The smiles thou hast waken'd by news from my lover, Will now all be turn'd into weeping for thee. While thus the scene of song (their last As do those guardian sprites of air, Ere they were sparkling there againGlided, like fairies, to assist Their handmaids on the moonlight plain, Where, hid by intercepting shade From the stray glance of curious eyes, A feast of fruits and wines was laidSoon to shine out, a glad surprise! And now the moon, her ark of light Steering through Heav'n, as though she bore In safety through that deep of night, The Zeans at their feast were seen. Beside the nymph of India's sky; And urchin Love stood laughing by. Let not a moon-beam glimmer Truth in a deep well lieth- Thus circled round the song of glee, As though 'twere wing'd to Zea's shore. Of pine torch, luring on his prey; While others, as, 'twixt awe and mirth, They breath'd the bless'd Panaya's ' name, Vow'd that such light was not of earth, But of that drear, ill-omen'd flame, Which mariners see on sail or mast, When Death is coming in the blast. While marv'lling thus they stood, a maid, Who sat apart, with downcast eye, Nor yet had, like the rest, survey'd That coming light which now was nigh, Soon as it met her sight, with cry Of pain-like joy, "Tis he! 'tis he!' At burst so wild, alarm'd, amaz'd, What meant such mood, in maid so meek? The name which the Yeks give to the Virgin Mary. They ne'er would meet on earth again! That Greece hath won, and all is well!' In vain his mistress, sad as he, But with a heart from self as free SONG. : MARCH! nor heed those arms that hold thee, Though so fondly close they come; Closer still will they enfold thee, When thou bring'st fresh laurels home. Dost thou dote on woman's brow? Dost thou live but in her breath? Beauty's long-miss'd smile to meet, One last glowing tear and thenMarch!-nor rest thy sword, till Heaven Brings thee to those arms again. Ev'n then, e'er loth their hands could part, A promise the youth gave, which bore i Fondly the maiden, every night, Had stolen to seek that promis'd light; Fleetly the boat now nears the land, While voices, from the shore-edge, call For tidings of the long-wish'd band. Oh the blest hour, when those who've been Through peril's paths by land or sea, Smiling in glad security; And ask, though answer'd oft before, With beaming faces, at that board, While cups, with laurel foliage crown'd, Are to the coming warriors pour'd,Coming, as he, their herald, told. With blades from vict'ry scarce yet cold, With hearts untouch'd by Moslem steel, And wounds that home's sweet breath will heal. 'Ere morn,' said he,-and, while he spoke, Turn'd to the east, where, clear, and pale, The star of dawn already broke― [sail!' 'We'll greet, on vonder wave, their Thinking, with lips that mov'd in pray'r, Of Sappho and that fearful flood: While some, who ne'er till now had known How much their hearts resembled hers, Felt as they made her griefs their own, That they, too, were Love's worship pers. At length a murmur, all but mute, Of some lost melody, some strain Slowly the half-forgotten theme (Though born in feelings ne'er forgot) Came to her memory-as a beam Falls broken o'er some shaded spot;And while her lute's sad symphony Fill'd up each sighing pause between ; And Love himself might weep to see (As fays behold the wither'd green Where late they danced) what misery May follow where his steps have been Thus simply to the list'ning throng Of many a stanza, this alone When thus the heart is in a vein As when the air is warm, the scent That's link'd with feelings, once our own With friends or joys gone by-will be Worth choirs of loftiest harmony! But some there were, among the group Of damsels there, too light of hears To let their fancies longer droop, Ev'n under music's melting art: And one upspringing, with a bound, From a low bank of flowers, look'd round With eyes that, though they laugh'd with light, Had still a lingering tear within; And while her hand in dazzling flight, Flew o'er a fairy mandolin, Thus sung the song her lover late That joyous night, when, as of yore, All Zia met, to celebrate The Feast of May, on the sea-shore. SONG. WHEN the Balaika1 Is heard o'er the sea, I'll dance the Romaika By moonlight with thee. If waves, then, advancing, Should steal on our play, Thy white feet, in dancing, Shall chase them away. ing the Romaika upon the sand; in some of those groups, the girl who led them chased the retreating wave.'-Douglas on the Modera Greeks. 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: That morning dawn'd by whose immortal light They grandly died for thee and liberty !2 'Raise the buckler-poise the lance'Now here now there-retreat-ad vance !' Such was the Spartan heroes' dance. Scarce had they clos'd this martial lay When, flinging their light spears away, The combatants, in broken ranks, All breathless from the war-field fly; And down, upon the velvet banks And flowery slopes, exhausted lie, Like rosy huntresses of Thrace, Resting at sunset from the chase. While still, through every varying feat, SONG. One who himself, had fought and bled, And now, with feelings, half delight, Half sadness, watch'd their mimic fight RAISE the buckler-poise the lance-Foud maids! who thus with War Now here now there-retreat-ad vance !' can jest Like Love, in Mars's helmet drest, Pleas'd with the shade that helmet Did luck but shine on righteous blades, Did Honour's arm still win the fray, But, no, alas!-hear one, who well War were a game for gods to play! Hath track'd the fortunes of the Hear me, in mournful ditty, tell grave. SONG. As by the shore, at break of day, 1 Homer, Il. ii. 753. It is said that Leonidas and his companions employed themselves, on the eve of the battle, music and the gymnastic exercises of their country. |