The Muse's swans with happiest wing,
Dipping their bills, before they sing-
The minstrels of the table greet
The list'ning ear with descant sweet:—

"Tis not for thee the fault to blame, For from those eyes the madness came. Forgive but thou the crime of loving,

In this heart more pride 'twill raise To be thus wrong, with thee approving, Than right, with all a world to praise !

SONG AND TRIO.

THE LEVEE AND COUCHEE.

CALL the Loves around,
Let the whisp'ring sound

Of their wings be heard alone,
Till soft to rest

My Lady blest

At this bright hour hath gone.
Let Fancy's beams

Play o'er her dreams,

Till, touch'd with light all through,
Her spirit be

Like a summer sea,
Shining and slumb'ring too.

And, while thus hush'd she lies,

Let the whisper'd chorus rise

"Good evening, good evening, to our Lady's bright eyes."

But the day-beam breaks,
See, our Lady wakes!

Call the Loves around once more,
Like stars that wait

At Morning's gate,

Her first steps to adore.

Let the veil of night
From her dawning sight
All gently pass away,
Like mists that flee
From a summer sea,

Leaving it full of day.

And, while her last dream flies,

Let the whisper'd chorus rise

"Good morning, good morning, to our Lady's bright eyes."

SONG.

IF to see thee be to love thee,

If to love thee be to prize

Naught of earth or heav'n above thee,

Nor to live but for those eyes:

If such love to mortal given,

Be wrong to earth, be wrong to heav'n,

But say, while light these songs resound,
What means that buz of whisp'ring round,
From lip to lip-as if the Power

Of Mystery, in this gay hour,
Had thrown some secret (as we fling
Nuts among children) to that ring
Of rosy, restless lips, to be
Thus scrambled for so wantonly?
And, mark ye, still as each reveals
The mystic news, her hearer steals
A look tow'rds yon enchanted chair,
Where, like the Lady of the Mask,
A nymph, as exquisitely fair

As Love himself for bride could ask,
Sits blushing deep, as if aware
Of the wing'd secret circling there.
Who is this nymph? and what, oh Muse,

What, in the name of all odd things That woman's restless brain pursues,

What mean these mystic whisperings?

Thus runs the tale :-yon blushing maid,
Who sits in beauty's light array'd,
While o'er her leans a tall young Dervise,
(Who from her eyes, as all observe, is
Learning by heart the Marriage Service,)
Is the bright heroine of our song,-
The Love-wed Psyche, whom so long
We've miss'd among this mortal train,
We thought her wing'd to heaven again

But no-earth still demands her smile;
Her friends, the Gods, must wait awhile.
And if, for maid of heavenly birth,

A young Duke's proffer'd heart and hand
Be things worth waiting for on earth,
Both are, this hour, at her command.
To-night, in yonder half-lit shade,

For love concerns expressly meant, The fond proposal first was made,

And love and silence blush'd consent. Parents and friends (all here, as Jews, Enchanters, housemaids, Turks, Hindoos,) Have heard, approved, and bless'd the tie; And now, hadst thou a poet's eye, Thou might'st behold, in th' air, above That brilliant brow, triumphant Love,

Holding, as if to drop it down

Gently upon her curls, a crown
Of Ducal shape-but, oh, such gems!
Pilfer'd from Peri diadems,

And set in gold like that which shines
To deck the Fairy of the Mines:

In short, a crown all glorious-such as Love orders when he makes a Duchess.

But see, 'tis morn in heaven; the Sun
Up the bright orient hath begun
To canter his immortal team;

And, though not yet arrived in sight, His leader's nostrils send a steam

Of radiance forth, so rosy bright As makes their onward path all light. What's to be done? if Sol will be So deuced early, so must we;

And when the day thus shines outright,
Ev'n dearest friends must bid good night.
So farewell, scene of mirth and masking,
Now almost a by-gone tale;
Beauties, late in lamp-light basking,

Now, by daylight, dim and pale;
Harpers, yawning o'er your harps,
Scarcely knowing flats from sharps;
Mothers who, while bored you keep
Time by nodding, nod to sleep;
Heads of air, that stood last night
Crépé, crispy, and upright,
But have now, alas! one sees, a
Leaning like the tower of Pisa;
Fare ye well-thus sinks away

All that's mighty, all that's bright; Tyre and Sidon had their day,

And ev'n a Ball-has but its night!

In thus connecting together a series of Songs by a thread of poetical narrative, my chief object has been to combine Recitation with Music, so as to enable a greater number of persons to join in the performance, by enlisting, as readers, those who may not feel willing or competent to take a part as singers.

The Island of Zea, where the scene is laid, was called by the ancients Ceos, and was the birthplace 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.

T. M..

EVENINGS IN GREECE.

FIRST EVENING.

"THE sky is bright-the breeze is fair, "And the mainsail flowing, full and free

Of Zea'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 had 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, hast'ning 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 Zea's isle,
Round which, in soft luxuriance, smile
All the sweet flowers, of every kind,

On which the sun of Greece looks down,
Pleased as a lover on the crown
His mistress for her brow hath twined,
When he beholds each flow'ret 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 odor into Zante's wines:-
The splendid woodbine, that, at eve,
To grace their floral diadems,

The lovely maids of Patmos weave:-
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,
Tow'ring 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 Zea's vales,

Stand with their leafy pride unfurl'd; While Commerce, from her thousand sails, Scatters their fruit throughout the world!

"Twas 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"Twas here, in this secluded spot,

Amid whose breathings calm and sweet Grief might be sooth'd, if not forgot,

The Zean nymphs resolved 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 wand'ring 'mid the moonlight flowers In various talk, could charm along

With lighter step, the ling'ring hours, Till tidings of that Bark should come, Or Victory waft their warriors home!

When first they met-the wonted smile
Of greeting having gleam'd awhile-
"Twould 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 th' eclipse

Of sorrow o'er such youthful breastsThe 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 moonAnd some, with voice of awe, would tell Of midnight fays, and nymphs who dwell

In holy founts-while some would tune

4 Cuscuta europaa. "From the twisting and twining of the stems, it is compared by the Greeks to the dishevelled hair of the Nereïds."-Walpole's Turkey.

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

Their idle lutes, that now had lain,
For days, without a single strain ;-
And others, from the rest apart,
With laugh that told the lighten'd heart,
Sat, whisp'ring 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 tow'ring 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-
Of the lone sea-birds, wheeling round
The dizzy edge with mournful sound-
And of those scented lilies found
Still blooming on that fearful place—
As if call'd up by Love, to grace
Th' immortal spot, o'er which the last
Bright footsteps of his martyr pass'd!

While fresh to ev'ry listener's thought
These legends of Leucadia brought
All that of Sappho's hapless flame
Is kept alive, still watch'd by 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.

1 Now Santa Maura--the island, from whose cliffs Sap pho leaped into the sea.

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

SONG.

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

Again the web she tried to trace,

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

Who watchful o'er her lean'd, she said, "Oh, my sweet Mother-'tis 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 prayer, Of Sappho 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
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

What ruin comes where he hath beenAs wither'd still the grass is found Where fays have danced their merry round

3 See Mr. Goodisson's very interesting description of all these circumstances.

4 I have attempted, in these four lines, to give some idea of that beautiful fragment of Sappho, beginning Turcia pãrep, which represents so truly (as Warton remarks) "the languor and listlessness of a person deeply in love."

1 This word is defrauded here, I suspect, of a syllable; Dr. Clarke, if I recollect right, makes it "Balalaika."

2 "I saw above thirty parties engaged in dancing the Romaika upon the sand; in some of these 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

SONG.

WHEN the Balaika1

Is heard o'er the sea,
I'll dance the Romaika
By moonlight with thee
If waves then, advancing,

Should steal on our play, Thy white feet, in dancing, Shall chase them away. When the Balaika

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

Then, at the closing

Of each merry lay, How sweet 'tis, 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, Treading so fleetly

Its light mazes through: Till stars, looking o'er us

From heaven's high bow'rs, Would change their bright chorus For one dance of ours! When the Balaika

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

How changingly forever veers

The heart of youth, 'twixt smiles and tears!

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."