Each lucid interval of thought

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

WRITTEN BENEATH A PICTURE.

DEAR Object of defeated care!

Though now of love and thee bereft,
To reconcile me with despair

Thine image and my tears are left.

'Tis said with sorrow time can cope ;
But this I feel can ne'er be true:
For by the death-blow of my hope
My memory immortal grew.

WRITTEN AFTER SWIMMING FROM SESTOS

TO ABYDOS.'

MAY 9, 1810.

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!

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-bye, from Abydos to Sestos would have been more correct.

VOL. X.

10

If when the wintry tempest roar d
Ha sped to Hero, nothing toth,
And thus of old the current pour 'd,
Fur Venus! how i pity boun:

For me degenerate modern wreten.

onch in the gemal month of May. Menning humbs I faintiy streten. And rink I ve done a feat GOTHLY.

ei

But since he cross the rapid tide.

According to the doubttui story.

I wae — Tindard &nows what beside, And swim for 'ove, as i för gory:

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.

Ζώη μοῦ, σὰς ἀγαπῶ.

ATHENS, 1810.

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, σὰς ἀγαπῶ.

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 μοῦ, σὰς ἀγαπῶ.

1 Zoë mou, sas agapo, οι Ζώη μου, σὰς ἀγαπῶ, a Romaic expression of tenderness: if I translate it I shall affront the gentlemen, is it may seem that I supposed they could not; and if I do not, I may affront the ladies. For fear of any misconstruction on the part of the fatter I shall do so, begging pardon of the learned. It means, ife, I love you!» which sounds very prettily in all languages, and is is much in fashion in Greece at this day as, Juvenal tells us, the two first words were amongst the Roman ladies, whose exotic expressions were all Hellenized.

My

By that lip I long to taste;

By that zone-encircled waist;
By all the token-flowers' that tell
What words can never speak so well;
By love's alternate joy and woe,
Ζώη μοῦ, σὰς ἀγαπῶ.

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!
Ζών μοῦ, σὰς ἀγαπῶ.

TRANSLATION OF THE FAMOUS GREEK WAR SONG,

Δεῦτε παῖδες τῶν ̔Ελλήνων,

Written by Riga, who perished in the attempt to revolutionize Greece The following translation is as literal as the author could make it verse; it is of the same measure as that of the original.

SONS of the Greeks, arise!

The glorious hour's gone forth,

And, worthy of such ties,

Display who gave us birth.

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

else can.

* Constantinople.

CHORUS.

Sons of Greeks! let us go

In arms against the foe,

Till their hated blood shall flow

In a river past our feet.

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

Behold the coming strife!

Hellénes of past ages,

Oh, start again to life!

sages,

At the sound of my trumpet, breaking
Your sleep, oh, join with me!

And the seven-hill'd' city seeking,
Fight, conquer, till we're free.

Sons of Greeks, etc.

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!

+ Constantinople. «Επτάλοφος.»