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WRITTEN AFTER SWIMMING FROM SESTOS LINES WRITTEN IN THE TRAVELLERS' BOOK TO ABYDOS.
IN THIS BOOK A TRAVELLER HAD WRITTEN:
“ Fair Albion, smiling, sees her son depart
He comes to Athens, and he writes his name." If, when the wintry tempest roar’d,
BENEATH WHICH LORD BYRON INSERTED THE FOLLOWING: He sped to Hero, nothing loth,
The modest bard, like many a bard unknown, And thus of old thy current pour'd,
Rhymes on our names, but wisely hides his own; Fair Venus! how I pity both!
But yet, whoe'er he be, to say no worse,
His name would bring more credit than his verse.' For me, degenerate modern wretch,
1810. Though in the genial month of May, My dripping limbs I faintly stretch, And think I've done a feat to-day.
MAID OF ATHENS, ERE WE PART.
Ζώη μου, σας αγαπώ, But since he cross'd the rapid tide,
Maid of Athens,' ere we part, According to the doubtful story,
Give, oh, give me back my heart ! To woon-and-Lord knows what beside,
Or, since that has left my breast, And swam for Love, as I for Glory ;
Keep it now, and take the rest !
Hear my vow before I go, "Txere hard to say who fared the best :
Ζώη μου, σας αγαπώ.» Sad mortals! thus the Gods still plague you !
By those tresses unconfined, He lost his labor, I my jest;
Woo'd by each Ægean wind;
By those lids whose jetty fringe
Kiss thy soft cheeks' blooming tinge ;
On the 3d of May, 1810, while the Salsette (Captain Macri, the Consulina's, where we at present live. This lady Bathurst) was lying in the Dardanelles, Lieutenant Eken. is the widow of the consul, and has three lovely daughters; head of that frigate and the writer of these rhymes swam the eldest celebrated for her beauty, and said to be the from the European shore to the Asiatic-by the by, from • Maid of Athens' of Lord Byron. Their apartment is imAbydos to Sestos kould have been more correct. The whole mediately opposite to ours, and, if you could see thein, as we distance from the place whence we started to our landing on do now, ihrough the gently waving aromatic plants before the other side, including the length we were carried by the our window, you would leave your heart in Athens. Theeurrent. was computed by those on board the frigate at up resa, the Maid of Athens, Catinco, and Mariana, are of middle wards of four English miles; though the actual breadth is stature. On the crown of the head of each is a red Albanian barely one. The rapidity of the current is such that no boat skull-cap, with a blue tassel spread out and fastened down 082 row directly across, and it may, in some ineasure, be like a star. Near the edge or bottom of the skull-cap is a estimate from the circumstance of the whole distance being handkerchief of various colors bound round their temples. accomplished by one of the parties in an hour and five, and The youngest wears her hair loose, falling on her shoulders, by the other in an hour and ten, minutes. The water was -the hair behind descending down the back nearly to the extremely cold, from the melting of the mountain snows.
waist, and, as usual, inixed with silk. The two eldest About three weeks before, in April, we had made an attempt ; generally have their hair bound, and fastened under the bist, having ridden all the way from the Troad the same handkerchief. Their upper robe is a pelisse edged with fur, morning, and the water being of an icy chillness, we found hanging loose down to the ankles ; below is a handkerchief it necessary to postpone the completion till the frigate an. of muslin covering the bosom, and terminating at the waist, chored below the castles, when we swam the straits, as just which is short ; under that, a gown of striped silk or muslin, stated : entering a considerable way above the European, with a gore round the swell of the loins, falling in front in and landing below the Asiatic, fort. Chevalier says that a graceful negligence ;-white stockings and yellow slippers poing Jew swam the same distance for his mistress, and complete their attire. The two eldest have black, or dark, Oliver mentions its having been done by a Neapolitan; but hair and eyes; their visage oval, and complexion somewhat our consul, Tarragona, remembered neither of these cir pale, with teeth of dazzling whiteness. Their cheeks are cumstances, and tried to dissuade us from the attempt. A rounded, and noses straight, rather inclined to aquiline. Dumber of the Salsette's crew were known to have ac The youngest, Mariana, is very fair, her face not so finely complished a greater distance; and the only thing that sur rounded, but has a gayer expression than her sisters', whose prised me was, that, as doubts had been entertained of the countenances, except when the conversation has something truth of Leander's story, no traveller had ever endeavored of mirth in it, may be said to be rather pensive. Their perto ascertain its practicability.
sons are elegant, and their manners pleasing and ladylike,
such as would be fascinating in any country. They possess “My companion,” says Mr. Hobhouse, “had before made a more perilous, but less celebrated passage; for I
very considerable powers of conversation, and their minds Teroilect that, when we were in Portugal, he swam from
seem to be more instructed than those of the Greek women
in general. With such attractions, it would, indeed, be reON Lisbon to Belem Castle, and having to contend with a markable, if they did not meet with great attentions from tide and counter current, the wind blowing freshly, was but little less than two hours in crossing.")
the travellers who occasionally are resident in Athens. They
sit in the eastern style, a little reclined, with their limbs '( At Orehomenus, where stood the Temple of the Graces, gathered under them on the divan, and without shoes. I was terpiej to exclaim, " Whither have the Graces fled ?" Their employments are the needle, tambouring, and readLittle did I expect to find them here ; yet here comes one ing." There is a beautiful engraving of the Maid of Athens of them with golden cups and coffee, and another with a in Finden's Illustrations of Byron, No. I.) Book. The book is a register of names, some of which are far sounded by the voice of fame. Among them is Lord
5 Romaic expression of tenderness: if I translate it, I Byron's, connected with some lines which I here send
shall affront the gentlemen, as it may seem that I supposed you.-H. W. Williams.)
they could not; and if I do not, I may atfront the ladies. For
fear of any misconstruction on the part of the latter, I shall We copy the following interesting account of the Maid do so, begging pardon of the learned. It means,“ My life, of Athens and her family from the late eminent artist, Mr. I love you!" which sounds very prettily in all languages, Hugh Williams of Edinburgh's " Travels in Italy, Greece,” and is as much in fashion in Greece at this day as, Juvenal &c.-"Our servant, who had gone before to procure accom tells us, the two first words were amongst the Roman ladies, modation, met us at the gate, and conducted us to Theodore whose erotic expressions were all Hellenised.
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.
Sparta, Sparta, why in slumbers
Lethargic dost thou lie? Awake, and join thy numbers
With Athens, old ally! Leonidas recalling,
That chief of ancient song, Who saved ye once from falling,
The terrible! the strong!
In old Therinopylæ,
To keep his country free;
The battle, long he stood, And like a lion raging, Expired in seas of blood.
Sons of Greeks, &c.'
The kiss, dear maid! thy lip has left
Shall never part from mine, Till happier hours restore the gist
Untainted back to thine.
Thy parting glance, which fondly beams,
An equal love may see:
Can weep no change in me.
In gazing when alone;
Whose thoughts are all thine own.
TRANSLATION OF THE ROMAIC SONG,
«Μπενω μες τσ’ περιβόλι
'llparótarn Xánon, &c.2
For surely I see her in thee.
Receive this fond truth from my tongue,
Yet trembles for what it has sung ;
Adds fragrance and fruit to the tree,
Shines the soul of the young Haidée.
Nor need I write-to tell the talo
My pen were doubly weak : Oh! what can idle words avail,
Unless the heart could speak?
By day or night, in weal or wo,
That heart, no longer free,
But the loveliest garden grows hateful
When Love has abandon'd the bowers ;
Will deeply embitter the bowl ;
My heart from these horrors to save :
Then open the gates of the grave.
Secure of his conquest before,
Hast pierced through my heart to its core.
By pangs which a smile would dispel ? Would the hope, which thou once bad 'st me cherish,'
For torture repay me too well?
EPITAPH FOR JOSEPH BLACKETT,
LATE POET AND SHOEMAKER.
Malta, May 16, 1811.
ner of singing it is by verses in rotation, the whole number present joining in the chorus. I have heard it frequently at our “xopou," in the winter of 1810-11. The air is plaintive
(Riga was a Thessalian, and passed the first part of his oth anong his native mountains, in teaching ancient Greek to his countrymen. On the first burst of the French fevolution, he joined himself to some other enthusiasts, and with them perambulated Greece, rousing the bold, and encouraging the timid, by his minstrelsy. He afterwards went to Vienna to solicit aid for a rising, which he and his Comrades hard for years been endeavoring to accomplish; but he was given up by the Austrian government to the Turks, who rainly endeavored by torture to force from bum the names of ihe other conspirators.]
* The song from which this is taken is a great favorite with the young girls of Athens of all classes. Their man
(National songs and popular works of amusement throw no small light on the manners of a people : they are materials which most travellers have within their reach, but which they almost always disdain to collect. Lord Byron has shown a better taste ; and it is to be hoped that his example will, in future, be generally followed.-GEORGE ELLIS.)
*[Some notice of this poetaster has been given, antè, p. 442.
He died in 1810, and his works have followed him.)
A FRAGMENT. UNHAPPY Dives ! in an evil hour 'Gainst Nature's voice seduced to deeds accursed ! Once Fortune's minion, now thou feel'st her power; Wrath's vial on thy lofty head hath burst. In Wit, in Genius, as in Wealth the first, How wondrous bright thy blooming mom arose ! But thou wert smitten with th' uuhallow'd thurst Of Crime unuamed, and thy sad noou must close In scorn, and solitude unsought, the worst of woes.
1811. (First publeshel, 1899.)
FAREWELL TO MALTA. Adieu, yo joys of La Valette! Adieu, sirocco, sun, and sweat! Adieu, thou palace rarely enter'd ! Adieu, ye mansions where I've ventured! Adieu, ye cursed streets of stairs ! (How surely he who mounts you swears !) Adieu, ye merchants often failing! Adieu, thou mob forever railing! Adieu, ye packets—without letters ! Adieu, ye fools-who ape your betters! Adieu, thoa damned'st quarantine, That gave me fever, and the spleen! Adieu that stage which makes us yawn, Sirs, Adieu his Excellency's dancers ! Adieu to Peter-whom no fault 's in, But could not teach a colonel waltzing ; Adieu, ye females fraught with graces ! Adieu red coats, and redder faces ! Adieu the supercilious air Of all that strut “en militaire !" I go—but God knows when, or why, To smoky towns and cloudy sky, To things (the honest truth to say) As bad—but in a different way.
ON MOORE'S LAST OPERATIC PARCE, OR
So Moore writes farce:
We knew before
'That Little 's Moore,
Sept. 14, 1811. (First published, 1830.]
Farewell to these, but not adien,
And now I've got to Mrs. Fraser,
EPISTLE TO A FRIEND,
TO BE CHEERFUL., AND TO “ BANISH CARE"
"Twere long to tell, and vain to hear,
And now, O Malta! since thou 'st got us,
May 26, 1811. (First published, 1832.)
1 ["On a leaf of one of Lord Byron's paper-books I find came out at the Lyceum Theatie, on the 9th of Septeman Epigram, which, though not perhaps particularly good, ber.) I consider myself bound to insert.” – MOORE. The farce in ? (Mr. Francis Hodgson, (not then the Reverend.) See question was called “M. P.; or, the Blue Stocking,” and anté, p. 552.)
Oh! who like him had watch'd thee here?
Or sadly mark'd thy glazing eye,
When silent sorrow fears to sigh,
Till all was past! But who', no more
'Twas thine to reck of human wo, Affection's heart-drops, gushing o'er,
Had flow'd as fast—as now they flow.
And I have acted well my part,
But let this pass—I'll whine no more,
Newstead Abbey, Oct. 11, 1811,"
[First published, 1830.]
Shall they not flow, when many a day
In these, to me, deserted towers,
Affection's mingling tears were ours?
Ours too the glance none saw beside ;
The smile none else inight understand;
The pressure of the thrilling hand;
That Love each warmer wish forboro;
Even passion blush'd to plead for more.
When prone, unlike thee, to repine;
But sweet to me from none but thine ;
But where is thine ?--Ah! where art thou?
But never bent beneath till now!
And say, what Truth might well have said,
Ah! wherefore art thou lowly laid ?
Divided, yet beloved in vain ;
To bid us meet-no-ne'er again!
That softly said, “ We part in peace,"
With fainter sighs, thy soul's release.
Prepared a light and pangless dart,
Who held, and holds thee in his heart?
Well hast thou left in life's best bloom
The cup of wo for me to drain.
I would not wish thee here again ;
Thy virtues seck a filter sphere,
To wean me from mine anguish here.
To bear, forgiving and forgiven:
October 11, 1811.4
These lines will show with what gloomy fidelity, even creature of the poet's brain. “It was," he says, about the while under the pressure of recent sorrow, Lord Byron re time when he was thus bitterly feeling, and expressing, the Sened to the disappointment of his early affection, as the blight which his heart had suffered from a reul object of affecchief source of all his sufferings and errors, present and to tion, that his poems on the death of an imaginery one were come.-MOORE.)
written ;- nor is it any wonder, when we consider the pecu"The anticipation of his own future career in these con.
liar circumstances under which these beautiful effusions eluding lines are of a nature, it must be owned, to awaken
flowed from his fancy, that, of all his strains of pathos, they more of horror than of interest, were we not prepared, by so
should be the most touching and most pure. They were, inthany instances of his exaggeration in this respect, not to be
deed, the essence, the abstract spirit, as it were, of many startled at any lengths to which the spirit of self-libelling
griefs ;-a confluence of sad thoughts from many sources of would carry him. It seemned as if, with the power of paint
sorrow, refined and warmed in their passage ihrough his in fierce and gloomy personages, he had also the ambition fancy, and forming ihus one di ep reservoir of mournful feelto be, hitaself, the dark subline he drew," and that, in his
ing." It is a pity to disturb a sentiment ihus benunfully ex! fondness for the delineation of heroic crime, he endeavored pressed; but Lord Byron, in a letter to Mr. Dillas, bearing lo tancy, where he could not find in his own character, fit
ihe exact date of these Imes, viz. Oct. lith, Inl, writes as subjects for his pencil.- MOORE.)
follows:-"Thave been again shocked with a death, and have
lost one very dear to me in happier tines: but I have almost "[Two days after, in another letter to Mr. Hodgson, Lord
forgot the laste of grief,' and supped full of horrors,' uill Byron says, “I am growing nervous, (how you will laugh!)
I have become callous; nor have I a tear left for an event but it is true.-really, wretchedly, ridicuously, fine-ladi
which, five yers ago, would bave bowed my head to the cally nervous. Your climate kills me; I can neither read, earth.” In his reply to this letter, Mr. Duilas says—“I white, nor amuse myself, or any one else. My days are lustless, and my nights restless: I have seldom any society,
thank you for your confidential communication. How truly I amd, when I have, I run out of it. I don't know that I
do I wish that that being had lived, and lived yours! What
your obligations to her would have been in that case is inconsha'n't end with insanity; for I find a want of method in ceivable.” Several years after the series of poems on Thyrza atranging my thoughts that perplexes me strangely.") were written, Lord Byron, on being asked io whom they re"Mr. Moore considers “Thyrza” as if she were a mere ferred, by a person in whose tenderness he never ceased to