TRANSLATION OF THE ROMAIC SONG, “ Μπενω μες 'τσ' περιβόλι THE SONG FROM WHICH THIS IS TAKEN IS A GREAT FAVOURITE WITH THE YOUNG GIRLS OF ATHENS, OF ALL CLASSES. THEIR MANNER OF SINGING IT IS BY VERSES IN ROTATION, THE WHOLE NUMBER PRESENT JOINING IN THE CHORUS. I HAVE HEARD IT FREQUENTLY AT OUR "Xopo" IN THE WINTER OF 1810-11. THE AIR IS PLAINTIVE AND PRETTY. I. I ENTER thy garden of roses, Yet trembles for what it has sung; II. But the loveliest garden grows hateful But when drunk to escape from thy malice, Too cruel! in vain I implore thee My heart from these horrors to save: III. As the chief who to combat advances Secure of his conquest before, Thus thou, with those eyes for thy lances, Hast pierced through my heart to its core. Ah, tell me, my soul! must I perish By pangs which a smile would dispel? Would the hope, which thou once bad'st me cherish, Now sad is the garden of roses, There Flora all wither'd reposes, And mourns o'er thine absence with me. WRITTEN BENEATH A PICTURE. I. DEAR object of defeated care! Though not of Love and thee bereft, To reconcile me with despair Thine image and my tears are left. II. 'T is said with Sorrow Time can cope ; ON PARTING. I. THE kiss, dear maid! thy lip has left, II. Thy parting glance, which fondly beams, The tear that from thine eyelid streams III. I ask no pledge to make me blest Nor one memorial for a breast, Whose thoughts are all thine own. WITHOUT a stone to mark the spot, That softly said, "We part in peace," Had taught my bosom how to brook, With fainter sighs, thy soul's release. And didst thou not, since Death for thee Prepared a light and pangless dart, Once long for him thou ne'er shalt see, Who held, and holds thee in his heart? Oh! who like him had watch'd thee here? Or sadly mark'd thy glazing eye, In that dread hour ere death appear, When silent sorrow fears to sigh, Till all was past? But when no more 'T was thine to reck of human woe, Affection's heart-drops, gushing o'er, Had flow'd as fast —as now they flow. Shall they not flow, when many a day In these, to me, deserted towers, Ere call'd but for a time away, Affection's mingling tears were ours? Ours too the glance none saw beside; That Love each warmer wish forbore; But sweet to me from none but thine; But never bent beneath till now! I would not wish thee here again; To wean me from mine anguish here. It fain would form my hope in heaven! STANZAS. I. AWAY, away, ye notes of woe : Be silent, thou once soothing strain, I dare not trust those sounds again. |