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Oh! who in such a night will dare
To tempt the wilderness ?
Our sigoal of distress ?
To try the dubious road?
That outlaws were abroad.
Clouds burst, skies flash, oh, dreadful hour!
More fiercely pours the storm!
To keep my bosom warm.
O'er brake and cragey brow:
Sweet Florence! where art thou?
Thy bark hath long been gone :
the storm that pours on me
When last I press'd thy lip;
Impellid thy gallant ship.
Hast trod the shore of Spain :
Should linger on the main.
In darkness and in dread,
Which mirth and music sped;
If Cadiz yet be free,
Look o'er the dark blue sea;
Endeard by days gone by ;
To me a single sigh.
The paleness of thy face,
Of melancholy grace,
Some coxcomb's raillery;
Who ever thinks on thee.
When sever'd hearts repine;
And mourns in search of thine.
Yet here, amidst this barren isle,
Where panting nature droops the head,
I view my parting hour with dread.
Perchance I view her cliffs again.
Through scorching clime and varied sca,
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?
The friend of Beauty in distress!
Through Danger's most destructive path,
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,
As spot of thy nativity.
When I behold that wondrous scene,
WRITTEN AT ATHENS.
JANUARY 16, 1810.
Thus is it with life's fitful fever;
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.
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.
WRITTEN AFTER SWIMMING FROM SESTOS
By those tresses unconfined,
MAY 9, 1810.
By that lip I long to taste;
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!
Though in the genial month of May,
And think I've done a feat to-day:
According to the doubtful story,
And swam for love, as I for glory;
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;
TRANSLATION OF THE FAMOUS GREEK WAR
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.
Till happier hours restore the gift
Untainted back to thine.
That chief of ancient song, Who saved ye once from falling,
The terrible, the strong!
In old Thermopyle,
To keep his country free;
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;
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.
TRANSLATION OF THE ROMAIC SONG,
« 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
Beloved and fair Haidée,
For surely I see her in thee.
Receive this fond truth from my tongue,
Yet trembles for what it has sung.
Adds fragrance and fruit to the tree,
Sbines the soul of the young Haidée.
When love has abandon d the bowers;
That herb is more fragrant than flowers.
Will deeply embitter the bowl;
Th. draughe shall be sweet to my soul.
My heart from these horrors to save :
Then open the gates of the grave.
Sccure of his conquest before,
Hast pierced through my heart to its core.
By pangs which a smile would dispe!!
For torture repay me too well?
Beloved but false laidée!
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.
Dispel awhile the sense of ill;
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
Ere born to life and living woe!
Count o'er thy days from anguish free,
'T is something better--not to be.
The better days of life were ours;
The worst can be but mine ;
Shall never more be thine.
Nor need I to repine
Must fall the earliest prey;
The leaves must drop away:
Than see it pluck'd to-day;
I know not if I could have borne
To see thy beauties fade;
Had worn a deeper shade :
Extinguish'd, not decay'd ;
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!
Returns again to me,
STANZAS. - Heu! quanto minus est cum reliquis versari quam tui meminisse.
And thou art dead, as young and fair
As aught of mortal birth;
Too soon returo'd to earth!
In carelessness or mirth,
Nor paze upon the spot;
So I behold them not:
Like common earth can rot;
As fervently as thou,
And canst not alter now.
Nor falsehood disavow:
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!