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By those tresses unconfined,
Wooed by each Ægean wind;
By those lids whose jetty fringe
Kiss thy soft cheeks? blooming tinge;
By those wild eyes like the roe,
Ζώη μ8, σάς αγαπω.


By that lip 1 long to taste;
By that zone-encircled waist;
By all the token-flowers that tell
What words can never speak so well;
By Love's alternate joy and woe,
Ζώη με, σας αγαπώ.

, 4.

Maid of Athens! I am gone:

Think of me, sweet! when alone. Though I fly to Istambol",

Athens holds my heart and soul:

Can I cease to love thee? No!

Ζώη μ8, σας αγαπώ.


Translation of the famous Greek War Song, Aitle waidas rür

'Exzvvwv, written by Riga, who perished in the attempt to revolutionize Greece. The following translation is as literal as the author could make it in verse; it is of the same measure as that of the original. See Appendix to vol. 1.


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 tyrant's yoke,

Let your country see you rising,

And all her chains are broke.

Brave shades of chiefs and sages,

Behold the coming strife!

Hellénes of past ages,

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

Your sleep, oh, join with me!
And the seven-hilled city seeking,
Fight, conquer, till we're free.

Sons of Greeks, &c,


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! the strong!

Who made that bold diversion

In old Thermopylæ,
And warring with the Persian

To keep his country free;

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