When, bless'd by heaven, the Cross shall sweep

The Crescent from the Egean deep, And your brave warriors hastening back,

Will bring such glories in their track,
As shall, for many an age to come,
Shed light around their name and
home.

There is a Fount on Zia's isle,
Round which in soft luxuriance, smile
All the sweet flowers, of every kind,
On which the sun of Greece looks
down,

Pleas'd as a lover on the crown
His mistress for her brow hath twin'd,
When he beholds each floweret there,
Himself had wish'd her most to wear;
Here bloom'd the laurel-rose,1 whose
wreath

Hangs radiant round the Cypriot shrines.

And here those bramble-flowers, that breathe

Their odours into Zante's wines :2 The splendid woodbine, that, at eve, To grace their floral diadems, The lovely maids of Patmos weave :3And that fair plant, whose tangled

stems

Shine like a Nereïd's hair, spread,

Dishevell'd o'er her azure bed;

when

All these bright children of the clime,
(Each at its own most genial time,
The summer, or the year's sweet
prime,)

Like beautiful earth-stars, adorn
The Valley, where that Fount is born:
While round, to grace its cradle green,
Groups of Velani oaks are seen,
Towering on every verdant height—
Tall, shadowy, in the evening light,
Like Genii, set to watch the birth
Of some enchanted child of earth-

Fair oaks, that over Zia's vales,
Stand with their leafy pride unfurl'd;
While Commerce, from her thousand
sails,

Scatters their acorns through the world !5

as prayer and

'Twas here- -as soon sleep (Those truest friends to all who weep) Had lighten'd every heart, and made Ev'n sorrow wear a softer shade'Twas here, in this secluded spot,

Amid whose breathings calm aud sweet

Grief might be sooth'd, if not forgot,

The Zian nymphs resolv'd to meet Each evening now, by the same light That saw their farewell tears that night;

And try, if sound of lute and song,

If wandering 'mid the moonlight flowers

In various talk, could charm along

With lighter step, the lingering hours, Till tidings of that Bark should come, Or Victory waft their warriors home! When first they met-the wonted smile 'Twould touch ev'n Moslem heart to see Of greeting having beam'd awhileThe sadness that came suddenly O'er their young brows, when they look'd round

Upon that bright, enchanted ground; And thought, how many a time, with those

Who now were gone to the rude

4 Cuscuta europæa. From the twisting and twining of the stems, it is compared by the Greeks to the dishevelled hair of the Nereids.'-Walpole's Turkey.

5 The produce of the island in these acorns alone amounts annually to fifteen thousand quin

Not swifter, lighter from the glass, Than sadness from her brow doth pass. Soon did it now, as round the Well They sat, beneath the rising moonAnd some, with voice of awe, would tell

Of midnight fays, and nymphs who dwell

In holy fountains-some would tune Their idle lutes, that now had lain, For days, without a single strain ;While some, from all the rest apart, With laugh that told the lighten'd heart,

Sat, whisp'ring in each other's ear Secrets, that all in turn would hear;— Soon did they find this thoughtless play So swiftly steal their griefs away,

That many a nymph, though pleas'd the while

Reproach'd her own forgetful smile, And sigh'd to think she could be gay.

Among these maidens there was one,

Who to Leucadia1 late had been-
Had stood, beneath the evening sun,
On its white towering cliffs, and seen
The very spot where Sappho sung
Her swan-like music, ere she sprung
(Still holding, in that fearful leap,
By her lov'd lyre,) into the deep,
And dying quench'd the fatal fire,
At once, of both her heart and lyre.

Mutely they listen'd all-and well
Did the young travell'd maiden tell
Of the dread height to which that steep
Beetles above the eddying deep2—
Of the lone sea-birds, wheeling round
The dizzy edge with mournful sound-
And of those scented lilies3 (some

Of whose white flowers, the Zian said
Herself had gathered and brought home
In memory of the Minstrel Maid).
Still blooming on that fearful place,
As if call'd up by Love, to grace

1 Now Santa Maura-the island from whose cliffs Sappho leaped into the sea.

2 The precipice, which is fearfully dizzy, is about one hundred and fourteen feet from the water, which is of a profound depth, as appears from the dark-blue colour of the eddy that plays round the pointed and projecting rocks.' Goodisson's Ionian Isles.

Th' immortal spot, o'er which the last
Bright footsteps of his martyr pass'd!
While fresh to every listener's thought
These legends of Leucadia brought
All that of Sappho's hapless flame
Still hovers round the wrecks of Fame-
The maiden, tuning her soft lute,
While all the rest stood round her,
mute,

Thus sketched the languishment of soul,
That o'er the tender Lesbian stole ;
And, in a voice, whose thrilling tone
Fancy might deem the Lesbian's own,
One of those fervid fragments gave,

Which still-like sparkles of Greek
Fire,

Undying, ev'n beneath the wave-
Burn on thro' Time, and ne'er expire.

SONG.

As o'er her loom the Lesbian Maid

In love-sick languor hung her head, Unknowing where her fingers stray'd, She weeping turn'd away, and said, 'Oh, my sweet mother-'tis in vain

I cannot weave, as once I woveSo wilder'd is my heart and brain With thinking of that youth I love !' 4

Again the web she tried to trace,

But tears fell o'er each tangled thread; While, looking in her mother's face, Who o'er her watchful lean'd, she said,

'Oh, my sweet mother-'tis in vain-
I cannot weave, as once I wove-
So wilder'd is my heart and brain

With thinking of that youth I love!'

A silence follow'd this sweet air, As each in tender musing stood,

3 See Mr. Goodisson's very interesting description of all these circumstances.

4 I have attempted, in these four lines, to give some idea of that beautiful fragment of Sappho, beginning Tuxeîa pâтep, which represents so truly (as Warton remarks) the languor and listlessness of a person deeply in love."

Thinking, with lips that mov'd in pray'r,

Of Sappho and that fearful flood: While some, who ne'er till now had known

How much their hearts resembled hers,

Felt as they made her griefs their own, That they, too, were Love's worship

pers.

At length a murmur, all but mute,
So faint it was, came from the lute
Of a young melancholy maid,
Whose fingers, all uncertain play'd
From chord to chord, as if in chase

Of some lost melody, some strain
Of other times, whose faded trace

She sought among those chords again.

Slowly the half-forgotten theme (Though born in feelings ne'er forgot) Came to her memory-as a beam

Falls broken o'er some shaded spot;And while her lute's sad symphony Fill'd up each sighing pause between ; And Love himself might weep to see

(As fays behold the wither'd green Where late they danced) what misery May follow where his steps have been

Thus simply to the list'ning throng
She breath'd her melancholy song.

SONG.

WEEPING for thee, my love, through the long day,

Lonely and wearily life wears away, Weeping for thee, my love, through the long night

No rest in darkness, no joy in light! Nought left but Memory, whose dreary tread

Sounds through this ruin'd heart, where all lies dead

Wakening the echoes of joy long fled !

1 This word is defrauded here, I suspect, of a syllable; Dr. Clarke, if I recollect right, makes it 'Balalaika.'

2 'I saw above thirty parties engaged in danc

Of many a stanza, this alone
Had scaped oblivion-like the one
Stray fragment of a wreck, that thrown,
With the lost vessel's name, ashore,
Tells who they were that live no more.

When thus the heart is in a vein
Of tender thought, the simplest strain
Can touch it with peculiar power-

As when the air is warm, the scent
Of the most wild and rustic flower
Can fill the whole rich element-
And, in such moods, the homeliest
tone

That's link'd with feelings, once our

own

With friends or joys gone by-will be Worth choirs of loftiest harmony!

But some there were, among the group Of damsels there, too light of heart To let their fancies longer droop,

Ev'n under music's melting art: And one upspringing, with a bound, From a low bank of flowers, look'd round

With eyes that, though they laugh'd with light,

Had still a lingering tear within; And while her hand in dazzling flight, Flew o'er a fairy mandolin, Thus sung the song her lover late

Had sung to her-the eve before That joyous night, when, as of yore, All Zia met, to celebrate

The Feast of May, on the sea-shore.

SONG.

WHEN the Balaika1

Is heard o'er the sea, I'll dance the Romaika By moonlight with thee. If waves, then, advancing, Should steal on our play, Thy white feet, in dancing,

Shall chase them away."

ing the Romaika upon the sand; in some of those groups, the girl who led them chased the retreating wave.'-Douglas on the Modern Greeks.

When the Balaika

Is heard o'er the sea, Thou'lt dance the Romaika, My own love, with me.

Then, at the closing

Of each merry lay, We'll lie reposing,

Beneath the night ray! Or if, declining,

The moon leave the skies, We'll talk by the shining Of each other's eyes.

Oh then, how featly

The dance we'll renew, Wandering fleetly

Its light mazes through!1 Till stars shining o'er us

From heaven's high bow'rs, Would give their bright chorus For one dance of ours! When the Balaika

Is heard o'er the sea, Thou'lt dance the Romaika, My own love, with me.

How changingly for ever veers

With hand in hand, like links, enlock'd, Through the light air they seem'd to flit

In labyrinthine maze, that mock'd Each dazzled eye that follow'd it?' Some call'd aloud the Fountain Dance!' While one young, dark-eyed Amazon, Whose step was air-like, and whose glance

Flash'd, like a sabre in the sun, Sportively said, 'Shame on these soft And languid strains we hear so oft. Daughters of Freedom! have not we

Learn'd from our lovers and our sires The Dance of Greece, while Greece was free

That Dance, where neither flutes nor
lyres,

But sword and shield clash on the ear,
A music tyrants quake to hear ??
Heroines of Zia, arm with
And dance the dance of Victory!'

me,

Thus saying, she, with playful grace, Loos'd the wide hat, that o'er her face (From Anatolia3 came the maid)

Hung, shadowing each sunny charm: And, with a fair young armourer's aid, Fixing it on her rounded arm,

tears!

Ev'n as in April, the light vane
Now points to sunshine, now to rain.
Instant this lively lay dispell'd

The shadow from each blooming brow, And Dancing, joyous Dancing, held

Full empire o'er each fancy now. But say what shall the measure be? 'Shall we the old Romaika tread' (Some eager ask'd) as anciently

'Twas by the maids of Delos led, When, slow at first, then circling fast, As the gay spirits rose-at last,

In dancing the Romaika (says Mr. Douglas) they begin in slow and solemn step till they have gained the time, but by degrees the air becomes more sprightly; the conductress of the dance sometimes setting to her partner, sometimes darting before the rest, and leading them through the most rapid revolutions; sometimes crossing under the hands which are held up to let her pass, and giving as much liveliness and intricacy as she can to the figures, into which she conducts her companious, while their business is to follow

Then, springing tow'rds a grove that spread

Its canopy of foliage near, Pluck'd off a lance-like twig, and said, 'To arms, to arms!' while o'er her head

She wav'd the light branch, as a spear Promptly the laughing maidens all Obey'd their Chief's heroic call ;Round the shield-arm of each was tied Hat, turban, shawl, as chance might be;

The grove, their verdant armoury, Falchion and lance1 alike supplied;

her in all her movements, without breaking the chain, or losing the measure.'

2 For a description of the Pyrrhic Dance, see De Guys, &c.-It appears from Apuleius (lib. x.) that this war-dance was, among the ancients, sometimes performed by females.

3 See the costumes of the Greek women of Na tolia in Castellan s Mœurs des Othomans. The sword was the weapon chiefly used in this dance.