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TRANSLATION OF THE ROMAIC SONG,
« Μπενω μες ' περιβόλι
Ωραιότατη Χάηδή,” &c.
The song from which this is taken is a great favourite with the young girls of Athens of all classes. Their manner of singing it is by verses in rotation, the whole number present joining in the chorus. I have heard it frequently at our“ Zópoe" in the winter of 1810-11. The air is plaintive and pretty.
I ENTER thy garden of roses,
Beloved and fair Haideé,
For surely I see her in thee.
Receive this fond truth from my tongue,
Yet trembles for what it has sung;
Adds fragrance and fruit to the tree,
But the loveliest garden grows hateful
When Love has abandon'd the bowers; Bring me hemlock--since mine is ungrateful,
That herb is more fragrant than flowers,
The poison, when pour'd from the chalice,
Will deeply embitter the bowl;
The draught shall be sweet to my soul.
My heart from these horrors to save: Will nought to my bosom restore thee?
Then open the gates of the grave.
As the chief who to combat advances
Secure of his conquest before,
Hast pierced through my heart to its core.
By pangs which a smile would dispel ? Would the hope, which thou once bad'st me
For torture repay me too well? [cherish, Now sad is the garden of roses,
Beloved but false Haideé! There Flora all wither'd reposes,
And mourns o'er thine absence with me.
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: .
My Memory immortal grew.
The kiss, dear maid ! thy lip has left,
Shall never part from mine,
Untainted back to thine,
Thy parting glance, which fondly beams,
An equal love may see:
Can weep no change in me.
I ask no pledge to make me blest
In gazing when alone;
Whose thoughts are all thine own.
Nor need I write-to tell the tale
My pen were doubly weak:
Unless the heart could speak ?
By day or night, in weal or wo,
That heart, no longer free,
And silent ache for thee.
WITHOUT a stone to mark the spot,
And say, what Truth might well have said, By all, save one, perchance forgot,
Ah, wherefore art thou lowly laid ? By many a shore and many a sea
Divided, yet beloved in vain; The past, the future fled to thee
To bid us meet-no-ne'er again! Could this have been a word, a look
That softly said, “ We part in peace," Had taught my bosom how to brook,
With fainter sighs, thy soul's release. And didst thou not, since Death for thee
Prepared a light and pangless dart, Once long for him thou ne'er shalt see,
Who held, and holds thee in his heart? Oh! who like him had watch'd thee here?
Or sadly mark'd thy glazing eye, In that dread hour ere death appear,
When silent Sorrow fears to sigh, Till all was past? But when no more
'Twas thine to reck of human wo, Affection's heart-drops, gushing o'er,
Had flow'd as fast--as now they flow.