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Fuego por los ojos vierte,
El Rey que esto oyera,
Y como el otro de leyes
De leyes tambien hablaba.

Ay de mi, Alhama!

Sabe un Rey que no hay leyes De darle á Reyes disgusto.Eso dice el Rey moro Relinchando de cólera.

Ay de mi, Alhama!

Moro Alfaqui, Moro Alfaqui,
El de la vellida barba,
El Rey te manda prender,
Por la pérdida de Alhama.
Ay de mi, Alhama!

Y cortarte la cabeza,
Y ponerla en el Alhambra,
Por que á ti castigo sea,
Yotros tiemblen en miralla.
Ay de mi, Alhama!

Caballeros, hombres buenos,
Decid de mi parte al Rey,
Al Rey moro de Granada,
Como no le devo nada.
Ay de mi, Alhama!

De aberse Alhama perdido
A mi me pesa en el alma;
Que si el Rey perdió su tierra
Otro mucho mas perdiera.
Ay de mi, Alhama!

Perdieran hijos padres,
Y casados las casadas:
Las cosas que mas amara
Perdió uno y otro fama.
Ay de mi, Alhama!

Perdi una hija doncella
Que era la flor d' esta tierra;
Cien doblas daba por ella,
No me las estimo en nada.

Ay de mi, Alhama!

Diciendo asi al hacen Alfaqui,
Le cortaron la cabeza,
Y la elevan al Alhambra,
Asi como el Rey lo manda.
Ay de mi, Alhama!


"And for this, oh king! is sent
On thee a double chastisement,
Thee and thine, thy crown and realm,
One last wreck shall overwhelm.
Woe is me, Alhama!

"He who holds no laws in awe,

He must perish by the law;
And Granada must be won,
And thyself with her undone."
Woe is me, Alhama!

Fire flash'd from out the old Moor's eyes,
The monarch's wrath began to rise,
Because he answer'd, and becanse
He spake exceeding well of laws.
Woe is me, Alhama!

"There is no law to say such things
As may disgust the ear of kings:"—
Thus, snorting with his choler, said
The Moorish king, and doom'd him dead.
Woe is me, Alhama

Moor Alfaqui! Moor Alfaqui!
Though thy beard so hoary be,
The king hath sent to have thee seized,
For Aihama's loss displeased.
Woe is me, Alhama!

And to fix thy head upon
High Alhambra's loftiest stone;
That this for thee should be the law,
And others tremble when they saw.
Woe is me, Alhama!

"Cavalier! and man of worth! Let these words of mine go forth; Let the Moorish monarch know, That to him I nothing owe:

Woe is me, Alhama!

"But on my soul Alhama weighs, And on my inmost spirit preys; And if the king his land hath lost, Yet others may have lost the most. Woe is me, Alhama!

"Sires have lost their children, wives
Their lords, and valiant men their lives,
One what best his love might claim
Hath lost, another wealth or fame.
Woe is me, Alhama!

"I lost a damsel in that hour,
Of all the land the loveliest flower,
Doubloons a huadred I would pay,
And think her ransom cheap that day."
Woe is me, Alhama!

And as these things the old Moor said,
They sever'd from the trunk his head;
And to the Alhambra's wail with speed
I was carried, as the king decreed.
Woe is me, Alhama!

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Bonetto composto in nome di un genitore, a cui era morta poco innanzi una figlia appena maritata; e diretto al genitore della sacra sposa.

Di due vaghe donzelle, oneste, accorte
Lieti e miseri padri il ciel ne feo;
Il ciel, che degne di più nobil sorte,
L'una e l'altra veggendo, ambo chiedo
La mia fu tolta da veloce morte

A le fumanti tede d' Imeneo:

La tua, Francesco, in sugellate porte
Eterna prigioniera or si rendeo.
Ma tu almeno potrai de la gelosa
Irremeabil soglia, ove s' asconde
La sua tenera udir voce pietosa.
Io verso un fiume d' amarissim' onda,

Corro a quel marmo in cui la figlia or posa,
Batto e ribatto, ma nessun risponde.



Sonnet composed in the name of a father, whose daughter had recently died shortly after her marriage; and addressed to the father of her who had lately taken the veil.

Or two fair virgins, modest though admired,
Heaven made us happy, and now, wretched sires,
Heaven for a nobler doom their worth desires,
And gazing upon either, both required.
Mine, while the torch of Hymen newly fired
Becomes extinguish'd, soon-too soon expires.
But thine, within the closing grate retired,
Eternal captive, to her God aspires.
But thou at least from out the jealous door,
Which shuts between your never-meeting eyes,
May'st hear her sweet and pious voice once more:
I to the marble, where my daughter lies,

Rush, the swoln flood of bitterness I pour,
And knock, and knock, and knock-but none replies


NOVEMBER 14, 1809.

THROUGH cloudless skies, in silvery sheen,
Full beams the moon on Actium's coast,
And on these waves, for Egypt's queen,
The ancient world was won and lost.

And now upon the scene I look,

The azure grave of many a Roman; Where stern Ambition once forsook

His wavering crown to follow woman.

Florence! whom I will love as well
As ever yet was said or sung
(Since Orpheus sang his spouse from hell),
Whilst thou art fair and I am young;

Sweet Florence! those were pleasant times,
When worlds were staked for ladics' eyes:
Had bards as many realms as rhymes,

Thy charms might raise new Antonies.

Though Fate forbids such things to be, Yet, by thine eyes and ringlets curl'd!

I cannot lose a world for thee,

But would not lose thee for a world.


Composed October 11th, 1809, during the night, in a thunder storm, when the guides had lost the road to Zitza, near the range of mountains formerly called Pindus, in Albania

CHILL and mirk is the nightly blast,
Where Pindus' mountains rise,
And angry clouds are pouring fast
The vengeance of the skies.

Our guides are gone, our hope is lost,
And lightnings, as they play,

But show where rocks our path have crost,
Or gild the torrent's spray.

Is yon a cot I saw, though low?

When lightning broke the gloomHow welcome were its shade!-ah! no "T is but a Turkish tomb.

Through sounds of foaming water-falls,
I hear a voice exclaim-
My way-worn countryman, who calls
On distant England's name.

A shot is fired-by foe or friend?
Another 't is to tell
The mountain peasants to descend,
And lead us where they dwell.

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While wandering through each broken path,

O'er brake and craggy brow:

While elements exhaust their wrath,

Sweet Florence, where art thou?

Not on the sea, not on the sea,

Thy bark hath long been gone:
Oh, may the storm that pours on me
Bow down my head alone!

Full swiftly blew the swift Siroc

When last I press'd thy lip;
And long ere now, with foaming shock,
Impell'd thy gallant ship.

Now thou art safe; nay, long cre now
Hast trod the shore of Spain:
"T were hard if aught so fair as thou
Should linger on the main.

And since I now remember thee
In darkness and in dread,
As in those hours of revelry

Which murth and music sped;

Do thou amidst the fair white walls,
If Cadiz yet be free,

At times from out her latticed halls
Look o'er the dark-blue sea;

Then think upon Calypso's isles,
Endear'd by days gone by;
To others give a thousand smiles,
To me a single sigh.

And when the admiring circle mark
The paleness of thy face,

A half-form'd tear, a transient spark
Of melancholy grace,

Again thou 'It smile, and blushing shun

Some coxcomb's raillery ;

Nor own for once thou thought'st of one,
Who ever thinks on thee.

Though smile and sigh alike are vain,
When sever'd hearts repine;
My spirit flies o'er mount and main,
And mourns in search of thine.


On Lady! when I left the shore,
The distant shore which gave me birth,
I hardly thought to grieve once more,
To quit another spot on earth:

Yet here, amidst this barren isle,
Where panting nature droops the head,
Where only thou art seen to smile,

I view my parting hour with dread.
Though far from Albin's craggy shore,
Divided by the dark-blue main;
A few, brief, rolling seasons o'er,
Perchance I view her cliffs again:
But wheresoe'er I now may roam,
Through scorching clime and varied sea,
Though time restore me to my home,
I ne'er shall bend mine eyes on thee:
On thee, in whom at once conspire

All charms which heedless hearts can move,
Whom but to see is to admirc,

And, oh! forgive the word-to love.
Forgive the word, in one who ne'er

With such a word can more offend;
And since thy heart I cannot share,
me, what I am, thy friend.
And who so cold as look on thee,
Thou lovely wanderer, and be less?
Nor be, what man should ever be,

The friend of beauty in distress?
Ah! who would think that form had past
Through danger's most destructive path,
Had braved the death-wing'd tempest's blast,
And 'scaped a tyrant's fiercer wrath?
Lady! when I shall view the walls
Where free Byzantium once arose;
And Stamboul's oriental halls

The Turkish tyrants now enclose; Though mightiest in the lists of fame

That glorious city still shall be;
On me 't will hold a dearer claim

As spot of thy nativity:
And though I bid thee now farewell,

When I behold that wondrous scene,
Since where thou art I may not dwell,

"T will soothe to be where thou hast been. September, 1809.


JANUARY 16, 1810.

THE spell is broke, the charm is flown!
Thus is it with life's fitful fever!
We madly smile when we should groan;
Delirium is our best deceiver.

Each lucid interval of thought

Recalls the woes of Nature's charter, And he that acts as wise men ought,

But lives, as saints have died, a martyr.

Dear object of defeated care!

Though now of love and thec 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:
For by the death-blow of my hope,
My memory immortal grew.


TO ABYDOS, MAY 9, 1810.

IF, in the month of dark December,
Leander, who was nightly wont
(What maid will not the tale remember?)

To cross thy stream, broad Hellespont!
If, when the wintry tempest roar'd,
He sped to Hero, nothing loth,
And thus of old thy current pour'd,
Fair Venus! how I pity both!
For me, degenerate modern wretch,

Though in the genial month of May,
My dripping limbs I faintly stretch,

And think I've done a feat to-day.
But since he cross'd the rapid tide,

According to the doubtful story,
To woo,-and-Lord knows what beside,
And swam for love, as I for glory;

"T were hard to say who fared the best:
Sad mortals! thus the gods still plague you!
He lost his labour, I ny jest,

For he was drown'd, and I've the ague.

Ζώη μου, σὰς ἀγαπῶ.
ATHENS, 1810.

MAID of Athens, ere we part,
Give, oh, give me back my heart!
Or, since that has left my breast,
Keep it now, and take the rest!
Hear vow before I go,

Ζώη μου, σὰς ἀγαπῶ.

On the 3d of May, 1810, while the Salsette (Captain Bathurst) was lying in the Dardanelles, Lieutenant Ekenhead of that frigate and the writer of these rhymes swam from the European shore to the Asiatic-by-the-by, from Abydos to Sestos would have been more correct. The whole distance from the place whence we started to our landing on the other side, ineluding the length we were carried by the current, was computed by those on board the frigate at upwards of four Engfish miles; though the actual breadth is barely one. The rapidity of the current is such that no boat can row directly across, and it may in some measure be estimated from the cir cumstance of the whole distance being accomplished by one of the parties in an hour and five, and by the other in an hour and ten minutes. The water was extremely cold, from the melting of the mountain-snows. About three weeks before, en April, we had made an attempt, but having ridden all the way from the Troad the same morning, and the water being of an icy chillness, we found it necessary to postpone the completion till the frigate anchored below the castles, when wo awam the straits, as just stated, entering a considerable way above the European, and landing below the Asiatic fort. Chevalier says that a young Jew swam the same distance for bis mistress; and Oiver mentions its having been done by a Neapolitan; but our consul, Tarragona, remembered neither of these circumstances, and tried to dissuade us from the attempt. A number of the Salsette's crew were known to have accomplished a greater distance; and the only thing that surprised me was, that, as doubts had been entertained of the truth of Leander's story, no traveller had ever endeavoured to ascerLain its practicability.

By those tresses unconfined,
Woo'd by each Ægean wind;
By those lids whose jetty fringe
Kiss thy soft cheeks' blooming tinge,
By those wild eyes like the roc,
Ζώη μου, σὰς ἀγαπῶ.

By that lip I long to taste;
By that zone-encircled waist;
By all the token-flowers' that tell
What words can never speak so well;
By love's alternate joy and woe,
Ζώη μοῦ, σὰς ἀγαπῆ.

Maid of Athens! I am gone:

Think of me, sweet! when alone.-
Though I fly to Istambol,2
Athens holds my heart and soul:
Can I cease to love thee? No!
Ζώη μοῦ, σὰς ἀγαπῶ.


Δεῦτε παῖδες τῶν Ἑλλήνων,

Written by Riga, who perished in the attempt to revolutionim Greece. The following translation is as literal as the autho could make it in verse; it is of the same measure as that o the original.

SONS of the Greeks, arise!

The glorious hour's gone forth,
And, worthy of such ties,
Display who gave us birth.


Sons of Greeks, let us go

In arms against the foe,
Till their hated blood shall flow
In a river past our fect.

Then manfully despising

The Turkish tyrant's yoke,
Let your country see you rising,

And all her chains are broke.
Brave shades of chiefs and sages,
Behold the coming strife!
Hellenes of past ages,

Oh, start again to life!

At the sound of my trumpet, breaking
Your sleep, oh, join with me!
And the seven-hill'd' city seeking,
Fight, conquer, till we 're free.

Sons of Greeks, etc.

Sparta, Sparta, why in slumbers

Lethargic dost thou lie ?
Awake, and join thy numbers
With Athens, old ally!

Zoe mou, sas agapo, or Zón uov, càs ȧyan@, a Romaic expression of tenderness: if I translate it I shall affront the 1 In the East (where ladies are not taught to write, lest they gentlemen, as it may seem that I supposed they could not; and should scribble assignations) flowers, cinders, pebbles, etc., if I do not, I may affront the ladies. For fear of any miscon-convey the sentiments of the parties by that universal deputy struction on the part of the latter, I shall do so, begging of Mercury-an old woman. A cinder says, "I burn for the pardon of the learned. It means. "My life, I love you!" a bunch of flowers tied with hair, "Take me and fly; but which sounds very prettily in all languages, and is as much pebble declares-what nothing else can. in fashion in Greece at this day as, Juvenal tells us, the two first words were amongst the Roman ladies, whose erotic expressions were all Hellenized.

2 Constantinople.


3 Constantinople. "Enraλodos."

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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 "Xópoɩ” in the winter of 1810-11. The air is plaintive and pretty.

I ENTER thy garden of roses,
Beloved and fair Haidée,
Each morning when 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:
As the branch, at the bidding of nature,

Adds fragrance and fruit to the tree,
Through her eyes, through her every feature,
Shines the soul of the young Haidée.
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;
But when drunk to escape from thy malice,
The draught shall be sweet to my soul.
Too cruel! in vain I implore thee

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,
Thus thou, with those eyes for thy lances,
Hast pierced through my heart to its core.

Ah, tell me, my soul! must I perish

By pangs which a smile would dispel? Would the hope, which thou once bad'st me cherish, For torture repay me too well? Now sad is the garden of roses, Beloved but false Haidée! There Flora all wither'd reposes,

And mourns o'er thine absence with me.

ON PARTING. CHE kiss, dear maid! thy lip has left, Shall never part from mine,

Till happier hours restore the gift Untainted back to thine.

Thy parting glance, which fondly beams, An equal love may see:

The tear that from thine eyelid streams
Can weep no change in me.

I ask no pledge to make me blest,
In gazing when alone;
Nor one memorial for a breast,
Whose thoughts are all thine own.

Nor need I write-to tell the tale
My pen were doubly weak:
Oh! what can idle words avail,
Unless the heart could speak?

By day or night, in weal or woe,
That heart, no longer free,
Must bear the love it cannot show,
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

"T was thine to reck of human woe, Affection's heart-drops, gushing o'er,

Had flow'd as fast-as now they flow
Shall they not flow, when many a day
In these, to me, deserted towers,
Ere call'd but for a time away,

Affection's mingling tears were ours?
Ours too the glance none saw beside;

The smile none else might understand; The whisper'd thought of hearts allied, The pressure of the thrilling hand; The kiss so guiltless and refined,

That love each warmer wish forbore Those eyes proclaim'd so pure a mind, Even passion blush'd to plead for more The tone, that taught me to rejoice, When prone, unlike thee, to repine, The song celestial from thy voice,

But sweet to me from none but thine;

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