Pagina-afbeeldingen
PDF
ePub
[merged small][merged small][merged small][ocr errors][merged small][merged small][merged small]

VII.

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

Nor rather deem from nightly cries
That outlaws were abroad.

VIII.

Clouds burst, skies flash, oh, dreadful hour!
More fiercely pours the storm!

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

IX.

While wand'ring through each broken path,
O'er brake and craggy brow;
While elements exhaust their wrath,

Sweet Florence, where art thou?

X.

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!

XI.

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.

XII.

Now thou art safe; nay, long ere now
Hast trod the shore of Spain;
'T were hard if aught so fair as thou
Should linger on the main.

XIII.

And since I now remember thee
In darkness and in dread,
As in those hours of revelry
Which mirth and music sped;

XIV.

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

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

XV.

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

XVI.

And when the admiring circle mark
The paleness of thy face,

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

XVII.

Again thou 'It smile, and blushing shun Some coxcomb's raillery;

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

XVIII.

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.

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.
Each lucid interval of thought

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

WRITTEN AFTER SWIMMING FROM SESTOS TO ABYDOS,(1) MAY 9, 1810.

I.

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!

II.

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!

(1) On the 3d 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 Šestos 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 chilness, 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 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.

III.

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.

IV.

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;

V.

'T were 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.

SONG.

Ζώη μοῦ, σάς ἀγαπῶ. (1)

ATHENS, 1810.

I.

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,
Ζώη μοῦ, σάς ἀγαπῶ,

II.

By those tresses unconfined,
Woo'd by each Ægean wind;

(1) Zoë mou, sas agapo, or Zún poỡ, cás ayan☎, a 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 among the Roman ladies, whose exotic expressions were all Hellenized.

66

VOL. IV.-H

By those lids whose jetty fringe
Kiss thy soft cheeks' blooming tinge;
By those wild eyes like the roe,
Ζώη μοῦ, σάς ἀγαπῶ.

III.

By that lip I long to taste;
By that zone-encircled waist;
By all the token-flowers (1) that tell
What words can never speak so well;
By Love's alternate joy and woe,
Ζώη μοῦ, σάς ἀγαπῶ

IV.

Maid of Athens! I am gone:
Think of me, sweet! when alone.
Though I fly to Istambol, (2)
Athens holds my heart and soul:
Can I cease to love thee? No!
Ζώη μοῦ, σάς ἀγαπῶ.

TRANSLATION OF THE FAMOUS GREEK WAR SONG,

Δεύτε παῖδες τῶν Ἑλλήνων,

THE

WRITTEN BY RIGA, WHO PERISHED IN THE ATTEMPT TO REVOLUTIONIZE GREECE. FOLLOWING TRANSLATION IS AS LITERAL AS THE AUTHOR COULD MAKE IT IN VERSE; IT IS OF THE SAME MEASURE AS THAT OF THE ORIGINAL. SEE PAGE 52.

I.

SONS of the Greeks, arise!

The glorious hour 's gone forth,
And, worthy of such ties,
Display who gave us birth.

CHORUS.

Sons of Greeks! let us go
In arms against the foe,
Till their hated blood shall flow

In a river past our feet.

51

(1) In the East (where ladies are not taught to write, lest they should scribble assignations) flowers, cinders, pebbles, &c., convey the sentiments of the parties by that universal deputy of Mercury-an old woman. A cinder says, "I burn for thee a bunch of flowers tied with hair, "Take me and fly;" but a pebble declares-what nothing else can.

(2) Constantinople.

« VorigeDoorgaan »