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For, through thy long dark lashes low depending,

The soul of melancholy Gentleness
Gleams like a seraph from the sky descending,

Above all pain, yet pitying all distress ;
At once such majesty with sweetness blending ,

I worship more, but cannot love thee less.


In moments to delight devoted,

« My life ! » with tend’rest tone you cry; Dear words ! on which my heart had doted,

If youth could neither fade por die.
To death eyen hours like these must roll,

Ah ! then repeat those accents never ;
Or change « my life ! » into « my soul ! »

Which, like my love, exists for ever.

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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 « Xópos, » in the winter of 1810–11. The air is plaintive and pretty.

I enter thy garden of roses,

Beloved and fair Haidee,
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;
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 Haidee.

1. 2. But the loveliest garden grows hateful

When Love has abandoned the bowers; Bring me hemlock-since mine is ungrateful,

That herb is more fragrant than flowers.

The poisou, when poured 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.

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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 cherie

For torture repay me too well?
Now sad is the garden of roses,

Beloved, but false Haidee ! There Flora all withered reposes,

And mourns o'er thine absence with me..

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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 my vow before I go,
Zón poũ, oss ärata.

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By those tresses unconfined,
Wooed by each Ægean wind ;
By those lids whose jetty fringe
Kiss thy soft cheeks' blooming tinge ;
By those wild eyes like the roe,

Zón poū, oós áryattā.
(1) Zoë mou, sas agapo, or Zán peoữ oás égar@, a Romaic
expression of tenderness : if I translate it I shall affront the
gentlemen, as it may seem that I supposed they could not;
and if I do not I may affront the ladies. For fear of any mis.
construction on the part of the latter I shall do so begging
pardon of the learned. It means, « My life, I love you ! »
which sounds very prettily in all languages, and is as much
in fashion in Greece at this day as, Juvenal tells us, the two
first words were amongst the Roman ladies, whose erotie
expressions were all Hellenized.


By that lip I long to taste ;
By that zone-encircled waist ;
By all the token-flowers (1) that tell
What words can never speak so well;
By Love’s alternate joy and woe,
Zán poữ, oss åsyatū.

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!
Zón poū, gås åyata.

(1) In the East ( where ladies are not taught to write, lest they should scribble assignations ), flowers, cinders, pebbles, etc., 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. »

(2) Constantinople.

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