Fond girls! an aged ZIAN said One who, himself, had fought and bled, Pleased with the shade that helmet flings, Did honour's arm still win the fray, Did luck but shine on righteous blades, War were a game for gods to play! But, no, alas!-hear one who well Hath track'd the fortunes of the brave Hear me, in mournful ditty, tell What g.cry waits the patriot's grave: on the eve of the battle, in music and the gymnastic exercises of ereyna, which flows through stupendous rocks.—Williams's Tro their country. rels in Greece. And, while thou bring'st before us Dark pictures of past ill, Life's evening, closing o'er us, But makes them darker still. So went the moonlight hours along, But soft and holy,-did each maid Not far from this secluded place, On the sea-shore, a ruin stood;— A relic of th' extinguish'd race, Who once look'd o'er that foamy flood, When fair Ioulis, by the light Of golden sunset, on the sight Of mariners who sail'd that sea, Rose, like a city of chrysolite, Call'd from the wave by witchery! This ruin, now by barbarous hands Debased into a motley shed, Where the once splendid column stands Inverted on its leafy head, Was, as they tell, in times of old, The dwelling of that bard, whose lay Could melt to tears the stern and cold, And sadden, mid their mirth, the gay,SIMONIDES, whose fame, through years And ages past, still bright appearsLike Hesperus, a star of tears! 'T was hither now-to catch a view Of the white waters, as they play'd Silently in the light-a few Of the more restless damsels stray'd; Sent o'er the wave a sigh unblest Meanwhile there came a sound of song From the dark ruins-a faint strain, As if some echo, that among Those minstrel halls had slumber'd long, Were murmuring into life again. But, no-the nymphs knew well the tone- A lay that, on that very spot, Her lover sung one moonlight night: THEY ARE GONE. Au! where are they, who heard, in former hours, The voice of song in these neglected bowers? They are gone they all are gone! The youth, who told his pain in such sweet tone, That all, who heard him, wish'd his pain their ownHe is gone-he is gone! And she, who, while he sung, sat listening by, And thought to strains like these 't were sweet to dieShe is gone-she too is gone! 'Tis thus, in future hours, some bard will say Of her who hears, and him who sings this layThey are gone-they both are gone! The moon was now, from heaven's steep, Of light into the silent deep And the young nymphs, on their return From those romantic ruins, found Their other play-mates, ranged around The sacred spring, prepared to tune Their parting hymn,' ere sunk the moon, To that fair fountain, by whose stream Their hearts had form'd so many a dream. Who has not read the tales, that tell Of old Eleusis' worshipp'd well, Or heard what legends songs recount Of SYRA, and its sacred fount, Gushing, at once, from the hard rock Into the laps of living flowersWhere village maidens loved to flock, On summer-nights, and, like the Hours, Link'd in harmonious dance and song, Charm'd the unconscious night along! While holy pilgrims, on their way TO DELOS' isle, stood looking on, Enchanted with a scene so gay, Nor sought their boats till morning shone! These Songs of the Well, as they were called among the ancients, still exist in Greece. De Gays tells us that he has seen the young women in Prince's Island, assembled in the evening at a pablic well, suddenly strike up a dance, while others sung in concert to them." 2.The inhabitants of Syrs, both ancient and modern, may be considered as the worshippers of water. The old fountain, at which the This superstitious custom of the Thessalians exists also, as Pietro nymphs of the island assembled in the earliest ages, exists in its della Valle tells us, among the Persians. It: original state; the same rendezvous as it was formerly, whether of 2 An ancient city of ZiA, the walls of which were of marble. love and gallantry, or of gossiping and tale telling. It is near to the remains (says Clarke) extend from the shore quite into a valley, town, and the most limpid water gushes continually from the solid watered by the streams of a fountain, whence loULIS received its rock. It is regarded by the inhabitants with a degree of religious veneration; and they preserve a tradition that the pilgrims of old name.. ZA was the birth-place of this poet, whose verses are by Catul-time, in their way to Delos, resorted hither for purification. >— lus called tears." Clarke. IN REMEMBRANCE OF THE PLEASANT HOURS PASSED AT CRAIG-CROOK, WITH HER AND MY VALUED FRIEND, HER HUSBAND, I HAVE GREAT PLEASURE IN INSCRIBING THE FOLLOWING GLEES, THOMAS MOORE May the links that are lost but endear what are left. Hip, hip, hip, hip, hip, hurra, hurra, hurra. May our lives-though, alas! like the wine of to-night, They must soon have an end-to the last flow as bright', Charge! Hip, hip, hip, hip, hip, hurra, hurra, hurra! Quick, quick-now I'll give you, since time's glass will run Ev'n faster than ours doth, three bumpers in one: Here's the poet who sings-here 's the warrior who fights Here's the girl that each loves, be her eye of what hue, Here's the statesman who speaks in the cause of man's Or lustre it may, so her heart is but true.»> rights! Charge! Hip, hip, hip, hip, hip, hurra, hurra, hurra! Let us hear each strain from ev'ry shore Delights through the gay saloon with slow step to tread; Whose dim shadows serve to hide The blush raised by him who talks Of love the while by her side. Then comes the smooth waltz, to whose floating sound Like dreams, we go gliding around. Say, which shall we dance? THE EVENING GUN. REMEMB'REST thou that setting sun, When loud we heard the evening gun, Oft, when the toils of day are done, In pensive dreams of thee, I sit to hear that evening gun The distant sounds decay, |