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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 :
Uprisen am I early, two hours ere morning shine,
O were I on the lofty hills, amid the foliage deep!
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 :
And Irene at his side,
O maiden fair," he cried,
Doth shew his paly fire;
When the Pleiads shall retire.”
To serve thee with the red wine?
And I come of an Archon's line."
Two weary travelling men,
And they stood near Demos then.
Then up spake Skyllodeme,
But how do ye know my name?”.
“ Where have ye seen my brother?”
At his hands, at his feet another.”
“Where flyest thou, son of my mother?
Come and embrace thy brother!”.
All in his arms he clips :
On the eyes and on the lips.
“Sit down, my brother," then Demos said,
" And tell us how it befel
And from thy prison-cell ?"
And I burst my prison door;
Where I lay till day was o'er.
And I cross'd it over to thee :
She did not Charon fear,
That loved their sister dear;
Who for her love did sigh-
And withal four castles high.
And slew the beauteous bride :
The woful mother cried,
And music in the glen :
With twice two hundred men.
But, alas, it grieved him sore,
Issue from his bride's door.
He spurred his black steed on,
Were placing a funeral-stone.
Who in that tomb must lie?"
Who had a soft black eye ;
Who caused her mickle pride ;
Who woo'd her for his bride-
And four castles tall beside.”
And build it broad and deep;
That two therein may sleep.”.
in the side ;
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.
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 bis 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 Inountain :
At Louros and Xeromeros I was Armatolos.
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 :
-“ Where wanders in weeping young Gyphtakis' mother,
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.”
Lest he snatch it, and bear it to Ali Pacha!" 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.
“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 is gone for bread, the second for water, the third, the bravest of the three, is stretched dead his gun.'
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:
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
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—'Oye 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 anxiety to “do this quickly," has prevented us from “ doing it well." We take this opportunity also of expressing our acknowledgments to M. Fauriel for the delightful present he has made us : and of congratulating him upon being the first to lay before us the popular poetry of Modern Greece. By embodying in an imperishable form these snatches of songs, he has rendered a lasting service to the cause of the Greeks, and has vindicated the genius, as well as the patriotism, of the people for whom BYRON lived and died.
THE CAVERN OF THE THREE TELLS.
A Swiss Tradition. The three founders of the Helvetic Confederacy are thought to sleep in a cavern near the Lake of Lucerne. The herdsmen call them the Three Tells, and say that they lie there in their antique garb, in quiet slumber; and when Switzerland is in ber utmost need, they will awaken and regain the liberties of the land. See Quarterly Review, No. 44.
Oh! enter not yon shadowy cave,
Seek not the bright spars there,
In the garb of old array'd,
On a rocky couch are laid.
Beneath the midnight sky,
Amidst the hills they freed,
Till their country's hour of need.
Nor the Lammer-geyer's cry,
To a Switzer's heart so dear,
No more for them to hear.
Till the Schreckhorn's peaks reply,
When trumpets loose the snows,
The glacier's mute repose :
In the burning hamlet's light,
Shall the Sleepers wake in might!
Forest-sea, the Lake of Lucerne, or Lake of the Forest-towns, as the German name implies.
+ The Grütli, a meadow on the shore of the Lake of Lucerne, where the founders of the Helvetic Confederacy held their meetings.