CHORUS. Sons of Greeks! let us go In arms against the foe, Till their hated blood shall flow In a river past our feet. 2. Then manfully despising Let your country see you rising, Behold the coming strife! Hellenes of past ages, Oh, start again to life! At the sound of my trumpet, breaking Sons of Greeks, &c. * Constantinople. "Enlaλopos." Επίλοφος.” 3. Sparta, Sparta, why in slumbers Awake, and join thy numbers With Athens, old ally! Leonidas recalling, That chief of ancient song, Who sav'd ye once from falling, The terrible! the strong! Who made that bold diversion 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, Expir'd in seas of blood. Sons of Greeks, &c. 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 heard it frequently at our χόροι” in the winter of 1810-11. The air is plaintive and pretty. I ENTER thy garden of roses, Beloved and fair Haideé, 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, Through her eyes, through her every feature, 2. But the loveliest garden grows hateful But when drunk to escape from thy malice, 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! 3. As the chief who to combat advances Thus thou, with those eyes for thy lances, 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 Haideé! There Flora all wither'd reposes, And mourns o'er thine absence with me, |