tinct and the terrible name of Charon occurs often in their poetry, though he has lost the form, as well as the attributes, which formerly distinguished him, and conducts the dead to their dark dwelling under the shape of a bird of evil omen and sable wing. We here close this long introduction to illustrate the remarks we have made, by some specimens of the Modern Greek poetry: only premising that we have, perhaps, been more successful in copying the rudeness than the spirit of the compositions. We have imitated some of them in the measure of the Spanish ballads translated by Mr. Frere, as corresponding the most exactly of our metres to the Greek originals; and one we have attempted in a kind of verse which has been consecrated to themes of a kindred energy by a poet, to whom, in this place, we must not do more than hint a reference. THE DREAM OF DEMOS. Have not I told thee, Demos, have not I told thee thrice, The cuckoo sings upon the hills, the partridge in the woods, We have alluded to the Oriental character which sometimes mingles with heir poetry: a Klepht, who has been wounded in the plains, thus charges his comrade to convey the news of his fall to his brethren on the mountains: "If my companions ask of me, tell not that I am gone— That I am dead, oh woe the day! but say that I have won A bride in weary foreign lands—a grey stone for my mother- The two following pieces are of the same description: "Why are the mountains of Goura sad? Is it the hail that hath smote them? is it the rude winter? It is not the hail that hath smitten them—it is not the rude winter: it is the sabre of Kontoghiannis, who fighteth summer and winter." 66 Diplas never feared the fight: he hath warriors who devour powder like bread, and balls like meat: who slay the Turks like kids, and their Agas like lambs." The Greeks embellish all their songs with images of Nature. The following passage, for example, has evidently been inspired by pure love of the country, its birds, and fresh airs, and green trees: "The sun was setting when Demos spake: Make my tomb, my soldiers, and make it wide and deep; that even there I may rise to the combat. But leave on my right a casement, that there the swallows • Lochiel's Warning. may come to tell me of the return of Spring, and the nightingale sing to me in the sweet month of May." The following wish is in the same spirit of longing after Nature: IOTIS DYING. Uprisen am I early, two hours ere morning shine, And I hear the shiver of the beech, the murmur of the pine: Where the little lambs feed far away from the wild rams and the sheep!” We have spoken of the dramatic effect of some of these ballads : here are two of them which will justify, we think, what we have ventured to say upon the subject. The first is particularly interesting, as relating an adventure of Spyros Skyllodemos, a Greek chief, who in 1806 was taken prisoner by Ali Pacha, and escaped as recorded in the ballad in the last will be found an allusion to Charon, which will shew the character under which he is regarded by the Modern Greeks: SKYLLODEMOS. Skyllodemos sat beneath the firs, And Irene at his side, "And pour to me the blood-red wine, O maiden fair," he cried, "That I may drink till the morning star Doth shew his paly fire; And ten warriors shall guard thee to thine abode "Am I thy slave, O Demos, To serve thee with the red wine? I am the wife of a chieftain bold, And I come of an Archon's line." At dawn of day pass'd along that way Two weary travelling men, Their beards were long, and their faces were dark, And they stood near Demos then. "Good morrow, Skyllodemos," they said : Then up spake Skyllodeme, "Ye are welcome, welcome, voyagers, But how do ye know my name?" "We bring thee thy brother's greetings," they said; "We have seen him in Iannina's dungeon, a chain Then Demos knew him, and wistfully All in his arms he clips : And they kiss'd each other tenderly On the eyes and on the lips. "Sit down, my brother," then Demos said, That thou saved thee from the wild Albanese, "In the night I loosed my hands and my feet, And I leapt into the reedy marsh, Then I seized a boat which lay on the lake, CONSTANTINE. A fair-haired maiden boasted 'Tis her beloved Constantine, With twice two hundred men. "Oh, tell me, tell me, architect, "It is a fair-haired maiden, He fell into the open tomb, And he sleeps there with his bride. This Ballad is not to be found in the volume of the Greek Songs just published: we translate it from a collection in the possession of M. Buchon, one of the editors of the Constitutionnel. In noticing this, we take the opportunity of saying, that we VOL. XI. NO. XLIV. L We have hinted a resemblance between the manners of the Greek mountaineers and the outlaws of Scotland: there is, at all events, the same generosity and gallantry in the actions and sentiments recorded of all these gentlemen. A priest of St. Peter's, who has been wronged by one of the Klephtic chiefs, very naturally complains; and the warrior thus justifies himself. "What have I done to him that he should complain of me? Have I slain his sheep, or his oxen? I kissed his son's wife, and his two daughters: I slew one of his sons, and took another prisoner, for whose ransom I demanded five hundred and two pieces of gold: but I gave all these to my soldiers, and kept not one broad piece for myself." This is "the lesson of Nannos"—a great moral lesson! "Set we upon the house of the lady Nikolo, who hath many broad pieces and much plate: Welcome is Nannos,' shall she say, 'and welcome are his bold warriors!' And the soldiers shall have the gold pieces, and the youths the paras-as for me, I seek the dame!" There are few recollections of Ancient Greece in this volume: here is one piece, however, which shews that Olympus is still a sacred mountain : OLYMPUS. Olympus and Kissavos, those hills of ancient fame, I am that old Olympus, renown'd throughout the world, My peaks are forty-two-on each a banner is unfurl'd; My springs are seventy-two each bough upon me hath its Klepht, Nor is my topmost summit of its lordly eagle reft: He holds within his claw the head of sonie brave fallen Greek— 'O head, what hast thou done that thou should'st be thus treated? Speak !' Eat, bird,' thus spake the head, and feast thyself my youth upon, And drink my courage with my life, which is in battle gone : So shall thy wing spread broad and vast, and strong shall be thy claws : Twelve years have I a Klepht been among Olympus' trees— And sixty Agas have I slain, and burned their villages: As for the others I have kill'd-of Turks or Albanese, Too numerous are they, Eagle! I cannot count them all! But now my day is also come amid the fight to fall.'" The following expresses, along with the national hatred to the Turks, that dread of dishonour even after death which we have mentioned as distinguishing the insurgent Greeks : GYPHTAKIS. The hills thirst for snow, and the valleys for water, The hawks for young birds, and the Othmans for slaughter. have heard M. Buchon named as the French translator of these songs; though M. Fauriel, doubtless from oversight, has omitted to do that accomplished person the justice of noticing his labours in his preface or introduction. *Gyphtakis signifies the young gipsy, and was the surname of a Klephtic chief of dark complexion, killed in battle against the Arab Isouph, one of the generals of Ali_Pacha. No more is she seen by the mountains and valleys." The courage and patriotism of women sometimes figure in the Greek ballads : "The Albanians have attacked Despo in her tower of Dimoulas: " "Wife of George, yield up thine arms!"-" Despo never had, and never will have the Liapides for lords!"-She seizes a burning brand, and calls loudly to her daughters: "Let us not be the slaves of the Turks, my children-follow me!" She fired the gunpowder, and they all vanished in the blaze." The numbers of the Turks who fall are always recounted with exaggeration, to contrast with the boldness and the fortune of their enemies. BOUKOVALLAS. "What is the uproar which I hear? What is that terrible sound? Are they slaying oxen? Or are the wild beasts combating ?-They are not slaying oxen-nor are the wild beasts combating: Boukovallas fights against fifteen hundred, between Kenouria and the Kerassovon. The shots fall like rain, and the balls like hail.-And a fair-haired maiden cries from her casement: 'Stay the fight, O Boukovallas, and stop the firing: let the dust fall, and the vapour disperse, and then we will count thine army, to see how many are missing.' The Turks have counted thrice: they have lost five hundred men. The children of the Klephts have counted: there are wanting but three warriors. The first gone for bread, the second for water, the third, the bravest of the three, is stretched dead upon his gun.' is 339 39 Sometimes the Grecian abhorrence of the Turkish tyrants assumes the air of contempt; as in the following ballad, which is, in our opinion, of singular elegance and beauty: KALIAKOUDAS. "O were I a bird, I would fly, I would journey through the air; I would look towards the land of the Franks, towards the melancholy Ithaca: I would listen to the wife of Kaliakoudas, as she wails and laments, and pours forth her bitter tears. She mourns like the partridge, and tears her hair as the stork her feathers; and she wears a sable vestment, black as the crow's wing; and she gazes from her casement upon the sea; and of every vessel which passes by, she asks-'O ye little barks, ye ships, and gilded brigantines, as ye went to the melancholy Valtos, or as ye came therefrom-have not ye seen my spouse? have not ye seen Kaliakoudas?'-'We left him yesterday beyond Gavrolimi. They had lambs which they were roasting, and sheep upon the spit; and to turn the spit, they had five Beys.'" We here close our account of this very interesting publication; for the second volume of which we look with the greatest impatience. We have been anxious to notice it as early as possible; and perhaps our |