The Complete Poems of Sir Thomas Moore Part 141

FIRST EVENING.

"The sky is bright--the breeze is fair, "And the mainsail flowing, full and free-- "Our farewell word is woman's prayer, "And the hope before us--Liberty!

"Farewell, farewell.

"To Greece we give our shining blades, "And our hearts to you, young Zean Maids!

"The moon is in the heavens above, "And the wind is on the foaming sea-- "Thus shines the star of woman's love "On the glorious strife of Liberty!

"Farewell, farewell.

"To Greece we give our shining blades, "And our hearts to you, young Zean Maids!"

Thus sung they from the bark, that now Turned to the sea its gallant prow, Bearing within its hearts as brave, As e'er sought Freedom o'er the wave; And leaving on that islet's sh.o.r.e, Where still the farewell beacons burn, Friends that shall many a day look o'er The long, dim sea for their return.

Virgin of Heaven! speed their way-- Oh, speed their way,--the chosen flower, Of Zea's youth, the hope and stay Of parents in their wintry hour, The love of maidens and the pride Of the young, happy, blushing bride, Whose nuptial wreath has not yet died-- All, all are in that precious bark, Which now, alas! no more is seen-- Tho' every eye still turns to mark The moonlight spot where it had been.

Vainly you look, ye maidens, sires, And mothers, your beloved are gone!-- Now may you quench those signal fires, Whose light they long looked back upon From their dark deck--watching the flame As fast it faded from their view, With thoughts, that, but for manly shame, Had made them droop and weep like you.

Home to your chambers! home, and pray For the bright coming of that day, When, blest by heaven, the Cross shall sweep The Crescent from the Aegean deep, And your brave warriors, hastening back, Will bring such glories in their track, As shall, for many an age to come, Shed light around their name and home.

There is a Fount on Zea's isle, Round which, in soft luxuriance, smile All the sweet flowers, of every kind, On which the sun of Greece looks down, Pleased as a lover on the crown His mistress for her brow hath twined, When he beholds each floweret there, Himself had wisht her most to wear; Here bloomed the laurel-rose,[1] whose wreath Hangs radiant round the Cypriot shines, And here those bramble-flowers, that breathe Their odor into Zante's wines:-- The splendid woodbine that, as eve, To grace their floral diadems, The lovely maids of Patmos weave:--[2]

And that fair plant whose tangled stems Shine like a Nereid's hair,[3] when spread, Dishevelled, o'er her azure bed:-- All these bright children of the clime, (Each at its own most genial time, The summer, or the year's sweet prime,) Like beautiful earth-stars, adorn The Valley where that Fount is born; While round, to grace its cradle green Groups of Velani oaks are seen Towering on every verdant height-- Tall, shadowy, in the evening light, Like Genii set to watch the birth Of some enchanted child of earth-- Fair oaks that over Zea's vales, Stand with their leafy pride unfurled; While Commerce from her thousand sails Scatters their fruit throughout the world![4]

'Twas here--as soon as prayer and sleep (Those truest friends to all who weep) Had lightened every heart; and made Even sorrow wear a softer shade-- 'Twas here, in this secluded spot, Amid whose breathings calm and sweet Grief might be soothed if not forgot, The Zean nymphs resolved to meet Each evening now, by the same light That saw their farewell tears that night: And try if sound of lute and song, If wandering mid the moonlight flowers In various talk, could charm along With lighter step, the lingering hours, Till tidings of that Bark should come, Or Victory waft their warriors home!

When first they met--the wonted smile Of greeting having gleamed awhile-- 'Twould touch even Moslem heart to see The sadness that came suddenly O'er their young brows, when they looked round Upon that bright, enchanted ground; And thought how many a time with those Who now were gone to the rude wars They there had met at evening's close, And danced till morn outshone the stars!

But seldom long doth hang the eclipse Of sorrow o'er such youthful b.r.e.a.s.t.s-- The breath from her own blushing lips, That on the maiden's mirror rests, Not swifter, lighter from the gla.s.s, Than sadness from her brow doth pa.s.s.

Soon did they now, as round the Well They sat, beneath the rising moon-- And some with voice of awe would tell Of midnight fays and nymphs who dwell In holy founts--while some would time Their idle lutes that now had lain For days without a single strain;-- And others, from the rest apart, With laugh that told the lightened heart, Sat whispering in each other's ear Secrets that all in turn would hear;-- Soon did they find this thoughtless play So swiftly steal their griefs away, That many a nymph tho' pleased the while, Reproached her own forgetful smile, And sighed to think she _could_ be gay.

Among these maidens there was one Who to Leucadia[5] late had been-- Had stood beneath the evening sun On its white towering cliffs and seen The very spot where Sappho sung Her swan-like music, ere she sprung (Still holding, in that fearful leap, By her loved lyre,) into the deep, And dying quenched the fatal fire, At once, of both her heart and lyre.

Mutely they listened all--and well Did the young travelled maiden tell Of the dread height to which that steep Beetles above the eddying deep--[6]

Of the lone sea-birds, wheeling round The dizzy edge with mournful sound-- And of those scented lilies found Still blooming on that fearful place-- As if called up by Love to grace The immortal spot o'er which the last Bright footsteps of his martyr past!

While fresh to every listener's thought These legends of Leucadia brought All that of Sappho's hapless flame Is kept alive, still watcht by Fame-- The maiden, tuning her soft lute, While all the rest stood round her, mute, Thus sketched the languishment of soul, That o'er the tender Lesbian stole; And in a voice whose thrilling tone Fancy might deem the Lesbian's own, One of those fervid fragments gave, Which still,--like sparkles of Greek Fire, Undying, even beneath the wave,-- Burn on thro' Time and ne'er expire.

SONG.

As o'er her loom the Lesbian Maid In love-sick languor hung her head, Unknowing where her fingers strayed, She weeping turned away, and said, "Oh, my sweet Mother--'tis in vain-- "I cannot weave, as once I wove-- "So wildered is my heart and brain "With thinking of that youth I love!"

Again the web she tried to trace, But tears fell o'er each tangled thread; While looking in her mother's face, Who watchful o'er her leaned, she said, "Oh, my sweet Mother--'tis in vain-- "I cannot weave, as once I wove-- "So wildered is my heart and brain "With thinking of that youth I love!"

A silence followed this sweet air, As each in tender musing stood, Thinking, with lips that moved in prayer, Of Sappho and that fearful flood: While some who ne'er till now had known How much their hearts resembled hers, Felt as they made her griefs their own, That _they_ too were Love's worshippers.

At length a murmur, all but mute, So faint it was, came from the lute Of a young melancholy maid, Whose fingers, all uncertain played From chord to chord, as if in chase Of some lost melody, some strain Of other times, whose faded trace She sought among those chords again.

Slowly the half-forgotten theme (Tho' born in feelings ne'er forgot) Came to her memory--as a beam Falls broken o'er some shaded spot;-- And while her lute's sad symphony Filled up each sighing pause between; And Love himself might weep to see What ruin comes where he hath been-- As withered still the gra.s.s is found Where fays have danced their merry round-- Thus simply to the listening throng She breathed her melancholy song:--

SONG.

Weeping for thee, my love, thro' the long day, Lonely and wearily life wears away.

Weeping for thee, my love, thro' the long night-- No rest in darkness, no joy in light!

Naught left but Memory whose dreary tread Sounds thro' this ruined heart, where all lies dead-- Wakening the echoes of joy long fled!

Of many a stanza, this alone Had 'scaped oblivion--like the one Stray fragment of a wreck which thrown With the lost vessel's name ash.o.r.e Tells who they were that live no more.

When thus the heart is in a vein Of tender thought, the simplest strain Can touch it with peculiar power-- As when the air is warm, the scent Of the most wild and rustic flower Can fill the whole rich element-- And in such moods the homeliest tone That's linked with feelings, once our own-- With friends or joy gone by--will be Worth choirs of loftiest harmony!

But some there were among the group Of damsels there too light of heart To let their spirits longer droop, Even under music's melting art; And one upspringing with a bound From a low bank of flowers, looked round With eyes that tho' so full of light Had still a trembling tear within; And, while her fingers in swift flight Flew o'er a fairy mandolin, Thus sung the song her lover late Had sung to her--the eve before That joyous night, when as of yore All Zea met to celebrate The feast of May on the sea-sh.o.r.e.

SONG.

When the Balaika[7]

Is heard o'er the sea, I'll dance the Romaika By moonlight with thee.

If waves then advancing Should steal on our play, Thy white feet in dancing Shall chase them away.[8]

When the Balaika Is heard o'er the sea, Thou'lt dance the Romaika My own love, with me.

Then at the closing Of each merry lay, How sweet 'tis, reposing Beneath the night ray!

Or if declining The moon leave the skies, We'll talk by the shining Of each other's eyes.

Oh then how featly The dance we'll renew, Treading so fleetly Its light mazes thro':[9]

Till stars, looking o'er us From heaven's high bowers, Would change their bright chorus For one dance of ours!

When the Balaika Is heard o'er the sea, Thou'lt dance the Romaika, My own love, with me.

How changingly for ever veers The heart of youth 'twixt smiles and tears!

Even as in April the light vane Now points to sunshine, now to rain.

Instant this lively lay dispelled The shadow from each blooming brow, And Dancing, joyous Dancing, held Full empire o'er each fancy now.

But say--_what_ shall the measure be?

"Shall we the old Romaika tread,"

(Some eager asked) "as anciently "'Twas by the maids of Delos led, "When slow at first, then circling fast, "As the gay spirits rose--at last, "With hand in hand like links enlocked, "Thro' the light air they seemed to flit "In labyrinthine maze, that mocked "The dazzled eye that followed it?"

Some called aloud "the Fountain Dance!"-- While one young, dark-eyed Amazon, Whose step was air-like and whose glance Flashed, like a sabre in the sun, Sportively said, "Shame on these soft "And languid strains we hear so oft.

"Daughters of Freedom! have not we "Learned from our lovers and our sires "The Dance of Greece, while Greece was free-- "That Dance, where neither flutes nor lyres, "But sword and shield clash on the ear "A music tyrants quake to hear?

"Heroines of Zea, arm with me "And dance the dance of Victory!"

Thus saying, she, with playful grace, Loosed the wide hat, that o'er her face (From Anatolia came the maid) Hung shadowing each sunny charm; And with a fair young armorer's aid, Fixing it on her rounded arm, A mimic shield with pride displayed; Then, springing towards a grove that spread Its canopy of foliage near, Plucked off a lance-like twig, and said, "To arms, to arms!" while o'er her head She waved the light branch, as a spear.

Promptly the laughing maidens all Obeyed their Chief's heroic call;-- Round the shield-arm of each was tied Hat, turban, shawl, as chance might be; The grove, their verdant armory, Falchion and lance[10] alike supplied; And as their glossy locks, let free, Fell down their shoulders carelessly, You might have dreamed you saw a throng Of youthful Thyads, by the beam Of a May moon, bounding along Peneus' silver-eddied stream!