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

""Twas 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

"The 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 free"That Dance, where neither flutes nor lyres, "But sword and shield clash on the ear "A music tyrants quake to hear?1 "Heroines of Zea, 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; An, with a fair young armorer'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 armory, Falchion and lance3 alike supplied;

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

2 See the costume of the Greek women of Natolia in Castellan's Maurs des Othomans

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' 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 around,

Who smiling watch'd their children's playThus sung the ancient Pyrrhic lay:

SONG.

"RAISE the buckler-poise the lance"Now 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, 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 nobly died for thee and liberty!" "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,

3 The sword was the weapon chiefly used in this dance. 4 Homer, Il. ii. 753.

It is said that Leonidas and his companions employed themselves, on the eve of the battle, in music and the gymnastic exercises of their country.

The combatants, in broken ranks,
All breathless from the war-field fly;
And down, upon the velvet banks

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

"Fond girls!" an aged Zean 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 dress'd, "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,

"If Honor's arm still won the fray, "If luck but shone on righteous blades, "War were a game for gods to play! "But, no, alas!-hear one, who well

66 'Hath track'd the fortunes of the braveHear me, in mournful ditty, tell "What glory waits the patriot's grave :”—

SONG.

As by the shore, at break of day,
A vanquish'd Chief expiring lay,
Upon the sands, with broken sword,
He traced his farewell to the Free;
And, there, the last unfinish'd word
He dying wrote was "Liberty!"

At night a Sea-bird shriek'd the knell
Of him who thus for Freedom fell;
The words he wrote, ere evening came,
Were cover'd by the sounding sea ;-
So pass away the cause and name
Of him who dies for Liberty!

That tribute of subdued applause

A charm'd, but timid, audience pays, That murmur, which a minstrel draws

From hearts, that feel, but fear to praise, Follow'd this song, and left a pause

1 "This morning we paid our visit to the Cave of Trophonius, and the Fountains of Memory and Oblivion, just

Of silence after it, that hung

Like a fix'd spell on every tongue.

At length, a low and tremulous sound
Was heard from midst a group, that round
A bashful maiden stood, to hide
Her blushes, while the lute she tried-
Like roses, gath'ring round to veil
The song of some young nightingale,
Whose trembling notes steal out between
The cluster'd leaves, herself unseen.
And, while that voice, in tones that more
Through feeling than three.gh weakness err'd,
Came, with a stronger sweetness, o'er

Th' attentive ear, this strain was heard:

SONG.

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 mood, As deep I drank of Lethe's stream, "Be all my sorrows in this flood

"Forgotten like a vanish'd dream!"

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, "Oh 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 came 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-flow'rs, Which, while they last, make up, in light

And sweetness, what they want in hours.

upon the water of Hercyna, which flows through stupendous rocks."—Williams's Travels in Greece.

So rich upon the ear had grown Her voice's melody-its tone Gath'ring new courage, as it found An echo in each bosom roundThat, ere the nymph, with downcast eye Still on the chords, her lute laid by, "Another Song," all lips exclaim'd, And each some matchless fav'rite named; While blushing, as her fingers ran O'er the sweet chords, she thus began:

SONG.

Он, 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 paintest grief that's past; Joy's colors are fleeting,

But those of Sorrow last. 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 sor 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 Ioulis,2 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 barb'rous hands
Debased into a motley shed,
Where the once splendid column stands
Inverted on its leafy head-
Form'd, 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 gaySimonides, whose fame, through years And ages past, still bright a pears— Like Hesperus, a star of tears!

"Twas 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;
And some would linger 'mid the Scert

Of hanging foliage, that perfumed
The ruin'd walls; while others went,
Culling whatever flow'ret 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-
Thinking, 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 murm'ring 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 those 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 :

SONG.

AH! where are they, who heard, in former hours, The voice of Song in these neglected bow'rs? They are gone all gone!

as Pietro della Valle tells us, among the Persians.

An ancient city of Zea, the walls of which wore of

marble. Its remains (says Clarke) "extend from the shore,

whence Ioulis received its name."

3 Zea was the birthplace of this poet, whose verses are by Catullus called "tears."

The youth, who told his pain in such sweet tone, That all, who heard him, wish'd his pain their own—

He is gone-he is gone!

And she, who, while he sung, sat list'ning by,

And thought, to strains like these 'twere sweet to die

She 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 silv'ry urn
Into the bright and silent deep-

And the young nymphs, on their return
From those romantic ruins, found
Their other playmates, 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' sacred Well,
Or heard what legend-songs recount
Of Syra, and its holy Fount,"
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?

1 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 sung in concert to them."

2 "The inhabitants of Syra, both ancient and modern, may be considered as the worshippers of water. The old fountain, at which the nymphs of the island assembled in the earliest ages, exists in its original state; the same ren

SECOND EVENING.

SONG.

WHEN evening shades are falling
O'er Ocean's sunny sleep,
To pilgrims' hearts recalling

Their home beyond the deep; When, rest o'er all descending,

The shores with gladness smile, And lutes, their echoes blending, Are heard from isle to isle, Then, Mary, Star of the Sea,' We pray, we pray to thee!

The noonday tempest over,

Now Ocean toils no more, And wings of halcyons hover,

Where all was strife before. Oh thus may life, in closing

Its short tempestuous day, Beneath heaven's smile reposing, Shine all its storms away: Thus, Mary, Star of the Sea, We pray, we pray to thee!

On Helle's sea the light grew dim,

As the last sounds of that sweet hymn
Floated along its azure tide-

Floated in light, as if the lay
Had mix'd with sunset's fading ray,

And light and song together died.
So soft through evening's air had breathed
That choir of youthful voices, wreathed
In many-linked harmony,

That boats, then hurrying o'er the sea, Paused, when they reach'd this fairy shore, And linger'd till the strain was o'er.

Of those young maids who've met to fleet
In song and dance this evening's hours,
Far happier now the bosoms beat,

Than when they last adorn'd these bowers; For tidings of glad sound had come,

At break of day, from the far islesTidings like breath of life to someThat Zea's sons would soon wing home, Crown'd with the light of Vict'ry's smiles, To meet that brightest of all meeds That wait on high, heroic deeds,

1 One of the titles of the Virgin :-" Maria illuminatrix, sive Stella Maris."-Isidor.

When gentle eyes that scarce, for tears, Could trace the warrior's parting track, Shall, like a misty morn that clears, When the long-absent sun appears,

Shine out, all bliss, to hail him back.

How fickle still the youthful breast!-
More fond of change than a young moon,
No joy so new was e'er possess'd

But Youth would leave for newer soon. These Zean nymphs, though bright the spot, Where first they held their evening play, As ever fell to fairy's lot

To wanton o'er by midnight's ray,
Had now exchanged that shelter'd scene
For a wide glade beside the sea-
A lawn, whose soft expanse of green
Turn'd to the west sun smilingly,
As though, in conscious beauty bright,
It joy'd to give him light for light.

And ne'er did evening more serene
Look down from heav'n on lovelier scene.
Calm lay the flood around, while fleet,
O'er the blue shining element,
Light barks, as if with fairy feet

That stirr'd not the hush'd waters, went; Some that, ere rosy eve fell o'er

The blushing wave, with mainsail free, Had put forth from the Attic shore,

Or the near Isle of Ebony ;Some, Hydriot barks, that deep in caves Beneath Colonna's pillar'd cliffs, Had all day lurk'd, and o'er the waves Now shot their long and dart-like skiffs. Wo to the craft, however fleet, These sea-hawks in their course shall meet, Laden with juice of Lesbian vines, Or rich from Naxos' emery mines; For not more sure, when owlets flee O'er the dark crags of Pendelee, Doth the night-falcon mark his prey, Or pounce on it more fleet than they.

And what a moon now lights the glade
Where these young island nymphs are met!
Full-orb'd, yet pure, as if no shade

Had touch'd its virgin lustre yet;
And freshly bright, as if just made
By Love's own hands, of new-born light
Stol'n from his mother's star to-night.

On a bold rock, that o'er the flood Jutted from that soft glade, there stood A Chapel, fronting tow'rds the sea,— Built in some by-gone century,—