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Nights of song and nights of splendour, | Which smiles, and weeps, and trembles,

Filled with joys too sweet to lastJoys that, like your star-light tender, While they shone no shadow cast: Though all other happy hours From my fading memory fly, Of that star-light, of those bowers, Not a beam, a leaf, shall die!

OUR FIRST YOUNG LOVE. OUR first young love resembles That short but brilliant ray,

Through April's earliest day. No, no-all life before us; Howe'er its lights may play, Can shed no lustre o'er us

Like that first April ray.

Our summer sun may squander
A blaze serener, grander,
Our autumn beam may, like a dream
Of heaven, die calm away:
But no-let life before us

Bring all the light it may,
Twill shed no lustre o'er us
Like that first trembling ray.

AN EVENING IN GREECE.

1827.

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.

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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-

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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

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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

3 Lonicera Caprifolium, used by the girls of tals.'-Clarke's Travels. Patmos for garlands.

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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.

2The 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 woveSo 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 Tλvxeîa μâтep, 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.

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