovely wanderer, and be less?
Nor be, what man should ever be,

The friend of Beauty in distress!
Ah! who would think that form had past

Through Danger's most destructive path,
Had braved the death-wing'd tempest's blast,

And 'scaped a tyrant's fiercer wrath? Lady! when I shall view the walls

Where free Byzantium once arose; And Stamboul's Oriental halls

The Turkish tyrants now enclose ; Though mightiest in the lists of fame

That glorious city still shall be,
On me't will hold a dearer claim,

As spot of thy nativity.
And though I bid thee now farewell,

When I behold that wondrous scene,
Since where thou art I may not dwell,
'T will soothe to be where thou hast been.

September, 1809.


JANUARY 16, 1810.
The spell is broke, the charm is flown!

Thus is it with life's fitful fever;
We madly smile when we should groan-

Delirium is our best deceiver. Each lucid interval of thought

Recals the woes of Nature's charter, And he that acts as wise men ought,

But lives, as saints have died, a martyr.

TO **

* *

WRITTEN BENEATH A PICTURE. DEAR object of defeated care!

Though now of love and thee bereft, To reconcile me with despair

Thine image and my tears are left. 'Tis said with sorrow time can cope;

But this I feel can ne'er be true: For by the death-blow of my hope

My memory immortal grew.

O Lady! when I left the shore,

The distant shore which gave me birth, I hardly thought to grieve once more,

To quit another spot on earth.



By those tresses unconfined,
Wood by each Ægean wind;
By those lids wliose jetty fringe
hiss thy soft cheeks' blooming tinge,
By those wild eyes like the roc,
Zunou, càs 1727.

MAY 9, 1810.

By that lip I long to taste;
By that zone-encircled waist;
By all the token-tlowers, that tell
What words can never speak so well;
By love's alternate joy aud woe,
Zon usū, u57276). .

JF in the month of dark December,

Leander, who was nightly wont (What maid will not the tale remember?)

To cross thy stream, broad Hellespont! If, when the wintry tempest roar'd,

lle sped to llero, nothing loath, And thus of old thy current pourd,

Fair Venus ! how I pity both!
For me, degcucrate modern wretch,

Though in the genial month of May,
My dripping limbs I feintly stretcli,

And think I've done a feat to-day:
Lut since he cross'd the rapid tide,

According to the doubtful story,
To w00,-and-Lord knows what beside,

And swam for love, as I for glory;
'T were hard to say who fured the best:

Sied mortals! thus the gods still plaguc you! He lost his labour, I my jest,

For die was drowo'd, and I've the ague.

Maid of Athens! I am gone;
Think of me, sweet, when alone. -
Though I fly to Istambol,2
Athens holds my heart and soul:
Can I cease to love thee? No!
Ζώη μου, σας αγαπώ.


SONG, Δεύτε, παίδες των Ιλλήνων, Written by Riga, who perisbed in the attempt to revolutionize Grert

The following translation is as literal as the author cald mal us verne; it is of the same measure as that of the original pago

Zión poh, 045 0,7% Tião. 2

ATUENS, 1910. Maid of Athens, cre we part, Give, oh, give me back my heart! Or, since that has left

my breast, keep it now, and take the rest! Hear my vow before I go, Zwapoi, ou; . 20. TC).

Sons of the Greeks, arise!

The glorious hour 's gone forth, Aud, worthy of sucli ties,

Display who gave us birth.

CITORI'S. Sons of Grecks, let us to

Ju arms against the foe, Til decir latest blood shall flow

in a river past our feet.

'On the 3d of May, 1819, while the Salsetto (laptain Bathurst) 13 lymu; io ile Dardanelles, Licut nant Lhinlal otthaifi and th: writer of those rhymes swam from the Luropean shore 10 ik initia -by-the-by, from Abydost. Sts would bore bul'n more correl, The whole distance from the place we started to our landing un throibir site, ilulin;th long the pericard by the current was computed by those on board the frivate towards of four English miles; thou, thi nitual hradeb in barily oni, Tb rapidity of the current in such that no bout ran row dirths irons, and it may in some measts.lentimates from the circumstoofth whole di tance bein; itc omplisin d by one of tbe parties in an hour and live, ond by bother in an bour and ten minuten. The water was 1tnwly old from the melting of the mountain-illows. ll out thrin web before, in pril, we had made an all'ingr, bet having raid n oll the way from the Troad bi same morning, and the watrien an i y chilluess, we found it nerussary to postpone il completion till the friate anchord below the castles, when we swam the straits, as just stated, coturing a considerable way alove too Evropo il, 1 3 1 lan link below the Asiatic fort. Chuvalier says that a youn, Jen sam the same dinar for his mistrement Olivis mentionsitahin: sonbiya. Wapolitan; but our con 4, Tarra; non, rememberedu ilir of these cir um stans, and tried to discuade us from the all mpt. number of the Salseters are wpa krowa to have complished greater distance; and ile only thing that surprised me was, that, di doulit bad le 'n entertained of the truth of Leander's story, botas. lfer had ever endeavoured to ascertain its practicability,

* Zue mue1, sas agipo, or Zur, pou, 6450972776, a Romair ons pression of tenderness: if I translate it I shall affront the genelinden, on it may se'm ibat I supposed they would not; and it I do 101, I may affrout th: ladies. For fear of any minonstration on this torth latter Isbill do so, being pardon of th: barned. It means, lifi, I love you' which sounds very prettily in all languares andis as much in fashion in Grence at this tasas, Jurnal Iloits, this) hrt words were not the Roman ladies, whose crotkarstas were all llellenized.

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Till happier hours restore the gift

Untainted back to thine.

Leonidas recalling,

That chief of ancient song, Who saved ye once from falling,

The terrible, the strong!
Who made that bold diversion

In old Thermopyle,
And warring with the Persian

To keep his country free;
With his three hundred waging

The battle, loog he stood, And, like a lion raging, Expired in seas of blood.

Sons of Greeks, etc.

Thy parting glance, which fondly beams,

An equal love may see : The tear that from thine eyelid streams

Can weep no change in me.

I ask no pledge to make me blest,

In gazing wheu alone;
Nor one memorial for a breast,

Whose thoughts are all thine own.

Nor need I write-to tell the tale

My pea were doubly weak: Oh! what can idle words avail,

Coless the heart could speak?

By day or niglie, in weal or woe,

That heart, no longer free, Must bear the love it cannot show,

And silent ache for thee.



« Μπαίνω μες το περιβόλι, ,

Ωραιότατη Χαηδή,» etc. The song from which this is taken is a great favourite with the young

girls of Athens of all classes. Their manner of singing it is by
verses in rotation, the wbole number present joining in i be borus.
I have heard it frequently at our • zópolin i he winter of 1800-u.
The air is plaintive and pretty..
I ENTER thy garden of roses,

Beloved and fair Haidée,
Each morning where Flora reposes,

For surely I see her in thee.
Oh, lovely! thus low I implore thee,

Receive this fond truth from my tongue,
Which utters its song to adore thee,

Yet trembles for what it has sung.
As the branch, at the bidding of nature,

Adds fragrance and fruit to the tree,
Through her eyes, through her every feature,

Sbines the soul of the young Haidée.
But the loveliest garden grows hateful

When love has abandon d the bowers;
Bring me hemlock--since mine is ungrateful,

That herb is more fragrant than flowers.
The poison, when pour'd from the chalice,

Will deeply embitter the bowl;
But when drunk to escape from thy malice,

Th. draughe shall be sweet to my soul.
Too cruel! in vain I implore thee

My heart from these horrors to save :
Will nought to my bosom restore thee?

Then open the gates of the grave.
As the chief who to combat advances,

Sccure of his conquest before,
Thus thou, with those eyes for thy lances,

Hast pierced through my heart to its core.
Ah, tell me, my soul! must I perish

By pangs which a smile would dispe!!
Would the hope, which thou once bad'se me cherish,

For torture repay me too well?
Now sad is the garden of roses,

Beloved but false laidée!
There Flora all wither'd reposes,

And mourns o'er thine absence with me.

Wiruout a stone to mark the spot,

And say, what truth might well have said, By all, save one, perchance forgot,

Ah, wherefore art thou lowly laid ? By many a shore and many a sea

Divided, yet beloved in vain; The past, the future fled to thee

To bid us meet-no-ne'er again! Could this have been--a word, a look,

That softly said, « We part in peace,» llad taught my bosom how to brook,

With fainter sighs, thy soul's release. And didst thou nol, since death for thee

Prepared a light and pangless dart, Once long for him thou ne'er shalt see,

Who lielu, and holds thee in his heart? Oh! who like him had watchd thee here?

Or sadly mark dily glazing eye, In that dread hour i re death appear,

When silent sorrow fears to sighi, Till all was past? But when no more

'T was thine to reck of human woe, Affection's heart-drops, gushing o'er,

Hail flowd as fast as now they flow. Shall they not flow, when many a day

In these, to me, deserted towers, Ere call'd but for a time away,

Affection's mingling tears were ours? Ours too the glance none saw beside;

The smile none else might understand ; The whisper thought of hearts allied,

The pressure of the thrilling hand; The kiss so guiltless and refined,

That love each warmer wish forbore; Those eyes proclaimd so pure a mind,

Even passion blushed to plead for more. The tone, that taught me 10 rejoice,

When prone, unlike thee, to repine; The song celestial from thy voice,

But sweet to me from none but thine;

ON PARTING Tue kiss, dear maid! thy lip has left,

Shall never part from mine,

Then bring me wine, the banquet bring;

Man was not form'd to live alone : I'll be that light unmeaning thing

That smiles with all, and weeps with none. It was not thus in days more dear;

Ju never would have been, but thou last tled, and left me lonely here:

Thou 'rt nothing-all are nothing now,

The pledge we wore-I wear it still,

But where is thine?--ah, where art thou? Oft have I borne the weight of ill,

But never bent beneath till now! Well hast thou left in life's best bloom The cup

of woe for me to drain. If rest alone be in the tomb,

I would not wish thee here again; But if in worlds more blest than this

Thy virtues seek a fitter sphere, Impart some portion of thy bliss,

To wean me from mine anguish here. Teach me-too early taught by thee!

To bear, forgiving and forgiven : On earth thy love was such to me,

It fain would form my hope in heaven!

In vain my lyre would lightly breathe!

The smile that sorrow fain would wear But mocks the woe that Jurks beneath,

Like roses o'er a sepulchre.
Though gay companions o'er the bowl

Dispel awhile the sense of ill;
Though pleasure fires the maddening soul,

The heart-the heart is lonely still!


Away, away, ye notes of woe!

Be silent, thou once soothing strain, Or I inustilec from hence, for, oli!

I dare not trust those sounds again. To me they speak of brighter days

But lull the chords, for now, alas! I must not think, I may not gaze

On what I am, on what I was.

On many a lone and lovely night

Je soothed to gaze upon the sky, For then I deemd the heavenly light

Shone sweetly on thy pensive eye ; And oft I thought at Cynthia's noon,

When sailing o'er the Egean wave, « Now Thyrza gazes on that moon»

Alas, it gleamd upon her grave!

When stretch'd on fever's sleepless bed,

And sickness shrunk my throbbing veins, « 'T is comfort sull,» I faintly said,

« That Thyrza cannot kuow my paius. Like freedom to the time-worn slave,

A boon 't is idle then to give, Relenting Nature vainly gave

My life wheu Thyrza ceased to live!

The voice that made those sounds more sweet

Is bushid, and all their charms are tied ; And now their softest notes repeat

A dirge, an anthem o'er the dead? Yes, Thyrza ! yes, thiey breathe of thee,

Beloved dust! since dust thou art; And all that once was harmony

Is worse than discord to my heart! 'T is silent all!- but on my ear

The well-remember'd echoes thrill; I hear a voice I would not hear,

A voice that now might well be still : Yet oft my doubting soul 'I will shake,

Even slumber owns its gentle tone, Till consciousness will vainly wake

To listen, though the dream bc flown. Sweet Thyrza! waking as in sleep,

Thou art but now a lovely dreamI star that trembled o'er the deep,

Then turn'd from earth its teuder beam. But he who through life's dreary way

Must pass, when heaven is veil'd in wrathi, Will long lament the vanishi ray

That scatter'd gladness o'er his path.

My Thyrza's pledge in better days,

When love and life alike were new, How different now thou meet'st my gaze!

llow tinged by time with sorrow's hue' The leart that gave itself with thee

Is silent--ah, were mine as still! Though cold as even the dead can be,

li feels, it sickens with the chill,

Thou bitter pledge! thou mournful token!

Though painful, welcome to my breast! Still, still preserve that love uubroken,

Or break the heart to which thou 'rt prei Tione tempers love, but not removes,

More hallow'd when its hope is fled . Oli! what are thousand living loves

To that which cannot quit the dead?



When Time, or soon or late, shall bring

The dreamless sleep that lulls the dead. Oblivion! may thy languid wing

Wave xently o'er my dying bed!

One struggle more,

and I am free From pangs that rend my beart in twain ; One last long sigh to love and thee,

Then back to busy life again. Iesuits me well to mingle now

With things that pever pleased before : Though every joy is fled below,

What future grief cau touch me more !

No baud of friends or heirs be there,

To werp or wish the coming blow : No maiden, with dishevell d hair,

To feel, or feign, decorons woe.

But silent let me sink to earth,

With no officious mourners near: I would not mar one hour of mirth,

Nor starile friendship with a fear. Yet Love, if Love in such an hour

Could nobly check its useless sighs, Might then exert its latest power

In her who lives and him who dies. 'T were sweet, my Psyche, to the last

Thy features still serene to see : Forgetful of its struggles past,

Even Pain itself should smile on thee. But vain the wish-for Beauty still

Will shrink, as sbrinks the ebbing breath; And woman's tears, produced at will,

Deceive in life, unman in death. Then lonely be my latest bour,

Without regret, without a groan! For thousands death hath ceased to lower,

And pain been transient or unknown. « Ay, but to die, and


Where all have gove, and all must go!
To be the nothing that I was

Ere born to life and living woe!
Count o'er the joys thine hours have seen,

Count o'er thy days from anguish free,
And know, whatever thou hast been,

'T is something better--not to be.

The better days of life were ours;

The worst can be but mine ;
The sun that cheers, the storm that lours,

Shall never more be thine.
The silence of that dreamless sleep
I envy now too much to weep;

Nor need I to repine
That all those charms bave pass d away
I might have watchi'd through long decay.
The flower in ripen'd bloom unmatch'd

Must fall the earliest prey;
Though by no hand untimely snatch'd,

The leaves must drop away:
And yet it were a greater grief
To watch it withering leaf by leaf,

Than see it pluck'd to-day;
Since earthly eye but ill can bear
To trace the change to foul from fair.

I know not if I could have borne

To see thy beauties fade;
The night that follow'd such a morn

Had worn a deeper shade :
Thy day without a cloud hath past,
And thou wert lovely to the last;

Extinguish'd, not decay'd ;
As stars that shoot along the sky
Shine brightest as they fall from high.

As once I wept, if I could weep,

My tears might well be shed, To think I was not near to keep

One vigil o'er thy bed ; To

Gaze, how fondly! on thy face, To fold thee in a faint embrace,

Uphold thy drooping head; And show that love, however vain, Nor thou nor I can feel again.

Yet how much less it were to gain,

Though thou hast left me free, The loveliest things that still remain,

Tban thus remember thee!
The all of thine that cannot die,
Through dark and dread eternity,

Returns again to me,
And more thy buried love endears
Than aught, except its living years.

STANZAS. - Heu! quanto minus est cum reliquis versari quam tui meminisse.

And thou art dead, as young and fair

As aught of mortal birth;
And form so soft, and charms so rare,

Too soon returo'd to earth!
Though Earth received them in her bed,
And o'er the spot the crowd may tread

In carelessness or mirth,
There is an eye which could not brook
A moment on that grave to look.
I will not ask where thou liest low,

Nor paze upon the spot;
There flowers or weeds at will may grow,

So I behold them not:
It is enough for me to prove
That what I loved, and long must love,

Like common earth can rot;
To me there needs no stone to tell,
*T is nothing that I loved so well.
Yet did I love thee 10 the last

As fervently as thou,
Who didst not change through all the past,

And canst not alter now.
The love where death has set his seal,
Nor age can chill, nor rival steal,

Nor falsehood disavow:
And what were worse, thou canst not see,
Or wrong, or change, or fault in me.

If sometimes in the kaunis of men

Thine image from my breast may fade, The lonely hour presents again

The semblance of thy gentle shade : And now that sad and silent bour

Thus much of thee can sull restore, And sorrow unobserved may pour

The plaint she dare not speak before.

Oh! pardon that in crowds awhile,

I waste one thought I owe to thee, And, self-condemn'd, appear to smile,

Unfaithful to thy memory!

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