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Fletcher! Murray ! Bob1 ! where arc you?

Stretch'd along the deck like logs —
Bear a hand, you jolly tar, you!

Here's a rope's end for the dogs.
Hobhouse muttering fearful curses,
As the hatchway down he rolls,
Now his breakfast, now his verses,
Vomits forth — and damns our souls.
"Here's a stanza
On Bragauza — .
Help I"—" A couplet ?"—" No, a cup
Of warm water —"
"What's the matter?"
"Zounds ! my liver's coming up;
I shall not survive the racket
Of this brutal Lisbon Packet."

Now at length we 're off for Turkey,

Lord knows when we shall come back! Breezes foul and tempests murky

May unship us in a crack.
But, since life at most a jest is,

As philosophers allow,
Still to laugh by far the best is
Then laugh on — as I do now.
Laugh at all thins*,
Great and small things,
Sick or well, at sea or shore;
While we 're quaffing,
Let's have laughing —
Who the devil cares for more ? —
Some good wine! and who would lack it,
Ev'n on board the Lisbon Packet ?5

Falmouth Knads, June 30, 1800.
[ First published, 1830.]


As o'er tne cold sepulchral stone
Some name arrests the passer-by;

Thus, when thou view'st this page alone,
May mine attract thy pensive eye 1

And when by thee that name is read,
Perchance In some succeeding year,

Reflect on me as on the dead,

And think my heart is buried here.

September 14, 1809.


Oh Lady! when I left the shore,

The distant shore which gave me birth,

I hardly thought to grieve once more
To quit another spot on earth:

1 fLord Byron's three servants.]

* [In the letter in which theie lively verses were encloied, l^ord Byron says:—" I leave England without regret— I shall return to it without pleasure. 1 am tike Adam, the first convict sentenced to transportation ; but I have no Eve, and have eaten no apple but what was sour as a crab; and thus ends my first chapter."]

3 [These lines were written at Malta. The lady to whom they were addressed, and whom he afterwards apostrophises in the > r on the thunderstorm of Zitza and in Childe Harold, is thus mentioned in a letter to his mother: —" This letter is c-oromitted to the charge of a very extraordinary lady, whom -r*,u have doubtless heard of, Mrs. Spencer Smith, of whose Escape the Marquis de Salvo published a narrative a few -v-,eart ago. She has since been shipwrecked; and her life Has been from its commencement so fertile in remarkable incidents, that in a romance they would appear improbable.

Yet here, amidst this barren isle,

Where panting Nature droops the head,

Where only thou art seen to smile,
I view my parting hour with dread.

Though far from Albion's craggy shore,

Divided by the dark blue main j A few, brief, rolling, seasons o'er,

Perchance I view her cliffs again:

But wheresoe'er I now may roam,

Through scorching clime, and varied sea,

Though Time restore me to my home,
I ne'er shall bend mine eyes on thee:

On thee, in whom at once conspire

All charms which heedless hearts can move,

Whom but to see is to admire,
And, oh ! forgive the word—to love.

Forgive the word, in one who ne'er
With such a word can more otfend;

And since thy heart I cannot share,
Believe me, what I am, thy friend.

And who so cold as look on thec,
Thou lovely wand'rer, and be less?

Nor be, what man should ever be,
The friend of Beauty in distress?

Ah! who would think that form had pass'd
Through Danger's most destructive path,

Had braved the death-wing'd tempest's blast.
And 'scaped a tyrant's fiercer wrath?

Lady ! when I shall view the walls
Where free Byzantium once arose,

And Stamboul's Oriental halls

The Turkish tyrants now enclose;

Though mightiest in the lists of fame,

That glorious city still shall be; On me 'twill hold a dearer claim,

As spot of thy nativity:

And though I bid thee now farewell,
When I behold that wondrous scene,

Since where thou art I may not dwell,
'T will soothe to be where thou Last been.

September, 1809.



Chill and mirk Is the nightly blast,

Where Pindus' mountains rise,
And angry clouds are pouring fast

The vengeance of the skies.

She was born at Constantinople, where her father. Baron Herbert, was Austrian ambassador; married unhappily, yet has never been impeached in point of character; excited the vengeance of Buonaparte, by taking a part in some conspiracy; several times risked her life ; and is not yet five and twenty. She is here on her way to England to join her husband, being obliged to leave Trieste, where she was paying a visit to her mother, by the approach of the French, and embarks soon in a ship of war. Since my arrival here I have had scarcely any other companion. 1 have found her very pretty, very accomplished, and extremely eccentric. Buonaparte is even now so incensed against her, that her life would be in danger If she were taken prisoner a second lime."]

4 [This thunderstorm occurred during the night of the 11th October, 1809, when Lord Byron's Kuidcs had lost the road to Zitza, near the range of mountains formerly called Our guides are gone, our hope is lost,

And lightnings, as they play.
But show where rocks our path have crost,

Or gild the torrent's spray.

Is yon a cot I saw, though low 1
When lightning broke the gloom —

How welcome were its shade !—ah, no!
'TIs but a Turkish tomb.

Through sounds of foaming waterfalls,

I hear a voice exclaim —
My way-worn countryman, who calls

On distant England's name.

A shot is fired — by foe or friend?

Another — 'tis to tell
The mountain-peasants to descend,

And lead us where they dwell.

Oh! who in such a night will dare

To tempt the wilderness?
And who 'mid thunder-peals can hear

Our signal of distress 1

And who that heard our shouts would rise

To try the dubious road?
Nor rather deem from nightly cries

That outlaws were abroad.

Clouds burst, skies flash, oh, dreadful hour!

More fiercely pours the storm!
Yet here one thought has still the power

To keep my bosom warm.

While wand'ring through each broken path,

O'er brake and craggy brow;
While elements exhaust their wrath,

Sweet Florence, where art thou?

Not on the sea, not on the sea,

Thy bark hath long been gone:
Oh, may the storm that pours on me,

Bow down my head alone!

Full swiftly blew the swift Slroc,

When last I press'd thy lip;
And long ere now, with foaming shock,

Impell'd thy gallant ship.

Now thou art safe; nay, long ere now

Hast trod the shore of Spain;
'Twere hard if aught so fair as thou

Should linger on the main.

And since I now remember thee

In darkness and in dread,
As in those hours of revelry

Which mirth and music sped;

Do thou, amid the fair white walls,

If Cadiz yet be free,
At times from out her latticed halls

Look o'er the dark blue sea;

Then think upon Calypso's isles,
Endear'd by days gone by;

PIndus. in Albania. Mr. Ilobhouse, who had rode on beforo the rest of the party, and arrived at ZlUa just as the evening set in, describes the thunder as " roaring without intermission, the echoes of one peal not ceasing to roll in the mountains, before another tremendous crash burst over our heads; whilst the plains and the distant hills appeared in a perpetual blaze." "The tempest," he says, " was altogether terrific, and worthy of the Grecian Jove. My Friend, with the priest and the servants, did not enter our hut till three

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If, in the month of dark December,

Leander, who was nightly wont
(What maid will not the tale remember?)

To cross thy stream, broad Hellespont!

If, when the wintry tempest roar'd,

He sped to Hero, nothing loth,
And thus of old thy current pour'd,

Fair Venus I how I pity both:

For me, degenerate modern wretch,
Though in the genial month of May,

My dripping limbs I faintly stretch,
And think I *vc done a feat to-day.

But since he cross'd the rapid tide,

According to the doubtful story,
To woo,— and —Lord knows what beside,

And swam for Love, as I for Glory;

'Twere hard to say who fared the best:
Sad mortals! thus the Gods still plague you!

He lost his labour, I my jest;
For he was drown'd, and I've the ague. *

May 9, 1810.

1 On the 3d of May, 1810. while the Salsette (Captain Bathurst) was tying in the Dardanelles, Lieutenant Kkenhead of that frigate and the writer of these rhymes swam from the European shore to the Asiatic—by the by, from Abydoi to Sestos would have been more correct. The whole distance from the place whence we started to our landing on the other side. Including the length we were carried by the current, was computed by those 011 board the frigate at upwards of four English mites; though the actual breadth is barely one. The rapidity of the current is such that no boat can row directly across, and it may, in some measure, tic estimated from the circumstance of the whole distance being accomplished by one of the parties in an hour and five, and ^>y the other in an hour ana ten, minutes. The water was extremely cold, from the melting of the mountain snows. Ai ajut three weeks before. In April, we had made an attempt; but, having ridden all the way from the Troad the same morning, and the water being of an icy chlllness, we found it necessary to postpone the completion till the frigate anchored below the castles, when we swam the straits, as just ttaied; entering a considerable way above the European, and Moiling below the Asiatic, fort. Chevalier says that a voung Jew swam the same distance for his mistress; and Oliver mentions its having been done by a Neapolitan ; but our consul, Tarragona, remembered neither of these circumstances, and tried to dissuade us from the attempt. A number of the SaUetie's crew were known to have accomplished a greater distance; and the only thing that surprised me was, that, as doubts had been entertained of the truth of Leander'g story, "if> traveller had ever endeavoured to ascertain its practicability.

3 [** My companion," savs Mr. Hobhouse, "had before made a more perilous, but less celebrated passage; for I recollect that, when we were in Portugal, he swam from Old Liibon to Belem Castle, and having to contend with a tide and counter current, the wind blowing freshly, was but little less than two hours in crossing.*']

J [At Orchomenus, where stood the Temple of the Grace*, I was tempted to exclaim, " Whither have the Graces tied?" Little did 1 expect to find them here; yet here comes one <>f tnein with golden cups and codec, and another with a took. The book is a register of names, some of which are far sounded by the voice of fame. Among them is Lord Byron's, connected with some lines which I here send you. — H- W. Williams.]

* [We copy the following interesting account of the Maid of Athens and her family from the late eminent artist, Mr. lliigh Williams of Edinburgh's, " Travels in Italy, Greece," ic. Our fenrant, who had gone before to procure accommodation, met us at the gate, and conducted us to Theodore



"Fair Albion, smiling, sees her son depart
To trace the birth and nursery of art:
Noble his object, glorious is his aim;
He comes to Athens, and he writes his name."


The modest bard, like many a bard unknown,
Rhymes on our names, but wisely hides his own;
But yet, whoe'er he be, to say no worse,
His name would bring more credit titan his verse. 3



Z*J*j ucC, eat atyenrH,

Maid of Athens ere we part,
Give, oh, give back my heart!
Or, since that has left my breast,
Keep it now, and take the rest!
Hear my vow before I go,

ZaJfl fAQU, tra$ ayanx, A

By those tresses unconfined,
Woo'd by each JEgean wind;
By those lids whose jetty fringe
Kiss thy soft cheeks' blooming tinge;
By those wild eyes like the roe,

Zartj (AWt caff ayaTv.

Macri, the Consulina's, where we at present live. This lady Is the widow of the consul, and has three lovely daughters; the eldest celebrated for her beauty, and said to be the 'Maid of Athens' of Lord Byron. Their apartment is immediately opposite to ours, and, if you could see them, as we do now, through the gently waving aromatic plants before our window, you would leave your heart In Athens. Theresa, the Maid of Athens, Catlnco, and Mariana, arc of middle stature. On the crown of the head of each is a red Albanian skull-cap, with a blue tassel spread out and fastened down tike a star. Near the edge or bottom of the skull-cap is a handkerchief of various colours bound round their temples. The youngest wears her hair loose, falling on her shoulders, — the hair behind descending down the back nearly to the waist, and, as usual, mixed with silk. The two eldest generally have their hair bound, and fastened under the handkerchief. Their upper robe is a pelisse odged with fur, hanging loose down to tho ankles; below Is a handkerchief of muslin covering the bosom, and terminating at the waist, which is short; under that, a gown of striped silk or muslin, with a gore round the swell of the loins, falling In front in graceful negligence; — white stockings and yellow slippers complete their attire. The two eldest have black, or dark, hair and eyes; their visage oval, and complexion somewhat pale, with teeth of dazzling whiteness. Their cheeks arc rounded, and noses straight, rather inclined to aquiline. The youngest. Mariana, is very fair, her face not so finely rounded, but nas a gayer expression than her sisters', whose countenances, except when the conversation has something of mirth in it, may be said to be rather pensive. Their persons are elegant, and their manners pleasing and ladylike, such as would be fascinating in any country. They possess very considerable powers of conversation, and their minds seem to be more instructed than those of the Greek women in general. With such attractions, it would, indeed, be remarkable, If they did not meet with great attentions from the travellers who occasionally are resident in Athens. They sit in the extern stylo, a little reclined, with their limbs gathered under them on the divan, and without shoes. Their j employments are the needle, tambouring, and reading." There is a beautiful engraving of the Maid of Athens in Flndcn's Illustrations of Byron, No. 1.]

5 Romaic expression of tenderness: if I translate it, I shall affront the gentlemen, as it may seem that I supposed they could not; and if I do not, I may affront the ladles. For fear of any misconstruction on the part of the latter, I shall do so, begging pardon of the learned. It means, " My life, I love you !" which sounds very prettily in all languages, and Is as much in fashion in Greece at this day as. Juvenal tells us, the two first words were amongst the Roman ladles, whose erotic expressions were all Hcllunised.


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Oh how I wish that an embargo
Had kept in port the good ship Argo!
Who, still unlaunch'd from Grecian docks,
Had never pass'd the Azure rocks;
But now I fear her trip will be a
Bamn'd business for my Miss Medea, &c. &c. 3

June, 1810.


Youth, Nature, and relenting Jove,
To keep my lamp in strongly strove;
But Romanelli was so stout,
He beat all three — and blew it out. «

Oct. 1810.


Kind Reader ! take your choice to cry or laugh; Here Harold lies — but where's his Epitaph? If such you seek, try Westminster, and view Ten thousand just as fit for him as you.


1 In the Fast (where ladies arc not taught to write, lest they should scribble assignations) flowers, cinders, pebbles, &c. convey the sentiments of the parties by that universal deputy of Mercury—an old woman. A cinder says, " I burn for thee ; " a bunch of flowers tied with hair, " Take me and fly ;" but a pebble declares — what nothing else can.

* Constantinople.

3 [" I am just come from an expedition through the Bosphorustothe Black Sea and the Cyanean Symplegades, up which last I scrambled with as great risk as ever the Argonauts escaped in their hoy. You remember the beginning of the nurse's dole in the Medea, of which I beg you to take the following translation, done on the summit."—Lord B. to Mr. Henry Drury, June 17.1810.]

4 [" I have just escaped from a physician and a fever. In spite of my teeth and tongue, the English consul, my Tartar, Albanian, dragoman, forced a physician upon me, and in three days brought me to the last gasp. In this state I made my epitaph."— Lord Byron to Mr. Hodgion, Oct. 3. 1810.]

3 [These lines are copied from a leaf of the original MS. of the second canto of" Childe Harold."]

* [On the departure. In July, 1810, of his friend and fellowtraveller, Mr. Hobhouse, for England, Lord Byron fixed his head-quarters at Athens, where he had taken lodgings In a Franciscan convent; making occasional excursions through Atttca and the Morea, and employing himself, in the interval of his tours, in collecting materials for those notices on the state of modern Greece which are appended to the second canto of "Childe Harold." In this retreat also he wrote "Hints from Horace," " The Curse of Minerva," and " Remarks on the Romaic, or Modern Greek Language." He thus writes to his mother : —" At present, I do not care to venture a winter's voyage, even if I were otherwise tired of travelling: but lam so convinced of the advantages of looking at mankind, instead of reading about them, and the bitter


Dear object of defeated care!

Though now of Love and thee bereft.
To reconcile mc with despair,

Thine image and my tears are left,

'Tis said with Sorrow Time can cope;

But this I feel can ne'er be true:
For by the death-blow of my Hope

My Memory immortal grew,

Athens, January, 1811. *


Sons of the Greeks, arise!

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

Display who gave us birth.


Sons of Greeks! let us go
In arms against the foe.
Till their hated blood shall flow
In a river past our feet.

Then manfully despising

The Turkish tyrants yoke,
Let your country see you rising.

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

Behold the coming strife I
Hellenes of past ages,

Oh, start again to life!
At the sound of my trumpet, breaking

Your sleep, oh, join with me!
And the seven-huTd 8 city seeking,

Fight, conquer, till we 're free.

Sons of Greeks, Sec.

effects of staying at home with all the narrow prejudices of an islander, that I think there should be a law amongst as to send our young men abroad, for a term, among the few allies our wars have left us. Here I see, and have converted with, French, Italians, Germans, Danes, Greeks, Turks, Americans, &c. Jftc. &c.; and, without losing sight of mvo«n. I can judge of the countries and manners of others. When I see the superiority of England (which, by the or, we are a good deal mistaken about in many things), I am pleased; and where I find her Inferior, I am at least enlightened. Nov, I might have stayed, smoked in your towns, or logged in yoer country, a century, without being sure of this, and without acquiring any thing more useful or arousing at home. I keep no journal; nor have I any intention of scribbling my travels. I have done with authorship ; and if, in my last production. I have convinced the critics or the world I was somi" than they took me for, I am satisfied; nor will I reputation by a future effort. It Is true 1 have i in manuscript, but I leave them for those who corae after me; and, if deemed worth publishing, they may serve to prolong my memory, when I myself shall cease to remember. I have a famous Bavarian artist taking some views of Athens, ftc. Ac. for me. This will be better than scribbling —a disease I hope myself cured of. I hope, on mv return, to lead a quiet, recluse life; but God knows, and does best for cs all/']

7 The song Aims * t r, &c. was written by Rigs, who perished in the attempt to revolutionise Greece. Tbii translation Is as literal as the author could make it in verse. Ix Is of the same measure as that of the original. ["While at the Capuchin convent. Lord Byron devoted some boors dally to the study of the Romaic; and various proofs of it t diligence will be found In the Appsnouc. See Rensrka on the Romaic or Modern Greek Language, with Specimens and Translations.]

8 Constantinople. ** Ktw ?.*?*<•"

Sparta, Sparta, why in slumbers

Lethargic dost thou lie? Awake, and join thy numbers

With Athens, old ally! Leonidas recalling,

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

The terrible 1 the strong!
Who made that told diversion

In old Thermopylae,
And waning 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, 8tc. 1


I Iktzk thy garden of roses,3

Beloved and fair Haidee,
Each moming 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 j
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 Haidee.

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.
The poison, when pour'd from the chalice,

Will deeply embitter the bowl;
But when drunk to escape from thy malice,

The draught shall be sweet to my soul.
Too cruel! In vain I implore thee

My heart from these horrors to save: Will nought to my bosom restore thee?

Then open the gates of the grave.

As fhe chief who to combat advances

Secure of his conquest before,
Thus thou, with those eyes for thy lances.

Hast pierced through my heart to its core.
Ah, tell me, my soul! must I perish

By pangs which a smile would dispel? [rish. Would the hope, which thou once bad'st me che

For torture repay me too well?

[Riga wai a Thessalian, and passed the first part of his L' g ancient Greek

a among his native mountains, in teaching o hUcountrymen. On the first burst of the French revolution, be joined himself to some other enthusiasts, and with them perambulated Greece, rousing the bold, and encouraging the timid, by his minstrelsy. He afterwards went to Vienna to solicit aid for a rising, which he and his comrades had for Tears been endeavouring to accomplish ; but he was given up or the Austrian government to the Turks, who vainly endeavoured by torture to force from him the names of the other conspirators, j

3 The song from which this is taken is a great favourite with the young girls of Athens of all classes. Their

Now sad is the garden of roses,

Beloved but false Haidee 1 There Flora all wither'd reposes,

And mourns o'er thine absence with me.


The kiss, dear maid! thy lip has left

Shall never part from mine, Till happier hours restore the gift

Untainted back to thine.

Thy parting glance, which fondly beams,

An equal love may see: The tear that from thine eyelid streams

Can weep no change in me.

I ask no pledge to make me blest

In gazing when alone;
Nor one memorial for a breast,

Whose thoughts are all thine own.

Nor need I write—to tell the tale

My pen were doubly weak: Oh! what can idle words avail,

Unless the heart could speak?

By day or night, in weal or woe,

That heart, no longer free,
Must bear the love it cannot show,

And silent ache for thee.

March, 1811.



Stranger! behold, interr'd together,

The touh of learning and of leather.

Poor Joe is gone, but left his all .

You H find his relics in a stall.

His works were neat, and often found

Well stitch'd, and with morocco bound.

Tread lightly — where the bard Is laid

He cannot mend the shoe he made;

Yet is he happy in his hole,

With verse immortal as his tole.

But still to business he held fast,

And stuck to Phcebus to the last.

Then who shall say so good a fellow

Was only "leather and prunella?"

For character—-he did not lack it;

And if he did, 'twere shame to " Black-it"

Malta, May 1G, 1811.

of singing it is by verses in rotation, the whole number present joining in the chorus. I have heard it frequently at our ":t«M," in the winter of 1810-11. The air is plaintive and pretty.

3 [National songs and popular works of amusement throw no small light on the manners of a people: they are materials which most travellers have within their reach, but which they almost always disdain to collect. Lord Byron has shown a better taste -, and it is to be hoped that his example will, in future, be generally followed—George Ellis.]

4 [Some notice of this poetaster has been given, ante. p. 432. He died in 1810, and his works have followod him.]

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