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" Of joy may rise, but it is quenched and drowned
In the dim whirlpools of this dream obscure,
Soon its exhausted waters will have found
« A lair of rest beneath thy spirit pure,
O Athanase!-in one so good and great,
Evil or tumult cannot long endure."
So spake they : idly of another's state
Babbling vain words and fond philosophy
This was their consolation ; such debate
Men held with one another ; nor did he
Like one who labours with a hnman woe
Decline this talk ; as if its theme might be
Another, not himself, he to and fro
Questioned and canvassed it with subtlest wit,
And none but those who loved him best could know
That which he knew not, how it galled and bit
His weary mind, this converse vain and cold;
For like an eyeless night-mare grief did sit
Upon his being ; a snake which fold by fold
Pressed out the life of life, a clinging fiend
Which clenched him if he stirred with deadlier hold ;-
And so his grief remained - let it remain-untold."

* The Author was pursuingia fuller devele ent of the ideal cha. racter of Athanase, when it struck him that in an attempt at extreme refinement and analysis, his conceptions might be betrayed into the assuming a morbid character. The reader will juilge whether he is a Joser or a gainer by tbis difference.- Aulhor's Note.

December, 1817.




Prince Athanase had one beloved friend,
An old, old man, with hair of silver white,
And lips where heavenly smiles would hang and blend

With his wise words; and eyes whose arrowy light
Shone like the reflex of a thousand minds.
He was the last whom superstition's blight
Had spared in Greece—the blight that cramps and blinds,
And in his olive bower at noe
Had sate from earliest youth. Like one who finds

A fertile island in the barren sea,
One mariner who has survived his mates
Many a drear month in a great ship-so he

With soul-sustaining songs, and sweet debates
Of ancient lore, there fed his lonely being :-
“ The mind becomes that which it contemplates,".

And thus Zonoras, by forever seeing
Their bright creations, grew like wisest men;
And when he heard thecrash of nations fleeing

A bloodier power than ruled thy ruins then,
O saorod Hellas ! many weary years
He wandered, till the path of Laian’s glen
Was grass-grown—and the unremembered tears
Were dry in Laian for their honoured chief,
Who fell in Byzant, pierced by Moslem spears :
And as the lady looked with faithful grief
From her high lattice o'er the rugged path,
Where she once saw that horseman toil, with brief

And blighting hope, who with the news of death Struck hody and sonl as with a mortal blight, She saw beneath the chesnuts, far beneath,

An old man toiling up, A weary wight;
And soon within her hospitable hall
She saw his white hairs glittering in the light

Of the wood fire, and round his shoul lers fall;
And his wan visage and his withered mien
Yet calm and C

J and majestical.

And Athanase, her child, who must have been
Then three years old, sate opposite and gazel.


Such was Zonoras; and as daylight finds
An amaranth glittering on the path of frost,
When autumn nights have nipt all weaker kindi,

Thus had his age, dark, cold, an:) tempest-tost,
Shone truth upon Zonoras; and he filled
From fountains pure, nigh overgrown and lost,

Tlie spirit of Prince Athanase, a child,
With soul-sustaining songs of ancient lore.
And philosophic wisdom, clear and mild.
And sweet and subtle talk they evermore,
The pupil and master shared ; until,
Sharing the undiminishable store,

The youth, as shadows on a grassy hill
Outrun the winds that chase them, soon outran
His teacher, and did teach with native skill

Strange truths and new to that experienced man;
Still they were friends, as few have ever been
Who mark the extremes of life's discor lant span

And in the caverns of the forest green,
Or by the rocks of echoing ocean hoar,
Zonoras and Prince Athanase were seen

By summer woodmen; and when winter's roar
Sounded o’er earth and sea its blast of war,
The Balearic fisher, driven from shore,

Hanging upon the peaked wave afar,
Then saw their lamp from Laian's turret glean,
Piercing the stormy darkness like a star,
Which pours beyond the sea one stedfast bean,
Whilst all the constellations of the sky
Seemed wrecked.

They did but seen

For, lo! the wintry clouds are all gone by,
And bright Arcturus through yon pines is glowing,
And far o'er southern waves, immoveably
Belted Orion hangs—warm light is flowing
From the young

oon into the sunset's chasm.“ O, summer night! with power divine, bestowing « On thine own bird the sweet enthusiasm Which overflows in notes of liquid gladness, Filling the sky like light ! How many a spasm “ Of fevered brains, oppressed with grief and madness, Were lulled by thee, delightful nightingale ! And these soft waves, murmuring a gentle sadness,

“ And the far sighings of yon piny dale
Made vocal by some wind, we feel not here, *•
I bear alone what nothing may avail
To lighten—a strange load !”-No human ear
Heard this lament; but o'er the visage wan
Of Athanase, a rufling atmosphere
Of dark emotion, a swift shadow ran,
Like wind upon some forest-bosomed lake,
Glassy and dark.-And that divîne old man
Beheld his mystic friend's whole being shake,
Even where its inmost depths were gloomiest-
And with a calm and measured voice he spake,
And with a soft and equal pressure, prest
That cold lean hand :-“ Dost thou remember yet.
When the curved moon then lingering in the west

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