AS A SLIGHT BUT MOST SINCERE TOKEN OF ADMIRATION FOR HIS GENIUS, THE tale which these disjointed fragments present, is founded upon circumstances now less common in the East than formerly; either because the ladies are more circumspect than in the olden time,' or because the Christians have better fortune, or less enterprise. The story, when entire, contained the adventures of a female slave, who was thrown, in the Mussulman manner, into the sea for infidelity, and avenged by a young Venetian, her lover, at the time the Seven Islands were possessed by the Republic of Venice, and soon after the Arnauts were beaten back from the Morea, which they had ravaged for some time subsequent to the Russian invasion. The desertion of the Mainotes, on being refused the plunder of Misitra, led to the abandonment of that enterprise, and to the desolation of the Morea, during which the cruelty exercised on all sides was unparalleled even in the annals of the faithful. No breath of air to break the wave Fair clime! where every season smiles Giaour-an Infidel. The g is sounded soft, as before e in English. A tomb above the rocks on the promontory, by me supposed the sepulchre of Themistocles. There mildly dimpling, Ocean's cheek The maid for whom his melody, His thousand songs are heard on high, *The attachment of the nightingale to the rose is a well-known Persian fable. If I mistake not, the Bulbul of a thousand tales' is one of his appellations. Blooms blushing to her lover's tale: Is heard, and seen the evening star; And every grace and charm hath mix'd And trample, brute-like, o'er each flower And, fix'd on heavenly thrones, should dwell So soft the scene, so form'd for joy, He who hath bent him o'er the dead Have swept the lines where beauty lingers), That fires not, wins not, weeps not now- The doom he dreads, yet dwells upon- That parts not quite with parting breath; But beauty with that fearful bloom. A gilded halo hovering round decay. The farewell beam of Feeling pass'd away! Spark of that flame-perchance of heavenly birthWhich gleams, but warms no more its cherish'd earth! Clime of the unforgotten brave! Whose land from plain to mountain-cave Was Freedom's home, or Glory's graveShrine of the mighty! can it be That this is all remains of thee? Approach, thou craven crouching slave. Say, is not this Thermopyle? These waters blue that round you lave, O servile offspring of the freePronounce what sea, what shore is this? The gulf, the rock of Salamis! These scenes, their story not unknown, Arise, and make again your own; Snatch from the ashes of your sires The embers of their former fires; And he who in the strife expires Will add to theirs a name of fear, That Tyranny shall quake to hear, And leave his sons a hope, a fame. They too will rather die than shame: For Freedom's battle once begun, Bequeathed by bleeding Sire to Son, Though baffled oft, is ever won. Bear witness, Greece, thy living page! Attest it many a deathless age! While kings, in dusty darkness hid, Have left a nameless pyramid, Thy heroes-though the general doom Hath swept the column from their tomb, A mightier monument command, The mountains of their native land! There points thy Muse to stranger's eye The graves of those that cannot die! * I trust that few of my readers have ever had an opportunity of witnessing what is here attempted in description: but those who have, will probably retain a painful remembrance of that singular beauty which pervades, with few exceptions, the features of the dead, a few hours, and but a few hours, after the spirit is not there. It is to be remarked in cases of violent death by gunshot wounds, the expression is The guitar is the constant amusement of the Greek always that of languor, whatever the natural energy sailor by night: with a steady fair wind, and during al of the sufferer's character; but in death from a stab, calm, it is accompanied always by the voice, and often by dancing, the countenance preserves its traits of feeling or ferocity, and the mind its bias, to the last. |