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But now the soldier's eye of fire,
That lit the ranks of war,
Wax'd dim and weak, the prophet lyre
Shall never sound again-
Ainab all Asia's hope shall bar
From sight of fellow men;
The crescent its green flag may wave,
But only on its hero's grave;
The Koran still may chanted be,
And all men hear, save only he-
The founder of the mighty race
That bow at Mecca's holy place.
And he would close his time with prayer,
For life was flitting fast,

And feeble in the evening air

He to the mosque hath past.

His friend still gazing on his chief
In speechless and heart-piercing grief—
They enter at the holy gate:

The prophet on the tribune stands,
Then prays and rises in his state,
Looking the lord of countless lands,
Grace in his form, and majesty,
And rule in his awe-gathering eye,
And carriage that might dare or brave
Upon the margin of his grave

All human power, all human fears,

The wreck of worlds, the storms of years; Yet mingling with a faded air

Of limb, and face, and frame, Speaking the body weak to bear That spirit's ardent flame; That captived longer will not be Its scarce controll'd intensity.

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My faithful Islamites! the grave
Is dug for me-I am no more

A thing of fear-Whate'er you crave
Of vengeance, on me take a store:
You I have stricken, strike me now-
You I have robbed, take of my gold-
You I have humbled, this old brow
Humble in dust an hundred fold!-
Take justice of me for your wrong!
Haste! for my moments are not long ;
And mortal love and mortal hate
Will soon be one to me in weight!"
"Twas silent! like an earthquake land,
Where all is swallow'd up and dead-
Tears only answer'd the demand-
The dying Prophet bent his head :
Faintly his parting orders gave,

Breath'd his farewell to all around,
Then sank enshrined into his grave,-
While the world startled at the sound
Of woe from kingdoms he had won,
Vast as the realm of Philip's son,
Soon to belong from their decay,
Like their dead chief, to yesterday.

J.

POPULAR SONGS OF THE MODERN GREEKS.

THE publication of the Popular Songs of the Modern Greeks, is one of the most remarkable events which have taken place in the literature of our days. We have indeed heard of these songs in the works of travellers for the last two centuries; but we have always heard of them only as barbarous and unintelligible rhapsodies: and the poetry of Modern Attica has been characterized as worthy of nothing but the contempt and ridicule which have been so liberally poured forth by writers of all parties upon its turbaned population. The lovers of freedom, in their impatience at the sight of slavery in the plains and cruelty on the mountains, and despairing of the regeneration of Greece, were glad to turn their eyes from the spectacle of unresisted tyranny and forgotten days of glory, and to fix them on the chiefs and sages and poets of her happier ages and the partisans of despotism having nothing to dread from the genius and virtue which had long faded from the earth, while they delighted to dwell upon the contented ignorance and slumbering energies of the Modern Greeks, and to represent their cause as utterly hopeless, pretended to be equally enthusiastic about their ancestors, and the arts, the liberty, and the glory, that were buried in their tombs, and forgotten like their names and example. It has always appeared to us, however, that the sentimental lamentations of the one party, and the savage exultation of the other over fallen Greece, were equally unreasonable. A people that could preserve, through ages of slavery and degradation, a distinct national character, and a language almost unmingled with the words of their oppressors, must possess a spirit and an energy which cannot be subdued: and if there were nothing else to recommend the cause of the Greeks, this alone, we think, would be sufficient to inspire a hope of their final success, and to justify the anxiety about their fate, which their first unassisted struggles kindled in the bosom of all the lovers of liberty and genius.

But happily there are other grounds for hope, and among them may be ranked their possession of the poetry, of which we intend in this article to present some specimens to our readers. As the first published sample of the original literature of the Modern Greeks, it is sufficiently curious; but it is still more interesting as a picture of the "fierce wars and faithful loves," which diversify their existence, and of the hopes and superstitions which colour or overcast it. We knew that the Greeks had a literature borrowed from the Italian-that they had copied the Provençal ballads and the romances of chivalry-but we did not expect to find any thing among them like the energy, the beauty, the tenderness, and the wildness that breathe and glow throughout these songs of Greece, bringing to our ears the earliest echoes of love and freedom which have come from that romantic land. The sudden unfolding of all this poetry, so singular and so characteristic, strikes us with the same delight and wonder, as if Greece itself were stretched out before us, crowned with its old poetic mountains, and all its sunny valleys laid open to our gaze.

M. Fauriel, a Frenchman of great erudition, and considerable taste,

Chants populaires de la Grèce Moderne, recueillis et publiés par C. Fauriel. Tome I. Chants Historiques. Evo. Paris. June 1824. C

has accomplished for the ballads of Modern Greece, what Sir Walter Scott performed among us for the kindred poetry of the Scottish borders; and though we cannot help regretting that a Frenchman, with his poetical prejudices, should have undertaken the selection, and become the Scott of the Greek Minstrelsy, we can safely say that M. Fauriel has executed his duty as an editor and translator with admirable zeal and fidelity; and with an enthusiasm in the cause of the Greeks and their ballads which is quite edifying. The first volume of the collection, containing the historical ballads, was published in the beginning of June; the second, which will be even more interesting than the present, will contain the love songs, the laments, and the romantic ballads of the Greeks, and is to appear shortly, if the first should be favourably received. There is a long introductory essay on the songs of Modern Greece, in which M. Fauriel has introduced some interesting details about the domestic life and warlike dispositions of its population. He seems particularly anxious to prove that most of the ballads are olda thing which we are happy to say he has completely failed in establishing, except in the case of one or two pieces which celebrate the feats of some of the Greek chieftains and sailors who existed about two hundred years ago. We are glad that these songs are not old-because we would wish to believe that the energy with which they express the Grecian hatred to the Turks, and the spirit of patriotism and devotion which they breathe, belong rather to the days of awakening freedom; that they have sprung out of the struggles and successes of the present time, and were not composed to lull to rest past generations whom their stirring music could not uprouse.

The poetry of Modern Greece has a colour and a character peculiarly its own. There is something in the gentler songs that seems to reflect another heaven, and to taste of a softer and more delicious climate: while in the bolder compositions, the free mountain air and the wild scenery have given vigour and freshness to the inspirations of the poets. The names of Olympus, Pelion, and Pindus, are almost as celebrated in Modern Greek verse as in Ancient: and it is delightful to find that the earliest modern Greek poetry sprung up like their liberty, among these ancient and famous mountains. These names, which are sacred sounds to our ears, are repeated in most of their ballads: the influence of the magical language and localities of Greece is added to the charm of its poetry; and we feel for a moment as if we breathed the warm sunny air, and were surrounded by the dazzling waters and blue skies-the glittering marble temples, and fallen columns, and dusky palms of its enchanting landscapes.

The lively imaginations of the Greeks turn every thing into poetry. Their voluptuous climate inspires them with an intense love of Nature, and their happy and indolent life disposes them to enjoy every change on her face:to burst out into song on the return of spring, and the blossoming of flowers. Their faculty of improvisation, (which they possess even in a more remarkable degree than the Italians,) joined to the natural music of their delicious language, make even their common talk a kind of poetry: and when their feelings are heightened or deepened by joy or sorrow, their "thoughts voluntary move harmonious numbers.' There is a peculiar intensity in their attachment to home and to kindred, in their loves and hatreds, and in all their domestic

affections. Love,—marriage,-exile,-death, are all celebrated or lamented in verse. The loss of a brother or a child produces a delirium of grief; and sorrow is exalted into poetry. The myriologues (or laments) which are uttered on these occasions have all the characters of inspiration: sometimes tenderness prevails over enthusiasm, and the death of an infant is compared to the withering of a bud, or to a tender flower, "no sooner blown than blasted:" but in general these compositions are of a more ambitious description, and are profusely figured with bold personifications, and gorgeously coloured with poetical images. We have ascribed to the Greeks in general the faculty of improvisation; but there are certain vocations among which the faculty seems peculiarly to reside. The sailors and the tanners of Jannina, for ex ample, are distinguished as the composers of hundreds of these songs; the shepherds are the poets of the beauties and the loves of the valleys, and the soldiers of the warrior-feats among the hills. The picturesque and precarious life-the love of wine and independence-and the inspiration of the air of Olympus and of Pindus,-which, though no longer the seat of gods and muses, keep still a portion of their old renown, make poets and musicians of these wild mountaineers, who seek to give a gaiety to feasts as rude and primitive as those recorded in Homer, by songs which they accompany, like his heroes, with the music of a lyre. These airs and songs are caught by the beggars and wandering minstrels, who follow the village feasts throughout Greece; and the loves and combats of her hills and valleys are thus spread speedily over the whole face of the country.

The Greeks seem to have as singular a talent for the improvisation of music as of poetry. The air of each new song must also be new, and is sung or forgotten with the words that gave it birth. The poet is always obliged to furnish with his song an air of his own composition: a title to fame, of which MOORE is in our country perhaps the only possessor. M. Fauriel tells us that he has heard many of these airs: the mountain music of the Greeks is drawn out into long and solemn cadences, like the plain chant of churches; and seems to have been intended to be repeated by the echoes of the rocks amidst which it was sung. There is a certain melancholy which throws its shade even over the Klephtic chants of victory and exultation: a sadness which may be traced in the music of all oppressed and conquered nations, and which is strikingly exemplified in the national melodies of Ireland.

There are in the Greek ballads many peculiarities of style and manner which remind us of those of Spain, in which the enmities and the misfortunes-the splendours and the fate of the Moors are celebrated. There is the same abruptness and dramatic effect, and the same obscurity in telling the story. But they resemble still more our early Scottish ballads: and though describing the lives, and loves, and adventures of men whom the Turks call robbers*-deal so often in feats of pure courage and boundless generosity-in a regard to

The Greeks, who were formed into a militia by the Turks for the defence of their country, bore originally the title of Armatoloi ('Apuarwλol) armed men; but when they began to resist the robberies and tyranny of the Pachas, and became formidable from their numbers and bravery, the Armatolos received from his oppressors the name of Klephtes (Kλeørns) robber.

honour, which death itself cannot extinguish-in chivalrous devotion to women, and loyalty and hospitality to men-that the name which the Turks have fixed upon them has become a title of glory, and has changed, as the name of outlaw did on our borders and in our Highlands, into a word of fame and fearlessness. There is another peculiarity about these ballads which belongs also to those of the North:. the chorus and the introductory verses are often independent of the subject of the ballad, and have no relation to the event which it celebrates; but are equally common to all songs as well as to that to which they have been appended.

There is in all their songs a certain Oriental colouring which has been derived from the Eastern poetry and marvels. The armour of the Klephts is always represented as dazzling with gold and jewels, and the housings of their horses are lustrous with brocade, and their feet shod with silver. Birds are feigned to speak with human voices, and the poet listens and interprets the delicate language which they warble. Horses reply to their riders-and if this is not to be ascribed to some obscure tradition about the horses of Achilles, we may fairly put it down to the influence of the Turkish fictions upon the poetry of Modern Greece. The expressions, too, are often singularly bold, abrupt, and figurative, and the style has all the characters of Oriental poetry.

It would be delightful if we could trace as distinctly the influences of their own ancient poetry and superstitions upon their modern ballads, as the effects of those of the Turks. There are still, however, remains of the old popular belief, but changed and distorted by modern ignorance. Thessaly is still renowned in Modern Greece as the abode of powerful magicians, who could draw down the moon from heaven, and distill from its dews "a vaporous drop profound" with which to work their enchantments. If in the mythology of Ancient Greece every tree had its Hamadryad, every river its God, and every stream its Nereid, the inhabitants of Modern Attica have peopled the springs, the rocks, the caverns, and the mountains, each with its guardian spirit. The Modern Greek, though forgetting the religion of his ancestors, unconsciously remembers their observances: he is lapt into Elysian dreams by the haunted stream; and in the sigh of the gale, and the silence of the caves, and the murmur of the melodious river, he feels the influence of that genius which inspired or overawed his fathers. He approaches a running water with the love and devotion of a Greek of old times: Grateful for his beloved child's return,

Thy banks, Cephisus, he again hath trod,
Thy murmurs heard, and drank the crystal lymph
With which thou dost refresh the thirsty lip,
And moisten all day long these flowery fields.

WORDSWORTH, Excursion, b. vi..

The Fates exist no longer: but the plague is personified by three women, of whom one records the name of the victim, the second wounds him with the fatal shears, and the third sweeps him away. The Eumenides are replaced in the superstitions of Modern Greece by the Synchoremeni, (vyxwpeμévn,) who preside over the small-pox, and whose name, like that of the Furies, expresses the possibility of being appeased by prayers. There are traces also in the halls of the Morea of the Oreads, Graces, and Satyrs, though confused and indis

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