Obrazy na stronie

Yes! I have slept; and now unknown

To me the things best known before :
The land, the people, once mine own,

Where are they?--they are here no more.
My boyhood's friends, all aged, worn,

Despoild the woods, the fields, of home,
Only the stream flows on forlorn!

(Alas ! that e'er such change should come !)
And he who knew me once so well,

Salutes me now as one estranged:
The very earth to me can tell

Of nought but things perverted, changed :
And when I muse on other days,

That pass'd me as the dashing oars
The surface of the ocean raise,

Ceaseless my heart its fate deplores. &c.' Among the poems of Troubadours, those of Bernard de Born, who flourished in the latter part of the twelfth century, are distinguished by their spirit and marked character. The one beginning, “The beautiful spring delights me well, breathes a curious mixture of gayety and martial ardour; and the preceding one is singularly elegant for the times. Our readers will, however, be better pleased with the modest merit of the following simple stanzas by à Gascon knight, Gaubert Amiels.

• I covet not a high-born dame ;

An equal in degree
Is all I seek ; for wealth and fame

Heaven never meant for me.
I wish not for the joys that reign

Mid courtiers great and high;
For were I sure success to gain,

It would not bring me joy.
• I ever loved the single bird

That sings beside my bower,
More than the noisy songsters heard

At distance, hovering o'er ;
Nor would I seek the lady's grace

Who seeketh not for mine,
Like that poor swain who left his place

For regal dame to pine.
For lofty aims I do not care,

To courtiers leave them free:
But there is one, whose chain I wear,

For she has vanquish'd me.:
From Paris e’en to the Garonne,

There is not one so fair,
Nor, noble though they be, not one

Who thus my love can share,


• To her, then, will I grateful bow,

And willing thanks repay
For kind and courteous acts, that show

More fair each coming day.
Nor shall it cost a single sigh

That higher dames there be ;
Since few indeed can rank so high,

So fair, so bright as she.
• Thus equal, not too high or low,
Happy I love: and, loving, know
How blest I n :-

-more blest by far Than if my love more lofty were.' The false rhyme in the last couplet sadly mars the conclusion; but we have too frequent reason to complain of the negligence or indolence of the Translator in this respect. Fidelity with as close an adherence as possible to the rhythm of the original, appears to have been the chief object with the Poetical Co-editor; and in these respects, the translations have considerable merit. In compositions of this character, however, where the whole beauty lies in the turn of expression and the music of language, literal fidelity is preserved at too high a cost, if it require a departure from correct versification, and a disregard of the peculiar genius of the English language. These translations strike us as more clever than poetical, more ingenious than graceful, displaying more facility and tact than delicacy of taste. We give as our last specimen, some very pleasing lines, in which Conrad of Wurtzburg, who flourished towards the close of the thirteenth century, laments over the declining popularity of his art, in the true spirit of a genuine bard.

• Unwilling stays the throng

To hear the minstrel's song:
Yet cease I not to sing,
Though small the praise it bring;
Even if on desert waste
My lonely lot were cast,
Unto my harp, the same,
My numbers would I frame.
Though never ear were found
To hear the lonely sound,
Still should it echo round;
As the lone nightingale
Her tuneful strain sings on
To her sweet self alone,
Whiling away the hour
Deep in her leafy bow'r,

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Where night by night she loves
Her music to prolong,
And makes the hills and groves

Re-echo to her song.' The songs of Greece are offered by the Translator, not as mere rhymes, but as documents proving the heroism and illus*trating the manners of Greece. They consist of, 1. Historical Ballads, describing the adventures of Kleftai or events of pathetic interest, and not unfrequently reminding the reader of the Spanish ballads relating to the conflicts between the Christians and the Moors, or the minstrelsy of our own border ; 2. Romantic Ballads; 3. Domestic Songs ; 4. Distichs current on the coast and islands. To these are added some recent • odes of Greek literati.' The following simple ballad celebrates the heroism of a Thessalian Armatolé" who lived some thirty or forty years ago.

• I see the Turks in every pass,

Th’ Arnauts on many a hill;
Yet Sterghios, while his breath remains,

Will brave the tyrant still.
• While snow descends on mountain heights,

Submit not to the Turk:
No! rather let us make our lair

Where wolves are forced to lurk.
• While slaves beneath the splendid weight

Of Plenty's gilded chains,
Enjoy with infidels below

Their cities and their plains ;
• The brave have here a citadel

In every lonely glen:
Rather than share with Turks the

mosque, We share with beasts the den.' There are several ballads on the fall of Suli, the history of which most interesting episode in the Greek Revolution we gave in a former volume.* We select one which records by no means a solitary instance of female heroism, recalling the days of Carthage and Numantia.

• Loud shouts are echoing through the rocks,

While muskets ring and thunder.
Is it to strike some bridal crowd

With joy and childish wonder?

* Ecl, Review, vol. xiv. p. 534, &c.

< 'Tis Despo who is combating

With many a dark-eyed daughter :-
Within Dimoula's tower she stems

Th’ Albanian tide of slaughter.
““ Despo, submit, for Suli lies

Shatter'd and black with ruin;
Then trust Ali, who ne'er unmoved

Can gaze on Beauty sueing."
« « Since Suli and Kiapha crouch,

I bar this gate the faster :
Nor Despo nor her daughters e'er

Receive a Moslem master!”
• She seiz'd a torch-unearthly came

Her dying voice, and hollow :
« We never must be slaves to Turks

I fly! my children, follow !"
« 'Mid cartridges she plunged the torch,

And all was bursting fire:
That mother and those lovely girls

Have join'd their murdered sire ! The inscription on the sabre of Kontoghianni is strikingly characteristic:

• Let him who courts not kings, but death,

Who loves the free, and leads the brave,
Whose only life is honour's breath,

Possess in trust this Grecian glaive.' The following is a fragment highly interesting as indicating the spirit which, we are assured, even children have displayed since the commencement of the contest. Fingari (properly Phengari, from Peyyos) is the bonny Lady Moon, better known to English readers under the name of Cynthia.

• Mayst thou still be pure and bright,
Journeying through th' expanse of night,
If, Fingari, thou wilt tell,
(Callid without a sorcerer's spell,)
What Grevena's children, tried
By the tempter's power, replied.
• They repose in early graves,
But they long were youthful slaves.
Then a cruel Turkish dame,
Wielding hope, and fear, and shame,
Nightly chains and daily blows,
Tempted them to end their woes :-


Will ye each become a Turk,
Never knowing want or work?


will have Arab steeds,
Damask blades and costly weeds."
• " Turkish lady! wilt thou be

Christian, poor, and meek as we?
Thou wilt have the Holy Book,
That which makes us upward look,
From an earthly tyrant's rod,

To the blessed throne of God." The notes to the translations, so far as they are explanatory of the text, are highly acceptable; but they too often run out into flippancy. We were startled at the assertion in one of them," that female modesty exists in Greece to a greater de'gree than in any country on earth.' The most candid way of accounting for this remark, coming from an Englishman, is by supposing that his acquaintance with our own country women has been confined to high life. Our Author is compelled to own, however, that one of the songs (it is not the only one of the kind) does not justify the praises elsewhere bestowed

upon the retenue of the Greek ladies ;' and he then to lay the blame of their • forwardness' on the climate. This immoral apology, which, by assigning a general cause, would seem to admit that the effect is general also, might as well have been given in the words of a line with which Mr. Sheridan must be familiar,

• The stars are more in fault than they.' We deem it necessary, however, to state, that that English modesty which, in spite of Thomas Little and Don Juan, we believe not to be extinct, will resent some of the specimens of Greek modesty in these popular songs. Among those of a domestic cast are a few specimens of Greek lullabies. One of them begins with the following invocation :

• Santa Maria! cover the child !

Santa Sophia ! sing him asleep!' In the second stanza occurs a vulgarism, the devil to pay,' for which, not having M. Fauriel's text at hand, we know not how far the Greek is responsible. Another lullaby we give entire.

• Hush ! hush! my sleeping babe!

And thou shalt have in a trice,
Alexandria for thy sugar,

And Cairo for thy rice;

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