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But, wandering on through distant climes,

He learnt to bear his load ofgrief; Just gave a sigh to other times,

And found in busier scenes relief,

Thus, lady! will it be with me,

And I must view thy charms no more; For, while I linger near to thee,

I sigh for all I knew before.

In flight I shall be surely wise, Escaping from temptation's snare; I cannot view my paradise

Without the wish of dwelling there.

REMIND ME NOT, REMIND ME NOT.
REMIND me not remind me not,

Of those beloved, those vanish'd hours,
When all my soul was given to thee;
Hours that may never be forgot,
Till time unnerves our vital powers,
And thou and I shall cease to be.

Can I forget-canst thou forget,
When playing with thy golden hair,

How quick thy fluttering heart did move Oh! by my soul, I see thee yet,

With eyes so languid, breast so fair,

And lips, though silent, breathing love.

When thus reclining on my breast,

Those eyes threw back a glance so sweet,
As half reproached, yet raised desire,
And still we near and nearer prest,
And still our glowing lips would meet,
As if in kisses to expire,

And then those pensive eyes would close,
And bid their lids each other seek,
Veiling the azure orbs below;
While their long lashes' darken'd gloss
Seem'd stealing o'er thy brilliant cheek,
Like raven's plumage smooth'd on snow.

I dreamt last night our love return'd,
And, sooth to say, that very dream
Was sweeter in its phantasy,

Than if for other hearts I burn'd,

For eyes that ne'er like thine could beam
In rapture's wild reality.

Then tell me not, remind me not,
Of hours which, though for ever gone,
Can still a pleasing dream restore,
Till thou and I shall be forgot,
And senseless as the mouldering stone,
Which tells that we shall be no more.

And from that hour, when first thy tongue
Confess'd a love which equall'd mine.
Though many a grief my heart hath wrung,
Unknown, and thus unfelt by thine,

None, none hath sunk so deep as this-
To think how all that love hath flown;
Transient as every faithless kiss,

But transient in thy breast alone.

And yet my heart some solace knew,
When late I heard thy lips declare,
In accents once imagined true,
Remembrance of the days that were.

Yes! my adored, but most unkind!
Though thou wilt never love again,
To me 'tis doubly sweet to find
Remembrance of that love remain

Yes! 'tis a glorious thought to me, Nor longer shall my soul repine, Whate'er thou art, or e'er shalt be, Thou hast been dearly, solely mine.

AND WILT THOU WEEP WHEN I AM
LOW?

AND wilt thou weep when I am low?
Sweet lady! speak those words again:
Yet if they grieve thee, say not so-

I would not give that bosom pain.

My heart is sad, my hopes are gone,
My blood runs coldly through my breast;
And when I perish, thou alone

Wilt sigh above my place of rest.

And yet, methinks, a gleam of peace

Doth through my cloud of anguish shine; And for a while my sorrows cease,

To know thy heart hath felt for mine

O lady blessed be that tear

It falls for one who cannot weep; Such precious drops are doubly dear

To those whose eyes no tear may steep.

Sweet lady! once my heart was warm
With every feeling soft as thine;
But beauty's self hath ceased to charm
A wretch created to repine.

Yet wilt thou weep when I am low?
Sweet lady! speak those words again;
Yet if they grieve thee, say not so→→
I would not give that bosom pain.

THERE WAS A TIME, I NEED NOT NAME.

THERE was a time, I need not name,
Since it will ne'er forgotten be,
When all our feelings were the same
As still my soul hath been to thee.

FILL THE GOBLET AGAIN,
A SONG,

FILL the goblet again! for I never before
Felt the glow which now gladdens my heart to its

core ;

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'Tis long since I beheld that eye
Which gave me bliss or misery;
And I have striven, but in vain,
Never to think of it again;
For though I fly from Albion,
I still can only love but one.
As some lone bird, without a mate,
My weary heart is desolate;

I look around, and cannot trace
One friendly smile, or welcome face;
And ev'n in crowds am still alone,
Because I cannot love but one.

And I will cross the whitening foam,
And I will seek a foreign home;
Till I forget a false fair face,

1807

I ne'er shall find a resting-place;
My own dark thoughts I cannot shun,
But ever love, and love but one.
The poorest, veriest wretch on carth
Still finds some hospitable hearth,
Where Friendship's or Love's softer glow
May smile in joy or soothe in woe;
But friend or leman I have none,
Because I cannot love but one.

I go-but wheresoe'er I flee
There's not an eye will weep for me;
There's not a kind congenial heart,
Where I can claim the meanest part;
Nor thou, who hast my hopes undone,
Wilt sigh, although I love but one.

To think of every early scene,

Of what we are, and what we've been,
Would whelm some softer hearts with woe-
But mine, alas! has stood the blow;
Yet still beats on as it begun,
And never truly loves but one.

And who that dear loved one may be,
Is not for vulgar eyes to see;
And why that early love was crost,
Thou know'st the best, I feel the most:
But few that dwell beneath the sun
Have loved so long, and loved but one.
I've tried another's fetters too,
With charms perchance as fair to view;
And I would fain have loved as well,
But some unconquerable spell
Forbade my bleeding breast to own
A kindred care for aught but one.
'Twould soothe to take one lingering view,
And bless thee in my last adieu;
Yet wish I not those eyes to weep
For him that wanders o'er the deep;
His home, his hope, his youth are gone,
Yet still he loves, and loves but one.

TO FLORENCE.

OH Lady! when I left the shore,

The distant shore which gave me birth.

I hardly thought to grieve once more, To quit another spot on earth:

Yet here, amidst this barren isle,

Where panting Nature droops the head, Where only thou art seen to smile,

I view my parting hour with dread.

Though far from Albin's craggy shore,
Divided by the dark blue main;
A few brief rolling seasons o'er,
Perchance I view her cliffs again :

But wheresoe'er I now may roam,
Through scorching clime and varied sea,
Though Time restore me to my home,

I ne'er shall bend mine eyes on thee:

On thee, in whom at once conspire

All charms which heedless hearts can move, Whom but to see is to admire,

And, oh! forgive the word-to love.

Forgive the word, in one who ne'er

With such a word can more offend;

And since thy heart I cannot share, Believe me, what I am, thy friend.

And who so cold as look on thee,

Thou lovely wanderer, and be less? Nor be, what man should ever be,

The friend of Beauty in distress?

Ah! who would think that form had past
Through Danger's most destructive path,
Had braved the death-wing'd tempest's blast,
And 'scaped a tyrant's fiercer wrath?

Lady! when I shall view the walls
Where free Byzantium once arose,
And Stamboul's Oriental halls

The Turkish tyrants now enclose;
Though mightiest in the lists of fame,
That glorious city still shall be ;
On me 'twill hold a dearer claim,
As spot of thy nativity:

And though I bid thee now farewell,
When I behold that wondrous scene,
Since where thou art I may not dwell,
'Twill soothe to be where thou hast been.

LINES WRITTEN IN AN ALBUM, AT
MALTA.

As o'er the cold sepulchral stone
Some name arrests the passer-by;
Thus, when thou view'st this page alone,
May mine attract thy pensive eye!

And when by thee that name is read, Perchance in some succeeding year, Reflect on me as on the dead,

And think my heart is buried here.

STANZAS

COMPOSED DURING A THUNDER-STORM, AND WHILE BEWILDERED NEAR MOUNT PINDUS IN ALBANIA.

CHILL and mirk is the nightly blast,

Where Pindus' mountains rise, And angry clouds are pouring fast The vengeance of the skies.

Our guides are gone, our hope is lost,
And lightnings, as they play,

But show where rocks our path have crost,
Or gild the torrent s spray.

Is yon a cot I saw, though low?

When lightning broke the gloom→ How welcome were its shade !-ah, no! 'Tis but a Turkish tomb.

Through sounds of foaming waterfalls,
I hear a voice exclaim-

My way-worn countryman, who calls
On distant England's name.

A shot is fired-by foe or friend?
Another-'tis to tell

The mountain-peasants to descend,
And lead us where they dwell.

Oh! who in such a night will dare

To tempt the wilderness?

And who 'mid thunder-peals can hear

Our signal of distress?

And who that heard our shouts would rise To try the dubious road?

Nor rather deem from nightly cries

That outlaws were abroad?

Clouds burst, skies flash, oh, dreadful hour!

More fiercely pours the storm!

Yet here one thought has still the power
To keep my bosom warın.

While wandering through each broken path,
O'er brake and craggy brow;

While elements exhaust their wrath,
Sweet Florence, where art thou?

Not on the sea, not on the sea,

Thy bark hath long been gone:
Oh, may the storm that pours on me,
Bow down my head alone!

Full swiftly blew the swift Siroc,
When last I press'd thy lip;
And long ere now, with foaming shock,
Impell'd thy gallant ship.

Now thou art safe; nay, long ere now
Hast trod the shore of Spain;
'Twere hard if aught so fair as thou
Should linger on the main.

And since I now remember thee

In darkness and in dread, As in those hours of revelry Which mirth and music sped;

Do thou, amid the fair white walls, If Cadiz yet be free,

Each lucid interval of thought

At times, from out her latticed halls, Look o'er the dark blue sea;

Recalls the woes of Nature's charter; And he that acts as wise men ought, But lives, as saints have died, a martyr.

Then think upon Calypso's isles,
Endear'd by days gone by;
To others give a thousand smiles,
To me a single sigh.

And when the admiring circle mark

The paleness of thy face,

A half-form'd tear, a transient spark Of melancholy grace,

Again thou'lt smile, and blushing shun

Some coxcomb's raillery;

Nor own for once thou thought'st on one Who ever thinks on thee.

Though smile and sigh alike are vain,
When sever'd hearts repine,
My spirit flies o'er mount and main,
And mourns in search of thine.

STANZAS

WRITTEN IN PASSING THE AMBRACIAN GULF.

THROUGH cloudless skies, in silvery sheen,
Full beams the moon on Actium's coast:
And on these waves, for Egypt's queen,
The ancient world was won and lost.

And now upon the scene I look,

The azure grave of many a Roman; Where stern Ambition once forsook

His wavering crown to follow woman.

Florence! whom I will love as well
As ever yet was said or sung
(Since Orpheus sang his spouse from hell),
Whilst thou art fair and I am young;

Sweet Florence! those were pleasant times, When worlds were staked for ladies' eyes: Had bards as many realms as rhymes,

Thy charms might raise new Antonies. Though Fate forbids such things to be, Yet, by thine eyes and ringlets curl'd!

I cannot lose a world for thee,

But would not lose thee for a world.

THE SPELL IS BROKE, THE CHARM IS
FLOWN!
WRITTEN AT ATHENS, JANUARY 16, 1810.

THE spell is broke, the charm is flown!
Thus is it with life's fitful fever:
We madly smile when we should groan;
Delirium is our best deceiver.

* Mrs. Spencer Smith,

WRITTEN AFTER SWIMMING FROM SESTOS TO ABYDOS.*

IF, in the month of dark December,
Leander, who was nightly wont

(What maid will not the tale remember ?)
To cross thy stream, broad Hellespont !

If, when the wintry tempest roar'd,
He sped to Hero, nothing loth,
And thus of old thy current pour'd,
Fair Venus! how I pity both!
For me, degenerate modern wretch,
Though in the genial month of May,
My dripping limbs I faintly stretch,

And think I've done a feat to-day.
But since he cross'd the rapid tide,
According to the doubtful story,

To woo,-and-Lord knows what beside,
And swam for Love, as I for glory;

'Twere hard to say who fared the best;
Sad mortals! thus the gods still plague you!
He lost his labour, I my jest ;

For he was drown'd, and I've the ague.

LINES WRITTEN IN THE TRAVELLERS' BOOK AT ORCHOMENUS.

IN THIS BOOK A TRAVELLER HAD WRITTEN: 'FAIR Albion, smiling, sees her son depart To trace the birth and nursery of art:

* On the 3rd of May 1810, while the Salsette, (Captain Bathurst) was lying in the Dardanelles, Lieutenant Ekenhead of that frigate and the writer of these rhymes swam from the European shore to the Asiatic-by the by, from Abydos to Sestos would have been more correct. The whole distance from the place whence we started to our landing on the other side, including the length we were carried by the current, was computed by those on board the frigate at upwards of four English miles, though the actual breadth is barely one. The rapidity of the current is such that no boat can row directly across; and it may, in some measure, be estimated from the circumstance of the whole distance being accomplished by one of the parties in an hour and five, and by the other in an hour and ten minutes. The water was extremely cold, from the melting of the mountain snows. About three weeks before, in April, we had made an attempt; but having ridden all the way from the Troad the same morning, and the water being of an icy chillness, we found it necessary to postpone the completion till the frigate anchored below the castles, when we swam the straits, as just stated; entering a considerable way above the European, and landing below the Asiatic fort. Chevalier says that a young Jew swam the same distance for his mistress, and Oliver mentions its having been done by a Neapolitan; but our consul, Tarragona, remembered neither of these circumstances, and tried to dissuade us from the attempt. A number of the Salsette's crew were known to have accomplished

Noble his object, glorious is his aim ; He comes to Athens, and he writes his name." BENEATH WHICH LORD BYRON INSERTED THE FOLLOWING:

THE modest bard, like many a bard unknown, Rhymes on our names, but wisely hides his own; But yet, whoe'er he be, to say no worse,

His name would bring more credit than his verse.

MAID OF ATHENS, ERE WE PART.
Σώη μοῦ, σᾶς ἀγαπῶ.

MAID of Athens, ere we part,
Give, oh give me back my heart!
Or, since that has left my breast,
Keep it now, and take the rest!
Hear my vow before I go,
Σώη μοῦ, σᾶς ἀγαπῶ.*

By those tresses unconfined,
Woo'd by each Ægean wind:
By those lids whose jetty fringe

Kiss thy soft cheeks' blooming tinge;
By those wild eyes like the roe,
Σώη μου, σᾶς ἀγαπῶ,

By that lip I long to taste;
By that zone-encircled waist;
By all the token-flowers that tellt

What words can never speak so well;
By love's alternate joy and woe,
Σώη μοῦ, σᾶς ἀγαπῶ.

Maid of Athens! I am gone:
Think of me, sweet! when alone.
Though I fly to Istambol, t
Athens holds my heart and soul:
Can I cease to love thee? No!
Σώη μου, σᾶς ἀγαπῶ.

LINES WRITTEN BENEATH A PICTURE.

DEAR object of defeated care!

Though now of love and thee bereft,
To reconcile me with despair,

Thine image and my tears are left.

a greater distance; and the only thing that surprised me was, that, as doubts had been entertained of the truth of Leander's story, no traveller had ever endeavoured to ascertain its practicability.

⚫ Romaic expression of tenderness: if I translate it, I shall affront the gentlemen, as it may seem that I suppose they could not; and if I do not, I may affront the ladies. For fear of any misconstruction on the part of the latter, I shall do so, begging pardon of the learned. It means, My life, I love you!' which Sounds very prettily in all languages, and is as much in fashion in Greece at this day, as, Juvenal tells us, the two first words were amongst the Roman ladies, whose erotic expressions were all Hellenized.

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Sons of Greeks! let us go

In arms against the foe,
Till their hated blood shall flow
In a river past our feet.

Then manfully despising
The Turkish tyrant's yoke,

Let your country see you rising,
And all her chains are broke.
Brave shades of chiefs and sages,
Behold the coming strife!
Hellénes of past ages,

Oh, start again to life!

At the sound of my trumpet, breaking
Your sleep, oh, join with me!

And the seven hill'd city seeking,t
Fight, conquer, till we're free.
Sons of Greeks, etc.

Sparta, Sparta, why in slumbers

Lethargic dost thou lie? Awake, and join thy numbers With Athens, old ally! Leonidas recalling,

That chief of ancient song, Who saved thee once from falling,

The terrible! the strong!
Who made that bold diversion

In old Thermopyla,
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,

Expired in seas of blood.

Sons of Greeks, etc.

TRANSLATION OF THE ROMAIC SONG.
Μπενω μες 'τσ' περιβόλι
Ωραιότατη Χάηδή, etc.

I ENTER thy garden of roses,
Beloved and fair Haidée,
Each morning where Flora reposes,
For surely I see her in thee.

In the East (where ladies are not taught to write, lest they should scribble assignations), flowers, cinders, pebbles, etc., convey the sentiments of the parties, by The song was written by Riga, who perished in that universal deputy of Mercury-an old woman. Á the attempt to revolutionize Greece. This translation cinder says, 'I burn for thee;' a bunch of flowers tied is as literal as the author could make it in verse. It is with hair, Take me and fly; but a pebble declares- of the same measure as that of the original.

what nothing else can.

1 Constantinople.

+ Constantinople.

The song from which this is taken is a great

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