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EDIP. Colon.





THE poem of Hellas, written at the suggestion of the events of the moment, is a mere improvise, and derives its interest (should it be found to possess any) solely from the intense sympathy which the Author feels with the cause he would celebrate.



age have been performed by the Greeks-that they have gained more than one naval victory, and that their defeat in Wallachia was signalized by circumstances of heroism more glorious even than victory.

The apathy of the rulers of the civilized world, to the astonishing circumstances of the descendants of that nation to which they owe their civilizationThe subject in its present state is insusceptible of rising as it were from the ashes of their ruin, is somebeing treated otherwise than lyrically, and if I have thing perfectly inexplicable to a mere spectator of called this poem a drama from the circumstance of the shows of this mortal scene. We are all Greeks its being composed in dialogue, the license is not Our laws, our literature, our religion, our arts, have greater than that which has been assumed by other their root in Greece. But for Greece-Rome the poets, who have called their productions epics, only instructor, the conqueror, or the metropolis of our anbecause they have been divided into twelve or twenty-cestors, would have spread no illumination with her four books.

The Perse of Eschylus afforded me the first model of my conception, although the decision of the glorious contest now waging in Greece being yet suspended, forbids a catastrophe parallel to the return of Xerxes and the desolation of the Persians. I have, therefore, contented myself with exhibiting a series of lyric pictures, and with having wrought upon the curtain of futurity, which falls upon the unfinished scene, such figures of indistinct and visionary delineation as suggest the final triumph of the Greek cause as a portion of the cause of civilization and social improvement.

arms, and we might still have been savages and idolaters; or, what is worse, might have arrived at such a stagnant and miserable state of social institution as China and Japan possess.

The human form and the human mind attained to a perfection in Greece which has impressed its image on those faultless productions whose very fragments are the despair of modern art, and has propagated impulses which cannot cease, through a thousand channels of manifest or imperceptible operation, to ennoble and delight mankind until the extinction of the race.

The modern Greek is the descendant of those The drama (if drama it must be called) is, however, glorious beings whom the imagination almost refuses so inartificial that I doubt whether, if recited on the to figure to itself as belonging to our kind; and he Thespian wagon to an Athenian village at the Diony- inherits much of their sensibility, their rapidity of siaca, it would have obtained the prize of the goat. conception, their enthusiasm, and their courage. If I shall bear with equanimity any punishment greater in many instances he is degraded by moral and politi than the loss of such a reward which the Aristarchical slavery to the practice of the basest vices it enof the hour may think fit to inflict.

The only goat-song which I have yet attempted has, I confess, in spite of the unfavorable nature of the subject, received a greater and a more valuable portion of applause than I expected, or than it deserved.

genders, and that below the level of ordinary degra dation; let us reflect that the corruption of the best produces the worst, and that habits which subsist only in relation to a peculiar state of social institution may be expected to cease, as soon as that relation is dissolved. In fact, the Greeks, since the adCommon fame is the only authority which I can mirable novel of "Anastatius" could have been a allege for the details which form the basis of the poem, faithful picture of their manners, have undergone most and I must trespass upon the forgiveness of my read- important changes. The flower of their youth, reers for the display of newspaper erudition to which turning to their country from the universities of Italy, I have been reduced. Undoubtedly, until the con- Germany and France, have communicated to their clusion of the war, it will be impossible to obtain fellow-citizens the latest results of that social peran account of it sufficiently authentic for historical fection of which their ancestors were the original materials; but poets have their privilege, and it is source. The university of Chios contained before unquestionable that actions of the most exalted cour- the breaking out of the revolution eight hundred


students, and among them several Germans and Americans. The munificence and energy of many of the Greek princes and merchants, directed to the renovation of their country with a spirit and a wisdom which has few examples, is above all praise.

The English permit their own oppressors to act according to their natural sympathy with the Turkish tyrant, and to brand upon their name the indelible blot of an alliance with the enemies of domestic happiness, of Christianity and civilization.

Russia desires to possess, not to liberate Greece; and is contented to see the Turks, its natural enemies, and the Greeks, its intended slaves, enfeeble The each other, until one or both fall into its net. wise and generous policy of England would have consisted in establishing the independence of Greece and in maintaining it both against Russia and the Turk-but when was the oppressor generous or just?

The Spanish Peninsula is already free. France is tranquil in the enjoyment of a partial exemption from the abuses which its unnatural and feeble government is vainly attempting to revive. The seed of blood and misery has been sown in Italy, and a more vigorous race is arising to go forth to the harvest. The world waits only the news of a revolution of Germany, to see the tyrants who have pinnacled themselves on its supineness precipitated into the ruin from which they shall never arise. Well do these destroyers of mankind know their enemy, when they impute the insurrection in Greece to the same spirit before which they tremble throughout the rest of Europe; and that enemy well knows the power and cunning of its opponents, and watches the moment of their approaching weakness and inevitable division, to wrest the bloody sceptres from their grasp.

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Its unwearied wings could fan
The quenchless ashes of Milan.*
From age to age, from man to man

It lived; and lit from land to land
Florence, Albion, Switzerland:
Then night fell; and as from night
Reassuming fiery flight,

From the West swift Freedom came,

Against the course of Heaven and doom

A second sun array'd in flame;
To burn, to kindle, to illume,
From far Atlantis its young beams
Chased the shadows and the dreams.
France, with all her sanguine steams,
Hid, but quench'd it not; again
Through clouds its shafts of glory rain
From utmost Germany to Spain.
As an eagle fed with morning
Scorns the embattled tempest's warning,
When she seeks her airy hanging

In the mountain cedar's hair,
And her brood expect the clanging

Of her wings through the wild air,
Sick with famine-Freedom so
To what of Greece remaineth now
Returns; her hoary ruins glow
Like orient mountains lost in day;
Beneath the safety of her wings
Her renovated nurslings play,

And in the naked lightnings

Of truth they purge their dazzled eyes.
Let Freedom leave, where'er she flies,
A desert, or a Paradise ;

Let the beautiful and the brave
Share her glory, or a grave.


With the gifts of gladness Greece did thy cradle strew.


With the tears of sadness

Greece did thy shroud bedew.


With an orphan's affection

She follow'd thy bier through time;


And at thy resurrection Reappeareth, like thou, sublime!


If Heaven should resume thee,
To Heaven shall her spirit ascend;


If Hell should entomb thee;

To Hell shall her high hearts bend.


If Annihilation

*Milan was the centre of the resistance of the Lombard

league against the Austrian tyrant. Frederic Barbarossa burnt the city to the ground, but liberty lived in its ashes, and it rose like an exhalation from its ruin.-See Sis. MONDI's "Histoires des Républiques Italiennes," a book which has done much towards awakening the Italians to an imitation of their great ancestors.

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The times do cast strange shadows

On those who watch and who must rule their course, Lest they, being first in peril as in glory,

Be whelm'd in the fierce ebb:-and these are of them. Thrice has a gloomy vision haunted me

As thus from sleep into the troubled day;

It shakes me as the tempest shakes the sea,

Leaving no figure upon memory's glass.

Would that no matter. Thou didst say thou knewest A Jew, whose spirit is a chronicle

Of strange and secret and forgotten things.

I bade thee summon him:-'tis said his tribe
Dream, and are wise interpreters of dreams.


The Jew of whom I spake is old.-so old
He seems to have outlived a world's decay;
The hoary mountains and the wrinkled ocean
Seem younger still than he;-his hair and beard
Are whiter than the tempest-sifted snow;
His cold pale limbs and pulseless arteries
Are like the fibres of a cloud instinet
With light, and to the soul that quickens them
Are as the atoms of the mountain-drift

To the winter wind:-but from his eye looks forth
A life of unconsumed thought, which pierces
The present, and the past, and the to-come.
Some say that this is he whom the great prophet
Jesus, the son of Joseph, for his mockery
Mock'd with the curse of immortality.
Some feign that he is Enoch; others dream
He was pre-adamite, and has survived
Cycles of generation and of ruin.
The sage, in truth, by dreadful abstinence
And conquering penance of the mutinous flesh,
Deep contemplation, and unwearied study,
In years outstretch'd beyond the date of man,
May have obtain'd to sovereignty and science

Over those strong and secret things and thoughts Which others fear and know not.


I would talk

With this old Jew.


Thy will is even now

Made known to him, where he dwells in a sea-cavern 'Mid the Demonesi, less accessible

Than thou or God! He who would question him
Must sail alone at sunset, where the stream
Of ocean sleeps around those foamless isles
When the young moon is westering as now,
And evening airs wander upon the wave;
And when the pines of that bee-pasturing isle,
Green Erebinthus, quench the fiery shadow
Of his gilt prow within the sapphire water;
Then must the lonely helmsman ery aloud,
Ahasuerus! and the caverns round
Will answer, Ahasuerus! If his prayer
Be granted, a faint meteor will arise,
Lighting him over Marmora, and a wind
Will rush out of the sighing pine-forest,
And with the wind a storm of harmony
Unutterably sweet, and pilot him

Through the soft twilight to the Bosphorus:
Thence, at the hour and place and circumstance
Fit for the matter of their conference,

The Jew appears. Few dare, and few who dare,
Win the desired communion-but that shout
[A shout without.


Evil, doubtless.; like all human sounds. Let me converse with spirits.


That shout again!~


This Jew whom thou hast summon'd



And Death's dark chasm hurrying to and fro, Clothe their unceasing flight

In the brief dust and light Gather'd around their chariots as they go. New shapes they still may weave, New Gods, new laws receive; Bright or dim are they, as the robes they last On Death's bare ribs had cast.

A power from the unknown God;
A Promethean conqueror came;
Like a triumphal path he trod

The thorns of death and shame.
A mortal shape to him
Was like the vapor dim

Which the orient planet animates with light;
Hell, Sin and Slavery came,

Like blood-hounds mild and tame,

Nor prey'd until their lord had taken flight. The moon of Mahomet

Arose, and it shall set:

While blazon'd as on Heaven's immortal noon The cross leads generations on.

Swift as the radiant shapes of sleep

From one whose dreams are paradise, Fly when the fond wretch wakes to weep, And day peers forth with her blank eyes! So fleet, so faint, so fair,

The powers of earth and air

Fled from the folding-star of Bethlehem:

Apollo, Pan, and Love,

And even Olympian Jove

Grew weak, for killing Truth had glared on them Our hills, and seas, and streams,

Dispeopled of their dreams,

Their waters turn'd to blood, their dew to tears,

Wail'd for the golden years.

Enter MAHMUD, HASSAN, DAOOD, and others.


Will be here- More gold? our ancestors bought gold with victory And shall I sell it for defeat?

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[Exeunt severally. or less exalted existence, according to the degree of perfection

Worlds on worlds are rolling ever

From creation to decay,
Like the bubbles on a river,

Sparkling, bursting, borne away;
But they are still immortal
Who, through birth's orient portal,

• The popular notions of Christianity are represented in this chorus as true in their relation to the worship they superseded, and that which in all probability they will supersede, without considering their merits in a relation more universal. The first stanza contrasts the immortality of the living and thinking beings which inhabit the planets, and, to use a common and inadequate phrase, clothe themselves in matter, with the transience of the noblest manifestations of the external world.

The concluding verse indicates a progressive state of more

which every distinct intelligence may have attained. Let it not be supposed that I mean to dogmatize upon a subject concerning which all men are equally ignorant, or that I think the Gordian knot of the origin of evil can be disentangled by that or any similar assertions. The received hypothesis of a Being resembling men in the moral attributes of his nature, having called us out of non-existence, and after inflicting on us the misery of the commission of error, should superadd that of the punishment and the privations consequent upon it, still would remain inexplicable and incredible. That there is a true solution of the riddle, and that in our present state that solution is unattainable by us, are propositions which may be regarded as equally certain; meanwhile, as it is the province of the poet to attach himself to those ideas which exalt and ennoble humanity, let him be permitted to have conjectured the condition of that futurity towards which we are all impelled by an inextinguishable thirst for immortality. Until better arguments can be produced than sophisms which disgrace the cause, this desire itself must remain the strongest and the only presumption that eter nity is the inheritance of every thinking being.

Whose shrieks and spasms and tears they may enjoy? If night is mute, yet the returning sun

No infidel children to impale on spears?

No hoary priests after that patriarch*

Who bent the curse against his country's heart, Which clove his own at last? Go! bid them kill: Blood is the seed of gold.


It has been sown,

And yet the harvest to the sickle-men Is as a grain to each.


Then, take this signet: Unlock the seventh chamber, in which lie The treasures of victorious Solyman. An empire's spoils stored for a day of ruinO spirit of my sires! is it not come? The prey-birds and the wolves are gorged and sleep, But these, who spread their feast on the red earth, Hunger for gold, which fills not.-See them fed; Then lead them to the rivers of fresh death.

[Exit DAOOD.

Oh! miserable dawn, after a night
More glorious than the day which it usurp'd!
O, faith in God! O, power on earth! O, word
Of the great Prophet, whose overshadowing wings
Darken'd the thrones and idols of the west,
Now bright!-For thy sake cursed be the hour,
Even as a father by an evil child,

When the orient moon of Islam roll'd in triumph
From Caucasus to white Ceraunia!
Ruin above, and anarchy below;
Terror without, and treachery within;
The chalice of destruction full, and all
Thirsting to drink; and who among us dares
To dash it from his lips? and where is Hope?


The lamp of our dominion still rides high;
One God is God-Mahomet is his Prophet.
Four hundred thousand Moslems, from the limits
Of utmost Asia irresistibly

Throng, like full clouds at the Sirocco's cry,
But not like them to weep their strength in tears;
They have destroying lightning, and their step
Wakes earthquake, to consume and overwhelm,
And reign in ruin. Phrygian Olympus,
Tymolus, and Latmos, and Mycale, roughen
With horrent arms, and lofty ships, even now,
Like vapors anchor'd to a mountain's edge,
Freighted with fire and whirlwind, wait at Scala
The convoy of the ever-veering wind.
Samos is drunk with blood;-the Greek has paid
Brief victory with swift loss and long despair.
The false Moldavian serfs fled fast and far
When the fierce shout of Allah-illah-Allah!
Rose like the war-cry of the northern wind,
Which kills the sluggish clouds, and leaves a flock
Of wild swans struggling with the naked storm.
So were the lost Greeks on the Danube's day!

The Greek Patriarch, after having been compelled to fulminate an anathema against the insurgents, was put to death by the Turks.

Fortunately the Greeks have been taught that they cannot buy security by degradation, and the Turks, though equally cruel, are less cunning than the smooth-faced tyrants of Europe. As to the anathema, his Holiness might as well have thrown his mitre at Mount Athos, for any effect that it produced. The chiefs of the Greeks are almost all men of comprehension and

enlightened views on religion and politics.

Kindles the voices of the morning birds;
Nor at thy bidding less exultingly
Than birds rejoicing in the golden day,
The anarchies of Africa unleash
Their tempest-winged cities of the sea,
To speak in thunder to the rebel world.
Like sulphurous clouds half-shatter'd by the storm
They sweep the pale Ægean, while the Queen
Of Ocean, bound upon her island throne,
Far in the west sits mourning that her sons,
Who frown on Freedom, spare a smile for thee:
Russia still hovers, as an eagle might
Within a cloud, near which a kite and crane
Hang tangled in inextricable fight,

To stoop upon the victor-for she fears
The name of Freedom, even as she hates thine.
But recreant Austria loves thee as the grave
Loves pestilence, and her slow dogs of war,
Flesh'd with the chase, come up from Italy,
And howl upon their limits; for they see
The panther Freedom fled to her old cover
'Mid seas and mountains, and a mightier brood
Crouch around. What anarch wears a crown or alte,
Or bears the sword, or grasps the key of gold,
Whose friends are not thy friends, whose foes thy foes!
Our arsenals and our armories are full;

Our forts defy assaults; ten thousand cannon
Lie ranged upon the beach, and hour by hour
Their earth-convulsing wheels affright the city;
The galloping of fiery steeds makes pale
The Christian merchant, and the yellow Jew
Hides his hoard deeper in the faithless earth.
Like clouds, and like the shadows of the clouds
Over the hills of Anatolia,

Swift in wide troops the Tartar chivalry
Sweep-the far-flashing of their starry lances
Reverberates the dying light of day.

We have one God, one King, one Hope, one Law
But many-headed Insurrection stands
Divided in itself, and soon must fall.


Proud words, when deeds come short, are seasonable
Look, Hassan, on yon crescent moon, emblazon'd
Upon that shatter'd flag of fiery cloud

Which leads the rear of the departing day,
Wan emblem of an empire fading now!
See how it trembles in the blood-red air,
And like a mighty lamp whose oil is spent,
Shrinks on the horizon's edge, while, from above.
One star with insolent and victorious light
Hovers above its fall, and with keen beams,
Like arrows through a fainting antelope,
Strikes its weak form to death.

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