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SONG.

Ζώη μου, σας αγαπώ. (2)

ATHENS, 1810.

1.
Maid of Athens, ere we part,
Give, oh, give me back my heart !
Or, since that has left my breast,
Keep it now, and take the rest !
Here my vow before I go,
Ζώη μου, σας αγαπώ.

2. By those tresses unconfined, Woo'd by each Ægean wind; By those lids whose jetty fringe Kiss thy soft cheeks' blooming tinge ; By those wild eyes like the roe, Ζώη μου, σας αγαπώ.

3. By that lip I long to taste ; By that zone-encircled waist ; By all the token-flowers (3) that tell What words can never speak so well; By Love's alternate joy and woe, Ζώη μου, σας αγαπώ.

4. Maid of Athens! I am gone : Think of me, sweet! when alone. Though I fly to Istambol, (4) Athens holds my heart and soul: Can I cease to love thee? No! Ζώη μου, σας αγαπώ.

TRANSLATION OF THE FAMOUS GREEK WAR

SONG,

Δεύτε παίδες των Ελλήνων,

Written by Riga, who perished in the attempt to revolutionize

Greece. The following translation is as literal as the author could make it in verse; it is of the same measure as that of the original. See vol. i. p. 130.

1.
Sons of the Greeks, arise !

The glorious hour's gone forth,
And, worthy of such ties,

Display who gave us birth.

CHORUS.
Sons of Greeks ! let us go
In arms against the foe,
Till their hated blood shall flow

In a river past our feet.

2.

Then manfully despising

The Turkish tyrant's yoke,
Let your country see you rising,

And all her chains are broke.
Brave shades of chiefs and sages,

Behold the coming strife !
Hellénes of past ages,

Oh, start again to life!

VOL. 111.

N

At the sound of my trumpet, breaking

Your sleep, oh, join with me! And the seven-hill'd (5) city seeking, Fight, conquer, till we're free.

Sons of Greeks, &c.

3. Sparta, Sparta, why in slumbers

Lethargic dost thou lie ? Awake, and join thy numbers

With A thens, old ally! Leonidas recalling,

That chief of ancient song, Who saved ye once from falling,

The terrible! the strong !
Who made that bold diversion

In old Thermopylæ,
And warring with the Persian

To keep his country free;
With his three hundred waging

The battle, long he stood, And like a lion raging, Expired in seas of blood.

Sons of Greeks, &c. TRANSLATION OF THE ROMAIC SONG,

“ Μπενω μες το περιβόλι
* 'Ωραιότατη Χάηδή,” &c.

The song from which this is taken is a great favourite with the

young girls of Athens of all classes. Their manner of singing it is by verses in rotation, the whole number present joining in the chorus. I have heard it frequently at our “xógoiin the winter of 1810-11. The air is plaintive and pretty.

1.
I ENTER thy garden of roses,

Beloved and fair Haidée,
Each morning where Flora reposes,

For surely I see her in thee.
Oh, Lovely! thus low I implore thee,

Receive this fond truth from my tongue,
Which utters its song to adore thee,

Yet trembles for what it has sung;
As the branch, at the bidding of Nature,

Adds fragrance and fruit to the tree,
Through her eyes, through her every feature,

Shines the soul of the young Haidée.

2.
But the loveliest garden grows hateful

When Love has abandon'd the bowers;
Bring me hemlock-since mine is ungrateful,

That herb is more fragrant than flowers.

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