And of those scented lilies (some

Of whose white flowers, the Zian said,
Herself bad gather'd and brought home,

In memory of the minstrel maid),
Still blooming on that fearful place,-
As if call'd up by Love, to grace
The 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 sketch'd 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 through Time, and ne'er expire!

A silence follow'd this sweet air,

As each in tender musing stood,
Thinking, with lips that moved in pray'r,
Of SAPPHо 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 worshippers.

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.

See Mr Goodisson's very interesting description of all these cir

cumstances.

I have attempted, in these four lines, to give some idea of that beautiful fragment of Sappho, beginning Tàʊzatz põtep, which represents so truly (as Warton remarks) the languer and listlessness of a person deeply in love,

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 listening throng She breathed her melancholy song:

WEEPING FOR THEE.

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 deadWakening the echoes of joy long fled!

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.

THE ROMAIKA.

WHEN the Balaika'

Is heard o'er the sea, I'll dance the Romaika By moon-light with thee. If waves then, advancing, Should steal on our play, Thy white feet, in dancing, Shall chase them away.

This word is, I fear, defrauded of a syllable; Dr Clarke, if I recollect right, makes it Balalaika..

I saw above thirty parties engaged in dancing the Romaika

When the Balaika

Is heard o'er the sea,

Thou 'It 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.' Till stars, shining o'er us,

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

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

How changingly for ever veers

The heart of youth 'twixt smiles and tears!
Even 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

'T was by the maids of DELOS led,
When, slow at first, then circling fast,
As the gay spirits rose,―at last,
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 freeThat Dance, where neither flutes nor lyres,

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

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 evolutions; 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 companions, while their business is to follow ber in all her movements, without breaking the chain, or losing the

measure."

But sword and shield clash on the ear

A music tyrants quake to hear?1
Heroines of Zia, arm with me,
And dance the dance of victory!»

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

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

A mimic shield with pride display'd;
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 waved 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 lance 3 alike supplied;

And as their glossy locks, let free, Fell down their shoulders carelessly, You might have dream'd you saw a throng Of youthful Thyads, by the beam Of a May moon, bounding along

Peneus' silver-eddied 4 stream!

And now they stepp'd, with measured tread, Martially o'er the shining field;

Now, to the mimic combat led,

A heroine at each squadron's head,

Struck lance to lance and sword to shield; While still, through every varying feat, Their voices,-heard in contrast sweet With some of deep, but soften'd sound, From lips of aged sires, who, round Stood smiling at their children's play,Thus sung the ancient Pyrrhic lay:

THE WAR-DANCE.

"RAISE the buckler-poise the lanceNow here now there-retreat-advance !»

Such were the sounds, to which the warrior boy

Danced in those happy days, when GREECE was free;
When SPARTA's youth, even in the hour of joy,
Thus train'd their steps to war and victory!

« Raise the buckler-poise the lance-
Now here now there-retreat-advance!»>
Such was the Spartan warriors' dance.
«Grasp the falchion-gird the shield-
Attack-defend-do all but yield !»

Thus did thy sons, O GREECE! one glorious night,
Dance by a moon like this, till o'er the sea
That morning dawn'd, by whose immortal light
They grandly died for thee and liberty!5

1 For a description of the Pyrrhic Dance, see De Guys, etc. It appears from Apuleius (lib, 10) that this war-dance was, among the ancients, sometimes performed by females.

* See the costume of the Greek women of Natolia in Castellan s Mours des Othomans.

3 The sword was the weapon chiefly used in this dance.

4 Homer, I. ii. 753.

5 It is said that Leonidas and his companions employed themselves,

« Raise the buckler-poise the lance-
Now here now there-retreat-advance!>>
Such was the Spartan heroes' dance.

Scarce had they closed this martial lay,
When, flinging their light spears away,
The combatants, in broken ranks,

All breathless from the war-field fly;
And down, upon the velvet banks

And flowery slopes, exhausted lie,
Like rosy huntresses of Thrace,
Resting at sunset from the chase.

« Fond girls!» an aged Zian said-
One who, himself, had fought and bled,
And now, with feelings, half delight,
Half sadness, watch'd their mimic fight-
« Fond maids! who thus with war can jest,
Like Love, in Mars's helmet drest-
When, in his childish innocence,

Pleased with the shade that helmet flings,
He thinks not of the blood that thence
Is dropping o'er his snowy wings.
Ay,-true it is, young patriot maids,

Did honour's arm still win the fray,
Did luck but shine on righteous blades,
War were a game for gods to play!
But no, alas! bear one who well

Hath track'd the fortunes of the brave-
Hear me,
in mournful ditty, tell

What glory waits the patriot's grave :—»

And, as that voice, in tones that more

Through feeling than through weakness err'd, Came, with a stronger sweetness, o'er

Th' attentive ear, this strain was heard :

THE TWO FOUNTAINS.

I SAW, from yonder silent cave,'

Two fountains running, side by side, The one was Mem'ry's limpid wave, The other cold Oblivion's tide.

<< Oh, Love!» said I, in thoughtless dream, As o'er my lips the Lethe pass'd,

« Here, in this dark and chilly stream,
Be all my pains forgot at last.»>

But who could bear that gloomy blank,
Where joy was lost as well as pain?
Quickly of Mem'ry's fount I drank,

And brought the past all back again ;
And said, «O Love! whate'er my lot,
Still let this soul to thee be true-
Rather than have one bliss forgot,

Be all my pains remember'd too!»

The group, that stood around to shade
The blushes of that bashful maid,
Had, by degrees, as swell'd the lay,
More strongly forth, retired away,
Like a fair shell, whose valves divide,
To show the fairer pearl inside:
For such she was-a creature bright
And delicate as those day-flowers,
That, while they last, make up, in light
And sweetness, what they want in hours.

So rich upon the ear had grown
Her voice's melody,—its tone
Gathering new courage, as it found
An echo in each bosom round,-

That, e'er the nymph (with downcast eye
Still on the chords) her lute laid by,

<< Another song,» all lips exclaim'd,

And each some matchless favourite named,
While blushing, as her fingers ran
O'er the sweet chords, she thus began

OH! MEMORY.

On! Memory, how coldly

Thou paintest joy gone by!
Like rainbows, thy pictures

But mournfully shine and die.
Or, if some tints thou keepest,
That former days recall,
As o'er each line thou weepest,
Thy tears efface them all.

But, Memory, too truly

Thou paint'st the grief that's past;

Joy's colours are fleeting.

But those of Sorrow last.

This morning we paid our visit to the cave of Trophonius, and

the Fountains of Memory and Oblivion, just upon the water of Her

Greece.

And, while thou bring'st before us
Dark pictures of past ill,
Life's evening, closing o'er us,
But makes them darker still.

So went the moonlight hours along,
In this sweet glade; and so, with song
And witching sounds,- -not such as they
The cymbalists of Ossa, play'd,
To chase the moon's eclipse away,'

But soft and holy,—did each maid
Lighten her heart's eclipse awhile,
And win back sorrow to a smile.

Not far from this secluded place,

On the sea-shore, a ruin stood;-

A relic of th' extinguish'd race,

Who once look'd o'er that foamy flood, When fair loulis, by the light Of golden sunset, on the sight

Of mariners who sail'd that sea, Rose, like a city of chrysolite,

Call'd from the wave by witchery!

This ruin, now by barbarous hands

Debased into a motley shed,
Where the once splendid column stands
Inverted on its leafy head,
Was, as they tell, in times of old,

The dwelling of that bard, whose lay
Could melt to tears the stern and cold,
And sadden, 'mid their mirth, the gay,-
SIMONIDES,3 whose fame, through years
And ages past, still bright appears-
Like Hesperus, a star of tears!

'T was hither now-to catch a view Of the white waters, as they play'd Silently in the light-a few

Of the more restless damsels stray'd; And some would linger 'mid the scent Of hanging foliage, that perfumed The ruin'd walls; while others went, Culling whatever floweret bloom'd In the lone, leafy, space between, Where gilded chambers once had been,Or, turning sadly to the sea,

Sent o'er the wave a sigh unblest To some brave champion of the free, And thought, alas! how cold might be, At that still hour, his place of rest! Meanwhile there came a sound of song From the dark ruins-a faint strain, As if some echo, that among Those minstrel halls had slumber'd long, Were murmuring into life again.

But, no-the nymphs knew well the tone-
A maiden of their train, who loved,
Like the night-bird, to sing alone,

Had deep into the ruins roved,
And there, all other thoughts forgot,
Was warbling o'er, in lone delight,
A lay that, on that very spot,

Her lover sung one moonlight night:

THEY ARE GONE.

An! where are they, who heard, in former hours, The voice of song in these neglected bowers? They are gone-they all are gone!

The youth, who told his pain in such sweet tone, That all, who heard him, wish'd his pain their ownHe is gone-he is gone!

And she, who, while he sung, sat listening by,

And thought to strains like these 't were sweet to dieShe is gone-she too is gone!

'Tis thus, in future hours, some bard will say Of her who hears, and him who sings this layThey are gone-they both are gone!

The moon was now, from heaven's steep,
Bending to dip her silvery urn

Of light into the silent deep

And the young nymphs, on their return
From those romantic ruins, found
Their other play-mates, ranged around
The sacred spring, prepared to tune
Their parting hymn,' ere sunk the moon,
To that fair fountain, by whose stream
Their hearts had form'd so many a dream.
Who has not read the tales, that tell
Of old Eleusis' worshipp'd well?
Or heard what legends songs recount
Of SYRA, and its sacred fount,2
Gushing, at once, from the hard rock
Into the laps of living flowers-
Where village maidens loved to flock,

On summer-nights, and, like the Hours,
Link'd in harmonious dance and song,
Charm'd the unconscious night along!
While holy pilgrims, on their way

TO DELOS' isle, stood looking on, Enchanted with a scene so gay,

Nor sought their boats till morning shone!

These Songs of the Well, as they were called among the ancients, still exist in Greece. De Guys tells us that he has seen the young women in Prince's Island, assembled in the evening at a public well, suddenly strike up a dance, while others sang in concert to them..

The inhabitants of Syra, both aacient and modern, may be

An ancient city of Zts, the walls of which were of marble. Its remains (says Clarke) extend from the shore quite into a valley watered by the streams of a fountain, whence IoULIS received its

name..

ZA was the birth-place of this poet, whose verses are by Catullus called tears."

the nymphs of the island assembled in the earliest ages, exists in its original state; the same rendezvous as it was formerly, whether of love and gallantry, or of gossiping and tale-telling. It is near to the town, and the most limpid water zushes continually from the

solid rock. It is regarded by the inhabitants with a degree of religious veneration; and they preserve a tradition that the pilgrims of old time, in their way to Delos, resorted hither for purification."Clarke.

Such was the scene this lovely glade
And its fair inmates now display'd,
As round the fount, in linked ring,
They went, in cadence slow and light,
And thus to that enchanted spring
Warbled their farewell for the night:—

MAIDENS OF ZIA.

HERE, while the moonlight dim
Falls on that mossy brim,
Sing we our Fountain Hymn,
Maidens of ZIA!

Nothing but music's strain,
When lovers part in pain,
Soothes till they meet again,
Oh, maids of Zia!

Bright fount, so clear and cold, Round which the nymphs of old Stood with their locks of gold, Bright Fount of Zia!

Not even CASTALY,

Famed though its streamlet be, Murmurs or shines like thee, Oh, Fount of Zia!

Thou, while our hymn we sing,
Thy silver voice shalt bring,
Answering, answering,

Sweet Fount of ZIA!
Oh! of all rills that run,
Sparkling by moon or sun,
Thou art the fairest one,
Bright Fount of ZIA!

Now, by those stars that glance
Over heav'n's still expanse,
Weave we our mirthful dance,
Daughters of ZIA!

Such as in former days,
Were danced, by Dian's rays,
Where the EUROTAS strays,'

Oh, maids of ZIA!

But when to merry feet
Breasts with no echo beat,
Say, can the dance be sweet?

Maidens of ZIA!

No, nought but music's strain, When lovers part in pain, Soothes till they meet again, Oh, maids of ZIA!

1. Qualis in Eurotæ ripis, aut per juga Cynthi Exercet Diana choros.-VIRGIL.

THE MEETING OF SHIPS.
WHEN o'er the silent seas, alone
For days and nights we 've cheerless gone,
Oh, they who 've felt it, know how sweet,
Some sunny morn, a sail to meet.

Sparkling at once is ev'ry eye-
« Ship a hoy!» our joyful cry;
While, answering back, the sounds we hear,
" Ship a hoy! what cheer, what cheer?>>
Then sails are back'd-we nearer come-
Kind words are said of friends and home;
And soon, too soon, we part with pain,
To sail o'er silent seas again.

HIP, HIP, HURRA!

COME, fill round a bumper, fill up to the brim,
He who shrinks from a bumper, I pledge not to him:
Here's << the girl that each loves, be her eye of what hue,
Or lustre it may, so her heart is but true.»>

Charge!

Hip, hip, hip, hip, hip, hurra, hurra, hurra!

THOMAS MOORE.

Come, charge high again, boy, nor let the full wine Leave a space in the brimmer where day-light may shine, Here's << the friends of our youth, though of some we're bereft ;

May the links that are lost but endear what are left. » Charge!

Hip, hip, hip, hip, hip, hurra, hurra, hurra!

Once more fill the glass round-ne'er talk of the hour,
On hearts thus united old Time has no pow'r :
«May our lives-though, alas! like the wine of to-night,
They must soon have an end, to the last flow as bright!»
Charge!

Hip, hip, hip, hip, hip, hurra, hurra, hurra!

Quick, quick-now I'll give you, since Time's glass will

run

Ev'n faster than ours doth, three bumpers in one: Here's « the poet who sings-here 's the warrior who fights

Here's the statesman who speaks in the cause of man's rights!»> Charge!

Hip, hip, hip, hip, hip, hurra, hurra, hurra!