T And woods along the banks are waving high, The Muezzin's call doth shake the minaret, The Sun had sunk behind vast Tomerit, When down the steep banks winding warily, He heard the busy hum of warrior-men Swelling the breeze that sigh'd along the lengthening glen. He pass'd the sacred Haram's silent tower, Wicin, a palace, and without, a fort: resort. Kly caparison'd, a ready row armed horse, and many a warlike store inded the wide extending court below: Abeve, strange groups adorn'd the corridor; ift-times through the Area's echoing door Some high-capp'd Tartar spurr'd his steed away: The Turk, the Greek, the Albanian, and the Moor, mingled in their many-hued array, File the deep war-drum's sound announced the close of day. The wild Albanian kirtled to his knee, Are mix'd conspicuous: some recline in and, through their mortal span, In bloodier acts conclude those who with blood began. 'Mid many things most new to ear and eye retreat And were it humbler it in sooth were sweet; But Peace abhorreth artificial joys, AndPleasure, leagued with Pomp, the zest of both destroys. Fierce are Albania's children, yet they lack Not virtues, were those virtues more mature. Where is the foe that ever saw their back? Who can so well the toil of war endure? Their native fastnesses not more secure Than they in doubtful time of troublous need: Their wrath how deadly! but their friendship sure, When Gratitude or Valour bids them bleed, Unshaken rushing on where'er their chief may lead. Childe Harold saw them in their chieftain's tower Thronging to war in splendour and success; And after view'd them, when, within their power, Himself awhile the victim of distress; That saddening hour when bad men hotlier press: But these did shelter him beneath their roof, When less barbarians would have cheer'd him less, And fellow-countrymen have stood aloofIn aught that tries the heart how few withstand the proof! It chanced that adverse winds once drove It came to pass, that when he did addr And therefore did he take a trusty band Where lone Utraikey forms its circling co Nodding at midnight o'er the calm ba breast, As winds come lightly whispering from west, Kissing, notruffling, the blue deep's sere Here Harold was received a welcome gu Nor did he pass unmoved the gentle sce For many a joy could he from Night's s presence glean On the smooth shore the night-fires brigh blazed, The feast was done, the red wine circli fast; And he that unawares had there ygazed With gaping wonderment had stared agha` For ere night's midmost, stillest hour w past The native revels of the troop began; Each Palikar his sabre from him cast, And bounding hand in hand, man lin] to man, Yelling their uncouth dirge, long daunc the kirtled cla Childe Harold at a little distance stood And view'd 'but not displeased, the revelr Nor hated harmless mirth, however rud In sooth, it was no vulgar sight to see Might once again renew their ancient but- Their barbarous, yet their not indecent,gle cher-work. Vain fear! the Suliotes stretch'd the welcome hand, Led them o'er rocks and past the dangerous swamp, Kinder than polish'd slaves though not so bland, And piled the hearth, and wrung their And, as the flames along their faces gleam Their gestures nimble, dark eyes flashi free, The long wild locks that to their gird] stream'd, While thus in concert they this lay half san half scream'd: TAMBOURGI! Tambourgi! thy 'larum af garments damp, Gives hope to the valiant.and promise of wa And fill'd the bowl, and trimm'd the cheer-All the sons of the mountains arise at the not ful lamp, And spread their fare; though homely, all they had: Such conduct bears Philanthropy's rare stamp Chimariot, Illyrian, and dark Suliote! Oh! who is more brave than a dark Suliot To rest the weary and to soothe the sad, least the bad. from the rock. forego? Shall the sons of Chimari, who never forgive | Fair Greece! sad relic of departed worth! great! But those scarfs of blood-red shall be redder, before The sabre is sheathed and the battle is o'er. Then the pirates of Parga that dwell by and oar, ask not the pleasures that riches supply, The the fair face of the maid in her youth, And long accustom❜d bondage uncreate? Spirit of freedom! when on Phyle's brow now Dims the green beauties of thine Attic plain? From birth till death enslaved; in word, in In all, save form alone,how changed! and who That marks the fire still sparkling in each eye, Who but would deem their bosoms burn'd anew With thy unquenched beam, lost Liberty! Remember the moment when Previsa fell, we shared, The wealthy we slaughter'd, the lovely we spared. Who would be free themselves must strike But not for you will Freedom's altars flame. the shroud! Yet mark their mirth-ere lenten days begin, | How do they loathe the laughter idly lo And whose more rife with merriment than This must he feel,the true-born son ofGree If Greece one true-born patriot still boast: Not such as prate of war, but skulk in pea Yet with smooth smile his tyrant can acco record Oh Stamboul! once the empress of their reign? Though turbans now pollute Sophia's shrine, Their birth, their blood, and that subli And Greece her very altars eyes in vain : (Alas! her woes will still pervade my strain!) Gay were her minstrels once, for free her throng, All felt the common joy they now must feign, Nor oft I've seen such sight, nor heard such song, As woo'd the eye, and thrill'd the Bospho- Loud was the lightsome tumult of the shore, tone, And timely echoed back the measured oar, And when a transient breeze swept o'er 'Twas, as if darting from her heavenly Glanced many a light caique along the foam, Exchanged the look few bosoms may Or gently prest, return'd the pressure still: Oh Love! young Love! bound in thy rosy band, Let sage or cynic prattle as he will, These hours, and only these, redeem Life's years of ill! But, midst the throng in merry masquerade, Lurk there no hearts that throb with secret pain, Even through the closest searment half To such the gentle murmurs of the main disdain : Of hero-sires, who shame thy now dege erate horde! When riseth Lacedemon's hardihood, When Grecian mothers shall give birth men, Then may'st thou be restored; but not t then. A thousand years scarce serve to form a stat And yet how lovely in thine age of wo Save where some solitary column mour Still in his beam Mendeli's marbles glare; And scarce regret the region of his birth, Art, Glory, Freedom fail, but Nature still When wandering slow by Delphi's sacred is fair. side, Yet to the remnants of thy splendour past Stall pilgrims, pensive, but unwearied, throng; Or gazing o'er the plains where Greek and Persian died. Let such approach this consecrated land, And pass in peace along the magic waste: But spare its relics-let no busy hand Deface the scenes, already how defaced! Not for such purpose were these altars placed: Revere the remnants nations once revered: So may our country's name be undisgraced, So may'st thou prosper where thy youth was rear'd, By every honest joy of love and life endear'd! For thee, who thus in too protracted song Hast soothed thine idlesse with inglorious lays, Soon shall thy voice be lost amid the throng Of louder minstrels in these later days: To such resign the strife for fading baysIll may such contest now the spirit move Which heeds nor keen reproach nor partial praise; Since cold each kinder heart that might approve, And none are left to please when none are left to love. Thou too art gone, thou loved and lovely one! Whom youth and youth's affection bound to me; Who did for me what none beside have done, Nor shrank from one albeit unworthy thee. What is my being? thou hast ceased to be! Nor staid to welcome here thy wanderer home, Who mourns o'er hours which we no more shall seeWould they had never been, or were to come! Would he had ne'er return'd to find fresh cause to roam! Oh! ever loving, lovely, and beloved! Larg shall the voyager, with th' Ionian blast, How selfish Sorrow ponders on the past, Ha the bright clime of battle and of song; And clings to thoughts now better far reLangshall thine annals and immortal tongue Fill with thy fame the youth of many a ButTime shall tear thy shadow from me last. moved! All thou could'st have of mine, stern Death! thou hast; The parent, friend, and now the more than friend: Ne'er yet for one thine arrows flew so fast, And grief with grief continuing still to blend, Hath snatch'd the little joy that life had yet to lend. Then must I plunge again into the crowd, And follow all that Peace disdains to seek? Where Revel calls, and Laughter, vainly loud, |