« ՆախորդըՇարունակել »
Hath shut above the falcon;glance that in it loved to lie! And fast is bound the springing step, that seem'd on breezes borne,
When to thy couch I came and said,- Wake, hunter, wake! 'tis morn!'
Yet art thou lovely still, my flower! untouch'd by slow decay,
And I, the wither'd stem, remain-I would that grief might slay!
"Oh! ever when I met thy look, I knew that this would be! I knew too well that length of days was not a gift for thee! I saw it in thy kindling cheek, and in thy bearing high ;A voice came whispering to my soul, and told me thou
That thou must die, my fearless one! where swords were flashing red.
Why doth a mother live to say-my first-born and my dead? They tell me of thy youthful fame, they talk of victory won -Speak thou, and I will hear, my child, Ianthis! my
A wail was heard around the bed, the deathbed of the young,
A fair-hair'd bride the Funeral Chant amidst her weep
ing sung. "Ianthis! look'st thou not on me?-Can love indeed
When was it wo before to gaze upon thy stately head?
That I had bound a breastplate on, and battled at thy side -It would have been a blessed thing together had we died! "But where was I when thou didst fall beneath the fatal sword?
Was I beside the sparkling fount, or at the peaceful board? Or singing some sweet song of old, in the shadow of the vine,
Or praying to the saints for thee, before the holy shrine? And thou wert lying low the while, the life-drops from thy heart
Fast gushing like a mountain-spring!-and couldst thou thus depart?
Couldst thou depart, nor on my lips pour out thy fleeting breath?
-Oh! I was with thee but in joy, that should have been in death!
"Yes! I was with thee when the dance through mazy rings was led,
And when the lyre and voice were tuned, and when the feast was spread;
But not where noble blood flow'd forth, where sounding javelins flew
Why did I hear love's first sweet words, and not its last
What now can breathe of gladness more, what scene, what hour, what tone?
The blue skies fade with all their lights, they fade, since thou art gone!
Ev'n that must leave me, that still face, by all my tears unmoved
-Take me from this dark world with thee, Ianthis! my beloved!"
A wail was heard around the bed, the death-bed of the young,
Amidst her tears the Funeral Chant a mournful sister sung. "Ianthis! brother of my soul! oh, where are now the days That laugh'd among the deep green hills, on all our infant plays?
When we two sported by the streams, or track'd them to their source,
And like a stag's, the rocks along, was thy fleet fearless course!
-I see the pines there waving yet, I see the rills descend, I see thy bounding step no more-my brother and my
"I come with flowers-for spring is come!-Ianthis! art thou here?
1 bring the garlands she hath brought, I cast them on thy bier!
Thou shouldst be crown'd with victory's crown-but oh! more meet they seem,
The first faint violets of the wood, and lilies of the stream! More meet for one so fondly loved, and laid thus early low
Alas! how sadly sleeps thy face amidst the sunshine's glow; The golden glow that through thy heart was wont such joy to send, ---Wo, that it smiles, and not for thee!-my brother and my friend!"
THE PARTING SONG.
This piece is founded on a tale related by Fauriel in his "Chansons Populaires de la Grece Moderne," and accompanied by some very interesting particulars respecting the extempore parting songs, or songs of expatriation, as he informs us they are called, in which the modern Greeks are accustomed to pour forth their feelings on bidding farewell to their country and friends.
A YOUTH Went forth to exile, from a home
Yet had he friends,
The parting spot was reach'd-a lone deep glen,
Their crowning snows.-Upon a rock he sprung,
"Farewell, farewell! I hear thee, O thou rushing stream!-thou 'rt from my native dell,
Thou 'rt bearing thence a mournful sound—a murmur of farewell!
And fare thee well-flow on, my stream!-flow on, thou bright and free!
I do but dream that in thy voice one tone laments for me; But I have been a thing unloved, from childhood's loving
And therefore turns my soul to thee, for thou hast known my tears;
The mountains, and the caves, and thou, my secret tears have known;
The woods can tell where he hath wept, that ever wept alone!
"I see thee once again, my home! thou 'rt there amidst thy vines,
And clear upon thy gleaming roof the light of summer shines.
It is a joyous hour when eve comes whispering through thy groves,
The hour that brings the son from toil, the hour the mother loves!
-The hour the mother loves!-for me beloved it hath not been;
Yet ever in its purple smile, thou smil'st, a blessed scene! Whose quiet beauty o'er my soul through distant years will come
Yet what but as the dead, to thee, shall I be then, my home? "Not as the dead!-no, not the dead!-We speak of them -we keep
Their names, like light that must not fade, within our bosoms deep!
We hallow ev'n the lyre they touch'd, we love the lay they sung,
We pass with softer step the place they fill'd our band among!
But I depart like sound, like dew, like aught that leaves on earth
No trace of sorrow or delight, no memory of its birth!
"And farewell, mother!-I have borne in lonely silence long,
But now the current of my soul grows passionate and strong,
And I will speak! though but the wind that wanders through the sky,
And but the dark deep-rustling pines and rolling streams reply.
Yes! I will speak!-within my breast whate'er hath seem'd to be,
There lay a hidden fount of love, that would have gush'd for thee!
Brightly it would have gush'd, but thou, my mother! thou hast thrown
Back on the forests and the wilds what should have been thine own!
"Then fare thee well! I leave thee not in loneliness to pine, Since thou hast sons of statelier mien and fairer brow than mine!
Forgive me that thou couldst not love!—it may be, that a
Yet from my burning heart may pierce,through thine,when I am gone
And thou perchance may'st weep for him on whom thou ne'er hast smiled,
And the grave give his birthright back to thy neglected
Might but my spirit then return, and 'midst its kindred dwell,
And quench its thirst with love's free tears!—'tis all a dream-farewell!"
"Farewell!"-the echo died with that deep word,