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The long wild locks that to their girdles stream'd, Dark Muchtar his son to the Danube is sped, While thus in concert they this lay half sang, half Let the yellow-hair'de Giaours view his horsetail scream'd:

with dread;

When his Delhist come dashing in blood o'er the TAMBOURGI! Tambourgi !* thy larum afar

banks, Gives hope to the valiant, and promise of war; How few shall escape from the Muscovite ranks ! All the sons of the inountains arise at the note, Chimariot, Illyrian, and dark Suliote it

Selictar!: unsheath then our chief's scimitar : Oh! who is more brave than a dark Suliote,

Tambourgi! thy larum gives proinise of war, In his snowy camese and his shaggy capote?

Ye mountains that see us descend to the shore, To the wolf and the vulture he leaves his wild Shall view us as victors, or view us no more! flock,

LXXIII. And descends to the plain like the stream from the rock.

Fair Greece ! sad relic of departed worth !

Immortal, though no more; though fallen, great ! Shall the sons of Chimari, who never forgive Who now shall lead thy scatter'd children forth, The fault of a friend, bid an enemy live?

And long accustom d bondage uncreate ? Let those guns so unerring such vengeance Not such thy sons who whilome did await, forego?

The hopeless warriors of a willing doom, What mark is so fair as the breast of a foe? In bleak Thermopyla's sepulchral strait

Oh, who that gallant spirit shall resume, Macedonia sends forth her invincible race;

Leap from Eurotas' banks, and call thee from the For a time they abandon the cave and the chase:

tomb ? But those scarfs of blood-red shall be redder,

LXXIV. before

Spirit of Freedom! when on Phyle's brows The sabre is sheathed and the battle is o'er.

Thou sat'st with Thrasybulus and his train,

Couldst thou forebode the dismal hour which now Then the pirates of Parga that dwell by the

Dims the green beauties of thine Attic plain? waves,

Not thirty tyrants now enforce the chain, And teach the pale Franks what it is to be slaves,

But every carle can lord it o'er thy land; Shall leave on the beach the long galley and oar,

Nor rise thy sons, but idly rail in vain,

Trembling beneath the scourge of Turkish hand, And track to his covert the captive on shore.

From birth till death enslaved ; il. word, in deed, I ask not the pleasures that riches supply,

unmann'd. My sabre shall win what the feeble must buy :

LXXV Shall win the young bride with her long flowing In all save forin alone, how changed! and who hair,

That marks the fire still sparkling in each eye, And many a maid from her mother shall tear. Who would but deem their bosom burn'd anew

With thy unquenched beam, lost Liberty ! I love the fair face of the maid in her youth;

And many dream withal the hour is nigh Her caresses shall lull me, her inusic shall

That gives them back their fathers' heritage : soothe :

For foreign arms and aid they fondly sigh, Let her bring from her chamber the many-toned

Nor solely dare encounter hostile rage, lyre,

Or tear their name defiled from Slavery's mournful And sing us a song on the fall of her sire.


Remember the moment when Previsa fell,
The shrieks of the conquer'd, the conquerors'

Hereditary bondsmen ! know ye not

Who would be free themselves must strike the The roofs that we fired, and the plunder we

blow? shared,

By their right arms the conquest must be wrought? The wealthy we slaughter'd, the lovely we Will Gaul or Muscovite redress ye? No! spared.

True, they may lay your proud despoilers low,

But not for you will Freedom's altars flame. I talk not of mercy, I talk not of fear;

Shades of the Helots! triumph o'er your foc : He neither must know who would serve the Vizier:

Greece I change thy lords, thy state is still the Since the days of our prophet the Crescent ne'er

same ;

Thy glorious day is o'er, but not thy years of shame A chief ever glorious like Ali Pashaw.


* Yellow is the epithet given to the Russians. Giaour: • Drummer.

Infidel. Horsetail : the insignia of a Pacha. # These stanzas are partly taken from different Al- + Horsemen, answering to our forlorn hope. banese songs, as far as I was able to make them out 1. Selictar,' swordbearer. by the exposition of the Albanese in Romaic and & Phyle, which commands a beautiful view of Athens, Italian.

has still considerable remains. It was seized by It was taken by storm from the French.

Thrasybulus previous to the expulsion of the Thirty.


Seem to re-echo all they mourn in vain;

To such the gladness of the gamesome crowd The city won for Allah from the Giaour, The Giaour from Othman's race again may wrest;

Is source of wayward thought and stern disdain :

How do they loathe the laughter idly loud, And the Serai's impenetrable tower

And long to change the robe of revel for the Receive the fiery Frank, her foriner guest;*

shroud! Or Wahab's rebel brood, who dared divest

The prophet's tomb of all its pious spoilet
May wind their path of blood along the West;

This must he feel, the true-born son of Greece, But ne'er will freedom seek this fated soil,

If Greece one truc-born patriot still can boast : But slave succeed to slave through years of end- Not such as prate of war, but skulk in peace, less toil.

The bondsman's peace, who sighs for all he lost, LXXVIII.

Yet with smooth smile his tyrant can accost, Yet mark their mirth-ere lenten days begin, And wield the slavish sickle, not the sword: That penance which their holy rites prepare

Ah, Greece! they love thee least who owe thee To shrive from man his weight of mortal sin,

mostBy daily abstinence and nightly prayer;

Their birth, their blood, and that sublime record But ere his sackcloth garb Repentance wear,

Of hero sires, who shame thy now degenerate horde ! Soine days of joyaunce are decreed to all,

To take of pleasaunce each his secret share,
In motley robe to dance at masking ball,

When riseth Lacedæmon's hardihood,
And join the mimic train of merry Carnival.

When Thebes Epaminondas rears again,

When Athens' children are with hearts endued, LXXIX.

When Grecian mothers shall give birth to inen, And whose more rife with merriment than thine, Then may'st thou be restored; but not till then, O Stamboul! once the empress of their reign ?

A thousand years scarce serve to form a state; Though turbans now pollute Sophia's shrine, An hour may lay it in the dust : and when And Greece her very altars eyes in vain :

Can man its shatter'd splendour renovate, (Alas! her woes will still pervade my strain !)

Recall its virtues back, and vanquish Time and Fate Gay were her minstrels once, for free her throng,

All felt the common joy they now must feign;
Nor oft I've seen such sight, nor heard such song,

And yet how lovely in thine age of woe,
As woo'd the eye, and thrill'd thc Bosphorus along.

Land of lost gods and godlike men, art thou!

Thy vales of evergreen, thy hills of snow, *

Proclaim thee Nature's varied favourite now; Loud was the lightsome tumult on the shore ;

Thy fanes, thy temples to the surface bow, Oft Music changed, but never ceased her tone,

Commingiing slowly with heroic earth, And timely echo'd back the measured oar,

Broke by the share of every rustic plough: And rippling waters made a pleasant moan :

So perish monuments of mortal birth, The Queen of tides on high consenting shone ;

So perish all in turn, save well-recorded Worth ; And when a transient breeze swept o'er the wave,

LXXXVI, 'Twas as if, darting from her heavenly throne, A brighter glance her form reflected gave,

Save where some solitary column mourns Till sparkling billows secm'd to light the banks they Above its prostrate brethren of the cave;t lave.

Save where Tritonia's airy shrine adorns

Colonna's cliff, and gleams along the wave;!
Glanced many a light caique along the foam,
Danced on the shore the daughters of the land,

* On many of the mountains, particularly Liakura, No thought had man or maid of rest or home,

the snow never is entirely melted, notwithstanding

the intense heat of the summer; but I never saw it While many a languid eye and thrilling hand lie on the plains, even in winter. Exchanged the look few bosoms may withstand

† Of Mount Pentelicus, from whence the marble was Or gently prest, returned the pressure still:

dug that constructed the public edifices of Athens.

The modern name is Mount Mendeli. An immense Oh Love ! young Love ! bound in thy rosy band, cave formed by the quarries still remains, and will till Let sage or cynic prattle as he will,

the end of time. These hours, and only these, redeem'd Life's years then, there is no scene more interesting than Cape

In all Attica, if we except Athens itself and Mara. of ill!

Colonna. To the antiquary and artist, sixteen coLXXXII.

umns are an inexhaustible source of observation and But, 'midst the throng in merry masquerade,

design ; to the philosopher, the supposed scene of

soine of Plato's conversations will not be unwelcome; Lurk there no hearts that throt with secret pain, and the traveller will be struck with the beauty of the Even through the closest searment half-betray'd ? prospect over isles that crown the gean deep: To such the gentle murmurs of the main

but, for an Englishman, Colonna has yet an additional interest, as the actual spot of Falconer's shipwreck.

Pallas and Plato are forgotten, in the recollection of * When taken by the Latins, and retained for Falconer and Can ell: several years.

"Here in the dead of night by Lonna's steep. + Mecca and Medina were taken some time ago by The seaman's cry was heard along the deep.' the Wahabees, a sect yearly increasing.

This temple of Minerva may be seen at sea from a

Save o'er some warrior's half-forgotten grave,

XC. Where the grey stones and unmolested grass

The flying Mede, his shaftless broken bow; Ages, but not oblivion, feebly brave,

The fiery Greek, his red pursuing spear; While strangers only not regardless pass,

Mountains above, Earth's, Ocean's plain below; Lingering like me, perchance, to gaze, and sigh

Death in the front, Destruction in the rear! • Alas!

Such was the scene-what now remaineth here! LXXXVII.

What sacred trophy marks the hallow'd ground, Yet are thy skies as blue, thy crags as wild :

Recording Freedom's smile and Asia's tear? Sweet are thy groves, and verdant are thy fields,

The rifled urn, the violated mound, Thine olive ripe as when Minerva smiled,

The dust thy courser's hoof, rude stranger! spurns And still his honey'd wealth Hymettus yields;

around. There the blithe bee his fragrant fortress builds,

The freeborn wanderer of thy mountain air ;
Apollo still thy long, long summer gilds,

Yet to the remnants of thy splendour past
Still in his beam Mendeli's marbles glare ;

Shall pilgrims, pensive, but unwearied, throng: Art, Glory, Freedom fail, but Nature still is fair. Long shall the voyager, with th' Ionian blast,

Hail the bright clime of battle and of song:

Long shall thine annals and immortal tongue Where'er we tread, 'tis haunted, holy ground; Fill with thy fame the youth of many a shore : No earth of thine is lost in vulgar mould,

Boast of the aged! lesson of the young!
But one vast realm of wonder spreads around, Which sages venerate and bards adore,
And all the Muse's tales seem truly told,

As Pallas and the Muse unveil their awful lore.
Till the sense aches with gazing to behold
The scenes our earliest dreams have dwelt upon :

Each hill and dale, each deepening glen and wold,

The parted bosom clings to wonted liome, Defies the power which crush'd thy temples gone :

Ifaught that's kindred cheer the welcome hearth; Age shakes Athena's tower, but spares gray He that is lonely, hither let him roam, Marathon. LXXXIX.

And gaze complacent on congenial earth.

Greece is no lightsome land of social inirth; The sun, the soil, but not the slave, the same;

But he whom Sadness sootheth may abide,
Unchanged in all except its foreign lord-

And scarce regret the region of his birth,
Preserves alike its bounds and boundless fame;
The Battle-field, where Persia's victim horde

When wandering slow by Delphi's sacred side, First bow'd beneath the brunt of Hellas' sword,

Or gazing o'er the plains where Greek and Persian

died. As on the morn to distant Glory dear,

When Marathon became a magic word ;*
Which utter'd, to the hearer's eye appear

Let such approach this consecrated land,
The camp, the host, the fight, the conqueror's career And pass in peace along the magic waste :

But spare its relics-let no busy hand great distance. In two journeys which I made, and Deface the scenes, already how defaced ! one voyage to Cape Colonna, the view from either side Not for such purpose were these altars placed. by land was more striking than the approach from the

Revere the remnants nations once revered : isles. In our second land excursion we had a narrow escape from a party of Mainotes concealed in the ca So may our country's name be undisgraced, verns beneath We were told afterwards by one of So may'st thou prosper where thy youth was their prisoners, subsequently ransomed, that they

rear'd, were deterred froin attacking us by the appearance of my two Albanians: conjecturing very sagaciously. By every honest joy of love and life endcard! but falsely, that we had a complete guard of these Arnaouts at hand, they remained stationary, and thus

XCIV. saved our party, which was too small to have opposed any effectual resistance. Colonna is no less a resort For thee, who thus in too protracted song of painters than of pirates: there

Hath soothed thine idlesse with inglorious lays, • The hireling artist plants his paltry desk, And makes degraded nature picturesque.'

Soon shall thy voice be lost amid the throng (See HODGSON'S Lady Jane Grey, etc.)

Of louder minstrels in these later days: But there Nature, with the aid of Art, has done that

To such resign the strife for fading baysfor herself. I was fortunate enough to engage a very superior German artist, and hope to renew my acquain.

Ill may such contest now the spirit move tance with this and many other Levantine scenes by

Which heeds nor keen reproach nor partial praise, the arrival of his performances.

Since cold each kinder heart that might approve. • Siste Viator-heroa calcas!' was the epitaph on the famous Count Merci ;-what, then, must be our

And none are left to please where none are left to feelings when standing on the tumulus of the two love. hundred (Greeks) who fell on Marathon? The prin

XCV cipal barrow has recently been opened by Fauvel: few or no relics, as vases, etc., were found by the ex.

Thou too art gone, thou loved and lovely one! cavator. The plain of Marathon was offered to me

Whom youth and youth's affections bound to ine; for sale at the sum of sixteen thousand piastres, about Who did for me what none beside have done, nine hundred pounds! Alas! -'Expende-quot libras in duce summo-invenies !'-was the dust of

Nor shrank from one albeit unworthy thee. Miltiades worth no more? It could scarcely have

What is my being? thou hast ceased to be! fetched less if sold by weight,

Nor stay'd to welcome here thy wanderer home,

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Who mourns o'er hours which we no more shall see- Where Revel calls, and Laughter, vainly loud,

Would they had never been, or were to come! False to the heart, distorts the hollow cheek, Would he had ne'er return'd to find fresh cause to To leave the flaggiug spirit doubly weak! roam!

Still o'er the features, which perforce they cheer, XCVI.

To feign the pleasure or conceal the pique; Oh! ever loving, lovely, and beloved !

Smiles form the channel of a future tear, How selfish Sorrow ponders on the past,

Or raise the writhing lip with ill-dissembled sneer. And clings to thoughts now better far removed ! But Time shall tear thy shadow from me last.

XCVIII. All thou couldst have of mine, stern Death, thou

What is the worst of woes that wait on age ! hast :

What stamps tlic wrinkle deeper on the brow! The parent, friend, and now the more than friend;

To view each loved one blotted from life's page, Ne'er yet for one thine arrows flew so fast,

And be alone on earth, as I am now. And grief with grief continuing still to blend,

Before the Chastener humbly let me bow, Hath snatch'd the little joy that life had yet to lend.

O'er hearts divided and o'er hopes destroy'd : XCVII

Roll on, vain days! full reckless may ye flow, Then must I plunge again into the crowd,

Since Time hath reft whate'er my soul enjoy'd, And follow all that Peace disdains to seek?

And with the ills of Eld inine earlier years alloy'd.



Afin que cette application vous forcât de penser à autre chose ; il n'y a en vérité de remède que celuilà et le temps.'-Lettre du Roi de Prusse a D'Alembert, Sept. 7, 1776.

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Once more upon the waters ! yet once more !
And the waves bound beneath me as a steed
That knows his rider. Welcome to their roar!
Swift be their guidance, wheresoe'er it lead!
Though the strain'd mast should quiver as a

And the rent canvas Muttering strew the gale,
Still must I on; for I am as a weed,

Flung from the rock, on Ocean's foam, to sail Where'er the surge inay sweep, the tempest's breath prevail.

In my youth's summer I did sing of One,
The wandering outlaw of his own dark mind;
Again I seize the theme, then but begun,
And bear it with me, as the rushing wind
Bears the cloud onwards: in that Tale I find
The furrows of long thought, and dried-up

Which, ebbing, leave a sterile track behind,

O'er which all heavily the journeying years
Plod the last sands of life-where not a flower


Since my young days of passion-joy, or pain,
Perchance iny heart and harp have lost a string,
And both may jar: it may be, that in vain
I would essay as I have sung to sing.
Yet, though a dreary strain, to this I cling,
So that it wean mc from the weary dream
Of selfish grief or gladness-so it Aing

Forgetfulness around me-it shall seem
To me, though to none else, a not ungrateful theme.

He who, grown aged in this world of woe,
In deeds, not years, piercing the depths of life,
So that no wonder waits him ; nor below
Can love or sorrow, famne, ambition, strife,
Cut to his heart again with the keen knife
Of silent, sharp endurance: he can tell
Why thought seeks refuge in lone caves, yet rife

With airy images, and shapes which dwell
Still unimpair'd, though old, in the soul's haunted

'Tis to create, and in creating live
A being more intense, that we endow
With form our fancy. gaining as we give
The life we image, cven as I do now.
What am I? Nothing: but not so art thou,
Soul of my thought I with whom I traverse carth,
Invisible but gazing, as I glow

Mix'd with thy spirit, blended with thy birth,
And feeling still with thee in my crush'd feelings'

Yet must I think less wildly: I have thought
Too long and darkly, till my brain became,


In its own eddy boiling and o'erwrought,

XIII. A whirling gulf of phantasy and fame:

Where rose the mountains, there to him were And thus, untaught in youth my heart to tame,

friends; My springs of life were poison d. 'Tis too late !

Where roll'd the ocean, thereon was his home; Yet am I changed; though still enough the same

Where a blue sky, and glowing clime, extends, In strength to bear what time can not abate,

He had the passion and the power to roam;
And feed on bitter fruits without accusing Fate.

The desert, forest, cavern, breaker's foam,

Were unto him companionship; they spake
Something too much of this: but now 'tis past,

A mutual language, clearer than the toine And the spell closes with its silent seal.

of his land's tongue, which he would oft forsake Long-absent Harold reappears at last;

For Nature's pages glassd by sunbeams on the lake. He of the breast which fain no ipore would feel,

XIV. Wrung with the wounds which kill not, but ne'er heal;

Like the Chaldean, he could watch the stars, Yet Time, who changes all, had alter'd him

Till he had peopled them with beings bright In soul and aspect as in age : years steal

As their own beams; and earth, and earth-born Fire from the mind as vigour from the limb;

jars, And life's enchanted cup but sparkles near the brim, And human frailties, were forgotten quite :

Could he have kept his spirit to that flight,

He had been happy; but this clay will sink
His had been quaff'd too quickly, and he found Its spark immortal, envying it the light
The dregs were wormwood; but he fill'd again, To which it mounts, as if to break the link
And from a purer fount, on holier ground,

That keeps us from yon heaven which woos us to its And deem'd its spring perpetual ; but in vain !

brink. Still round him clung invisibly a chain

XV. Which gall'd for ever, fettering though unseen,

But in Man's dwellings he became a thing And heavy though it clank'd n t; worn with pain,

Restless and worn, and stern and wearisome, Which pined although it spoke not, and grew keen,

Droop'd as a wild-born falcon with clipt wing. Entering with every step he took through many a

To whom the boundless air alone were home: scene.

Then came his fit again, which to o'ercome,

As cagerly the barr'd-up bird will beat
Secure in guarded coldness, he had mix'd

His breast and beak against his wiry dome Again in fancied safety with his kind,

Till the blood tinge his plumage, so the heat And deem'd his spirit now so firmly fix'd

Of his impeded soul would through his bosom eat. And sheath'd with an invulnerable mind, That, if no joy, no sorrow lurk'd behind;

XVI. And he, as one, might 'midst the many stand

Self-exiled Harold wanders forth again, Unheeded, searching through the crowd to find

With naught of hope left, but with less of gloom; Fit speculation ; such as in strange land

The very knowledge that he lived in vain, He found in wonder-works of God and Nature's

That all was over on this side the tomb, hand.

Had made Despair a sinilingness assume,

Which, though 'twere wild-as on the plunder'd But who can view the ripen'd rose, nor seek

wreck To wear it? who can curiously behold

When mariners would madly meet their doom The smoothness and the sheen of beauty's cheek, With draughts intemperate on the sinking deckNor feel the heart can never all grow old ?

Did yet inspire a cheer, which he forbore to check. Who can contemplate Fame through clouds un. fold

The star which rises o'er her steep, nor climb ? Stop! for thy tread is on an Empire's dust i
Harold, once more within the vortex roll'd

An Earthquake's spoil is sepulchred below!
On with the giddy circle, chasing Time,

Is the spot inark'd with no colossal bust? Yet with a nobler aim than in his youth's fond Nor column trophied for triumphal show ? prime.

None; but the moral's truth teils simpler so,

As the ground was before, thus let it be ;-
But soon he knew hiniself the most unfit

How that red rain hath made the harvest grow! Of men to herd with man; with whom he held And is this all the world has gain'd by thee, Little in coinmon; untaught to submit

Thou first and last of fields ! king-making Victory? His thoughts to others, though his soul was quell’d In youth by his own thoughts; still uncompellid,

XVIII. He would not yield dominion of his mind

And Harold stands upon this place of skulls, To spirits against whom his own rebellid;

The grave of France, the deadly Waterloo ! Proud though in desolation ; which could find How in an hour the power which gave annuls A life within itself, to breathe without mankind. Its gifts, transferring fame as fleeting too!

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