Слике страница
PDF
ePub

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,

1.

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!

2.

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!

3.

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.

But since he crossd the rapid tide,

According to the doubtful story,
To w00,--and-Lord knows what beside,

And swam for Love, as I for Glory;

5. "Twere 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.

[merged small][ocr errors][merged small]

1.
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 μά, σάς αγαπώ.

By those tresses unconfined,
Woo'd by each Ægean wind;
By those lids whose jetty fringe
Kiss thy soft cheeks' blooming tinge;
By those wild eyes like the roe,
Ζώη με, σας αγαπώ.

[ocr errors]

By that lip I long to taste;
By that zone-encircled waist;
By all the token-flowers (3) that tell
What words can never speak so well;
By Love's alternate joy and wo,
Ζώη με, σας αγαπώ.

4.

Maid of Athens! I am gone:
Think of me, sweet! when alone.
Though I fly to Istambol, (4)
Athens holds my heart and soul :
Can I cease to love thee? No!

Zám , tas ayaww.
VOL. IV.

TRANSLATION OF THE FAMOUS GREEK

WAR SONG,

Δείτε παίδες των Ελλήνων, ,

Written by Riga, who perished in the attempt to revolutionize Greece.

The 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 vol. I.

p. 128.

1.

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.

2.

Then manfully despising

The Turkish tyrant's yoke,
Let your country see you rising,

And all her chains are broke.

Brave shades of chiefs and sages,

Behold the coming strife!
Hellénes of past ages,

Oh, start again to life!
At the sound of my trumpet, breaking

Your sleep, oh, join with me!
And the seven-hill'd (5) city seeking,
Fight, conquer, till we're free.

Sons of Greeks, &c.

3.

Sparta, Sparta, why in slumbers

Lethargic dost thou lie ? Awake, and join thy numbers

With Athens, old ally! Leonidas recalling,

That chief of ancient song, Who saved ye once from falling,

The terrible! the strong!
Who made that bold diversion

In old Thermopylæ,
And warring with the Persian

To keep his country free;
With his three hundred waging

The battle, long he stood, And like a lion raging, Expired in seas of blood.

Sons of Greeks, &c.

« ПретходнаНастави »