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Ah vaisisso mi privi lofse Thou hast consumed me! Si mi rini mi la vosse, Ah, maid! thou hast

struck me to the heart.

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Utara pisa vaisisso me sl. I have loved thee, maid, mi rin ti hapti

with a sincere soul, but Eti mi bire a piste si guithou hast left me like dendroi tiltati.

a withered tree.

Udi vura adorini udiri ci. If I have placed my hand cova cilti mora

on thy bosom, what haUdorini talti hollna u ede ve I gained? my hand is caimoni mora.

withdrawn, but retains the flame.

I believe the two last stanzas, as they are in a different measure, ought to belong to another ballad. An idea something similar to the thought in the last lines was expressed by Socrates, whose arm having come in contact with one of his “ Úroxo intol , » Critobulus or Cleobulus, the philosopher complained of a shooting pain as far as his shoulder for some days after, and therefore very properly resolved to teach his disciples in fu. ture without touching them.

31. Tambourgi! Tambourgi! thy 'larum afar, etc.

Song, Stanza 1. line 1. These stanzas are partly taken from different Albanese songs, as far as I was able to make

them out by the exposition of the Albanese in Ro. maic and Italian.

Remember the moment when Previsa fell.

Song, Stanza 8. line 1.
It was taken by storm from the French.

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Fair Greece! sad relic of departed worth, etc.

Stanza lxxiii. line 1. Some thoughts on this subject will be found in the subjoined papers.

Spirit of freedom! when on Phyle's brow
Thou saťst with Thrasybulus and his train.

Stanza Ixiv. lines 1 and 2. Phyle, which commands a beautiful view of Athens, has still considerable remains: it was sei. zed by Thrasibulus previous to the expulsion of the Thirty.

Receive the fiery Frank , her former guest.

Stanza lxxvii. line 4. When taken by the Latins, and retained for several years. — See GIBBON..

36. .
The prophet's tomb of all its pious spoil.

Stanza lxxvii. line 6. Mecca and Medina were taken some time ago by the Wahabees, a sect yearly increasing.

37. Thy sales of ever-green, thy hills of snow

Stanza lxxxv. line 3. On many of the mountains, particularly Liakura, the snow never is entirely melted, notwithstanding the intense heat of the summer; but I never saw it lie on the plains, even in winter.

on the nat. of the melted, fly Lia.


Save where some solitary column mourns
Above its prostrate brethren of the cave.

Stanza lxxxvi. lines 1 and 2. Of Mount Pentelicus, from whence the marble was dug that constructed the public edifices of Athens. The modern name is Mount Mendeli. An immense cave formed by the quarries still remains, and will till the end of time.


When Marathon became a magic word

Stanza lxxxix. line 7. “Siste Viator - heroa calcas!, was the epitaph on the famons count Merci;- what then must be our feelings when standing on the tumulus of the two hundred (Greeks) who fell on Marathon ? The principal barrow has recently been opened by Fauvel; few or no relics, as vases, etc. were found by the excavator. The plain of Marathon was of. fered to me for sale at the sum of sixteen thou. sand piastres, about nine hundred pounds! Alas! « Expende - quot libras in duce summo — invenies!,- was the dust of Miltiades worth no more? It could scarcely have fetched less if sold by weight.




Before I say any thing about a city of which every body, traveller or not, has thought it necessary to say something, I will request Miss Owen. son, when she next borrows an Athenian heroine for her four volumes, to have the goodness to marry her to somebody more of a gentleman than a Disdar Aga, (who by the by is not an Aga), the most impolite of petty officiers, the greatest patron of larceny Athens ever saw (except Lord E.), and the unworthy occupant of the Acropolis, on a handsome annual stipend of 150 piastres (eight pounds sterling), out of which he has only to pay his garrison, the most ill-regulated corps in the ill-regulated Ottoman Empire. I speak it tenderly, seeing I was once the cause of the husband of «Ida of Athens, nearly suffering the bastinado; and because the said «Disdar» is a tur. bulent husband, and beats his wife; so that I exhort and beseech Miss Owenson to sue for a separate maintenance in behalf of «Ida.» Having premised thus much, on a matter of such import to the readers of romances, I may now leave Ida, to mention her birthplace.

Setting aside the magic of the name, and all those associations which it would be pedantic and superfluous to recapitulate, the very situation of Athens would render it the favourite of all who have eyes for art or nature. The climate, to me at least, appeared a perpetual spring; during eight months 'I never passed a day without being as many hours on horseback: rain is extremely rare, snow never lies in the plains, and a cloudy day is an agreeable rarity. In Spain, Portugal, and every part of the East which I visited, except lonia and Attica, I perceived no such superiority of climate to our own; and at Constantinople, where I passed May, June, and part of July (1810), you might « damn the climate, and complain of spleen,» five days out of seven.

The air of the Morea is heavy and unwholesome, but the moment you pass the isthmus in the direction of Megara the change is strikingly perceptible. But I fear Hesiod will still be found correct in his description of a Boetian winter.

We found at Livadia an “esprit fort in a Greek bishop, of all free-thinkers! This worthy hypocrite rallied his own religion with great intrepidity (but not before his flock), and talked of a mass as a “coglioneria. , It was impossible to think better of him for this; but, for a Boeotian, he was brisk with all his absurdity. This pheno menon (with the exception indeed of Thebes, the renains of Chaeronea, the plain of Platea, Orchomenus, Livadia, and its nominal cave of Trophonius), was the only remarkable thing we saw before we passed Mount Cithaeron.

The fountain of Dirce turns a mill: at least, my companion (who, resolving to be at once cleanly and classical, bathed in it) pronounced it to be the fountain of Dirce, and any body who thinks it worth while may contradict him. At Castri we drank of half a dozen streamlets, some not of the purest, before we decided to our satisfaction which was the true Castalian, and even that had a villanons twang, probably from the snow, though it did not throw us into an epic fever, like poor Dr. Chandler.

From Fort Phyle, of which large remains still exist, the Plain of Athens, Pentelicus, Hymettus, the Aegean, and the Acropolis, burst upon the eye at once; in my opinion, a more glorious prospect than even Ciotrà or Istambol. Not the view from the Troad, with Ida, the Hellespont, and the more distant Mount Athos, can equal it, though so superior in extent.

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