« AnteriorContinuar »
So, my pretty Rose-tree, thou my mis- So blithe that even the slumbers tress shalt be,
Which hung around us seem gone, And the only one now I shall sigh to.' Till the lute's soft drowsy numbers
Again beguile them on. When the beautiful hue of thy cheek through the dew
Then, as each to his favourite sultana Of morning is bashfully peeping, In sleep is still breathing the sigh, 'Sweet tears,' I shall say (as I brush The name of some black-eyed Tirana them away),
Half breaks from our lips as we lie. • At least there's no art in this weep. Then, with morning's rosy twinkle, ing.'
Again we're up
goneAlthough thou shouldst die to- While the mule-bell's drowsy tinkle morrow,
Beguiles the rough way on. 'Twill not be from pain or sorrow, And the thorns of thy stem are not like
them With which hearts wound each other: TELL HER, OH TELL HER. So, my pretty Rose-tree, thou
TELL her, oh tell her, the lute she left tress shalt be,
lying And I'll ne'er again sigh to another.
Beneath the green arbour, is still
Breezes, like lovers, around it are sighSHINE OUT, STARS!
ing, SHINE out, Stars ! let heaven assemble But not a soft whisper replies to their Round us every
prayer. Lights that move not, lights that trem- | Tell her, oh tell her, the tree that, in ble,
going, All to grace this eve of May. Let the flower-beds all lie waking,
Beside the green arbour she playfully
set, And the odours shut up there,
Lovely as ever is blushing and blowing From their downy prisons breaking,
And not a bright leatlet has fallen Fly abroad through sea and air.
from it yet. And would Love, too, bring his sweet- So while away from that arbour for
ness, With our other joys to weave,
saken, Oh, what glory, what completeness,
The maiden is wandering, oh! let
her be Then would crown this bright May True as the lute that no sighing can
waken, Shine out, Stars ! let night assemble Round us every festal ray,
And blooming for ever unchanged as
the tree ! Lights that move not, lights that trem.
ble, To adorn this eve of May.
NIGHTS OF MUSIC.
Nights of music, nights of loving, THE YOUNG MULETEERS OF Lost too soon, remembered long, GRENADA.
When we went by moonlight roving,
Hearts all love and lips all song. Oh ! the joys of our evening posada, When this faithful lute recorded
When, resting at close of the day, All my spirit felt to thee, We, young Muleteers of Grenada, And that smile the song rewarded,
Sit and sing the last sunshine away! Worth whole years of fame to me!
Nights of song and nights of splendour, | Which smiles, and weeps, and trembles,
Filled with joys too sweet to last- Through April's earliest day. Joys that, like your star-light tender, No, no—all life before 11s;
While they shone no shadow cast : Howe'er its lights may play, Though all other happy hours
Can shed no lustre o'er us From my fading memory fly,
Like that first April ray. Of that star-light, of those bowers,
Our summer sun may squander
A blaze serener, grander,
Of heaven, die calm away :
But no-let life before us
Bring all the light it may, Our first young love resembles Twill shed no lustre o'er us That short but brilliant ray,
Like that first trembling ray.
AN EVENING IN GREECE.
In thus connecting together a series of Songs by a thread of poetical narrative, the object has been to combine Recitation with Music, so as to enable a greater number of persons to join in the performance, by enlisting, as readers, those who may not feel themselves competent to take a part as singers.
The Island of Zia, where the scene is laid, was called by the ancients Ceos, and was the birthplace of Simonides, Bacchylides, and other eminent persons. An account of its present state may be found in the Travels of Dr. Clarke, who says, that it appeared to him to be the best cultivated of any of the Grecian Isles.'— Vol. vi. p. 174.
T. M. first Ebening.
Virgin of Heaven ! speed their way, “The sky is bright, the breeze is fair,
Oh, speed their way,—the chosen
flow'r And the mainsail flowing, full and
Of Zia's youth, the hope and stay freeOur farewell word is woman's pray'r,
Of parents in their wintry hour, And the hope before us—Liberty !
The love of maidens, and the pride Farewell, farewell.
Of the young, happy, blushing bride, To Greece we give our shining
Whose nuptial wreath has not yet
diedblades, And our hearts to you, young Zian All, all are in that precious bark, Maids !
Which now, alas, no more is seen
Though every eye still turns to mark • The moon is in the heavens above,
The moonlight spot where it hath And the wind is on the foaming sea- been. Thus shines the star of woman's love On the glorious strife of Liberty!
Vainly you look, ye maidens, sires, Farewell, farewell. To Greece we give our shining
And mothers, your belov'd are blades,
[Maids !' And our hearts to you, young Zian
Now may you quench those signal fires,
upon Thus sung they from the bark, that From their dark deck-watching the
flame Turn'd to the sea its gallant prow,
As fast it faded from their view, Bearing within it hearts as brave, With thoughts, that, but for manly As e'er sought Freedom o'er the wave; shame, And leaving on that islet's shore, Had made them droop and weep like
Where still the farewell beacons burn, you. Friends, that shall many a day look Home to your chambers ! home, and o'er
pray The long, dim sea for their return, For the bright coming of that day,
When, bless'd by heaven, the Cross Fair oaks, that over Zia's vales,
Stand with their leafy pride unfurl'd; The Crescent from the Ægean deep, While Commerce, from her thousand And your brave warriors hastening sails, back,
Scatters their acorns through the Will bring such glories in their track, world !5 As shall, for many an age to come, Shed light around their name' and 'Twas here-as soon
as prayer and home.
(Those truest friends to all who weep) There is a Fount on Zia's isle,
Had lighten’d every heart, and made Round which in soft luxuriance, smile Ev'n sorrow wear a softer shadeAll the sweet flowers, of every kind, 'Twas here, in this secluded spot, On which the sun of Greece looks Amid whose breathings calm and down,
sweet Pleas'd as a lover on the crown Grief might be sooth’d, if not forgot, His mistress for her brow hath twin'd, The Zian nymphs resolv'd to meet When he beholds each floweret there, Each evening now, by the same light Himself had wish'd her most to wear; That saw their farewell tears that Here bloom’d the laurel-rose, whose
And try, if sound of lute and song, Hangs radiant round the Cypriot If wandering 'mid the moonlight shrines.
flowers And here those bramble-flowers, that In various talk, could charm along breathe
With lighter step, the lingering hours, Their odours into Zante's wines :2_ Till tidings of that Bark should come, The splendid woodbine, that, at eve, Or Victory waft their warriors home!
To grace their floral diadems,
When first they met—the wonted smile And that fair plant, whose tangled 'Twould touch ev'n Moslem heart to see
Of greeting having beam'd awhilestems Shine like a Nereïd's hair, 4 when The sadness that came suddenly spread,
O'er their young brows, when they
look'd round Dishevell’d o'er her azure bed ;All these bright children of the clime, Upon that bright, enchanted ground; (Each at its own most genial time,
And thought, how many a tine, with
those The summer, or the year's sweet prime,)
Who now were gone to the rude Like beautiful earth-stars, adorn
wars, The Valley, where that Fount is born : They there had met, at evening's close,
And danced till morn outshone the While round, to grace its cradie green,
stars! Groups of Velani oaks are seen, Towering on every verdant height- But seldom long doth hang th' eclipse Tall, shadowy, in the evening light, Of sorrow o'ersuch youthful breastsLike Genii, set to watch the birth The breath from her own blushing lips, Of some enchanted child of earth
That on the maiden's mirror rests,
1 Nerium Oleander. 'In Cyprus it retairs its
4 Cuscuta europæa.
From the twisting and ancient name, Rhododaphne, and the Cypriots twining of the stems, it is compared by the adorn their churches with the flowers on least Greeks to the dishevelled hair of the Nereïds,'days.'
- Journal of Dr. Sibthorpe, Walpole's Walpole's Turkey. Turkey.
5. The produce of the island in these acorns 2 Id.
alone amounts annually to fifteen thousand quin3 Lonicera Caprifolium, used by the girls of tals.'— Clarke': Travels. Patmos for garlands.
Not swifter, lighter from the glass, Th' immortal spot, o'er which the last Than sadness from her brow doth pass. Bright footsteps of his martyr pass'd ! Soon did it now, as round the Well
They sat, beneath the rising moon- While fçesh to every listener's thought And some, with voice of awe, would These legends of Leucadia brought tell
All that of Sappho's hapless flame Of midnight fays, and nymphs who Still hovers round the wrecks of Famedwell
The maiden, tuning her soft lute, In holy fountains-some would tune While all the rest stood round her, Their idle lutes, that now had lain,
mute, For days, without a single strain ;- Thus sketched the languishment of soul, While some, from all the rest apart,
That o'er the tender Lesbian stole; With laugh that told the lightend And, in a voice, whose thrilling tone heart,
Fancy might deem the Lesbian's own, Sat, whisp'ring in each other's ear
One of those fervid fragments gave, Secrets, that all in turn would hear ;- Which still-like sparkles of Greek Soon did they find this thoughtless play Fire, So swiftly steal their griefs away,
Undying, ev'n beneath the waveThat many a nymph, though pleas'd Burn ou thro' Time, and ne'er expire.
the while Reproach'd her own forgetful smile,
SONG. And sigh'd to think she could be gay.
As o'er her loom the Lesbian Maid Among these maidens there was one,
In love-sick languor hung her head, Who to Leucadial late had beenHad stood, beneath the evening sun,
Unknowing where her fingers stray'd, On its white towering cliffs, and seen
She weeping turn'd away, and said, The very spot where Sappho sung
‘Oh, my sweet mother—'tis in vain Her swan-like music, ere she sprung
cannot weave, as once I wove
So wilderd is my heart and brain (Still holding, in that fearful leap,
With thinking of that youth I By her lov'd lyre,) into the deep,
love ! 4 And dying quench'd the fatal fire, At once, of both her heart and lyre.
Again the web she tried to trace,
But tears fell o'er each tangled thread; Mutely they listen'd all—and well
While, looking in her mother's face, Did the young travellid maiden tell
Who o'er her watchful lean'd, she Of the dread height to which that steep
said, Beetles above the eddying deep —
Oh, my sweet mother—'tis in vainOf the lone sea-birds, wheeling round
I cannot weave, as once I woveThe dizzy edge with mournful sound
So wilder'd is my heart and brain And of those scented lilies 3 (some
With thinking of that youth I love!
In memory of the Minstrel Maid).
As each in tender musing stood,
i Now Santa Maura--the island from whose 3 See Mr. Goodisson's very interesting descripcliffs Sappho leaped into the sea.
tion of all these circumstances. 2 • The precipice, which is fearfully dizzy, is 4 I have attempted, in these four lines, to give about one hundred and fourteen feet from the some idea of that beautiful fragment of Sappho, water, which is of a profound depth, as appears beginning TXuxeia mâtep, which represents so from the dark-blue colour of the eddy that plays truly (as Warton remarks) the languor and round the pointed and projecting rocks.' listlessness of a person deeply in love." Goodisson's Ionian Isles.