2. By those tresses unconfin'd, By those lids whose jetty fringe By those wild eyes like the roe, Ζώη μέ, σάς ἀγαπω. 3. By that lip I long to taste; By all the token-flowers* that tell By Love's alternate joy and woe, In the East (where ladies are not taught to write, lest they should scribble assignations) flowers, cinders, pebbles, &c. convey the sentiments of the parties by that universal deputy of Mercury-an old woman. A cinder says, "I burn for thee;" a bunch of flowers tied with hair, "Take me and fly;" but a pebble declares-what nothing else can. 4. Maid of Athens! I am gone: Think of me, sweet! when alone. Though I fly to Islambol,* Athens holds my heart and soul. Ζώη με, σὰς ἀγαπῶ. VIII. Translation of the famous Greek War Song, Δεύτε παῖδες τῶν EAλvwv, written by Riga, who perished in the attempt to revolutionize Greece. The following translation is as literal as the author could make it in verse, which is of the same measure with that of the original. See Appendix. CHORUS Sons of Greeks! let us go In arms against the foe, Till their hated blood shall flow In a river past our feet. 2. Then manfully despising Behold the coming strife! Hellenes of past ages, Oh, start again to life! At the sound of my trumpet, breaking Sons of Greeks, &c. 3. Sparta, Sparta, why in slumbers Awake, and join thy numbers With Athens, old ally! Leonidas recalling, That chief of ancient song, Who sav'd ye once from falling, The terrible! the strong! Who made that bold diversion In old Thermopylæ, And warring with the Persian To keep his country free; With his three hundred waging And like a lion raging, Expir'd in seas of blood. Sons of Greeks, &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 " Xópot” in the winter of 1810-11. The air is plaintive and pretty. 1. I ENTER thy garden of roses, Belov'd and fair Haideé, Each morning where Flora reposes, For surely I see her in thee. Oh, Lovely! thus low I implore thee, 'Receive this fond truth from my tongue, Which utters its song to adore thee, Yet trembles for what it has sung; |