Though War's high-sounding harp may be
Most welcome to the hero's ears,
Alas, his chords of victory

Are bathed, all o'er, with tears.

How far more sweet their numbers run,

Who hymn, like saints above, No victor, but the Eternal One, No trophies but of Love!

GO FORTH TO THE MOUNT. Air-STEVENSON.

Go forth to the Mount-bring the olive-branch home, '
And rejoice, for the day of our Freedom is come!
From that time, 2 when the moon upon Ajalon's vale,
Looking motionless down,3 saw the kings of the earth,
In the presence of God's mighty Champion, grow pale-
Oh never had Judah an hour of such mirth!
Go forth to the Mount-bring the olive-branch home,
And rejoice, for the day of our Freedom is come!

Bring myrtle and palm-bring the boughs of each tree
That is worthy to wave o'er the tents of the Free, 4
From that day, when the footsteps of Israel shone,
With a light not their own, through the Jordan's
deep tide,

Whose waters shrunk back as the Ark glided on-5
Oh never had Judah an hour of such pride!
Go forth to the Mount-bring the olive-branch home,
And rejoice, for the day of our Freedom is come!

IS IT NOT SWEET TO THINK, HEREAFTER.
Air-HAYDN.

Is it not sweet to think, hereafter,
When the spirit leaves this sphere,
Love, with deathless wing, shall waft her

To those she long hath mourn'd for here?
Hearts, from which 't was death to sever,
Eyes, this world can ne'er restore,
There, as warm, as bright as ever,

Shall meet us, and be lost no more.

When wearily we wander, asking

Of earth and heaven, where are they Beneath whose smile we once lay baskingBlest, and thinking bliss would stay! Hope still lifts her radiant finger

Pointing to the eternal home, Upon whose portal yet they linger, Looking back for us to come.

And that they should publish and proclaim in all their cities, and in Jerusalem, saying, Go forth unto the mount, and fetch olivebranches, etc. etc.-Neh. viii, 15.

For since the days of Joshua the son of Nun, unto that day, had not the children of Israel done so; and there was very great gladness.-Ib. 17.

3 Sun, stand thou still upon Gibeon; and thou, Moon, in the valley of Ajalon.-Josh. x, 12.

4 Fetch olive-branches and pine-branches, and myrtle-branches, and palm-branches, and branches of thick trees, to make booths."Neh. viii, 15.

5 And the priests that bare the ark of the covenant of the Lord stood firm on dry ground in the midst of Jordan, and all the Israelites passed over on dry ground.-Josh. iii, 17.

T. M.

ADVERTISEMENT.

IN thus connecting together a series of songs by a thread of poetical narrative, the object has been to combine Recitation with Music, so as to enable a greater number of persons to take a share in the performance, by enlisting, as readers, those who may not feel themselves competent as singers.

The Island of Zia, where the scene is laid, was called by the ancients Ceos, and was the birth-place of Simonides, Bacchylides, and other eminent persons. An account of its present state may be found in the Travels of Dr Clarke, who says, that it appeared to him to be the best cultivated of any of the Grecian Isles.-Vol. vi, p. 174.

EVENINGS IN GREECE.

FIRST EVENING.

THE SKY IS BRIGHT.

The sky is bright-the breeze is fair, And the main-sail flowing full and freeOur farewell word is woman's pray'r, And the hope before us-Liberty! Farewell-farewell.

To Greece we give our shining blades,

And our hearts to you, young Zian maids!

The moon is in the heavens above,
And the wind is on the foaming sea-
Thus shines the star of woman's love

On the glorious strife of Liberty!
Farewell-farewell.

To Greece we give our shining blades,
And our hearts to you, young Zian maids!.

Thus sung they from the bark, that now
Turn'd to the sea its gallant prow,
Bearing within it hearts as brave,
As e'er sought Freedom o'er the wave;
And leaving, on that islet's shore,
Where still the farewell beacons burn,
Friends, that shall many a day look o'er
The long, dim sea for their return.

Virgin of Heaven! speed their way-
Oh speed their way-the chosen flow'r
Of Zia's youth-the hope and stay

Of parents in their wintry hour-
The love of maidens, and the pride
Of the young, happy, blushing bride,
Whose nuptial wreath has not yet died—
All, all are in that precious bark,

Which now, alas, no more is seenThough every eye still turns to mark The moonlight spot where it hath been!

Vainly you look, ye maidens, sires,

And mothers, your beloved are gone;Now may you quench those signal fires,

Whose light they long look'd back upon
From their dark deck-watching the flame
As fast it faded from their view,
With thoughts, that, but for manly shame,
Had made them droop and weep like you.
Home to your chambers! home, and pray
For the bright coming of that day,

When, bless'd by Heaven, the Cross shall sweep
The Crescent from the Ægean deep,
And your brave warriors, hastening back,
Will bring such glories in their track
As shall, for many an age to come,
Shed light around their name and home!

There is a Fount on Zia's isle,
Round which, in soft luxuriance, smile
All the sweet flowers, of every kind,

On which the sun of Greece looks down,
Pleas'd as a lover on the crown
His mistress for her brow hath twined,
When he beholds each floweret there,
Himself had wish'd her most to wear.
Here bloom'd the laurel-rose,' whose wreath
Hangs radiant round the Cypriot shrines,
And here those bramble-flowers, that breathe
Their odour into Zante's wines:-2
The splendid woodbine, that, at eve,
To grace their floral diadems,
The lovely maids of Patmos weave-3

And that fair plant, whose tangled stems
Shine like a Nereid's hair, when spread,
Dishevell'd, o'er her azure bed;-
All these bright children of the clime,
(Each at its own most genial time,

The summer, or the year's sweet prime,)
Like beautiful earth-stars, adorn

The valley, where that Fount is born:-
While round, to grace its cradle green,
Groups of Velani oaks are seen,
Towering on every verdant height-
Tall, shadowy, in the evening light,
Like Genii, set to watch the birth
Of some enchanted child of earth-
Fair oaks, that over Zia's vales,

Stand with their leafy pride unfurl'd; While Commerce, from her thousand sails, Scatters their acorns through the world !5 'T was here, as soon as prayer and sleep (Those truest friends to all who weep), Had lighten'd every heart, and made Ev'n sorrow wear a softer shade'T was here, in this secluded spot,

Amid whose breathings, calm and sweet,

Nerium Oleander. In Cyprus it retains its ancient name, Rododaphne, and the Cypriots adorn their churches with the flowers on feast days."-Journal of Dr Sibthorp, alpole's Turkey.

2 Id.

3 Lonicera Caprifolium, used by the girls of Patmos for garlands. 4 Cuscuta Europaea. From the twisting and twining of the stems, it is compared by the Greeks to the dishevelled hair of the Nereids.-Walpole's Turkey.

The produce of the island in these acorns alone amounts annually to fifteen thousand quintals."-Clarke's Travels.

Grief might be soothed, if not forgot,

The Zian nymphs resolv'd to meet Each evening now, by the same light That saw their farewell tears that night, And try, if sound of lute and song,

If wandering mid the moonlight flowers, In various talk, could charm along,

With lighter step, the lingering hours, Till tidings of that bark should come, Or victory waft their warriors home! When first they met-the wonted smile Of greeting having beam'd awhile,'T would touch ev'n Moslem heart to see The sadness that came suddenly

O'er their young brows, when they look'd round
Upon that bright, enchanted ground,
And thought, how many a time, with those
Who now were gone to the rude wars,
They there had met, at evening's close,

And danced till morn outshone the stars!
But seldom long doth hang the eclipse

Of sorrow o'er such youthful breasts-
The breath from her own blushing lips,
That on the maiden's mirror rests,
Not swifter, lighter from the glass,
Than sadness from her brow, doth pass!
Soon did they now, as round the well

They sat beneath the rising moon,
And some, with voice of awe, would tell
Of midnight fays, and nymphs who dwell
In holy fountains,-some would tune
Their idle lutes, that now had lain,
For days, without a single strain ;-
While some, from all the rest apart,
With laugh that told the lighten'd heart,
Sat, whispering in each other's ear
Secrets, that all in turn would hear;-
Soon did they find this thoughtless play
So swiftly steal their griefs away,

That many a nymph, though pleased the while,
Reproach'd her own forgetful smile,
And sigh'd to think she could be gay.

Among these maidens there was one
Who to LEUCADIA late had been-
Had stood, beneath the evening sun,

On its white towering cliffs, and seen
The very spot where Sappho sung
Her swan-like music, ere she sprung
(Still holding, in that fearful leap,
By her loved lyre) into the deep,
And, dying, quench'd the fatal fire
At once, of both her heart and lyre!

Mutely they listen'd all-and well
Did the young travell'd maiden tell
Of the dread height to which that steep
Beetles above the eddying deep-2
Of the lone sea-birds, wheeling round
The dizzy edge with mournful sound-

1 Now Santa Maura, -the island from one of whose cliffs Sappho leaped into the sea.

3. The precipice, which is fearfully dizzy, is about one hundred and fourteen feet from the water, which is of a profound depth, as appears from the dark blue colour, and the eddy that plays round the pointed and projecting rocks."-Goodisson's Ionian Isles.

Of whose white flowers, the Zian said,
Herself had 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!

SAPPHO AT HER LOOM.

As o'er her loom the LESBIAN maid
In love-sick languor bung her head,
Unknowing where her fingers stray'd,
She weeping turn'd away, and said;
Oh! my sweet mother-'t is in vain-
I cannot weave as once I wove-
So wilder'd is my heart and brain
With thinking of that youth I love!" 2

Again the web she tried to trace,

But tears fell o'er each tangled thread, While, looking in her mother's face,

Who o'er her watchful lean'd, she said:
Oh, my sweet mother, 't is in vain-

I cannot weave, as once I wove-
So wilder'd is my heart and brain
With thinking of that youth I love!»

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.

1 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 Tàuzzta μätep, which represents so truly (as Warton remarks) the languor 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 dead-
Wakening 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
the scent
warm,
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 fight 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,

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 bow'rs, 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!
Ev'n 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 revolutions; 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 her 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!'
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 ANATOLIA2 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
their verdant armoury,
grove
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 lance-
Now here now there-retreat-advance!>

Such were the sounds, to which the warrior boy

Danc'd in those happy days, when GREECE was free;
When SPARTA'S youth, ev'n 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, oh 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

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 Castellen's Mours des Othomans.

The sword was the weapon chiefly used in this dance.

4 Homer II. 2. 753.

It is said that Leonidas and his companions employed themselves,