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Di due vaghe donzelle, oneste, accorte

Lieti e miscri padri il ciel ne feo;
Il ciel, che degne di più nobil sorte,

L' una e l'altra veggendo, ambo chird o. La mia fu lolta da veloce morte

A le fumanti tedc d' Imenco :
La tua, Francesco, in sugellate porte

Eterna prigioniera or si rendeo.
Ma tu almeno potrai de la gelosa

Irrerneabil soglia, ove s'asconde

La sua tenera udir voce pictosa. lo verso un fiume d'amarissim' onda,

Corro a quel marmo in cui la figlia or posa, Batto e ribatto, ma nessun risponde.

Or two fair virgins, modest though admired,

Heaven made us happy, aod now, wretched sires;

Ileaven for a nobler doom their worth desires,
And gazing upon either, both required.
Mine, while the torch of Hymen newly fired

liecomes extinguishid, soon-100 soon expires :
But thine, within the closing grate retired,

Eternal captive, to her God aspires :
But thou at least from out the jealous door,

Which sinuts between your Dever-meeting eyes,

Mayat bicar her sweet and pious voice once more
I to the marble, where my daughter lies,
Rush,--the swoln flood of bitterness I

pour, And knock, and knock, and knock-but none replies:

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Oh! who in such a night will dare

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

Our signal 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 has 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 :
Oh may the storm that pours on me

Bow down my head alone!
Full swiftly blew the swift Siroc

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

Impell'd 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,

Endear'd 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 shun

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 1 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- to 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, wbat 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 ***
Og 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.

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.



By those tresses unconfined,
Wood by each Ægean wind;
By those lids wliose jetty fringe
Kiss thy soft cheeks' blooming tinge,
By those wild eyes like the roe,
27 usū, sis (727.

MAY 9, 1810.

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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 and woe,
Ζώη μου, σας αγαπώ.

Jy in the month of dark December,

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

To cross thy stream, broad Hellespont! If, when the wintry tempest roard,

He sped to llero, nothing loath,
And thus of old thy current pour d,

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

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

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

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

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

Sad mortals! thus the gods still plaguc you! Ile lost his labour, I my jest,

For he 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,
Athens holds


heart and soul: Can I cease to love thee! No! Ζώη μου, σας αγαπώ.


Ζώη μου, σας αγαπώ.

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 ! lear

my vow before I Zon 9.00, ous ir ju



Δεύτε, παίδες των Ελλήνων,
Written by Riga, who perisbed in the attempt to revolutionireret

The following translation is as literal as the author could bak inis
verne; it is of the same measure as that of the original que

Sons of the Greeks, arise!

The glorious hour 's gone forth,
And, worthy of such dies,

Display who gave us birth,

Sons of Greeks, let us go

Ju arms against the foe,
Til du hated blood shall flow

In a river past our feet.

'On the 3d of May, 1810, while tho Salsette Captain Bathurst) was Jyiu: in the Dardanelles. Licut bant Llinead of that frigate and the writer of these rhymes swam from the Luropean shore to ili Aniatie --by-the-boy, from Abydos to Sastos sould have been more corree. The whole distance from the place in wo stari to our landin ou throchur sile, ioluling the leagth we were carried by the current as computed by those on board the frinte atupwards of four Els miles; thou, the actual breadth in barcly one. The rapidity of the current in such that no bout cau row direitly idons, and it may in some measur: b* Calimated from the circumstance of the whole distanci bein, ac omplished by one of tbs parties in an hour and live, and bith other in an bour and ten minutes. The water 120 1'1trumrly cold from the melting of the mountain-mess. Ahout thrin wochs before, in April, we had made an atteinpt, but basing ridini all the way from the Troad the same morning, and that's Inf ani y chillness, we found it neres vary to postpone il compilation till the frigate anchord below the castles, when we swam the straits, as just stated, catering a considerable way ahore ibo Evropan, 1911 landing below the Asiatic fori. Chuvalier says that a young Jew sam the same data for his inistrent Olivrementions tshain: done by a Napolitan; but our oa ul, Tarragoa, reme uberetni bir of these circumstants, and tried to dissuade us from the altempt. number of the Salserte's crew were known to have accomplishda creates distance; and the only thing that surprised me was that, as doubts had been entertained of the truth of Leander's story, no lasila Ter bail over endeavoured to ascertaio its practicability, Zvo mou, sas ngmpo, or Zor, poi, 6'5097270,

Romaini pression of tenderness: if I translate it tolall affront i he penalman, slis it may xei'm that I supposed they could not; and if I do 10l, I may affrout th: ludies. For fear of any misionstraction on th: putoll latter I shall do so, berrime pardon of th: learned. It means, Y life, I love you!" bied sounds very prettily in all languages, and is as niuch in fashion in Greece at this was as, Juvenalt.Ila un, th:10 first words were amongst ibu Roman ladies, whose croneer's sous were all Ilellenized.

Then manfully despising

The Turkish tyrant's yoke,

your comtry see you rising,
And all her chains are broke.
Brave shades of chiefs and sages.

Belold the coming strife!
ljellenes of past o'ces,

Oh, start again to life!
At the sound of my trumpet, breaking

Your sleep, ol), join with me!
And the seven-liilld city seeking,
Fight, conquer, will we 're free.

Sons of Greeks, etc.

Sparia, Sparta, wly in slumbers

Lethargic dost thou lie?
Awake, and join thy numbers

With Athens, old ally!

In the East (where ladies are not taught to writs, leat this stor!: siribbleassi Dation. Howera, cinders, pe blos, etc., con vestbe seer Dos of the parties lig that universal deputy of Meron-aut: 1 soran. A rindas savs, I barn for thee; a bunch of funnit with hair, Take me and fly;- bus a pebble declans-sha: 342


* Constautinople,
3 Constantinople. «LATÚ19005

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 Thermopylæ,
And warring with the Persian

To keep his country free;
With his three hundred waging

The battle, long 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,

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

Whose thoughts are all thine own.

Nor need I write-to tell the tale

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

Unless the heart could speak?

By day or night, in weal or woe,

That beart, 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 whole number present joining in the chorus. I have beard it frequently at our - zó poln in the 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 abandond the bowers;
Bring me hemlock-ince mine is ungrateful,

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

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

The draught 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,

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

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

By pangs which a smile would dispel ?
Would the hope, which thou once bad'st 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 mouras o'cr thine absence with me.

Without 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-nc'er again! Could this have been-a word, a look,

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

With fainter siglas, thy soul's release. And didst thou not, since death for thee

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

Who held, and holds thee in his heart? Oh! wbo like him had watch'd thee here?

Or sadly mark'd thy glazing eye, In that dread hour cre death appear,

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

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

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

In these, to me, deserted towers, Ere callid 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'd thought of hearts allied,

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

That love each warmer wish forbore; Those eyes proclaim'd so pure a mind,

Even passion blush'd to plead for more. The tone, that taught me to rejoice,

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

But sweet to me from none but thine;

ON PARTING. The kiss, dear maid! thy lip has left,

shall never part from mine,

Then bring me wine, the banquet bring;

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

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

It never would have been, but thou Hast fled, aud 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 thec 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 liope 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 must flee 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 lope and lovely night

Je soothed to gaze upon the sky, For then I deem'd the heavenly light

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

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

Alas, it gleam d upon her grave!

When stretch'd on fever's sleepless bed,

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

« That Thyrza cannot know my pains. 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

Js hushd, and all their charms are fled ; And now their softest notes repeat

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

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 be flown.
Sweet Thyrza! waking as in sleep,

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

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

pass, when heaven is veil'd in wrath, Will long lament the vanishil 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 mcet'st my gaze!

llow tinged by time with sorrow's bue! The heart 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.

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Thou bitter pledge! thou mournful token!

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

Or break the heart to wliich thou 'rt presi' Time tempers love, but not removes,

More hallow'd when its hope is fled : Oh! what are thousand living loves

To that which cannot quit the dead?

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