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Cornell University Library 
 PR 5703.V33P9 
 
 Psiloriti; a dramatic poem illustrative o 
 
 3 1924 013 566 702 
 
The original of tliis book is in 
 tlie Cornell University Library. 
 
 There are no known copyright restrictions in 
 the United States on the use of the text. 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924013566702 
 
$itoxiti 
 
PSILOHITI: 
 
 (^ ©rama^tc (poem+ 
 
 ILLUSTKATIVE OF LIFE UNDER THE TURK 
 IN CRETE. 
 
 BY 
 
 BICHAED VASEY. 
 
 WITH AN INTRODUCTION. 
 
 BRADFORD. 
 
 1 8 9 6. 
 
 All rights reserved. 
 
Printed by Thomas Beown, Bkunswiok Place. 
 189B 
 
^fi Special Satiction, 
 
 This Volume is inscribed 
 TO HIS GRACE, 
 
 KG., K.T., Ac. 
 
 AS A TOKEN OF RESPECTFUL HOMAGE TO THAT 
 
 HIGH AND NOBLE CHARACTER OF 
 
 THE TRUE BRITISH STATESMAN, PATRIOT, AND 
 
 CHRISTIAN PHILANTHROPHIST, 
 
 SO DISTINGUISHABLE IN HIS GRACE ; AND, AS THE 
 
 EXPRESSION OF MY ADMIRATION OF THAT GENIUS 
 
 WHICH IS AT ONCE ELEVATING 
 
 AND ADORNING OUR ENGLISH LITERATURE. 
 
 R. VASEY. 
 

 W^ 
 
 
 
 P E E FAC E 
 
 EETE, or (as it is sometimes called) Candia, one of the 
 largest islands in the Mediterranean, is situated between 
 34° 50" and 35° 40" N. Lat., and between 23° 30" and 
 26° 20" E. Long. It is thus the most southern portion of Europe. 
 It is of an elongated form, being not less than 160 miles in length 
 while its breadth does not anywhere exceed 35 miles, and is in 
 some places narrowed to ten or twelve miles. 
 
 By far the greater part of the island is occupied by ranges of 
 mountains, some of which attain to a very considerable height. 
 Nearly in the centre of the island rises the lofty group, or rather 
 mass, of Mount Ida, now called " Psiloriti " (a corruption of a 
 Greek word, signifying " The high mountain "), which is not less 
 than 8,060 feet in height, forming nearly an isolated mass, 
 separated by tracts of comparatively low elevation from the 
 mountain ranges to the east and west of it. The eastern half of 
 the island is less mountainous, and none of the summits attain so 
 great an elevation ; but the central group of the Lasethe mountains 
 rise to the height of 7,100 feet and its summit, like that of Mount 
 Ida, is covered with snow the greater part of the year. 
 
6 Pbefacb. 
 
 The intervals between the mountains are filled by undulating 
 tracts, consisting of hills of the Tertian formation, and compara- 
 tively low elevation, but still rising occasionally to a height of 
 from 2,000 to 3,000 feet. 
 
 Such a tract is that which extends across the island from the 
 neighbourhood of the city of Candia, to the plain of Messara in 
 the south. This is the largest plain, extending from the sea to 
 the foot of Psiloriti. It is about 35 miles in length, with a breadth 
 of from six to ten miles. The plain which adjoins the city of 
 Canffla is of great fertility, but of small extent, not exceeding 
 eight miles in breadth. 
 
 One leading characteristic of the mountain region of Crete, is 
 the occurrence of depressed valleys, or basins, at a considerable 
 height above the sea, forming crater-like hollows, which afford 
 admirable pasturage in spring and early summer. The most 
 remarkable is that of Nida, on the flanks of Mount Ida, or 
 Psiloriti, at the height of 4,000 feet, and one in the Las'ethe Mts., 
 about 3,000 feet above the sea, which is the most extensive of the 
 three and encloses a beautiful plain, containing no less than 15 
 villages, with a population of 4,000 souls. 
 
 From its peculiar conformation it naturally results that Crete . 
 contains no rivers of any importance. The moat considerable is 
 the ancient Electra, which flows through the plain of the Messara, 
 and falls into the sea on the South Coast. 
 
 Though so large a portion cf Crete is occupied by raonntains,the 
 rest of the island is of great fertility ; a nd there can be no doubt, 
 that under a better system of government, it would become one of 
 the richest and most productive islands of the Mediterranean. 
 
 The forests which once covered the mountains have for the 
 most part disappeared ; but the cypress still grows wild in the 
 highest region, while the lower hills are covered with olive woods. 
 Oranges and lemons also abound, and are of excellent quality, so 
 S,s to furnish the whole of continental Greece and Constantinople. 
 Chestnut woods, as in Greece itself, are local and exceptional; 
 the same is the case with the Valonia Oak, while in some districts 
 
Peepaoe. 7 
 
 the Carob tree is so abundant as to form an important article of 
 consumption. Pears, apples, quinces, mulberries, and other fruit 
 trees flourish in abundance, as well as -vines ; though Cretan wines 
 no longer enjoy the reputation which they had in the time of the 
 Venetians. Tobacco succeeds well in the plains and low grounds, 
 though not at present cultivated to any great extent. 
 
 Passing to the semi-mythic, or heroic, age, we find almost all 
 the early legends and traditions of the island grouped around the 
 name of Minos, one of those personages of the earliest Greek 
 history of whom it is impossible to say whether any element of 
 truth underlies the mass of mythical and poetical fable by which 
 it has been surrounded. According to the received tradition 
 Minos was king of Gnossus in Crete, and was the son of Zeus, 
 enjoying through life the privilege of communion with his divine 
 father. It was from this source that he derived the wisdom which 
 enabled him to give to the Cretans that excellent system of laws 
 and government that earned for him the reputation of being the 
 greatest legislator of antiquity. At the same time he was reported 
 to have been the first monarch who established a naval power, and 
 acquired what was termed by the Greeks the Thalassokraty, or 
 dominion of the sea. Whatever truth there may be in this last 
 tradition, it was received as an undoubted fact, both by Thucydides 
 and by Aristotle. It is certain that when we first hear of the 
 Cretans, in the Homeric poems, they appear as a seafaring race, 
 and apparently the only Greek people, who at that early period 
 attempted to compete with the Phoenicians, as bold and adventu- 
 rous navigators. The position of their island was moreover such 
 as to give them great national facilities for the command of the 
 ^gean Sea and the surrounding islands, as well as communication 
 with Phoenicia and Egypt. It is certain that whatever merits 
 the Cretan laws may have possessed for the internal regulation of 
 the different cities, they had the one glaring defect, that they made 
 no provision for any federal bond, or union among them, or for 
 the government of the island as a whole. It is owing to the want 
 of this that the Cretans scarcely figure in Crreek history as a 
 
8 PBEPAOB. 
 
 people ; though the island, as observed by Aristotle, would seem 
 from it3 natural position calculated to exercise a preponderating 
 influence over Greek affairs. 
 
 The ascent from the plains to the villages of the highlanders 
 — that is the Sphakiots — has to be made through a series of defiles 
 by mule tracks of the most difficult kind. The plateaux in which 
 those villages are situated are guarded by ravines. The Sphakiots 
 of one village, communicating by means of the above tracks, some 
 of which travellers tell us are too precipitous and perilous even 
 for the mountain goats. Some of them, many hundred feet almost 
 perpendicular, where a false step means instant destruction. A 
 handful of Sphakiots, at the top of one of these, could stop a whole 
 legion. 
 
 The Sphakiots are of great stature, incredibly active, and have 
 been known to attain the age of one hundred years, without infir- 
 mity. When in 1821 the War of Independence began, the Cretans, 
 headed by the Sphakiots, made themselves masters of the whole 
 of the open country, and carried on hostilities with such success 
 that they drove the Turks and Mahommedan population to take 
 refuge in the fortified cities. 
 
 These, however, defied all their efforts, and the contest was 
 prolonged without any decisive result until in 1830 the allied 
 powers (France, England and Russia) transferred the island of 
 Crete to the government of Mehemet Ali, Viceroy of Egypt. In 
 1840 Crete was taken from Mehemet Ali, and replaced under the 
 control of the Turk, and there it has continued ever since.* 
 
 The geography of Crete has been placed on a satisfactory basis 
 by the admirable survey executed under the orders of the British 
 Admiralty by Captain Graves and Captain (now Admiral) Spratt. 
 A curious and interesting addition to its archaeology has been 
 also made by the publication of a description of the island, under 
 the Venetians (about 1.538), and preserved in manuscript in the 
 Library of St. Mark, whence it has been published by Mr. Ealkener 
 in the Museum of Classical Antiquities, vol. 2, pp. 263-803. 
 
 From this treatise we learn how many architectural remains 
 * Vide Encyolopedm Britanmm. 
 
Pbesace. ■ 9 
 
 of the ancient cities were still visible in the 16th century, which 
 have long since disappeared. 
 
 All that can be gathered from ancient authors concerning the 
 mythology and early history of the island is brought together by 
 Meursius (Greta, &o., in the third volume of his works) and 
 Hoeck, (Greta 3 vols. 8vo., Gottingen 1823-29), but the latter 
 work was published before the recent researches. 
 
 The latest ofl&cial estimate gives to the whole island a population 
 of 200,000 inhabitants, in all of whom less than 40,000 are Maliom- 
 medans, and very few of these are Turks, the Mussulman popula- 
 tion being almost entirely of native Cretan origin. Hence the 
 Greek language is the only one spoken throughout the island, even 
 in the towns and among the Mahommedans. 
 
 The following details are drawn from the writings of travellers 
 best able from long experience to give a correct representation of 
 Turkish character and government : — 
 
 SirW. Muir in his admirable work, "The Caliphate : (ItsBise, 
 Decline, and Fall)" is of opinion that the political ascendancy of 
 theMahommedan faith witnesses every year a sensible degree of 
 subsidence. '• As regards the spiritual, social, and dogmatic aspect 
 of Islam there has been neither progress nor material change. 
 .Such as we found it in the days of the Caliphate, such is it also 
 at the present day. Christian nations may advance in civilisation, 
 freedom and morality, in philosophy, science and the arts, but 
 Islam stands still. And thus stationary, so far as the lessons of 
 history avail, it will remain." 
 
 Travellers who have had the strongest prepossession in favour 
 of the Turk, tell us that after spending years in their midst they 
 have been forced to the confession that in none have the last traces 
 of that image in which man was created been more utterly effaced 
 than in the Turk. 
 
 Most other religions give at least for their ultimate aim and 
 end, the moral improvement of man ; but the system of Islam, in 
 every doctrine, and in every law, tends to foster and bring forth 
 the worst propensities. Every Christian is a dog. The deadliest 
 
10 PBErACE. 
 
 hatred ia to be exercised against him, and even the heaven set 
 before the followers of Islam is presented nnder images so earthly 
 and sensnal that it degrades to the lowest level of the brute. 
 Further, the " faithful " are exhorted by the Koran to persecute 
 to the death, as they hope for paradise, all Christians wherever 
 found, and they are assured that he who causes the death of a 
 Christian has earned his passport for heaven. 
 
 It would seem, however, that the " unspeakable Turk " is to be 
 allowed, so far as the island of Crete and Armenia are concerned, 
 to work out the only mission he has ever been capable of — The 
 Abomination of Desolation. 
 
 Christian Europe is so busy in other matters, and in other 
 localities, that it cannot spare time even for a cursory glance at 
 this long-suffering people. With an air of superior wisdom we 
 are asked if we do not know that the Cretans have always been a 
 " disaffected set " — never could submit to " constituted authority," 
 and are " ever dreaming of being united to Greece." Such flip- 
 pancy only evinces the most culpable ignorance of the real facts of 
 their case. The Christians of Crete are a peaceful,' law-abiding 
 people. All that they ask is to be allowed to live, and even this is 
 denied them. 
 
 It is sheer s,tupidity to talk about submission to constituted 
 authority whilfe the Christians of Crete are being slaughtered on 
 the most frivolous pretence, their houses robbed and property 
 destroyed, churches desecrated and burnt, pastors and people shot 
 down, the women of their congregations either sharing their fate, 
 or torn away to gratify the lust of the murderers. Constituted 
 authority indeed 1 Call it by its proper name — The worst tyramn/ 
 out of helt that ever disgraced hum.anity, and I would never submit 
 to it were I a Cretan. Never ! Should report of atrocities reach 
 England, it is always added, " Turkish soldiers have been sent 
 out." But what is done ? Victims are arrested instead of offenders, 
 and those butcheries of an inoffensive population are labelled 
 : " Insurrection of the Christians I " Then in a few days a mani- 
 festo is issued which declares that " if those persons who took part 
 
Pbefaoe. 11 
 
 in the Jate insurrection, and are now hiding in the mountains, do not ' 
 return to their homes, they will be taken dead or alive." 
 
 Instead of descending to Buch devilry why does not the Turk 
 do away witli the cause of all the mischief ? and he would do so, 
 but unfortunately for the poor islanders his genius is that of Nero, 
 he must set his nest on fire, and then throw the blame on the 
 Christians. 
 
 " You will have heard," says a correspondent, writing some 
 months ago, " by this time of the supposed ' addresses of gratitude 
 to the Sultan from Crete and from Armenia.' I will explain how 
 addresses are got up in the provinces . When any of the European 
 papers complain of the Governor, the palace sends instruction to 
 him recommending the forwarding of an address to the Sultan 
 contradicting the paper which published the article. The Governor 
 immediately sends for the Notables, Mahommedan, Christian, and 
 Jew, who come to him kneeling and crawling like sheep. He 
 begins by rehearsing to them what a certain wicked European 
 paper has been writing against our Padishah,- and asks if any of 
 them is the author of those articles. Imagine the frightful state' 
 into which the poor folks fall, and what devotion and obedience 
 they show to the Governor, the faithful instrument of the will of 
 the Sultan. 
 
 " But our Governor is generous, and he tells his guests that the 
 best thing they can do is to sign an address to their omnipotent 
 and kind Sultan, thanking him for his extreme mercy for his 
 slaves and subjects. Every one bows to these orders, and the 
 Meuhir-Dar (the keeper of the Governor's seal), brings out from a 
 green silk bag the address which is to be signed and sent to the 
 golden cage of Yildiz to be put under the feet of the Sovereign. 
 
 " No one ventures to read the address. It would be a breach of 
 confidence to do so ; besides, no one cares to read it All that the 
 poor Notables want is to leave the Governor with their heads safe. 
 So every one gives his seal to the Meuhir-Dar, who in thirty 
 minutes manages to seal the document, which is immediately 
 despatched to the palace ejther by post or by a special deputation, 
 
12 Pbepacb. 
 
 that returns with the order of the ' Osmanli ' or the ' Medjidie 
 for the Governor. " The Ambassadors of the Great Powers know 
 to what a degree the Porte has lost its influence. How it is 
 powerless in the way of reform, and how Abdul Hamid is day 
 after day seeking to grasp in his weak hands all political, financial, 
 and administrative power ; but it would be more important to 
 know in what sense those Ambassadors report to their respective 
 governments the actual anarchy that reigns in our capital." We 
 rather fear they may be too diplomatic for that, while there is an 
 unhealthy competition among them for the favour of the Sultan. 
 We shall have to wait. 
 
 The situation would be ludicrous except for the gravity of the 
 interests involved, and the conviction that it is but a reflex of the 
 whole system by which the Turk hoodwinks the Christian Powers, 
 so that the full record of oppression, tyranny and murder shall 
 not be made public. 
 
 Nevertheless, all may see that in the way of the Moslem, like 
 his shadow, there follow oppression, insecurity, poverty, and 
 intolerance. And the state of things in Crete may safely be taken 
 as the microcosm of the whole system. 
 
 Messieurs ! in the hour of silent reflection ask yourselves : — 
 Who that lives where heroes lived, and fought and died, will be 
 willing to submit to this ? Who that inherits a noble heritage, 
 whose ancestors were the bravest of the brave — self-sacrificing, 
 self-contained — but feels the influence of a power consecrating him 
 to be worthy of his forefathers. Those Cretans, when it has come 
 to fighting, have always made head against the Turks, and they 
 are not likely to be for ever passive. It would be better to give to 
 Greece than to save from Russia. 
 
 In deference to European opinion, the slave market at 
 Constantinople has been closed, and the slave trade formally 
 prohibited everywhere ; yet it goes on for all that. Mrs Lucy 
 Garnett, who has resided for upwards of eight years in Turkey, 
 says : — " The institution of slavery being indispensable to the 
 system of the Osmanlis, its abolition would also involve the 
 
J?KEt'ACK. IS 
 
 abolition of the Harem, a revolution for which they are as yet 
 by no means prepared. The result is that, the demand for slaves 
 being undiminished, they are smuggled, in the most inhuman 
 fashion, into Turkey, in the depth of winter, and are kept on 
 shipboard, under hatches, till the vigilance of European cruisers 
 can be eluded." We shall never know how many of these have 
 been shipped from Crete. 
 
 " To those who are somewliat acquainted with the details of 
 the history of the Ottoman Empire, the sail over the Bosphorus 
 must produce many mingled and strange reflections; for, could 
 they speak, those beautiful scenes, and voiceless waters, how many 
 an awful tale of blood and infamy they would reveal, could they 
 but open and display to the stoical gaze of the traveller, who glides 
 over their glassy bosom, the putrefying mass which loads their 
 hidden depths, formed by the mangled bodies of unnumbered vic- 
 tims. It seemed to me, as the light caique that bore me, shot over 
 the scarce rippling waters, that 1 beheld the venerable form of the 
 good old patriarch who, twenty years before, was flung there, warm 
 and bleeding, from the liauds of his murderers, floating by, with 
 his white hair dabbled in blood, and his hands still uplifted in the 
 act of blessing his people. I know not whether this appalling 
 history be generally known, but the blood of that holy man (the 
 Greek patriarch) would suffice to leave an indelible stain on the 
 Turkish nation." 
 
 Referring again to Crete and Armenia, another writer says : 
 — " It is a curious and striking reflection on the nature of an 
 armed Europe, that the paramount fear entertained by each 
 peace-holder of provoking the slightest rupture, should restrain 
 every sentiment of humanitarian feeling and compassion for this 
 grievously oppressed and atrociously ill-used people. It is evident 
 that Christian chivalry is not a distinguishing attribute of an 
 armed peace." 
 
 Under ordinary circumstances, when Peace seems brooding 
 over Crete, there is an under currant of m^ilevolenoe at work which 
 every now and then declares itself in some outrage on even com- 
 
14 Pbejace. 
 
 raon decency. Take the following : — It is a licence to bury, which 
 precious document was sent to an Armenian bishop by the Turkish 
 
 authorities — 
 
 " To the wearer of Satan's Crown, and 
 Tar-black clothes. 
 " Thou Cast-away from the Gate of Heaven 1 Thou In&del Teacher 1 It 
 appears that one of your nation has died, and you ha\ e asked permission to 
 bury her. Kow, according to the requirements of the Khoran, it is not 
 necessary to bury a Christian ; but to avoid the stench of putrefaction on the 
 earth's surface, dig the grave deep, fill the earth upon the body, and stamp 
 
 it down well." 
 
 (Signed) * 
 
 Other conquerors may seek to conciliate the conquered ; bnt 
 t he Osmanli has only contempt and hatred, which are too deejSly 
 seated for him to take up any milder method. 
 
 Is 1829, when it was decided by an Act drawn up between 
 Eussia, Great Britain, and Trance, that Greece was to form an 
 independent State, when the question was to be settled what should 
 be its magnitude, it is much to be deplored that Crete was not 
 included in the new kingdom, as its retention by the Porte was 
 seen then to have the seeds of future insurrection. Alexander, 
 Emperor of Russia, advocated this ; declaring that to allow the 
 Turk to govern any body of Christians in Europe was a disgrace 
 to the Christian Powers. 
 
 Well, let us trust that the moral vigour of that spirit which 
 is everywhere developing among the rising generation will give 
 the equivalent impulse to drive the Turk out. Out he will have 
 to go, "Eastern question " notwithstanding. The only feeling on 
 the part of those who expel him being that of shame that he has 
 been so long tolerated. In the meantime^ — Psiloriti ! — and why 
 Psiloriti ? Because this mountain, to the Christians of Crete, is 
 the symbol of Best, of Strength, and Solace. The quality inherent 
 in Psiloriti has the power of calling forth ideaS of the true and 
 the good. Association gives right direction to the train of thought 
 suggested in the beholder. In this way the Hebrew felt how 
 powerful was the influence of Lebanon, the historic crests of 
 Carmel, Tabor, Olivet, and Hermon, to draw his soul upward 
 * Vide Sunday Mag, 13Si. 
 
PKErACE. . 15 
 
 above the various and perplexing circumstances environing his 
 earthly lot. " I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills from whence 
 Cometh my help." But the ideas called into activity by the 
 mountains, find their resting place not there, but in Him who is " as 
 the mountains to Israel." " My help cometh from the Lord." It 
 is, therefore, a natural sequence that, to the simple-minded Chris- 
 tians of this island, Psiloriti should be a powerful exponent of 
 stability, security, and calm repose, in storm and tempest. In 
 impressive silence, amid the sweep of centuries, in war and peace, 
 it has always been a sure retreat, or a pleasant abode. Symbol 
 of an unchanging Christ, and of that kingdom which He shall 
 establish, that shall abide for ever, " ordered in all things and 
 sure," and the trusting soul reasons while it gazes on calm, 
 unmoved Psiloriti, and I know of no words that can better indicate 
 its line of reasoning than the splendid outburst of the poet : — 
 '' Careless se;ms the Great Avenger 
 
 History's pages but record, 
 
 One desiih. grapple in the darkness 
 
 'Xwixt false systems and the Word. 
 
 Tedth forever on the scaffold, 
 
 WiioNG forever on the throne ; 
 
 But that scaffold s"ways the future I , 
 
 And behind the dim unknown, 
 
 Standeth God, within the shadow, 
 
 Keeping watch above His own." 
 I am not sure that the aspiration of this people is an idle 
 dream, or a dream at all. There is much that is noble and 
 touching, much that is graceful, spirited and pathetic, in the love 
 of the Cretan for Greece, and in that longing he has for the privi- 
 lege of brotherhood with a kindred race. 
 
 All his happiest memories and associations centre round the 
 name of Greece. It is a name that brings up a glorious past, an 
 ancestry of god-like heroes, whose battle-fields became the graves 
 of tyrants, any one of those ancient tyrants, standing, in cotnpari 
 eon with the miserable Turk, as " Hyperion to a satyr.'' 
 
^11 "g^Temoriain. 
 
 Aflur Imnring, in )Vestminster Abbnj, the sniping of Lord Tennyson's 
 last lines : — The Silent Voices. 
 
 w 
 
 HILE wafcoliing, waiting, in our holy slirine, 
 
 Tliere floated down the arches vast and dim, 
 Music's soft cadences, like airs divine 
 '■Trembling from out the stars"! 
 
 Then rose the Hymn, 
 And thousands, awed — enrapt— are silent now, 
 The proudest head bent reverently low : — 
 
 " Call me not so often had .' 
 Call me rather, silent voices, 
 
 Forward to tlie starry track. 
 Glittering up the heights beyond me. 
 
 On ! and always On ! 
 
 Who now will cull from mundane fields of- song, 
 And harp laboriously the worn out forms. 
 
 Of " scenes Arthurian," and their motley throng — 
 Their intrigues, victories, defeats and storms ? 
 
 With him — the Old Order past — so pass away 
 Its mist and shadow — he hath Perfect Day I 
 There falls no shadow on his upward track. 
 And we who love him best, may call not back, 
 But silent stand with mental vision set. 
 Gazing through tears, as they of Olivet. 
 
 The " Naiad's home, " the " Nereid's favoured seat "- 
 All ! all! — my Tennyson— beneath thy feet. 
 
 Thy path is upward ! Ever in the light 
 That pales the brightest orb of day or night. 
 Upward, and onward, dear, departed Shade, 
 To suns that set not, flowers that never fade. 
 Above the " twilight and the evening star , " 
 Thy " Pilot " still—" The Pilot of the Bar " ! 
 
 As hoped — now seen — and, as no stranger — He 
 Thy Guide through Time, pilot's Eternity. 
 
 On ! On ! and always On ! Thou King of Men ! 
 (The world shall thank thee for that clarion strain.) 
 And, from thy footprints o'er the " starry track, 
 That glitters up beyond, " there sweepeth back 
 The light to cheer, to energise, inspire, 
 Till drooping pinions are turned to wings 
 Of ever-soaring fire. 
 
PSILORITI' 
 
 SCENE.— Off the Northern Coast of Crete. 
 
 Psiloriti in the distance. On the deck of the " Irene, 
 a party of ladies and gentlemen. 
 
 Lord Lismore. — Here Psiloriti's druid crest' aspires, 
 And weaves his chaplet of immortal fires ! 
 O'erlooks and guards the " soft ^gean " wave- 
 Young Freedom's cradle and her tyrant's grave. 
 
 As fresh and free these waters roll along 
 Fair Candia's Isle their sparkling tide of song, 
 I well might deem yon ancient sentinel, 
 Rapt in some pleasing dream, or listening well. 
 Perchance an echo of the mighty past — 
 A strain, a long lost chord, that upward cast 
 From out the depths, now stirs the memory 
 Of many a long, long silent melody. 
 
 Here in this island is it sung and told 
 
 How mighty Jove was nursed in days of old, 
 
 * Pronounced Si - lo - re - ti. 
 (1) The crest is covered with oak trees. 
 
18 PSILOKITI. 
 
 And how, with songs accompanied by the deep, 
 The Corybantes lulled the babe to sleep ; 
 How Theseus slew the monster of the cave, 
 And bore sweet Ariadne o'er the wave, 
 Then left her weeping on the Naxos' shore — 
 Consummate Ingrate ! — and came back no more. 
 
 Dr. Bfunner — Ach ! though he subsequently rose to 
 glory. 
 That escapade is a down-taking story ! 
 I sympathise with Ariadne, keenly, 
 And scorn — aye, e'en the gods — if acting meanly. 
 Their power of doing what is good so ample — 
 Of gods, all round, I trust this is no sample. 
 
 Lord Lismore — Here, from this island, to the siege of 
 Troy, 
 Went forth exultant many a " Dardan boy " 
 Who ne'er returned to sunny " Kreta's Isle," 
 Dear to his memory as a mother's smile. 
 But Greece ! thy fairest wove their Immortelle, 
 And thine own bard, blind Homer sings them well. 
 His mental vision mocks the gloom of night, 
 And, soaring with them, on the wings of light. 
 Up Fame's rude steep, and on her topmost height. 
 He sings, as sings the nightingale, that's said 
 To sing the sweetest when its sight hath fled. 
 
 Islands and shores, where classic sages wrought. 
 Whence sprang the beautiful in form and thought ; 
 
Off the Northern Coast of Crete. 19 
 
 Where science, poesy, and art have trod, 
 
 In steps and mien, a goddess, or a god. — 
 
 Ye cloudless skies ! ye seas of heavenly blue 1 
 
 Homes of the mighty dead, I come to you ! 
 
 " It dignifies the soul, e'en from afar 
 
 To hail the nurseries of song and war " 
 
 And faintly catch Aonian odours, flung 
 
 From Attic bowers, or wreaths Achaian wrung. 
 
 And hear, as now, o'er intervening seas, 
 
 " The murmured music of the Cyclades." 
 
 Hail, isles of beauty ! Did 3'ou not inspire 
 Homer's sublimity, and Pindar's fire ? 
 Grand" voices, old and new, allure to sing, 
 And him, " whose garland was the lightning's 
 wing ?" 
 
 He loved thee, Greece, as few have ever loved ! 
 Through cloud and sunshine his devotion proved : 
 And when he fell — last, best of all his race— 
 " His death was rapture in thy loved embrace." 
 
 Pea<;e to his ashes ! — peace ! where he is laid, 
 He rests as well as in the " Minster's shade." 
 Let holy bigot bid the cortege " pass !" 
 Enact the fabled " Lion and the Ass" — 
 The Ass is safe ; but, Sirs, there comes a day 
 When men shall speak, and asses cease to bray. 
 Scorn's finger points to Byron's future fame, 
 *' And bids you blush, if blush you can, for shame." 
 
20 PSILORETI. 
 
 O Lady !* cold in heart and cold in blood ! 
 
 Thou might'st have won his fiery soul to good, 
 
 Hadst thou been other than thy sole intent — 
 
 " The carved lady on a monument ;" 
 
 I'd spare thee, Princess of most proper ladies ! 
 
 And all thy pleasant coterie now in Hades, 
 
 But I will say — what many a thousand can : — 
 
 Poor Byron's frailties — all — " were those of man " 
 
 And more I tell thee, Lady ! but — alack ! 
 
 Thou should'st have pondered this, seven decades 
 
 back : — 
 One tear of " softened memory," " ripe and real," 
 Had graced thee more than all thy saint's ideal. 
 Most wondrously sustained !^ — Great minded woman !^ 
 Could no " young memory'' move the classic Roman P 
 
 Dr. Brunner — 'Twere hard to say how Byron, set his 
 eyes on 
 A woman so unlikely to charm Byron. 
 He should have had a tender, clinging woman 
 And not as Lismore says, a classic Roman, 
 Who sought to inculcate, by pious scorn 
 A proud young spirit — prouder never born. 
 Impulsive, fiery and impassioned, he 
 Kicked o'er the traces, fled, and he was free. 
 To work, to fight, to die, my Greece, for thee ! 
 You English trust too much, pretentious women, 
 
 *Lady Byron. 
 
 (1) The epithets in italics are those nsed by a section of the High Church 
 press, when the remains of byron were landed in Jiingland, and refused a 
 resting place in Westminster Abbey. The curt reply of the Dean being :— 
 " 'J'he Cortege must pass." 
 
Off the Nobthern Coast of Ckete. 21 
 
 In voyages that require most able seamen, 
 A skilful pilot, not a mere " blue stocking," 
 Your lack of due discretion here, is shocking ! 
 As far as I have studied married lives. 
 Nine bad men out of ten, owe much to wives. 
 
 You say — 'Tis one blasphemer speaking out — 
 Main Gott ! on this big subject I could shout ! 
 Nor words, nor tears can tell the blank despair. 
 The wreck of hope, the dark consuming care 
 That haunts the victim of this secret evil. 
 And gives a good man over to the devil. 
 
 Lord Lismore — Byron, the hero of four seasons fell 
 Like other heroes who succeed too well. 
 The gadflies of his day he ill could brook, 
 And never courted them by word or look. 
 They hated him for what they called his pride, 
 His politics, and levelling views, — beside 
 A many more things that were innocent — 
 To those who knew him best — of foul intent. 
 He did not spare them — scorn he paid with scorn, 
 And he could do it •vfe.W — there was the thorn. 
 
 But they who ousted Byron from Society — 
 Self-constituted guardians of propriety — 
 Saw nothing reprehensible, or infra dig, 
 In any form of vice, or vile intrigue, 
 That had the sanction of the haute noblesse — 
 I'll say no more— I could not say much less. 
 
22 PS1I.0EITI. 
 
 Dr. Bnmner— Where have we wandered — whither are 
 we led, 
 By gadfly, saint, and priest's " boetian head ?" 
 We are not now in England ! — On thy soul 
 I charge thee, Muse, submit to mild control. 
 
 Who ? — what are these that hover in their flight — 
 Come from the land of silence and of night ? 
 Poets, and Sages, Orators — they come ! 
 Great Artists, Warriors — not one is dumb, 
 Their deep voiced music, through the mists of years 
 Falls like the roll of Ocean on mine ears. — 
 
 A far-off music, at the first like the sighing of the wind 
 gradually becoming louder, this song is heard, 
 
 AONS of Greece ! Awake, arise ! 
 ^^ Know,' 'tis through self-sacrifice, 
 
 We win to victory. 
 Greece, the beautiful, the brave ! 
 Make ye, like her sunlit wave 
 Free ! and forever free. 
 
 Ours the Bay of Salamis, 
 Where to die we counted bliss, 
 
 And old Thermopyloe ! 
 Marathon, and many a field, 
 Saw us die on bloody shield 
 
 Till Greece, our Greece, was free, 
 
The Church in the Valley. 23 
 
 Other fields are waiting you — 
 Sons ! be noble, brave, and true ! 
 
 Bequeathed by sire to son. 
 There are glories, better far- 
 Triumphs higher than of war. 
 
 Or any we have won. 
 
 SCENE :— The Church in the Valley. 
 
 Chorus. 
 
 •ThlTHIN the shelter of the wood, 
 
 Fast by the winding stream there stood, 
 A lonely Pile — Devotion's shrine, 
 Where simple faith sought help divine. 
 'Twas passing fair to look upon — 
 The fir's dark shadow round it thrown, 
 While ever on its snow-white crest, 
 The day's unclouded light would rest. 
 Fit emblem of the pastor's way. 
 Around whose feet earth's shadows lay, 
 While brightly on his placid brow. 
 Was Christ's own light,— in constant glow,— 
 Did e'er the wintry storm invade 
 The precincts of that sacred shade, — 
 Pointed through cloud asunder riven. 
 That spire, like holy life, to heaven. 
 
 The weary traveller of the wild. 
 Felt by that scene, his pain beguiled. 
 
24 PSILOKITI. 
 
 When, sudden on his raptured eye 
 It flashed in beauty's majesty — 
 So Heaven, upon a world of pain, 
 Hath often done, and will again. 
 'Twas heie, where all that could delight 
 The fancy, and enchant the sight, 
 Hung o'er his harp an aged man — 
 At intervals his fingers wan 
 Flew o'er the chords, then all was still 
 Save echo on the distant hill. 
 
 Well could he rouse the warrior fire. 
 And oft to daring deeds inspire 
 The men who, e'er the battle fray, 
 Oft hung enraptured o'er his lay. 
 
 And here would Cretan beauty listen. 
 And on her cheek the pearl drops glisten, 
 While tales of love 'neath southern skies. 
 Where warmer suns and moons arise, 
 He sang with feeling — oft in tears — 
 As memory roved o'er bygone years. 
 
 Easter Eye. 
 
 Peasants and others are gathering near the church. 
 The pastor sings, accompanied by his harp and his choir. 
 
 3 SING of Love — of Him who died. 
 The Nazarene ! The Crucified ! 
 The life of poverty and woe. 
 The God-man suff'ered here below 
 For me ! for me ! 
 
The Church in the Vallet. 25 
 
 Of Him I sing who freely gave 
 His life— His all — my soul to save, 
 And though my sorrow mar my voice, 
 I cannot but in Him rejoice 
 Who died for me ! 
 
 For, through His grave, with Him I rise 
 To nobler being, purer skies ! 
 Till called to join His starry throng, 
 In their vast, grand, triumphant song, 
 " Glory to Thee !" 
 SCENE. 
 
 Nightfall. The congregation in the church, darkness. 
 
 The bishop, clothed in black robes, seated on his throne. 
 
 Plaintive music at intervals. 
 
 Chorus. 
 
 A weird strain, and silence deep ensues 
 In the darkened church. 'Tis the midnight hour, 
 And the watching stars light up the while, 
 The hands of the clock going on outside. 
 
 As the hour of twelve strikes, a solitary light* rises near the 
 altar, and at each stroke of the clock another light is added, till 
 twjelve lights are burning, and the bishop's throne is seen sur- 
 rounded by his clergy, arrayed in white robes — they part to right 
 and left and the bishop in splendid vestments and a golden crown 
 on his head, conies forward and faces the congregation ; he holds 
 in his right hand a triple taper, to represent the Holy Trinity, 
 and in his left hand a two-fold taper, emblem of the two-fold 
 nature of Christ. 
 
26 PSILOEIII. 
 
 *^ t the appearance of the first light the following recitative 
 with musical accompaniment. 
 
 " He is coming ! Christ is coming ! 
 
 Nearer every day ! 
 Nearer to our graves and churchyards ! 
 
 Every day ! 
 
 In recitative the bislwp sings, as he gives a light to the twelve 
 of the clergy : — 
 
 '• Take ye the Light !" 
 The light that knows no evening. 
 Take ye the Light I 
 This is the True Light, that lighteth every man. 
 Take ye the Light ! 
 
 The clergy having lit their tapers, the light is passed from 
 one, to all the people. 
 
 Tableau. 
 
 When every taper in the church is lighted, a burst of 
 triumphant music : 
 
 " He is risen ! He is risen !" 
 Hark His voice is sounding — 
 Sounding over land and sea ! 
 
 Over broken-hearted mourners ! — 
 Over newly covered graves ! — 
 Over all our buried loved ones — 
 Shattered hopes and withered joys : — 
 
TJndeb the Stabs. 27 
 
 " I am the Resurrection and the Life ! 
 He that believeth on Me — though he were dead — 
 Yet shall he live." 
 
 Chorus and Congregation (Forte). 
 
 Rising o'er the waves of sorrow, 
 
 Songs of victors rise, 
 Here and far off in the distance, 
 
 Shouts that rend the skies : 
 " When the Lord doth free the captive 
 
 And the burthened doth release, 
 Like a dream of night doth conflict seem 
 
 With Victory crowning Peace." 
 
 As the congregation is dispersing, a confused noise is heard 
 outside, the discharge of fire-arms and the clash of swords — then 
 silence. 
 
 A voice — " Dog of a Christian— Die !" 
 
 A priest is sesn re-entering the Church— he is wounded — he 
 staggers to the altar and falls heavily — dies. 
 
 Tableau. 
 
28 PsiLOBiir. 
 
 SCENE.— Under the Stars. 
 
 Leon, a young Greek, dressed in the graceful costume of his 
 country, is returning from the Church in the company of the 
 Minstrel pastor, after witnessing the death of the priest. 
 
 Leon. — Whither hath the undying spirit gone ? — 
 Where made its home ? 
 From science, learning, comes no answer — none ! 
 Philosophy is dumb. 
 
 Earth takes the casket, but she tells not where 
 
 The treasure — the Divine ! 
 And we may agonise our souls in prayer. 
 
 Nor word she gives nor sign. 
 
 Old ocean rolleth unconcerned along 
 
 By every coast. 
 Singing in many keys his old, old song. 
 
 O'er what we loved and lost. 
 
 Unmoved he marked their struggles in the deep, 
 
 And heard their cry, 
 And saw affection watch his shores and weep. 
 
 As years flew by. 
 
 Stars ! ye beheld Creation's earliest days ! — 
 
 Saw Paradise — 
 Adam lift up to you admiring gaze, 
 
 And Eve her beauteous eyes. 
 
 Thousands of ages since have gone and come. 
 
 All sorts of men 
 Have lived and died— say something of their home— 
 
 Their destiny explain ! 
 
Under the Staks. 29 
 
 Soared they up yonder through the " milky way," 
 
 To some remote abode 
 Where mightier, grander orbs display 
 
 Their near approach to God. 
 
 Or did they, 'mid the lesser isles of light 
 
 And beauty, touch the land, 
 And sawthe "many mansions"— height o'er height. 
 
 Tower up, from golden strand ? 
 
 No Siren Song inviting to the shore 
 
 A wandering Ulysses, 
 But voices, harpings of the days of yore 
 
 And music of its seas. 
 
 Still silent ! From your blue unfathomed deep 
 
 No sign — we see ! 
 And ye can calmly look on eyes that weep ! 
 
 This awful m3'stery. 
 
 Pastor. — There is a path which no fowl knoweth yet, 
 And which the vulture's eye hath never seen, 
 The lion's whelp hath never trodden it. 
 And the fierce lion hath not passed it by ; 
 But He doth understand the way thereof 
 And He doth know the place. My Boy, trust Him ! 
 The Spirit who hath made those stars, made thee ; 
 But will not give account of all His matters.— 
 Be satisfied that He who gave them place, 
 Their several orbits and sustains them there. 
 He hath a place for thee — a place prepared, 
 
30 PSILOKITI. 
 
 By wisdom infinite and boundless love. 
 
 We weep our loved ones but we weep in hope, 
 
 God doth not leave us to ourselves in grief, 
 
 He gives us information of our dead, 
 
 And souls bereaved survey a brighter land 
 
 Where their belov'd ones dwell. That land exists ! 
 
 It is no poet's dream — No rapture wild 
 
 Of prophet, sage, or priest. 
 
 Where ? — dost thou ask— Where is my Father's 
 
 House ? 
 My Father's House embraceth every star — 
 Earth with her sister stars— worlds, countless, vast — 
 Stupendous galaxy !— The Universe ! 
 
 Canst tell the number of His stately homes ? — 
 His mansions, palaces, and wide domains ? — 
 Canst say on whom His light doth not arise ? 
 
 Earth, ocean, stars, can never answer thee ! 
 
 Philosophy and learning, science — all, 
 
 All ever silent ! — but, weigh well the words — 
 
 " My Father's House hath many mansions, 
 
 If 'twere not so, I would have told you— I 
 
 Go io prepare a place " — a place, my Leon ! — 
 
 That is substantial, is it not ? —a place ! 
 
 A place by Him prepared, who knows us well. 
 
 What need have we to ask the question — Where ? 
 
 That place will satisfy us to the full, 
 
 li He prepare it. Then " Have faith in God." 
 
On BOABD THE ENGLISH YaoHT " IkENE." 31 
 
 SCENE :— On board the English yacht, " Irene." 
 
 Time — Sunset. 
 
 Chorus,— 
 
 Softly o'er the Grecian land, 
 
 The light of evening fell, 
 And faintly from the less'ning strand 
 
 We heard the vesper bell. 
 It came across the murmuring wave 
 
 And phosphorescent deep. 
 Like music from the secret cave 
 
 Of Melody in sleep. 
 
 The Vesper Hymn. 
 (From a distance). 
 
 Now the god of day is sleeping 
 
 In the glowing west, 
 And the star of eve is keeping 
 
 Watch above his rest. 
 Silence o'er the world is stealing. 
 
 Incense fills the air, 
 Wake the soul to holy feeling, 
 
 'Tis the hour of prayer. 
 
 See ! the mist is on the mountain. 
 
 Darkness in the vale, 
 O'er the glassy stream and fountain 
 
 Noiseless shadows sail. 
 Night has come — O Christ ! defend us 
 
 With Thy matchless powers ! 
 
32 On Board the English Yacht, " Irene.' 
 
 Ministering spirits ! tend us 
 Through the lonely hours ! 
 
 On Thy bosom, Lord ! reclining, 
 
 Shall worn Nature sleep, 
 While, like stars of evening shining 
 
 O'er the tranquil sweep 
 Of a summer ocean-billow,— 
 
 Eyes that never close 
 Guard the slumberer's holy pillow 
 
 And his soul's repose. 
 
 Chorus. 
 
 Thus sang they till the sun had set 
 
 Upon the Western shore. 
 And ancient dome and minaret, 
 
 Our e5'es could see no more. 
 Hushed is the voice of singing now, 
 
 No m.usic stirs the air. 
 But over all the course we go, 
 
 Beauty is everywhere ! 
 
 For, downward yonder, on our lee, 
 
 The sky in splendour glows — 
 Pale orange, violet, ruby. 
 
 Pearl, amethyst, and rose. 
 Blending, melting heavenly hues 
 
 Play on the brow of night. 
 Right up the golden avenues. 
 
 To the opal gates of light. 
 
On Boabd the English Yacht " Ikene." 33 
 
 Lismore — Who can behold a sight like yon, and doubt 
 
 Of Heaven ? 
 
 Little would it take, for God 
 So to manipulate our atmosphere 
 That, beauty, glory we can ne'er conceive — 
 Such as we never read, or heard of yet — 
 Should fill our world, until it rivalled Heaven. 
 
 (Looking to the West.) 
 
 There ! fancy finds a home, 
 
 This world hath not, and therefore cannot give ; 
 A wafture out of heaven, comes o'er our strife 
 And sorrow ; and a restful calm ensues. 
 
 O ! strange 'twould be, if some sweet gush of sound 
 Did never steal down on the waves of air, 
 From yonder homes of light and blessedness ! 
 And o'er our senses dulled by many cares, 
 And hope deferred, that sickens stoutest heart, 
 Throw its own spell, soothing and comforting, 
 Breathing of Love, still watching from the Mount, 
 Throughout the night, with tenderest sympathy, 
 The buffeted lone bark, and toiler at the oar. 
 
 Song. 
 
 ^ET poets sing of making love 
 
 In sylvan scene or golden grove, 
 Where Delia listens Strephon's song. 
 And nightingales the notes prolong. — 
 
34 PsiLOEITI. 
 
 Of Chloe, rapt in Damon's notes, 
 What time his amorous music floats, 
 And lambkins do forget to feed, 
 And dance on the enamelled mead — 
 
 But, if you want to taste a bliss 
 
 Beyond and far above all this, 
 
 Choose for the scene a good ship's 
 
 deck, 
 A star-bright night without a speck ; 
 
 Then, while the soft and balmy air 
 Steals like dream-music everywhere ; 
 While ocean round, near and afar, 
 A mirror for each golden star. 
 
 All gently heaves, as breathing deep, 
 A mighty being breathes in sleep, — 
 Then magic colouring to thought, 
 Out of the vast profound is wrought. 
 
 Then speak in words, or speak in sighs, , 
 And, soul to soul, through star-lit 
 
 eyes 
 Shall answer thee — not loud, but deep 
 And tender as the night-watch that you 
 
 keep. 
 
In the Saloon of the " Ikene." 35 
 
 In the Saloon of the " Irene." 
 Chorus. 
 
 rt^N the deck at the lonely midnight hour 
 
 A stately tread is heard. 
 As the gallant bark o'er the yielding wave 
 Skims like an ocean bird. 
 
 From her graceful prow, like a shower of snow, 
 
 Disparted waters fly 
 And her wake is bright as a seraph's track 
 
 Through the azure fields on high. 
 
 (A pause.) 
 (A soldier's tramp heard above.) 
 
 He walketh alone, and ever a gloom 
 
 On sunburnt cheek and brow. 
 Stern, silent, absorbed! Like the spirit of doom, 
 
 He comes to the deck, and will go. 
 
 (A pause.) 
 (The tramp of the soldier continues.) 
 
 Dr. Brunner. — Stories like his reach not your own free 
 land. 
 Or if they do, no credence can command. — 
 
 Rich was his father, and a power in Crete, 
 When Andros — a young lad — played at his feet. 
 An infant sister perched on pater's knee 
 Coo'd him to lamb-like, soft complacency — 
 And all were willing subjects of that child I 
 
36 PSILOEITI. 
 
 The wildest Sphakiots were meek and mild, 
 And humoured all her fancies, howe'er wild. 
 The mother — ah, that mother ! — never yet, 
 Have I that mother's equal met ! — 
 She made that home a paradise on earth. 
 And gave their noblest aspirations birth. ^ 
 
 n- ^- •!• "p •*■ 
 
 Hell found them out, as hell found out the bowers 
 
 Of Eden, in the youog world's early hours. 
 
 One day an embassy from Suda came 
 
 With kindly greetings in the Pasha's name. 
 
 The father, fearing, doubting nothing went, 
 
 Obedient to the invitation sent. 
 
 He m^ev came hack again. He fell that day ! 
 
 His head struck off — for what ? Not one could say. 
 
 Young Andros' years had numbered just fifteen — 
 TJn enfant terrible ! to stand between 
 His father's murderers, and all he loved. 
 With that fell purpose, as the sequel proved, 
 Not even yet, poor innocents, complete. 
 What could he do — a lad — fifteen ! — to meet 
 The juggling pasha and his damn6d crew ? — 
 A man might have turned, Sphakiots, to you ! 
 
 One morn, one lovely morn he sought the shore, 
 Where lay his boat, and eager took the oar. 
 He only meant to row a mile or so. 
 Then having housed his vessel, homeward go. 
 
The BosPHORons, by Moonlight. 37 
 
 But where the island lad that can eschew 
 A sail o'er fresh'ning seas of Cretan hue ? 
 The air, inspiriting, like generous wine, 
 He set the sail, and dashed it with the brine 
 To give it potency, and off he flew, 
 How many hours, poor Andros never knew, 
 The sun was rising, when he got afloat. 
 And setting, when he beached his darling boat. 
 
 Homeward he hied — what had he done to-day ? — 
 What had his loved ones done that he should stay ? 
 A dreadful presage of disaster near, 
 Came o'er him — filled him with tormenting fear ! 
 Headlong he rushed the hill and silent glen— 
 So told me Haro and his weeping men. 
 
 His home ! — his home was ashes ! — sister l^gone ! — 
 He stood beside his mother's corpse— alone ! 
 
 SCENE:— The BosphoFOus, by Moonlight. 
 
 Temples, palaces, &=c. Interior of the Pasha's palace. 
 
 Recited with Orchestral Accompaniment. 
 ^JN the harem of the Pasha, a lost sister reigns 
 ^ supreme, 
 And the past, if once remembered, is the memory 
 
 of a dream. 
 Do they think so, who detain her— are they quite 
 
 aware the while, 
 That a woman who is once beguiled, may evermore 
 
 beguile ? 
 
38 PSILOKITI. 
 
 Chorus. 
 
 3N a window o'er the Bosphorus 
 A haughty lady sate, 
 And she listened ; for the Bulbul's song 
 Had sweeter grown of late, 
 
 But her dark eyes search the water 
 When the Bulbul's at the best, 
 
 And all restless is the lady 
 When all the world's at rest. 
 
 None will say why this fair lady 
 Doth not sleep when others sleep. 
 
 For none care to rouse a vengeance 
 Which they know is swift and deep. 
 
 She hath marked upon the waters 
 
 Of the Bosphorus a sail. 
 And her eyes and heart are with it, 
 
 Allah, give the favouring gale ! 
 
 It is near, the sail is lowered. 
 And a voice that thrills her soul, 
 
 Calleth from the midnight silence, 
 Mellow as Old Neptune's roll. 
 
 (She sings.) 
 
 " Beautiful Sea ! Beautiful Sea ! 
 
 Azured, mysterious majesty 1 
 
 Lovingly laving the land-locked bay 
 
 With thy lapping tide and thy silvery spray ! 
 
A 'Submarine Cave. 39 
 
 Take me once more to thy bosom, O Sea! 
 The weary and sad have no hope but in thee, 
 And better to-night shall a draught of the brine 
 Be, than ever was that of Phalerian wine. 
 
 (Walks distractedly.) 
 
 Lithe as the wild cat, 
 
 Springing from where she sat !— 
 
 Down from the balcony. 
 
 On to the esplanade, 
 
 There for one moment stayed, 
 
 Knelt down and prayed. 
 
 Rising— turned from the sea. 
 Shook her arm furiously- 
 Scarce dare he breathe below— 
 When, like arrow from the bow, 
 
 He sees her shoot the air. 
 The deep close o'er her beauteous form, 
 
 Then — silence — everywhere. 
 
 The boatm.Tn is seen to plunge into the water, as a volley of 
 mushetry is fired from the Palace. 
 
 SCENE:— 
 
 A submarine cave in semi-darkness, relieved by flashes of variotts 
 colours from the water and the rocks. A weird music, ending 
 with the air of " The Mermaid's Song." The figure of the 
 boatman emerges froni the water, bearing what appears to be a 
 lifeless fotm-. 
 
 5A«.— Brother ! Why have you done this ? 
 
40 PSILOKITI. 
 
 He. — To save my sister ! Thank God, I found this cave 
 while I was bathing one day, little thinking what a 
 place of refuge it would be. 
 
 She. — It would be better for me to die. 
 
 (A pause.) 
 
 (Sings.) 
 
 'Vy^HAT have I to do with brother, 
 Or with kindred ?— all is o'er.— 
 Psiloriti, home of childhood, 
 I return to thee no more ! 
 
 I shall hear no more the music 
 Of the goat-bells in the morn, — 
 
 Shall see no more the gem-like flash 
 Of dew-drop on the thorn. 
 
 Never more for me thy song-birds, 
 Nor thy flowers and emerald vales, 
 
 Nor the music of thy waters, 
 Nor the flashing of their sails. 
 
 The primrose and the violet 
 
 Will bloom no more for me, — 
 The iris, and the cistus flower 
 
 And the rare anemone. 
 
 Nor the cicada's'music float 
 
 O'er Gena's lovely vale,— 
 No more for me the softer note 
 
 Of Kreta's nightingale. 
 
MOKSING DAWNS OVEE THE BOSPHOROUS. 41 
 
 Never more in sleep the angels 
 
 Come to me — I am alone ! 
 And the one— of all the others— 
 
 That I longed for.— She has gone ! 
 
 What can Mother do with darkness, 
 With pollution — with my prayer ? 
 
 In her bosom, all is heaven ; 
 But in mine — in mine — despair ! 
 
 SCENE. 
 
 Morning dawns slowly over the Bosphorus. 
 Chorus. 
 TJ^HE morning broke, its light was cold and dim. 
 
 While down in the far west it still seemed night ! — 
 Anon it broke in splendour, but for him 
 
 Was not one ray of hope for heart or sight. 
 
 * :Ji :!< a- * 
 
 Morn broke upon the Pasha— he was laid. 
 
 Cold as the floor o'er which the sunbeams played, 
 
 A dagger in his heart — up to the hilt, 
 
 And there were none to say whose was the guilt. 
 
 (A Shadowy Scene — Soft Music.) 
 Some say that o'er the Bosphorus, 
 
 At nights, are seen to float, 
 A soldier and a veiled form 
 
 In a light caique, or boat. 
 
 Clear of the palace— soars the sail. 
 Like the wing of a sea-gull in the light 
 
 Of the summer moon, — and a moaning gale 
 Bears it away from sight. 
 
42 PSILOEITI. 
 
 SCENE— The interior of a Cathedral. 
 
 'VVjE enter the Cathedral — adorned 
 
 With ancient statues — under gilded roof 
 Carvings and antique figures on all sides ! 
 The pavement was inlaid with polished stone 
 Of varying hues, and on the shining pillars 
 The richly veined marbles flashed with gems. 
 
 The roof with foliage carved, o'erlaid with gold, 
 
 Relieved by the rich colours of the rose. 
 
 And on the walls and round the basement peered 
 
 Now and again, through fragrant incense cloud, 
 
 Statue and tomb, painting and crucifix, 
 
 And minor altars, with subdued lights. 
 
 In the far distance of the limitless 
 Perspective, 'neath a roof of golden stars 
 Stood the high altar, brilliant with lights 
 And flashing gems, surmounted and enthroned 
 In panoply of clustering, towering columns ! — 
 O 'twas a sight that hushed the soul to awe 
 And reverent silence. 
 
 A young priest, enveloped in cloak and hood, approaches a 
 
 kneeling figure, who rises. They converse apart, then come 
 
 forward. 
 
 « 
 Priest.— 'Fly Andros ! Thou, and thy sister, are charged 
 
 with the murder of the Pasha, who was found dead 
 
 with thy sister's dagger in his bosom. 
 
Dk. Bkunnek sings. 43 
 
 Andros. — Neither my sister nor her brother would kill an 
 enemy while he slept. 
 
 Priest.— I believe that. Some one, however, has been 
 crafty enough, and mean enough, to do it, on dis- 
 covering that you had fled. Here, in this City, 
 however, you must not abide. Go! where dut}- 
 calls. Farewell. 
 
 Andyos. — That voice ! Good Heavens ! 
 
 Ptiest. —Awsiy, or thou art lost. 
 
 (Exit.) 
 
 SCENE: 
 
 In the saloon of the yacht. Ladies and gentlemen seated. 
 Music — a pause— Dr. Brtmner rises and sings. 
 
 Good night ! Good night ! 
 And the rosy light 
 
 Of cloudless skies 
 Fall on the sleep, the dreamless sleep, 
 
 Of your bright eyes. 
 
 Good night ! Good night ! 
 
 (All rise.) 
 
 [The verse is then sung in parts by the company.) 
 
 [After which) 
 
 [A noise is made by the handling of the cable on deck). 
 
 Dr. Brunner. — " I hear a knocking at the castle gate ! 
 To bed ! To bed ! To bed !" 
 
 {He rushes into his state room.) 
 [Curtain falls.) 
 
"ALONE ! alone the vexed Electra sails. 
 Storm tossed with raging galea, 
 
 Caring not for death. 
 
 But ready to resign her brenth, 
 
 Might she hut quell 
 
 The two-fold progeny of Hell." — 
 
 The Electra of Sophocles. 
 
PSILOEITI. 
 
 PAST II. 
 
 SCENE :— Interior of the Church in the Talley. 
 
 Lara is seated at the organ and sings with deep feeline; the 
 following lines. The two angels, Cecil and Fidelia, drawing 
 near to him. Save these he is alone. 
 
 ^ HAVE been wayward — blind — but now I see, 
 *^ And in thy light, most awful Calvary ! 
 
 Look on the wasted past. 
 What brought Thee, Jesu, from above ? 
 What made Thee bleed and die ? — 'twas Love ! — 
 
 My pride is slain at last. 
 
 (A pause.) 
 
 Then impulsively he rises and kniels. 
 
 (Orchestral accompaniment.) 
 
 Jesu, save 
 
 Me from myself ! — Forgive me, if I feel 
 How great the sacrifice I make to kneel, 
 And here eschew all malice, hatred, ill, 
 And in the future bend me to Thy will. 
 Lo I here do I — in this most solemn hour — 
 Here do I kneel till Thou hast given the power. 
 
 (Soft Fretful Music.) 
 
46 PSILOEIII. 
 
 One of the angels in recitative sings, 
 
 " Vengeance is mine ! I will repay "—He saith. 
 Learn thou the meaning of those awful words 
 Not often understood — " / will repay ! " 
 And that repayment may be far more sad — 
 More terrible than ought thou canst inflict, 
 Or even wish thy direst foe to feel. 
 
 In the distance, a voice is heard with great solemnity : — 
 {Orchestral accompaniment.) 
 O fearful was my time of watching there ! — 
 Blood curdling were his words of dark despair ! 
 
 ***** 
 He slept — I watched his couch, an anxious hour — 
 And, 'twas a fearful time ! Some dreadful Power, 
 That none can ever fathom — or may tell, 
 Fixed him in tortures of that inward hell, 
 Where Conscience, rising from her tomb. 
 Enacts again the deeds of gloom ! 
 
 {A pause.) 
 In vain may pride that Power defy — 
 The worm that gnaws, that will not die ! 
 Shun ! fly vain man, the fatal course. 
 That leads to dark, impenitent remorse. 
 
 Invisible Choir. 
 
 Sun, moon, and stars may yet shine on 
 Those haunts of ours when Thou art gone ! 
 But if I lose Thee, Jesu ! — Thee ! 
 My sun, moon, star, are gone from me. 
 
The Church in the Valley. 47 
 
 How can the heart find a home — 
 
 How can the soul find rest ? 
 And the peace that is perfect come, 
 
 Where Thou art no guest ? 
 
 Kyrie Eleison, sung by the Church Choir. 
 
 While this is sung children clothed in white garments are 
 seen entering the church followed by the congregation. 
 
 A Choral Service follows, descriptive of the forty days 
 between Easter and the Ascension. 
 
 The Pastor reading, in recitative. 
 
 {Orchestral accompaniment.) 
 
 " Beloved, I delivered unto you first of all that which 
 I also received, how that Christ died for our sins ac- 
 cording to the Scriptures, and that he was buried, and 
 that he rose again from the dead the third day accord- 
 ing to the Scriptures, and that he appeared to Cephas, 
 then to the twelve, then he appeared to above five 
 hundred brethren at once, to whom he shewed himself 
 alive after his passion ; being seen of them forty days, 
 and speaking unto them of the things pertaining to the 
 kingdom of God." 
 
 Sung by the Choir. 
 
 /^[YY, the Galilean mountains, 
 ^— In the hush of early day, 
 By the stately palms and fountains 
 The " five hundred" went their way. 
 
48 PSILOBIII. 
 
 Went their way to meet the master 
 O'er the hills so often trod, 
 
 And to take His high commission 
 Who was going home to God. 
 
 Forty days of Holy Council, 
 
 Never once to be forgot, 
 Brooding lovingly the memory, 
 
 Consecrating every lot ! 
 And its glory lingering with them. 
 
 As with him of Sinai*, 
 But this radiance strangely tender — 
 
 Should draw the myriads nigh. 
 
 Here He throws aside the curtain. 
 
 That hath hid the mighty sea 
 Of a boundless love and wisdom. 
 
 While the voices of the free. 
 Like the sound of many waters, 
 
 On the wave- worn shores of time. 
 Rise to heaven in thundering poeans, 
 
 Endless and sublime ! 
 
 Hark ! from continent and island, 
 
 And the deep profound of seas. 
 Peoples, kindreds, tongues, are singing. 
 
 Songs that angels seize. 
 And to golden harp transposing. 
 
 Sing them o'er and o'er again ! — 
 Earth delights in songs .^f Heaven, 
 
 And Heaven in songs of men ! 
 
 * MoBes ; in whose case, the glory repelled the people. 
 
The Church in the Valley. 49 
 
 (Reads.) 
 
 " And I heard a great voice out of heaven, saying : — 
 Behold the tabernacle of God is with men and he shall 
 dwell with them, and they shall be his people, and God 
 shall be with them, and be their God." 
 
 [YI^OW the reign of strife is ended, 
 
 ^ And our God makes " all things new," 
 
 Broken up is all oppression, 
 
 For His ways are ''just and true." 
 
 No night is there, nor sun, nor moon 
 
 Nor need of guiding star, 
 The light and glory of the Lamb, 
 
 Their light and glory are ! 
 
 He shall dwell forever with them, 
 They shall hunger, thirst no more — 
 
 No more death, nor pain, nor sorrow, 
 A II the former things are o'er. 
 
 (Reads.) 
 
 " And I heard the voice of harpers, harping with 
 their harps. And every creature which is in heaven 
 and on the earth and such as are in the sea, and all 
 that are in them, heard I saying :- 
 (Stmg.) 
 
 Blessing and Honour and Glory and Power be unto 
 Him that sitteth upon the throne and unto the Lamb 
 for ever and ever." 
 
50 PSILOEITI. 
 
 A^UIET reigns ! The City sleepeth ! 
 
 In her peerless guilt and calm, 
 But at intervals there sweepeth 
 
 Fragments of the " Pilgrims' Psalm." 
 
 While the glorious dawn is beaming 
 
 On the brow of Olivet, 
 Myriad star-like flowers gleaming 
 
 Where the well-belov'd are met. 
 
 And the words the Master speaketh 
 
 Are the words that soothe their care : — 
 " Though I leave you— He that seeketh — 
 
 Finds me everywhere. 
 
 " In Jerusalem abiding, 
 
 Ponder well my parting word ! 
 Peaceful, loving, and confiding 
 
 Wait the promise of the Lord.'' 
 
 Then His pierced hands extending, 
 They behold with raptured eyes 
 
 Their triumphant Lord ascending 
 Through the glory-lighted skies ! 
 
 THE GLORIA. 
 
 The children are then seen slowly filing out of the church. 
 As the adult part of the congregation are leaving, a hand of 
 Turkish soldiers march quickly in, led by Maufaz. 
 
 Maufaz.— Halt ! Ground Arms ! Attention ! 
 
The Church in the Valley. 51 
 
 [Addressing the people.) 
 
 We have been informed that arms are concealed in 
 this conventicle of yours, hence this visit. You will 
 keep your seats till our search is completed. 
 
 (A bugle note heard faintly in the distance.) 
 
 Maufaz {to the soldiers) — A party guard the door. The 
 rest follow me. 
 
 They proceed to break open and destroy. As some of the 
 soldiers are crashing through the altar with their weapons, the 
 pastor interferes and is felled to the ground. Maufaz orders 
 him to be taken outside and hanged. The whole congregation 
 rises. A tumultous fight. Lara, at the head of the Sphakiots, 
 rushes infighting his way to the pastor. 
 
 (Tableaux.) — The Church on fire. 
 
 Lara {weeping).— O God! Our holy and beautiful place 
 where our fathers worshipped Thee ! — 
 Destroyed ! Destroyed ! 
 
 SCENE:— 
 
 Ladies and gentlemen in Western European and Greek 
 National Costume wandering among the columns of the Temple 
 of Jupiter Olymptis. A Turk is seated by a pillar calmly 
 smoking. Dr. Brunner addresses him in German. 
 
 njr VAUNT ! and quit this place, instanter, 
 
 Or, by the gods, I will impale thee, Moslem ! 
 Is't not suflBcient — all this desolation — 
 
52 PsiLORITI. 
 
 This solitude — All fair Athene's tears — 
 But thou must smoke here, like Vesuvius 
 Broke loose ? Begone I say — Begone ! 
 
 {Turk, who does not understand a word, quietly smokes on). 
 
 Transformation Scenery — 
 
 " Arch of Adrian," " The Lantern of Demosthenes," " The 
 Odeum of Pericles," " The Theatre of Bacchus," "TheOdeum 
 of Regilla,'' thence by a path to the " Acropolis." 
 
 Dr. Brunner seated indulges in a little genial criticism on 
 some of ths tourists. 
 
 Dr. Brunner — There goes a bawling, brazen charlatan ! 
 Sublime, self-satisfied, and confident ; 
 With quite a score of capitals attached 
 
 To the high sounding name of • 
 
 The Editor of the " Autolycus.'' 
 
 But where the bashaw got so many tails 
 
 Europe says nothing— and she says it well — 
 
 No Alma Mater, University, 
 
 Or school of thought, we reverence as " ours," 
 
 Stood Sponsor for the same. 
 
 Bless thee Columbia, for that facile way 
 
 Of making doctors, colonels, and M.A.'s ! — 
 
 Of granting orders and degrees to prigs — 
 
 Helping lame dogs to wriggle through the fence 
 
 They cannot climb, 
 
 And bless thee ! bless thee, fascinating bottom. 
 
 Thou art indeed translated ! 
 
Dr. Beunner's Criticism. 63 
 
 Once more — and then I will conclude my speech. 
 
 Behold him there ! He's a free living man ! 
 
 The cares of state hang heavy on him now, — 
 
 Or last night's corporation dinner — which ? 
 
 Be careful, Sir ! The errors of your " past " 
 
 Are neither few nor small ! — Avoid the cup ! 
 
 Look not upon the wine when it is red, 
 
 Or when 'tis golden, white, or any colour. 
 
 It is not good for princes, how much less 
 
 For councillors to tamper with strong drinks. 
 
 Go ! mend your ways ! — but let me say to you, 
 
 You're not the worst among the bad — No, No ! — 
 
 And, if you will repent of your misdeeds, 
 
 I shall conclude there's yet some salt in Greece, 
 
 And that the savour of it is not lost ; 
 
 But may be felt and gladden us some day— 
 
 Though much I fear you went in with the milk 
 
 This morning to your home, and its Serenity. 
 
 Ha I but here comes my little Pericles 1 — 
 My Solon ! Little, did I say ? — absurd, 
 He is a giant — Hath not someone said. 
 Or sung, " Were I so tall as reach the pole 
 Or grasp the ocean with a span, I must 
 Be measured by my soul." — Precisely so. 
 
 " The mind's the standard of the man ;" 
 But yours is such an intricate machine. 
 And hath such tendencies, that much I fear 
 Such delicate aerial faculties, 
 Are all too volatile for measurement, 
 
54 PSILOMTI. 
 
 My mind hath never opened and enlarged 
 
 To such exalted task — 'tis overawed 
 
 By the divinity environing 
 
 The interesting subject — Au revoir ! 
 
 My little great official Villeson 
 
 Whom two weeks' training made an educationist 
 
 And Government Inspector of our schools. 
 
 What, ho ! — that other man — a millionaire ! — 
 He snorts and blows— M«i« Gott ! a mighty grampus ! 
 With golden chain, the cable of a yacht ! 
 O'er which his jewelled fingers daintily 
 Are promenading. Himmel ! how he glares 
 
 Upon the statue ! 
 
 The portly man, with the capacious stomach ! 
 He carries all before him. 
 
 {The Doctor indulges in a little pantomime.) 
 
 Yet he will give his thousands, and each coin 
 
 Shall be a golden medjidie— but mind 
 
 The beneficiary is " popular," 
 
 And that — Tout est d6ja pr6pare ! — that 
 
 Blatant crowds, upon the qui vive stand 
 
 Full charged, to bellow his munificence ; 
 
 If not — he'll see the " cause" at — Jericho ! 
 
 Fall'n among thieves — stripped naked on the road, 
 
 And left half dead — then will not turn that way, 
 
 Nor oil, nor wine shall it receive from him. 
 
 The situation and accessories 
 
 All too obscure 
 
On the Beach. 55 
 
 ON THE BEACH. 
 
 Enter an Englishman and a French Republican conversing. 
 
 Englishman — 'Tis not mere sentiment 
 
 That binds the Englishman to England's throne, 
 Nor punctual performance of the rites 
 And ceremonial functions of the state 
 That generates, and ever firmly holds 
 The people's love. 
 
 Love rises out of the deep consciousness 
 That to the queen and to her Royal House — 
 To every member of that Royal House — 
 England can turn and meet with sympathy, 
 Tender, abundant, for each genuine effort 
 That goes to swell the sum of happiness, 
 Or mitigate the burdens of the poor. 
 On such foundation is affection built. 
 
 Would'st learn how England's future kings and 
 
 queens 
 Are trained, Mosieu ? — List to the Duke of York,* 
 Our sailor prince, and England's Royal Heir : 
 " I follow in the steps of father, mother mine. 
 In their deep, constant, lively interest. 
 For every scheme to ameliorate the lot 
 Of poor and suffering children. 
 The feeble voices of those little ones 
 
 * This speech was delivered at the Institution of the Society lor the 
 Freventiou of Cruelty to Children, 
 
56 PSILOBIH. 
 
 Are crying for assistance, help and sympathy, 
 Can you refuse, my lords and gentlemen, 
 The plea of tender children for protection. 
 From wrong and suffering and needless sorrow ?" 
 
 On ground like this, a nation's love is built. 
 And firm endures. 
 
 Whate'er upheaval comes 
 It cannot touch the calm divinity 
 That circumscribes the throne. 
 
 God bless the Queen ! It seems but yesterday 
 She— a sweet girl — sat with her noble Mother 
 In York Cathedral — 'twas high festival. 
 And Grisi sang — Grisi, then queen of song — 
 Time flies, Mosieu ! — It seems but yesterday 
 The coronation was— I sang" God save the Queen," 
 In my shrill treble, as a Sunday scholar 
 On the "Abbey plain" at Whitby — dear old home ! 
 'Twas in the sunshine of a Summer's day. 
 And now 'tis eventide 1 Subject and Queen, 
 Alike behold the sun going gently down, 
 But while the twilight deepens, still I sing 
 With all matured power of heart and mind, 
 " God save the Queen 1" 
 
 May God forever bless Her ! 
 
 Frenchman, raising Ms hat, gives a parting shot : — 
 " Assez d'eloquence, peu de sagesse." 
 
Lord Lismobe. 57 
 
 Lord Lisnwrc.—'Wha.t makes those ancient sites of Greece, 
 to-day 
 So full of inspiration to us all ? 
 
 It is the keenness of suggestion, springing 
 
 From close association of those sites 
 
 With vanished greatness — ne'er forgotten men. 
 
 Their name, their presence, intense personal power. 
 
 Make barren rocks, and squalid villages, 
 
 All eloquent to hearts susceptible of things, 
 
 Above the level of the Iconoclast, 
 
 Above the level of the Puritan, 
 
 Who stabled horses in Cathedrals, 
 
 And mutilated man's divinest works. 
 
 Association doth imbue dead matter 
 With such suggestiveness, that it exerts 
 Upon the heart and soul a wonderful 
 Reflexing influence, and clothes a place 
 With reverent memories, and sacred feeling ; 
 That woods, and streams, and vales, and murmur- 
 ing airs 
 Are redolent of presences and sounds 
 Of music. 
 
 In such a time as this — in such a clime, 
 
 Long years of hard'ning process count for nought. 
 
 The spirit of the traveller is subdued, 
 
 And with a heart made young again, we gaze 
 
 On Argolis, .^Egina, Salamis, 
 
58 PsiLOMTI. 
 
 On Marathon, and old Thermopylae, 
 
 And let the sweet religion of the spot 
 
 Exert its influence over, and in us. 
 
 Not all that Science, Learning, ever did 
 
 For me or mine can take its place I ween. 
 
 Take my word for it, bumptious Globe-trotter, 
 
 Thou'lt want more brains than head of thine can 
 
 hold. 
 Or any other head, to give or take 
 A pleasure bettering this ! 
 
 'Tis true that from Greek authors we learn best 
 How to appreciate the subtle beauties. 
 The impassioned sweetness of poetic art, 
 Strength, tenderness, simplicity, and all 
 The nameless graces that no rules can teach ; 
 But, if we wish to hnow — to feel their spell, 
 And read the secret of their wondrous power ; 
 Stand on these sites, muse in these Olive groves, 
 And wander by the streams whose music filled 
 Their ears, and listen to the nightingale, 
 Whose sweet ancestral music thrilled their soul. 
 Such their surroundings, the soft undertones 
 Of tender song accompanying their thought 
 That, now and then, I feel almost convinced 
 I hear the echoes of their sacred lyre. 
 
 Dr. Brunney. — Here, in the War of Independence,* fell 
 The " fifteen hundred " and their generals, 
 
 • Ended 1829. 
 
Dr. Brunneb. 59 
 
 Draco, and Lambro Veicos, Tsavella, 
 Folomara, and nearly all their men. 
 Cretans were here, and fought as Cretans can ; 
 And, to a man, fell fighting, with their chief. 
 
 Draco, when taken prisoner, and brought 
 Before the Pasha said : — " I am George Draco 
 My sabre has cut off a hundred heads 
 Of thine accursed crew — Now take my life, 
 
 Make no delay !" 
 
 The Pasha laughed aloud, — 
 
 " I'll send thee to regale the Sultan's eyes !" — 
 
 " Know'st thou," replied the dauntless Suliote, 
 " That thou canst send a slave at any time ; 
 But never a. free man, like George Draco !" 
 And, drawing forth his dagger from his breast, 
 It flashed in air — and then — was hid again. 
 And Draco fell — dead at the Pasha's feet. 
 That happened a few years ago. — Think on't ! 
 
 -Say not 
 
 The " ancient spirit of the Greek is dead," 
 Talk not to me of " Greek deterioration !" 
 In this last war, they rivalled them of old ! 
 They fell as nobly as Leonidas, 
 Or triumphed grandly as at Marathon 
 Or Salamis, their glorious sires. 
 
60 PSILOEITI. 
 
 Night-fall. Moon rising. 
 The Acropolis hy moonlight. The Parthenon, &c. 
 
 Song. 
 
 (T5ISE gentle moon o'er the billow, 
 
 Bathe in thy silvery light, 
 Silken locks gracing the pillow 
 Of Beauty, in slumber to-night, 
 Rise gentle moon ! 
 
 Zephyr of tend'rest emotion. 
 Whisper my name in her ear, 
 
 Say, that though far on the ocean, 
 I am yet constant and near. 
 
 Constant and near. 
 
 Tell her, wherever I'm roaming, 
 Whate'er be the sea or the shore, 
 
 My soul is with her in the gloaming. 
 My beautiful Mary Asthore. 
 Mary Asthore. 
 
 Chorus. 
 
 '^'IS midnight ! On the mountains brown 
 
 Night's silent queen looks calmly down, 
 Her slanting rays with chastened glow. 
 Fall on the lapping tides below. 
 No cloud floats o'er the azure sky. 
 The winds are slumbering silently, 
 The boat is gliding with the stream — 
 A shadow o'er a lovely dream. 
 
Co.NCEHT ON Board a Yacht. 61 
 
 And on the wave and on the shore, 
 But for the lonely fisher's oar, 
 And murmuring caves the rocks among. 
 Striking the ear like a sea-nymph's song, 
 'Twould be the most unearthly night 
 That ever fell on mortal sight. 
 
 Concert and Fancy Dress Ball, in the Saloon on hoard a 
 pleasure cruiser. Various nationalities represented hut many 
 in Grecian Court costume. 
 
 Two English gentlemen conversing. 
 
 I'st Gentleman. — What had the magnificent Frenchman 
 to say, Vincent, just before we came off? You seemed 
 quite animated. Was it the old story that La Belle 
 France is still the Cicerone to all the refinements and 
 elegancies of European civilisation ? I have no doubt 
 he opened out to you, the treasures of a beautiful mind. 
 He is not one, I take it, who would be of any service to 
 poor Crete just now. The smell of powder would be 
 too strong for him. Talking is that gentleman's forte, 
 not fighting. 
 
 Vincent. — My Frenchman seems to be the voice of 
 one crying in the wilderness : " Prepare ye the way of 
 the almighty Democracy." He is, however, more of a 
 philosopher than a politician. He poses as one of the 
 Saviours of the people, but like all the rest of the frater- 
 nity he is a mere hunter after notoriety, scintillating 
 amongst those who fancy they have got a grievance. 
 
62 PSILOBITI. 
 
 1st Gentleman. — Exactly. Railing against monarchy, 
 and professing the greatest contempt of the aristocracy 
 and every grade of society above his own level ; and 
 yet you will find that snobbery like a magnetic current 
 is running through the whole system of every man jack 
 of them. But a truce to all faddists, especially French. 
 We will attend to them perhaps when they can show 
 us something better than we can find in their history 
 of republicanism. 
 
 A young lady in the character of " Spring " comes forward 
 and an Irishman sings to her a 
 
 SONG TO SPRING. 
 
 ApRING I Spring ! Beautiful Spring ! 
 
 Ye are good for weak eye-sight, my beautiful Spring! 
 Old Winter gave many a terrible shakmg, 
 And that never comes nice after half-a-year's baking ! 
 But now ye are with us — why, bless you, my dear I 
 We're as frishky as if we'ed a thousand a year. 
 
 When, if truth's to be told — and all lying's a vice — 
 We're as poor, my dear Spring, as a throop of church 
 
 mice. 
 But — your health, my sweet one ! (drinks) what are 
 
 riches to you ? 
 You will give us a sample of what ye can do. 
 You've begun operations I see in some places, 
 The valleys and woodlands are donning their graces, 
 
Concert on Board a Yacht, 63 
 
 And your magical wand, dear, is raising and gladd'ning 
 Things that looked only gloomy and sadd'ning ; 
 But wherever you trip with your noiseless feet, 
 They meet us, they cheer us, the visions sweet, 
 And the hills and the dales now with music ring, 
 A heart-stirring welcome to beautiful Spring ! 
 
 Grouping of the guests continually changing. 
 An ancient Greek dance. 
 Recitation. 
 /KRACEFUL and delicate, lively, grotesque, — 
 
 Pantomime music ! and music burlesque 1 
 Voice of the people in market and thoroughfare ! 
 Touched by a master hand, homeliest dancing air. 
 Is a presentment to ear and to heart 
 Of the every-day life we are forming a part. 
 And, if we but vary the " time," will reveal 
 The pathos and sorrow. 
 
 (A pause.) 
 Hark, to that old Dance Music again ! — 
 Mingling together, are pleasure and pain ; 
 Fancies and figures that live but in sound, 
 Spring from oblivion, circle around ! 
 (The chorus pauses, as listening to the music, then continues) 
 Chorus, 
 The young and the beautiful, gallant and gay. 
 Dance the quaint measures, approved in their day, 
 Into the present, where other bright hours 
 Smile on the haunts of their youth, and its flowers. 
 " Shadows I" — they are — but of delicate grace I 
 With all that is human, in feature and face. 
 
64 PsiLORITI. 
 
 Enter the party from the ^^ Irene." 
 
 Song by the Chorus 
 
 ^^LD England's heart is still the same. 
 
 As when she won her deathless name, 
 
 On battle-fields of yore, 
 And threw her standard to the breeze 
 On castelled heights, and bounding seas. 
 
 And dared their wildest shore. 
 
 We hear not now of " rushing: steeds," 
 Of lance and pike, like " shiv'ring reeds,'' 
 
 The Cyclone hurrying through. 
 Dimly are seen through mists afar, 
 Old Agincourt, and Trafalgar, 
 
 And awful Waterloo. 
 
 And Alma's heights, and Inkerman, 
 And Africa with her Soudan 
 
 Where heroes fought and fell, 
 Sealed with their blood a country's trust 
 And went down to no kindred dust 
 
 Uncoffined, and unknelled. 
 
 Yet still the visions glance and gleam 
 And throw their music on the stream 
 
 Of fast receding Time 
 And our eyes will glisten — glisten. 
 Just as when at eve we listen 
 
 Some grand old Minster chime 
 
The Gband Old Ehine. 65 
 
 Song. 
 THE GRAND OLD RHINE. 
 
 (Solo and Chorus.) 
 
 ^^HEY asked for the songs of the Fatherland, 
 
 That ray arm was too feeble to save. 
 But the voice of my harp rose in scorn of my hand, 
 And I sang them the song of the brave. 
 
 Chorus. 
 
 The Rhine ! The Rhine ! The grand old Rhine 
 
 Shall be the Frenchman's never ! 
 The Rhine is mine, and shall be mine, 
 
 Forever, and forever ! 
 
 It was caught on the wind, and the Rhineland rang 
 
 With the shout of Liberty ! 
 And it swept through the •' States*" with the clamour 
 and clang 
 
 Of a storm in the Baltic Sea. 
 
 Chorus. — The Rhine, &c. 
 
 In the Great Name of God, then we went to the fight, 
 Of the sword, and the tongue, and the pen. 
 
 And we triumphed in Him who defendeth the right 
 And He got us the Old Rhine again. 
 
 Chorus. — The Rhine, &c. 
 
 • German States.— Time ot I'irst Napoleon. 
 
5 PSILOEITI. 
 
 SCENE. 
 
 In the country. A young lady seated in a garden. 
 
 THE SOUL'S AWAKENING. 
 
 -^AIR as the blush of clouds at early morn 
 
 That watch the advent of the day new-born ; 
 The light of E&s o'er the " happy isles," 
 Not sweeter than the lovely Aria's smiles. 
 
 Guile never lurked within, nor craft had place 
 In that young heart, or bright young angel face. 
 And on her rested wise Athene's love 
 Who gave the grace and wisdom of the dove. 
 
 * * :^ * * 
 
 God hath a thousand ways to reach the heart — 
 Oft, in the dreams and visions of the night, 
 When deep sleep falls, then doth the soul awake. 
 'Twas so with Aria. In a dream she met 
 A youth of God-like mien who sang to her : — 
 
 " My home, sweet maid, is in the light, 
 Far up yon golden isles and plain, 
 
 And fond remembrance day and night. 
 Brings back my childhood's home again. 
 
 Ere morning stars together sang. 
 Or rolled yon sun in light and flame, 
 
 My home, sweet maid, with music rang. 
 And first-born seraphs knew my name. 
 ***** 
 
In the Cyclades. 67 
 
 Inquire no more ! — my heart contains 
 That which thy nature cannot know 
 
 'Twill seek thee, over burning plains, 
 O'er fields of ice, or hills of snow." 
 
 His form, face, vesture, with a glory lives, 
 Like that of mighty Helios when he drives 
 His chariot up the highest steep of heaven ! 
 And while he talked and sang her heart was given. 
 And waking thought led upward. 
 
 IN THE CYCLADES. 
 
 AND the ship sailed on o'er the waters blue. 
 Through breezy channels by sun-lit isles, 
 
 'Neath beetling crags where the sea-bird-s flew. 
 With an eye to their nests in the deep defiles. 
 
 And just as the tones of the convent bell 
 
 Broke over the moan of the slumbering seas, 
 
 Our course was stayed, and the anchor fell 
 In a lovely bay of the Cyclades. 
 
 An evening by the silent shore 
 Of a warm, translucent sea. 
 
 With a gleam that stretches like a floor 
 Of gbld, from the sun to me. 
 
68 Pbilokiti. 
 
 ON THE SHORE. 
 
 A ria enters alone. 
 
 Aria. (The bride of Leon.) 
 
 -^AIR shines the moon ! The sea — a summer's lake ! 
 '~^ And soft the sweep of winds o'er fir-clad hills, 
 Beyond whose crests the white-robed mountains take 
 The ceaseless homage of a thousand rills ! 
 
 I linger here awhile 'midst foliage green, 
 The soul untrammelled, mind all fancy free, 
 
 And watch the boats, whose snowy sails are seen 
 Like wings of angels on the jasper sea ! 
 
 beauteous spirit ! brooding o'er the night. 
 Thou hast the skill to open every heart ! 
 
 Wilt thou not give thy clear, divining light, 
 To know the things of which I form apart? 
 
 1 feel thine influence in the stilly hours, 
 As in the thunder of the storm rent sky, 
 
 I hear thy voice amidst the waking flowers, 
 And hear it in the gentle evening sigh. 
 
 What doth it say with every sight and sound ? — 
 " Come with me child, into the secret place 1 " 
 
 The God of Nature reigns in all around, 
 But He reveals Himself in realms of grace ! 
 
De. Bbunneb. 69 
 
 Lift up the latch, and lowly bend the knee, 
 
 As bent the high priest, in the ancient story ; 
 And the sweet sentinels Faith, Charity. 
 
 Shall then unveil the Temple's inner Glory. 
 
 Enter Lord Lismore, Dr. Brunner, and others. 
 
 Dr. Brunner is speaking. 
 
 Dr. Brunner. — 'Tis said — I give it with reserve, you un- 
 derstand — 
 'Tis said, the ancient Greek, Archilochus, 
 'Stung all his enemies to death by singing ! 
 If this be true, he was a dangerous man. 
 And some will say he was a clever man. 
 But few I think would call that man, a poet ! 
 
 Lismore. — Wit, satire, persiflage, expressed in form. 
 However rythmical, and sharply stinging. 
 Is not what I should take for poetry. 
 In poetry there is an element. 
 That reconciles and chastens, and uplifts 
 The singer heavenward, and the list'ning world 
 Is touched and taught by its sweet cadences 
 To raise its eyes as to th' ascending lark, 
 And with it soar to purer light and air, 
 In thought ennobled, o'er gratuitous 
 And causeless hates, and loves, and petty spites, 
 To all that makes the man, a gentleman — 
 To all that purifies, exalts and saves. 
 
70 PsiLOEITI. 
 
 We often hear the flippant critic's shout, 
 
 Of " Poetry is dead," but 'tis not so— 
 
 That is sheer ignorance— the cry of fools — 
 
 O, Poetry can never die ! 
 
 It is immortal as the beautiful, 
 
 That gladdens angels, saints, — aye, God himself. 
 
 And evermore shall gladden earth and heaven ! 
 
 A vitalized, immortal, living presence. 
 
 Sublime at times, but always beautiful. 
 
 NIGHT NEAR ATHENS. 
 
 A valley with mansion in the background. Enter Maufaz 
 disguised as a priest. Seats himself. 
 
 ril rest me here awhile. — All must allow 
 There is no dearth of demagogues at present. 
 Good, my Lord, I'm free to make confession. 
 Much that is evil is in this round world 
 And that the time doth call aloud on wisdom. 
 I have unravelled many secret things 
 In going up and down as the devil did 
 In the early age, — 'twas in Arabia then 
 That he did exercise observant powers. 
 And beautiful it is to be observant, 
 And emulate distinguished characters. 
 Subjects of interest, inquiring minds 
 Like his, will find predominating here. 
 
 Yon is the country seat of Leon— my fast friend 
 He was at one time — trusted and relied on, 
 
Night neae Athens. 71 
 
 He undermines me now, and — more — defies me. 
 
 I know his restless enegy — his genius, 
 
 He has fertility in scheming, and a tongue 
 
 Clothed with such eloquence that when he speaks 
 
 Attention is compelled and list'ning ears 
 
 Drink in the winning music. 
 
 Leon shall not return to Crete. 
 
 I think 'tis writ in a Greek tragedy, 
 
 " Swift harms from heaven are swift to over-take 
 
 The froward man. For him the avengers wait 
 
 Hidden, but near at hand, lagging, but sure 
 
 The furies of the grave are watching him 
 
 And his own evil shall entangle him." 
 
 A man should learn to keep a safer mind 
 
 And calmer tongue, my Leon. 
 
 The other day one of those Christian dogs 
 
 Took on himself the task of monitor. 
 
 And warned me of a certain retribution 1 
 
 Yon stars are worlds and they are countless — vast 
 In magnitude. Look how they move along 
 Their destined courses, in a sea of calm. 
 Unresting and unconscious of our schemes — 
 Of Leon and of me. They never deviate 
 From their appointed order. He who launched 
 Those bright orbs forth hath never changed 
 Their seasons, since He made the day and night, 
 What they were then they are to-night. So I 
 Walk on my way fulfilling destiny. 
 
 (Exit.) 
 
72 PSILOBITI. 
 
 THE GARDEN OF THE MANSION. 
 
 Enter Leon and Aria. Leon reading. 
 
 " What saith Ferdusi of old age and death ? 
 What of mutations of revolving spheres ? 
 One day we climb, another, we descend. 
 Now we are cheerful, then, we anxious are. 
 The end is a poor pillow of dark earth. 
 For one, a high exalted resting place. 
 And for another, it may be, — a ditch." 
 
 So things go on, and so they will go on, 
 
 As far as T can see, and if we live 
 
 To reach, as some have done, a hundred years, 
 
 Or if we fail attaining twenty-five. 
 
 Whether we win life's prizes or its blanks, 
 
 It is all one when we look back on life. 
 
 Its highest pleasures, and its bitter griefs. 
 
 But, whether life be cheery, delicate. 
 
 Or full of sorrow and anxiety, 
 
 The time must come when, with my empty cup 
 
 I stand, its last drop quaffed. 
 
 Aria. — And then, my Leon ? — Then 
 (Sings.) 
 
 ^IFE is onward ! Ever onward ! 
 
 Knows nor let nor hindrance here, 
 Yonder orb, while westering downward. 
 Dawns upon a brighter sphere — 
 
Light. 73 
 
 Sinking, fading from our sight, 
 Rising 'mid congenial fires ; 
 
 Constant ever, in the light, 
 Life is onward, and aspires. 
 
 On to beauteous scenes ! excelling 
 
 All that brightest fancy weaves ! 
 Sweeter, purer music welling, 
 
 Than this heart of mine conceives. 
 Richer hues and fairer flowers. 
 
 Sunnier landscapes, happier homes ; 
 Fuller, freer life than ours. 
 
 Where no darkling shadows come. 
 
 Why should we if near the portal, 
 
 Eye in fear its angel-guide ? — 
 Silent friend of way-worn mortal, 
 
 Death but leads us to the side 
 Of our brighter friends in Heaven — 
 
 All we prized and wept before — 
 And the ties, in sorrow riven. 
 
 Death unites, to part no more. 
 
 Morning. 
 LIGHT. 
 
 HOW beautiful is light I 
 The Light that visits daily sea and land. 
 Mysterious Light 1 Thee none can understand ! 
 
74 PSILOEITI. 
 
 And yet we know thee — "Day-Spring" from on high— 
 
 An emanation from the Deity. 
 
 Thou hast thy fountain in His central beam, 
 
 Thine essence from the ever living stream, 
 
 That gladdens all the City of our God, 
 
 And thence reflects on our oft wearying road. 
 
 The things of night shrink from thy radiant face, 
 And flowers like gems stand out in perfect grace. 
 From fountain, sea, and woodland's shady green. 
 From Naiad's home, and Nereid's favoured scene, 
 Is heard the contest of sweet harmony — 
 The mingling of lov'd voices, full and free ! 
 
 From ponderings o'er what fear and hope consumed— 
 Vain hopes that withered ere they well had bloomed— 
 And life grown dark with fate, and by-gone years. 
 And memory broodings o'er untimely biers, 
 Grief lifts to thee, sweet light, her aching eyes. 
 Erst courting gathering clouds and frowning skies. 
 And as she looks, behold her scalding tears 1 — 
 Each tear, a dew-drop, or a star, appears, 
 Earth, air, and ocean, kindling at the sight. 
 Praise the Great Giver, while they bless thee. Light ! 
 
 Interior of the mansion, the lady seated at the piano. 
 Sings a song, adapted from the Russian. 
 
 rtjEAR after year may roll, 
 ^ And age o'er age may glide, 
 Before the Christ's control 
 
 Shall check the Crescent's pride. 
 
Sunset. 75 
 
 But yet shall Christian bells 
 Ring out, where Muezzin's cry 
 
 Shrieks o'er the Dardanelles, 
 And Moslem hordes shall fly. 
 
 So shall our Isle be freed, 
 
 Our tribes at home once more 
 
 Their flocks in quiet feed. 
 Where fathers fed before 
 
 Sunset. 
 
 There rideth a hunter out over the plain, 
 
 And away to the westering sun ! 
 He heedeth but little the rowel, or rein. 
 
 His steed such a matchless one — 
 The rider's voice is all he needs 
 
 When a duty's to be done. 
 
 Now, bravo, my Moro 1 away now, away ! 
 
 The twilight is deep'ning apace; 
 Right well has thou borne me, my gallant, to-day. 
 
 The envy of all in the chase. — 
 And Moro is off with the speed of the wind, 
 
 And the rush of a 16ger race. 
 
 (Soft music.) 
 
 The shadows move silently downward and steal 
 
 On the heather flow'r fast asleep. 
 And mutely the birds o'er the pine trees wheel 
 
 Then plunge, like a stone, in the deep. 
 
76 PslLOKITI. 
 
 Not a note, — not a twitter, — all silent and sad, 
 The forest looks down from its steep. 
 
 (A weird music.) 
 
 Yet, on to the sun, that with lurid light, 
 
 Now sinks on the golden lea ; 
 And he hears, coming up with advancing night, 
 
 The moan of a far-off sea, 
 Recalling the mystic lore of youth, 
 
 And the chant of a destiny. 
 
 On ! on, my brave More ! Our home is in sight ! 
 But — ah ! — with a flash and a roar, 
 
 (Wild music.) 
 
 And a terrible crash — on the startled night 
 
 The thundering tempest bore I 
 And the brave young Moro stands aghast, 
 
 Trembling at every pore. 
 
 Soft plaintive music jor awhile, then the following: — 
 
 Where silvery moonbeams love to stray. 
 And tinge the chestnut tree with pearl, 
 
 Her white arm glittering in the ray, 
 As throwing back an auburn curl — 
 
 There sat his bride — so calm — so still ! 
 
 And fixed her eyes upon him, till 
 
 Backward fell o'er the beauteous head — 
 
 He saw that all of life had fled. 
 
 Then took her in his arms and knelt him there. 
 
 So o'er the grave of Hope might kneel — Despair. 
 
The CYCLADB3. 77 
 
 Enter Lara, cloaked and armed. 
 
 I've tracked the devil to this paradise ! 
 From the moment of his landing has he been 
 
 shadowed. 
 There's mischief a-brewing to the noble Leon 
 
 and his young wife, of that I am certain, 
 Good Heavens ! what has happened ? 
 
 Sees Leon and Aria. 
 
 I must not be observed ; but watch the ground 
 
 I will. 
 There's more to follow this I Retires. 
 
 Three figures glide from tree to tree, as they severally take 
 
 aim at the hunter, three shots are fired in quick succession from 
 
 an unseen hand, and the would he assassins fall dead at the 
 
 hunter's feet. 
 
 Tableau. 
 
 THE CYCLADES. 
 
 Ashore at one of the Islands. Party before a statue. 
 An evening scene. Song of Andros, 
 
 THE SWEET LOW VOICE. 
 
 ^IKE music far away at sea, 
 
 When sinks the sun to rest. 
 There comes a sweet, low voice to me. 
 That charms an aching breast. 
 
78 PBIliOBIII. 
 
 It breathes of Hope, and other climes 
 With happier homes than ours, 
 
 That tender voice of bygone times. 
 And summer walks and bowers. 
 
 It matters not that years have rolled 
 Far down the silent track ; 
 
 I see in dreams the crown of gold, 
 And the blue eyes sparkling back. 
 
 The radiant face and fairy form. 
 
 E'en lovelier than before. 
 Come from a land that knows no storm, 
 
 To fret its halcyon shore. 
 
 Lismore — Thine is the loveliness in death, Fair Greece ; 
 Thy noblest things are of the ages gone. 
 
 (Approaches a statue). 
 
 Here is a haunting beauty in this shape 
 Our nineteenth century cannot produce. 
 What power hath given to this senseless stone, 
 The life, the soul, that glows in spotless white ? 
 In this poor island of the Cyclades, 
 Is that, once seen, for ever haunts 
 The memory, like a disembodied soul ! 
 
 Look on this flowing, graceful drapery. 
 
 See, — on the smooth white feet is every vein ! 
 
Thb Ctclades. 79 
 
 But, O, the speaking; face ! — that is divine ! 
 For countless ages it hath worn that look, — 
 Beseeching, mournful, and entreating look. 
 We know not what the timid prayer might be, 
 Which seems just passing through the parting lips ; 
 But, perfect the expression there conveyed, 
 In every line of feature delicate. 
 We might imagine that a living soul 
 Had here been turned to marble. 
 
 How this creation of the plastic Art — 
 
 Under what circumstances 'twas conceived. 
 
 Born and developed we shall never know. 
 
 Of poets and musicians, it is said 
 
 That " their best works have been the fruit of pain," 
 
 Of some heart-breaking sorrow. 
 
 And there is nothing wonderful in this — 
 
 We darken cages when we wish the birds 
 
 To sing their sweetest notes — so God sends clouds, 
 
 And they do fall on spirits of sweet song. 
 
 And sound, that out of darkness, and of night, 
 
 May come the music of " The Immortal Choirs." 
 
 So it may be — the Phidias of this statue. 
 
 Won to perfection in the good old way — 
 
 " Elect and precious " — The o'ershadowing cloud. 
 
 Dr. Brunner.— God bless you, Lismore, that is beautiful I 
 I'm never weary of your sweet discourses, 
 
80 PsiLOBITl. 
 
 But here come strangers, tourists— Ach ! 'tis so. 
 No more sweet meditation. — Let us on 
 Or I shall swear some big round oath. 
 
 Here comes a most persistent downtaker ! — 
 A bullet head !— perhaps a cannon-ball 
 Were more appropriate as metaphor — 
 Side view — shaved clean, but an expressive tuft, 
 Takes a circuitous and pleasant route 
 
 By mouth and chin 
 
 A quibbling, cavilling. 
 Fault-finding brute, he tinges everything — 
 The council and the state, with his own hue. 
 That eye-glass there is Claude Lorraine's, turned on 
 It throws the colours, that are all its own. 
 
 When he goes up to dwell among the saints 
 I hope, sincerely, he'll be satisfied ; 
 Certain I am, he never has been hen. 
 But let us hope, if once he enters there. 
 He'll try to adapt himself to saintly ways, 
 And from a state of surly interference. 
 Sink down to that deserved oblivion, 
 His natural, and acquired genius, 
 So fits him to adorn. 
 
 SCENE AT MISSOLOUGHI. 
 
 O Land of strange enchanting hours. 
 Of which but few may dream — 
 
 Winds breathing softly to the flowers 
 And whispering on the stream. 
 
MiaaoLONGHi. si 
 
 The soul feels nearer the " Great Unknown" 
 
 And the " Choiring Orbs " of light 
 Are understood, in the touches thrown 
 
 On the moon-lit sleep of night. 
 
 + * * * * 
 
 Here patriots toiled and here they sleep, 
 
 And some in the stranger's land, 
 Where eyes that loved them ne'er may watch and 
 weep. 
 
 Nor pensive Memory stand. 
 
 Yet live they ever in the poet's fire 
 
 In Music's rapturous swell. 
 And he who most like seraph tunes his lyre 
 
 Most joys to sing them well. 
 
 An English party enters. A gentleman is reciting Byron's 
 last poem. 
 
 " IT is not here ! — It is not here 
 
 Such fond thoughts shake my soul not now, 
 
 Where glory decks the hero's bier 
 Or binds his brow. 
 
 Seek out — less often sought than found — 
 A soldier's grave — for thee the best, 
 
 Then look around and choose thy ground, 
 And take thy rest." 
 
82 PSILOLITI. 
 
 These touching lines, the last that Byron wrote, 
 One might suppose them capable to melt 
 The hardest heart — but hearts just then were made 
 Of sterner stuff in England. — Hear you this : — 
 
 " If the noble Lord coveted a soldier's grave he might 
 easily have found one. Why did he not join his forces 
 
 with those of the patriotic and like him fall fighting 
 
 on the field of ?" 
 
 Well — " Why did he not ? Simply because he had 
 no forces at his command. True, Byron might have 
 gone as a volunteer but for one thing, he did not arrive in 
 Greece until two months after the battle." 
 
 We in our time begin to understand 
 
 The tone of feeling that did dominate 
 
 The powerful but mean clique that hunted Byron 
 
 Into his grave, and when that grave closed over him. 
 
 Were not disposed to leave him to his God. 
 
 You all remember tender references 
 Which Byron makes to Ada, his one child. 
 " Ada, sole daughter of my house and heart," 
 And others, full of deep and touching pathos ? 
 Little he dreamt that this, his only child. 
 When dying should confess, she never had 
 One line of Byron read. 
 
 Strange ! sad confession of an only child, 
 And she the darling of her father's heart. 
 
MiSSOLOMGBI. 83 
 
 It indicates most clearly the discipline, 
 The training she had undergone in youth, 
 Under the auspices of proper ladies — 
 But what a spirit ! how relentless, bitter 
 Its animosity. 
 
 Andros, — In this fair land where he desired to die 
 He died and should have rested undisturbed 
 With those who loved him and who knew his worth. 
 Had that been so, there's ne'er a soldier's grave, 
 Or shrine, or mausoleum had got 
 Such loving reverence and pilgrimage. 
 Why did they take him from us ? 
 
 Dr. Brunner. — There are some characters in history 
 Stand in great need of a revision, sirs. 
 The perky pamphleteer and doctrinaire 
 Has trumpeted to high Olympus those 
 Who, left alone, could not have moved a step 
 
 In that direction ! 
 
 While to the lower regions are consigned 
 
 Far better men ! ach ! it is all too true. 
 
 Your Duke of Gloster, who was your Third Richard, 
 
 Had his life written by his enemies. 
 
 He may have been a stern, determined fellow, 
 
 Brave as a lion freely they confess him, 
 
 But, yet, they say he was a mmcFring villain, 
 
 And that I cannot altogether take. 
 
 For when he comes into the clearer light 
 
 That radiates a throne, he is a king 
 
84 PsiLOKITI. 
 
 Worthy of highest honour — better far 
 
 Than any Yorkist or Lancastrian 
 
 Of those disordered times. 
 
 Your Second Charles, called also " Merry Monarch," 
 
 He was no saint — rather was one great sinner, 
 
 So were his courtiers, friends and followers ; 
 
 But Evelyn, and Baxter, and Defoe, — 
 
 Your great Macaulay, and historian Hallam, 
 
 Ignore, alas ! the dangers and temptations 
 
 To which poor Karl in youth was left exposed 
 
 By ill-advised and selfish friends and foes. 
 
 They who have judged him calmly know full well 
 
 His head and heart were better than some think 
 
 Who pin their faith to such authorities. 
 
 In peril he was calm and cheerful ever, 
 
 Good tempered, patient through a long exile, 
 
 Polite and unaffected, easy manners 
 
 He carried with him all the way through life. 
 
 And won him troops of friends — Now these are trdits 
 
 " A treacherous, selfish man" does not possess. 
 
 His courtiers were not worse than Walpole's crew 
 
 Of wretched hirelings, or those gangs that lurked 
 
 In chambers with my Lord de Bollingbroke. 
 
 His mistresses — well — they were better looking 
 
 And not so greedy as thfe ■' German squabs " 
 
 And " skeletons " that charmed your George the First 
 
 And George the Second — " famous Protestants." 
 
 You see I am like Conrad Gesner, he 
 
 Of Zurich — he doth say " I have resolved, 
 
In the Island or Ceete. 85 
 
 So long as I have life I will ascend 
 
 Some lofty mountain once in every year, — 
 
 Partly for purposes botanical 
 
 And for the worthy exercise of body 
 
 And also recreation of the mind." 
 
 So do I study kings I 
 
 [Exeunt.] 
 
 SCENE. 
 
 In the Island of Crete. A cave dimly lighted. 
 
 An assembly of Sphakiots, A chief is speaking as the curtain 
 rises. He speaks with agitation. 
 
 -^IRST instincts, it is said, are always true, 
 ^^ And well do I remember, at first sight, 
 How I mistrusted him, but never dreamt 
 I should have cause ere long to hate that man ! 
 Good God ! how we became that villain's dupes ! 
 Ah! many a patriot I've known, whose place no more 
 Shall know him— some whose fate is yet unknown, 
 For whom the tear-dimmed eye hath watched, 
 And loving heart hath waited long, grown sick 
 
 With hope deferred. 
 
 For whom, through all the drear cold winter nights 
 
 Is kept an unbarred door. 
 
 (Pauses disturbedly ) . 
 
 Last night 
 
 'Twas such a night as this, and midnight's hour — 
 
86 PSILOBITI. 
 
 Down on the wave, on mountain crest and tower, 
 The full orbed moon was pouring floods of light, 
 While all unmarked the hours' silent flight — 
 Unmarked by me at least the time had gone 
 From ten to twelve, and on from ten to otte, 
 And long before my maze of thought was through, 
 The village clock had sharply rung out two. 
 Far in the distance, in some orange grove, 
 The Cretan nightingale had sung of love. 
 Our island's fragrance, on the sighing gale 
 Was borne by Zephyrus down glen and dale, 
 O'er the hushed deep with noiseless wing he sped 
 But kissed its trembling bosom while he fled. 
 Rapt lingering thus with music and the night, 
 Lo ! volumed smoke bursts on my startled sight, 
 While fires and flame flash messages of bale, 
 And shrieks and curses that the cheek turn pale. 
 And howl of plundering Kurds strike on the ear — 
 Hell was let loose, and no sweet Saviour near. 
 
 (Pauses with deep feeling). 
 
 There, where a heap of ghastly dead, 
 
 Proclaimed how well his work had sped, 
 
 Stood Maufaz, leaning on his brand, 
 
 Acclaiming loud his cut-throat band ! 
 
 But not for long. — I felled him to the ground. 
 
 Then vanished ere the villains hemmed me round. 
 
 (Another chief rises and speaks). 
 The moon had scarce withdrawn her beam, 
 From off the dale's meandering stream, 
 
In the Island or Ceete. 87 
 
 When slowly a dark column wound 
 
 Along its course, and so profound 
 
 A silence hovered o'er its way. 
 
 That like a cloud it seemed to stray. 
 
 But Lara's eyes have marked it well, 
 
 And on the moving darkness dwell. 
 
 Short pause he gave, then silver clarion like 
 
 His challenge rang, the while he leaped the dyke. 
 
 And, sword in hand confronted iifty men — 
 
 " Halt 1 where have you been gleaning, Kurds, to-day ? 
 
 Where villages are fired, Kurds are not far away." 
 
 No time for us to linger — that young life. 
 
 Comrades, we guard on every field of strife. 
 
 Well — Kurds they were — and on the rascals came 
 
 With Maufaz — head bound up — and he was lame — 
 
 I here confirm what my good brother said, 
 
 My one regret, Maufaz hath yet his head, 
 
 For in the heat and business of the fray — 
 
 Short, sharp, decisive — Maufaz stole away, 
 
 With other villains, who can take to flight 
 
 As smartly as to plunder, but don't fight. 
 
 But what about our Lara ? — self-possessed, 
 
 Cool as a Destiny, he forward pressed, 
 
 Till in the thick of the melle he stood 
 
 As though our scrimmage was not one of blood ; 
 
 Then thrust, and feint, and blow, and ward were there, 
 
 Just in the nick of time, to Kurds' despair. 
 
 His sword-play was the lightning's flash — 
 
 One — two— three — in — and then — a crash ! 
 
88 PSILOKITI. 
 
 'Twas beautiful to see the way he did it, 
 
 But to applause he looked as though he chid it. 
 
 Slender his form, but strength and grace 
 
 Are knit together, while the face 
 
 Is that of the Ithuriel 
 
 A frankish painter gives so well. 
 
 Whence came the youth I cannot guess, 
 Nor why that love of loneliness 
 That shuts him out from all beside. 
 Our dear old Haro. — 'Tis not pride — 
 No, though his look is ever high. 
 It beams on all benignantly, 
 And as I've said — in late alarms, 
 He showed no common skill in arms. 
 And, more than once I saw his blow 
 Rid Sphakiot of no trifling foe. 
 
 SCENE. 
 An Old Chief in Prison at Canea. 
 '\YlE are going down the river and its scenes are flying 
 
 fast! 
 There is little time to linger on the memories of the past, 
 So much is in the present, and in all that lies before. 
 That the "by-gones" may stand over till we gain the 
 restful shore. 
 
 We shall see them all the clearer in the land beyond 
 
 the sun. 
 We shall understand them better when the working-day 
 
 is done, 
 
An Old Ohiei? in Pkison. 89 
 
 And the smile of Jesus breaketh on the hidden things 
 
 that were, 
 
 And the wisdom, love and truth shine, like the walls of 
 
 jasper clear. 
 
 (A pause.) 
 
 Aye, the stream is running faster and the breeze is 
 
 freshn'ing now, 
 There's a rippling of the water and a surging at the prow, 
 And the voices of the lov'd ones that sing on earth no 
 
 more, 
 Are getting nearer, sweeter than they ever were before. 
 
 how often in the gloaming, like sweet bells across the 
 
 sea, 
 Do I hear the far-off echoes of a grander minstrelsy — 
 Tell me not that Love is dreaming — tell me not its ties 
 
 are riven ! 
 
 1 shall rise above the wrecks of earth, and find my lost 
 
 in heaven. 
 
 The tramp of soldiers in the street, a muffled drum is 
 heard. The old chief is seized hy his guards and dragged 
 to the window of the prison and forced to look on what is 
 passing in the street below. 
 
 Soldier Officer. — Look, Christian Dog I There goes thy 
 son to death !" 
 
 He looked — but save one slight heave of his breath, 
 The old man gave nor sign, nor look, nor cry 
 That might betray an inward agony. 
 With fascinated gaze he eyed his son — 
 Whose bearing was the Victor's — marching on 
 
90 PSILOEITI. 
 
 To further conquest, past the gloomy Pile. 
 
 " He sees me I — Bless the Boy !" — a. fond, sweet smile, 
 
 More eloquent in its mute, short farewell, 
 
 Than Turk imagined, or my words can tell, 
 
 George threw his father, as the cortege passed, 
 
 Then turned — resumed his onward march — the last ! 
 
 SCENE : 
 
 Andros asleep in his cabin on board the yacht. 
 
 The Dream of Andros. 
 
 A bright form approaches. Soft music, and then by invisible 
 choir " Angels ever bright and fair." 
 
 I AM thy Mother's angel, Andros dear. 
 
 Thy pilot through the dangers that beset thee 
 
 And on to nobler being. 
 
 Footprints of the Cretan Martyr 
 
 Child of mine may never shun. 
 But for God and country barter 
 
 Life itself so freedom's won. 
 
 Read again a nation's story — 
 
 Writ in sacrifice — a name 
 Forever dear, and set in glory 
 
 Kindled by undying flame. 
 
 In the dead hour of the night watch 
 Slumb'ring camp and threat'ning wall. 
 
 Look to see his signal-tight flash. 
 Hear his trumpet call. 
 
The Dheam of Andeos. 91 
 
 In thine hours of earthly splendour 
 
 Never meant, my child, to last 
 Then, like him be star-like, tender, 
 No dark shadow cast. 
 
 SCENE: 
 
 The chamher of the dying Kaiser. 
 
 Angel to Andros : — 
 
 This is not death — He sleeps — 
 
 Hath slept for hours ! 
 
 And they who watch him think the Kaiser dead, 
 
 And weep. 
 
 He doth but sleep, and in that sleep he dreams. 
 
 A child again is William, on the marge of coming years 
 That roll like billows to a shore that neither shrinks nor 
 
 fears ! 
 And the dawn is slowly breaking o'er a dim uncertain 
 
 sea. 
 Moaning in the fitful twilight, ominous of things to be. 
 
 Now the storm-fiend tears the welkin, Home and friends 
 
 are swept away, 
 And the treasures of a nation are become the tyrant's 
 
 prey, 
 And that tyrant bears him proudly over thrones to ruin 
 
 hurled. 
 While the God of Justice seems to hide in night that 
 
 broods the world. 
 
92 PSILOKIII. 
 
 The ensanguined field of Jena, 
 In the moonbeams' weird hght, 
 
 Like a panoramic vision 
 
 Floats athwart his startled sight. 
 
 Scenes that rend the soul with anguish, 
 Cries that pierce the night afar. 
 
 For the fatherland lies bleeding. 
 And the children flee the war. 
 
 And the loving gentle Muiterkin 
 
 Must wander forth alone. 
 In exile, poverty, and weeping. 
 
 She who lately graced a throne. 
 
 SCENE : 
 
 An old-fashioned garden. A cottage in the bachgroimd. 
 
 The Mtitterkin and Children, 
 
 After long and weary hours, 
 Are praying in a garden. 
 
 Where a wealth of old-world flowers — 
 Quaint and picturesque surroundings. 
 
 And a love so sweet and holy. 
 Ever hushed the murmuring spirit. 
 
 Banished all of melancholy — 
 Oh ! forever shall the memory 
 
 Of that evening dwell with them : 
 For there came a wondrous light and song 
 
 As of old to Bethlehem 1 
 
Thb Dream of Aneeos. 93 
 
 Invisible choir sing : 
 
 THE SONG OF THE ANGELS. 
 
 ^lYlHEN the night is darkest round thee, 
 
 When thy friends are gone, 
 When relentless foes have found thee 
 
 Helpless and alone ! 
 When the earth no more can bless thee 
 
 With a smile or tear, 
 When thy darker thoughts oppress thee, 
 When despair is near — 
 
 Mourner of the Fatherland ! 
 Hold thee by the Father's hand. 
 
 He is in the night of weeping 
 
 As in brightest day, 
 Gives it His beloved sleeping, 
 
 Answering ere they pray. 
 Rouse thee 1 Gird thee ! for the morrow 
 
 Glimmers on the hill : 
 He who gave thy soul its sorrow 
 
 Can give joy — and will ! 
 
 Mourner of the Fatherland ! 
 Hold thee by the Father's hand. 
 
 There comes a change — 
 
 The tide of battle turns ; 
 Grand bards awake and fan the patriots' fire, 
 And Blucher, ever watchful on the rear. 
 Compels the proud usurper to retire. 
 
i'"* PSILOKITI. 
 
 The Palace at Berlin. 
 Queen : — 
 
 At home again ! and it is Christmas time ! 
 
 And I am fading fast away from earth — 
 
 * * # 
 
 So many years to-day, what joyous greeting, 
 Beneath the roof-tree of this dear old home ; 
 
 Met the young bride, whose heart so proudly beating, 
 Had no foreshadowing of the years to come. 
 
 Seasons return, but not to me return 
 
 The hearts that throbbed to mine in bygone years ; 
 I have but left me now their lifeless urn 
 
 On which the eye of memory rests in tears. 
 
 But 'tis the season when the old and new 
 Are meeting on the wave- worn shores of time ! 
 
 Here am I come, and to my spirit's view 
 The shadows rising from that deep sublime 
 
 Disclose a world where parting is unknown — 
 Glories ! that borrow not from sun or star. 
 
 Light up the silent waters, leading on 
 
 To happier homes than ours, and brighter far. 
 
 SCENE. 
 
 In the mausoleum. Prince William alone, kneeling between 
 the tombs of father and mother. 
 
 ANTHEM. (Invisible choir). 
 
 " When thy father and thy mother forsake thee, 
 Then the Lord will take thee up." 
 
The Dbeam of Andeos. !t5 
 
 As the anthem proceeds the mausoleum is seen to be Jill ed with 
 bright and beautiful spirits, two of whom are bending over 
 the kneeling prince. 
 
 SCENE: 
 
 Before a beleaguered wall. Cannon heard at intervals. 
 German officers seated in the tent of the king. It is 
 New-Year's Eve. 
 
 King William — Gentlemen, it is nearly twelve o'clock ! 
 Open the door, and be ready to welcome the 
 New Year. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 Q^Y the Yule-fire's light, 
 ^^ In the noon of night, 
 An old man is reclining — 
 Outside is the snow, 
 A foot deep or so. 
 With the pale moon o'er it shining — 
 A fair nurse, watching sleep. 
 
 On his heaving breast, 
 
 As if lulled to rest, 
 A dark-haired form is lying — 
 
 Draw softly near 
 
 'Tis the good Old Year 
 And his daughter December a-dying ! 
 And sadly the minutes creep. 
 
96 PSILOBITI. 
 
 'Tis not like the beat 
 
 Of their tripping feet, 
 An hour of pleasure telling ; 
 
 But solemnly slow 
 
 They come and they go, 
 Like the bells in the church tower knelling 
 A march to an old friend's grave. 
 
 Tick— tock ! Tick— tock ! 
 
 It is twelve o'clock 
 
 And a weight of mystic sorrow 
 
 Falls down on the heart — 
 
 Old Year! we must part ; 
 
 For thee there ariseth no morrow ; 
 
 He taketh away who gave. 
 
 [Spoken.) 
 
 Speak ! Speak, if thou canst, and say, even now, 
 With the dawn of Eternity full on thy brow, 
 
 It is not in anger we part. 
 Behold ! Time's finger lingereth yet 
 On the dial-plate ! — Forgive, and forget 
 
 That we ever have grieved a kind heart. 
 
 A bell slowly strikes the hour of Twelve. A gun fired, and, 
 amid great enthusiasm, is sung : 
 
 HAIL THE KAISER. 
 
 -irrAIL! Hail the Kaiser! 
 
 '^ Our Hohenzollern ! 
 
 Scion of heroes dauntless in war ! 
 
Transpokmation Scene. 97 
 
 True-hearted German land 
 Prays with thy soldier band ; — 
 " Emperor- King, command ! 
 We follow thy star !" 
 
 Faithful forever 
 
 Thou to Fatherland ! 
 
 Throughnight of sorrow, pilot and friend, , 
 
 Kaiser and King ! — to thee, 
 
 Lowly we bend the knee, 
 
 Pledging our fealty 
 
 Till life shall end. 
 
 [Tableau). 
 
 Angel. — That man goes home, my Andros, conqueror 
 As well as kaiser — all his enemies, 
 And all his country's foes beneath his feet, 
 Through sacrifice of self, and trust in God. — 
 Remember this and prosper. (Vanishes), 
 
 (Transformation Scene). Music: — Air, ^'Angels ever 
 bright," &c., during which Andros awakes, rises and kneels. 
 
 [Cttrtain] . 
 End of Second Part. 
 
" THE storm is up, and from yon sable cloud, 
 Down rush the rains, while 'mid the thunder loud. 
 The viewless eagles in wild screams rejoice. 
 And echoes answer to the awful voice 
 
 Of hurling rocks 
 
 These form the mountain's voice : and heard at night, 
 To earth some spirits bow in cold affright. 
 But some they lift to glory and to God." — • 
 
 Professor Wilson. 
 
 " Their paths which seemed of diverse birth, 
 The same soft breath of air had given. 
 Only, one cloud was nearer earth, 
 The sister-cloud was nearer heaven." — 
 
 Duke of Argyle. 
 
PSILOEITI. 
 
 PABT III. 
 
 SCENE :— A Hountainous District in the Island of Crete. 
 
 A party from the yacht watching the sunset — bells chiming in 
 the distance. 
 
 SONG. 
 
 AOFTLY chiming silvery bells, 
 
 ^^ What strange enchantment cometh, 
 
 As your music sinks and swells ; 
 Glowing land and shining blue seas 
 Hush their own, their choicest tone-breeze, 
 
 And the flowers in silence bending. 
 Listen to the bells. 
 
 Come ye visions bright and fair ! 
 Forms my heart delights to cherish. 
 
 Come again and with you bear 
 Memories of a twilight ocean, 
 "Where a boat, with tranquil motion, 
 
 Glides beneath the setting sun. 
 And dear home's sweet bells. 
 
100 PSILOKITI. 
 
 Now the songs we sang repeat, 
 
 Olden love songs that must linger 
 Long as " memory holds her seat," 
 Wistful, tender eyes revealing 
 All their wealth of heart's young feeling 
 Float around me with the music 
 Of those evening bells. 
 
 (They pass down the mountain.) 
 
 Enter Lord Lismore, Andns, and Dr. Brunner, conversing. 
 
 Andros. — But war is not calamity when waged 
 For purposes of justice and of freedom, 
 When out of sacrifice may be evolved 
 The dawn of Liberty and Hope for Crete. 
 In such a case I will not pause to ask 
 What price I have to pay, enough for me 
 To know that neither God nor angels meant 
 I should be subject to the Moslem yoke, 
 And ever hear the wail of suffering 
 Wives and sisters, and of children, rise 
 In heaven's ear and mine. 
 
 'Tis not His will, 
 Of that I'm satisfied. Therefore I draw 
 The sword and strike. The hour has come. 
 
 Lord Lismore — 'Tis my belief it is the will of God 
 All life should upward lead. 
 
 His purpose is 
 To make all things that touch humanity 
 In body, soul or spirit, work for good : 
 
LOED LlBMOBE, Dk. BkCNNER, AND AkDEOS. 101 
 
 But man must thrust his cursed discords in, 
 And spoil the march of heaven's harmony. 
 Men, nations, might with profit, pause and think, 
 And ask themselves what is the Sov'reign Will 
 'Ere they consult their own, 
 
 Dv. Brunner — 'Tis not His will the poor should be kept 
 poor — 
 That heavy burthens should forever press 
 The shoulder and the spirit of a man, 
 Tn any empire or republic. 
 In any kingdom, dukedom, petty state, 
 In principality, in city, town. 
 Village or hamlet, anywhere ! 
 Whatever be his colour or degree — 
 The God that made man — He himself asserts 
 That God is Love ! 
 Along the march of centuries, this fact 
 Glows like the fiery pillar that at night 
 Led Israel's host from bondage through the wild 
 And dreary desert, ever on, and on ! 
 To better times and larger heritage. 
 
 Lismore — Aye, my dear Brunner, 'tis the "Search Light " 
 For every question we must grapple with — 
 The " Eastern " not excepted. 
 
 Andros — Ere our day 
 
 There was the " Alliance" question, it was named 
 " Holy Alliance " — why — I cannot say. 
 
102 Pbiloeiti. 
 
 Names often are but strange anomalies, 
 
 But, after Russia, France and England saw 
 
 That this alliance worked " unholily," 
 
 They cut the " Gordian knot," and Greece was free. 
 
 Now look at Greece to-day ! 
 
 Well may poor Crete 
 Long for close union, and brotherhood 
 For centuries denied. 
 
 Her sons our brothers are 1 Their arms are open 
 To receive us. Is it wrong, my Lord ? 
 
 Now gentlemen (with deep feeling) 
 You may not hear another word from me — 
 I go to fight, and it may be to fall. 
 
 Dr. Bninner — Good Lad ! and I'll go with thee— 
 Aye, though it be with thee to fall. 
 Come on 1 Companion in arms. 
 [Exeunt.l 
 
 Dr. Brunner and Lord Lismore descending are suddenly 
 surrounded by twelve men in the garb of the Sphakiots. 
 
 The leader of the band — Stand ! You, Englishman, go 
 away 1 We do not want you. 
 
 Lismore — What is the meaning of this ? Are you 
 Sphakiots ? We are friends of the Sphakiots. 
 
 Dr. Brunner— Sphakiots] Not they, my Lord. They 
 are Kurds and are carrying out a Turkish plot. I 
 must beg you to leave me. For God's sake, 
 Lismore, save yourself, leave me. 
 
The Home of Habo. 103 
 
 Lismoye—'Never, riiy dear Old Friend! Hear, you ras- 
 cals ! An English gentleman never turns his back 
 on his friend in any way but this. (Dvaivs a revolver 
 and with Brunner stands lack to back.) 
 
 Dy. Brunner— All right then. England and Germany 
 
 for ever ! [Draws a revolver and both stand on the 
 
 defensive.) 
 The peasantry, who had hitherto been anxious spectators, fly 
 
 shrieking : — The Sphakiots are killing the Franks. 
 
 The Christians are killing the gentlemen — the 
 
 Franks 1 
 The Kurds, ivith knives in their hands, watch their oppor- 
 tunity, but hesitate to advance. There conies at last a shot from 
 the wood, and thi leader falls. Another shot after an interval, 
 and then another with fatal effect. Lara, with a few Sphakiots, 
 rush down and fill on the Kurds with sword in hand. 
 [Curtain falls.] 
 
 SCENE: 
 The Home of Haro. 
 
 Lord Lismore, Dr. Brunner, and Lara listening to Haro 
 reading a communication from the Governor General. 
 
 Haro — The Governor General concludes thus : "As this 
 grievous outrage, committed by the Christians on 
 frankish gentlemen is a disgrace which it becomes 
 us to wipe out as speedily as possible, We hereby 
 command you, at once to set about bringing the 
 guilty to our Court of Justice over which we shall 
 preside at noon to-day. 
 
104 PsiLOLIII. 
 
 Dr. Brunner — We will go, gentlemen ! Yes, we will go 
 with our captives, the living and the dead, and, as 
 " speedily as possible " we will wipe out the dis- 
 grace. What say you, my old friend ? (to Haro) 
 
 Haw (laughingly) — Yes, certainly, we will go, and not 
 only " wipe out this disgrace " in a way he little 
 suspects, but we will also, gentlemen, confound 
 some of his Excellency's advisers. 
 
 SCENE : 
 
 The Court House. 
 
 A crowd of people are collected together in the square fronting 
 the Court House. Great commotion and cries of 
 
 Death to the Christian dogs ! Down with the mur- 
 derers of friendly strangers I 
 
 IMaufaz, who has been addressing the people from a balcony, 
 comes forward again.) 
 
 Maufaz — All this is very well as far as it goes, but while 
 you are shouting the " dogs " and " murderers " 
 are escaping you, or laughing at you. 
 
 [Great commotion, then a sudden silence.) 
 
 The President of the Court approaches and whispers in the 
 ear of Maufaz. 
 
 A silence long and deep falls on all, as a strain of martial 
 music, faintly heard at fint, increases in strength till the 
 
The Cockt House. 105 
 
 " March of the Sphakiots " is distinguished, accompanied by 
 the tramp of men. 
 
 Enter Haro, Lismore, Brunner and Andros. 
 
 Hare — Monsieur le President et Messieurs ! 
 
 We bring you the " Sphakiots '' who have been 
 taken in the very act of murder. We bring you 
 the living and the dead — they who last evening 
 beset, and surrounded our two friends here whom I 
 have the honour of introducing to your Excellency, 
 
 (Lord Lismore and Dr. Brunner bow to the President of 
 the Court). 
 
 (Matifaz and the President confer together.) 
 
 President — We thank you, friend Haro, for your prompt 
 attention to our commands. Your patriotism is 
 now undoubted. This act of yours in delivering 
 up your own men, when guilty, is a signal proof. 
 I think you may leave them with us. We shall 
 mete out their punishment in due course, 
 
 Haw— Not so, Monsieur le President ! No more jug- 
 Icry for me ! I have had enough of it, thank you, 
 to last me all my life-time, henceforth. 
 
 These villains that you now see dead and alive, 
 in the garb of the Sphakiot, have by their crimes in 
 this garb disgraced the Sphakiot. My noble fellows 
 have been wounded in their honour — their tenderest 
 part. The name of Sphakiot has been dragged in 
 
106 PSILORITI. 
 
 the mud by these damned villains. Sphakiots, 
 smarting under the disgrace put upon them by 
 these rascals, punished them last night, and by 
 Sphakiots they shall be punished to-day. " Ready, 
 outside there 1 Fire ! " 
 
 (Volley firei.) 
 
 Now, Monsieur le Preside.nt, strip the dead and 
 find that every one of your Sphakiots thevi is a, 
 genuine Kurd. 
 
 (Gnat sensation in the crowd, and cheering of Haro and his 
 men.) 
 
 And further, I have the honour of submitting this 
 document to your inspection — said document taken 
 from the dead body of their leader, and you will 
 see that it is in the handwriting and has the signature 
 of Maufaz, and commands these Kurds to compass 
 the death of the German gentleman, but to let the 
 English lord go free of harm. 
 
 [Haro hands up the document.) 
 
 Au revoir : Are you satisfied, my dear Lads ? 
 
 {Cheers loud and long, in which not only Haro's men hut the 
 whole crowd join.) 
 
 Haro — Fall in, mes enfants ! Quick, march ! 
 
 {Band strikes up and they go off singing.) 
 
Awaiting the Sdn-risb. 107 
 
 SCENE : 
 On a plateau in the mountain, a group of Sphakiots, armed, 
 and awaiting the sun-rise. 
 Solo : 
 Watchmen of night ! Say, what of the dawning ? — 
 Second Voice : 
 Though in the blue vault the stars linger yet, 
 Down in the East are the heralds of morning — 
 Hues of the rose and the myrtle are met. 
 Chorus : 
 Morning Land I Morning Land ! 
 Cometh the dawning : 
 Though in the blue vault 
 The stars linger yet [a pause). 
 Second Voice : 
 Hark ! 'tis the tender, low tone of the sea. breeze, 
 Laden with scents of the wild-thyme and flowers [ 
 Hear ye the movement aloft in the palm-trees ! 
 {A pause — whispering music. Sun rises with a bound out of 
 the sea.*) 
 Welcome, O Sun I With thy rising, be ours. 
 
 A II kneel and in a subdued voice sing in chorus : 
 God of the sun-rise ! The beauty and glory ! 
 Chasing our dark with the splendour of skies — 
 Let there be Light I and the tears of our story, 
 Wipe out for ever — Bright morning — Arise ! 
 
 [Exeunt.] 
 (Groups of armed men are seen hurrying after them.) 
 
 »In this clime the sun seems to spring up at once, high above the horizon, 
 and the whole laud and sea are immediately glorihed. 
 
108 PsiLoniTi. 
 
 [Trumpet call afar off.) 
 
 Invisible Choir : 
 Hark ! o'er the solitude comes the re'vielle I 
 Sons of the Prophet — awake ye — arise ! 
 Up, and be doing ! The foes that assail ye, 
 
 Have swooped like the eagle, from nests in the 
 skies. 
 
 {A louder trumpet call, and the heat of drum.) 
 
 SCENE : 
 On the sea-shore after a defeat. 
 
 A group of Cretans are reclining on the ground, while others 
 are gazing listlessly out to sea. A fire has just been kindled 
 and some are gathering round it. Enter 
 
 Dr. Bnmner — Now over all the level landscape shines 
 The flush of the departing day, 
 The last — it maj' be — we shall look upon. 
 The sea is lit with gleams of angry fire, 
 And from the woods and vineyards, murmuring 
 
 winds 
 Sweep o'er our gallant men that bivouack 
 In deep abstraction — weary, wounded, faint, 
 Or gathering round the cheerful fire they stand 
 And silent pile their arms. 
 
 {Night falls down suddenly, and the " ivhite squall" bursts on 
 the scene, with thunder and lightning.) 
 
On the Sba Shore. 109 
 
 Enter Andres and Lara. 
 
 Andros — See how yon ponderous clouds race o'er the 
 heavens, 
 And ever and anon distracted darts, 
 The white light o'er the turmoil ! 
 
 (Watches the storm.) 
 
 1 see no star, nor sign of star, my Lara ! 
 The night is full of evil augury. 
 
 {A pause. Another part of the camp.) 
 
 Dr. Brunner sings a translation of a song from Schiller : 
 
 " The oak-forests thunder, the dark clouds gather, — 
 A maiden goes pacing the shore, 
 Through her tear-drowned eyes 
 She looks up to the skies. 
 And some words ring out clear of the roar " — 
 ^' I have had" * '^ I have lost" * and '■= " no more.'' 
 
 • The ellipses are.'fllled up by the crash of the thunder aud the noise of 
 the storm. 
 
 (^ pause. Then a change in the music and the time.) 
 
 " O my heart it is sad, and the world it is bare. 
 And there's nothing deserving a thought or a care — 
 
 Holy One ! Call me !— Thy child is alone 1 
 
 1 have had — I have lost — All is gone ! " 
 
 [Exit.] 
 
 Enter Andros and Lara. 
 Andros — Hark how the storm howls down the mountain 
 gorge, 
 
110 PSILORITI. 
 
 And piercingly our friends, the ancient oaks, 
 Shriek in death-grapple with the fiends of night 
 That lead the onslaught, while the frighted moon 
 Rushes through storm-rent clouds, as though she sought 
 Escape from sights and sounds of dire disaster. 
 
 {A pause.) 
 
 In ancient da}'s, ere dread calamity 
 
 Fell on a nation, men oft saw strange things. 
 
 As portents, and few dared to question them. 
 
 Great Caesar, 'tis decreed, must die beneath 
 The daggers of conspirators, and Rome 
 Be rent by hostile factions, selfish interests, 
 And treason's murderous hands. 
 
 But not before 
 The heavens have warned and meanaced at nights 
 By dreadful sights, and on both sea and land 
 
 Horrors accumulated. 
 
 Armies are seen to fight in upper air. 
 
 And waves of ocean, storm right up, as bent 
 
 On scaling heaven ! while sheeted ghosts at night, 
 
 Walked through the streets, and shrieked within 
 
 The Capitol. 
 
 Lara — Andros, dear fellow cease such reveries ! 
 There is no warning in these elements, 
 No portent, that doth not apply to Turk 
 As forcibly as it is possible 
 To Christian. 
 
On the Sea Shoiie. Ill 
 
 God only knows what coming hours may bring 
 To thee and me, and them that follow us ; 
 But earth, and sea, and sky, war as they will, 
 Have not God's voice for us alone, my friend I 
 Our foes may listen and may tremble too. 
 Granted that stars are hid from us by clouds — 
 The clouds are of the earth, not of the stars. 
 Behind yon drifting clouds the stars shine on, 
 Undimmed, untroubled by the storms of night 
 And all unchanged. 
 
 Go Andros, to thy place — take food and wine, 
 Thou'rt worn, and faint, my friend, and over- 
 wrought! 
 The night is nearly done, and see the storm 
 Already hath lost half its energy. 
 Come ! let me lead thee in, then I will keep 
 Thy watch. 
 
 (Leads him to the shelter of a cave and returns, then kneels in 
 prayer.) 
 
 Rises and sings : 
 
 ^ 
 
 OUL of mine, when round thee whelming 
 Billows rise, and threat'ning close. 
 Patient mark the tempest raging 
 
 And in strength, its strength oppose. 
 
 Manly fortitude possessing. 
 Stand with firmly planted feet. 
 
 Or in serried line advancing — 
 Silent, calm — the danger meet. 
 
112 PSILOBITI. 
 
 (Lara continues meditatively.) 
 
 I do not shrink 
 From any danger that doth threaten me — 
 No— at this moment I could lead my brave 
 And trusty Sphakiots, to meet the Turk, 
 Or cruel Kurd, where'er he may be found. 
 
 I am possessed 
 By some strange spirit, — evil it is not — 
 I feel no impulse toward evil deeds — 
 " Revenge " is not my cry, but " Liberty." 
 
 {Pause.) 
 Revenge is sweet ! Not so the memory 
 Of the Vendetta. In the stilly night, 
 When sleep falls down upon the innocent, 
 Do what thou wilt that memory will stir, 
 And weary eyelids thou shalt close in vain ; 
 For thou hast " murdered sleep." 
 Thy summer skies shall glare in glowing red. 
 And lapping water conjure scenes of blood ; 
 And when thy soul bethinks her of the land, 
 The shadowy land of awful mystery, 
 Where light and love can dawn for thee no more, 
 Then ask thyself " How sweet is my Revenge ?" — • 
 How shall I meet the face of Him who died, 
 For foes — amidst a crowd of foes — and prayed 
 With His last breath : — " Father forgive 1" 
 
 Vengeance recoils on the avenger's head ! 
 It is the law of compensation. 
 
On tbe Sea Sbobe. 113 
 
 Vengeance belongs to God. He doth repay, 
 And He will never relegate to thee 
 The least of His prerogatives. 
 
 Beware 
 How thou usurp'st a power that can but blast, 
 As in the olden time it did the man, 
 Who laid irreverent hands upon the ark. 
 
 Once did I long for Death — longed for him sore — 
 Aye, there were times when Death did seem so sweet ! 
 I pondered over old Leonidas — 
 He of Tarentum — that old sage who says : 
 
 " With courage seek the kingdom of the dead, 
 The path before you lies — 
 It is not hard to find, nor tread ; 
 No rocks to climb, no lanes to thread, 
 But broad and straight, and even, still, 
 And ever gently slopes down hill — 
 You cannot miss it, though you shut your eyes." 
 
 Yes, that is even so Leonidas I 
 
 And suits the veriest coward, but not me, 
 
 For, coward I am not. 
 
 No I Death may come to me at any time, 
 And shall be welcome — he is not my foe. 
 
 I have now taken up Simonides, 
 
 His doctrine suits the spirit in possession : 
 
 " 'Tis said that Virtue dwells on high, 
 'Mid rocky steeps that meet the sky. 
 Where o'er a hallowed realm she holds her sway. 
 No mortal eye her form hath met 
 Save his, from whose heart-galling, sweat 
 Breaks out, and wins to true nobility." 
 
114 Pbilobiti. 
 
 But see ! 
 The storm hath spent its fury and the morn 
 Will soon arise, 
 
 SCENE. 
 A wild night on the Northern shore. 
 
 n^IGHT falls upon a stormy sea, 
 
 ^ And many an eye doth watch with me, 
 
 A sail ! — a lonely sail ! 
 And while the clouds are settling down, 
 We mark our seaboard's gathering frown. 
 
 And hearts begin to quail. 
 
 Whence cometh she, and whither bound ? 
 But silent all the watchers round — 
 
 Not one doth deign reply. 
 Dumb, motionless, they stand, and peer 
 Through mist and spray, or eye in fear 
 
 The threat'ning sea and sky. 
 
 The thunders roar, the lightnings flash. 
 And mountain waves charge home and crash 
 
 Along the darkling shore. 
 Yet linger we through half the night, 
 With nought to feed the ear or sight 
 
 Save that loud, wild uproar. 
 
 And, as we watch with aching eyes 
 The mad " white horses " and the skies, — 
 Lo, there ! a blaze of fire 
 
Morning Dawnino. 115 
 
 Shoots upward through the clouds afar, 
 And, noiselessly hke shooting star, 
 We see it fall — expire ! 
 
 Morning dawning. 
 
 Waveless, like a sea of pearl, 
 
 The bright jEgean lay. 
 When mountain crest and hoary crag 
 
 Received the morning ray. 
 
 Far off the hills and headlands gleamed 
 
 In safFron-purpled hue, 
 And Psiloriti towered aloft 
 
 In calm unbroken blue. 
 
 Along the wild far stretching shore 
 
 Of rock and opening bay, 
 The dreamy mists arose and fled — 
 
 We had another day. 
 
 And the sun went up, and a silence fell 
 
 On land and quivering sea — 
 When her white sails flashed by the sentinel 
 
 Blue peaks, that watched with me. 
 
 A lovely vision ! A heavenly form ! 
 
 A white-robed messenger 
 Of comfort, after last night's storm ; 
 
 God's benison on her I 
 
116 PslLOLITI. 
 
 SCENE: 
 
 One of wild and awful graudenp. 
 
 In the rear of the mountain battery a young leader with his 
 
 men are seen climbing precipices and leaping torrents. They 
 
 gain at last a platform flanking the Turkish position, but are 
 
 seen by the defenders of the guns, who wheel and fire on them 
 
 with their rifles. The patriots quietly fall into line and dress 
 
 their ranks, after which, with a ruffle on the drum, a ringing 
 
 cheer, and with levelled pike and bayonet, they are seen charging 
 
 on the guns. 
 
 {Tableau). 
 
 SCENE: 
 On the Plain. Morning after the Battle, 
 
 Enter English gentlemen, conversing. ' 
 
 First Gentleman — Thus far we came without a serious 
 
 check ! 
 But having turned an angle of the road, 
 Our scouts fell back : — 
 
 " The Turks' brigade of guns 
 
 Frown from the mountain side !" 
 
 This made us pause. 
 Those guns — those ponderous guns would wipe us out — 
 Commanding as they did our line of march. 
 
 Short pause was made for soon a handsome youth, 
 Had begged of Haro "just two hundred men," 
 Whom he would lead round o'er some fearful heights 
 And fall upon the Moslem's rear. 
 
Morning afteb the Battle. 117 
 
 His prayer was heard 
 And after some demur was granted him. 
 
 Off with the greatest sang froid they went, 
 
 While those they left passed many an anxious minute. 
 
 At length we see the brave devoted band, 
 
 In awful silence pausing — gathering breath, 
 
 For the tremendous effort. 
 
 He, brave youth, 
 Calmly as on parade addressed his men, 
 'Mid storm of whizzing balls and eddying smoke — 
 For now the turkish riflemen had wheeled 
 And all confusedly were blazing on them — 
 " Give in your fire steadily, and level low!" 
 
 Now was the time when the young blood grew hot. 
 And the fierce longing came to grip the foe, 
 Yet sternly calm his followers marched on. 
 And volleying as they stepped o'er comrades slain, 
 Short pause was made to dress again their ranks. 
 
 A ruffle of the drum, and a loud cheer, 
 
 Then levelled pikes and bayonets dash on — 
 
 A horrid crash ! Right through the shivered mass 
 
 They charge — and then — charge back. 
 
 The guns are spiked and victory is won. 
 
118 PSILOBITI. 
 
 (Invisible Choir). 
 Fighting on the Plain. 
 
 PSTT intervals, through rolling smoke, 
 The lightning flash of lances broke, 
 And gleaming bayonet. 
 Helmet and plume are seen the whiles 
 To tower above the charging files — 
 Banner and bannerette. 
 
 * * * * 
 
 Fast fall the dying and the dead. 
 Yet those torn ranks are never stayed, 
 
 Though volleying thunders tear ! 
 On ! on they press o'er comrades slain, 
 And closing horrid gaps, again 
 
 Burst on the firm set square. 
 
 Crash went the lance ! Down pennon went, 
 Down proud array, and crescent, rent — 
 
 Down riders went and steeds ! 
 Then, like an avalanche, the ranks 
 Of Cretans charge the shattered flanks — 
 
 That charge young Andros leads. 
 
 Rages stern Retribution's hand, 
 Rages the patriot's bloody brand. 
 
 And Kreta's trumpet tone. 
 Then nought we hear but shriek and shout. 
 Nought see but deadly strife and rout, 
 
 And undefended rear. 
 
MoKNINO AFTER THE BaTTLE. 119 
 
 Horsemen and footmen struggling fly, 
 Confused — mixed up — despairing — die 
 Beneath th' avenging spear. 
 
 Second Gentleman — I visited the battlefield this morn : 
 In rows were laid the ghastly piles of dead. 
 
 There lay the Sphakiot dead across the Turk, 
 
 Each pair of eye-balls staring frightfully, 
 
 And heaps there were, mangled by shot and shell 
 
 Beyond all recognition. — 
 
 Others there lay all stiff and pale and dead, 
 
 Some yet alive — the dew and the death damp. 
 
 With bead-drops of the last great agony, 
 
 Rolling from off the forehead, faintly cried 
 
 " Water ! O, for the love of God, quick, bring me 
 
 water !" 
 And some had crawled to the near water-brook, 
 And drinking there, had died. 
 No tender voice to whisper in their ear. 
 No gentle hand to soothe the bed of death, 
 Or close their eyes. And this is war ! 
 
 First Gentleman — A terrible responsibility 
 Doth rest on them who do provoke to war ; 
 I sympathize with Cretan patriotism, 
 But for the Turk have nothing save — my curse. 
 
 [Exeunt.'] 
 
120 PSILORITI. 
 
 SCENE ; 
 Night falling on the Field of Battle. 
 
 (Plaintive Mtisic.) 
 
 Chorus. 
 
 C^TLiKS ! what loving hearts, since morn 
 ^~ Rose on the ^gean's sleep, 
 Hath war's rude hand asunder torn, 
 That memory long shall weep. 
 
 We heard to-day the vengeful shout 
 
 Of Sphakiot, on the rear 
 Of flying Moslem, and the rout 
 
 Tumultuous, far and near ! 
 
 We saw them to destruction hurled — • 
 
 A helpless, ruined host, 
 That yesterday had braved a world — 
 
 Lost 1 and forever lost ! 
 
 Hour after hour the fight went on, 
 Like some red current went, 
 
 With warrior, banner, spear and gun 
 Horseman and footman blent. 
 
 Enter Dr. Bnmner and Andros. 
 Dr. Brunner — "All at once in sock, and buskins,* 
 Out came rushing the cheruskins, 
 Howling ' Gott and Vaterland ! ' 
 Then went at it, sword in hand. 
 
 • Adapted from the Geirman of J, V. Scheffel. 
 
On the Sea Shobh. 121 
 
 Ach ! it was an awful slaughter, 
 
 And the rascals ran like water, 
 Few upon that dreadful day, 
 Except the horsemen got away — 
 
 For why ? They were on horses, 
 
 Those hurrying, scurrying forces." 
 [Exeunt.] 
 
 SCENE: 
 On the Sea Shore. 
 
 Song of the Cretan Wife, 
 
 Did, wife of A ndros — 
 
 )E light winged barks that o'er the tide 
 Of Helle sail to-night- 
 Say, which will take me to his side, 
 My heart, my Soul's delight ? 
 
 %' 
 
 His image my companion is, 
 Though seas between us roll ; 
 
 The memory of his parting kiss 
 The tie that binds my soul. 
 
 Without the sunshine of his smile. 
 
 Day hath no sun for me. 
 And life is one long night the while — 
 
 Love ! bereft of thee 1 
 
 In dreams alone I see thee now 
 
 My Brave ! my gentle One ! 
 And feel thy kiss upon my brow — 
 
 1 wake, and thou art gone. 
 
122 PSILOBITI. 
 
 O Listen ! Listen ! barks to me, 
 
 And have my constant prayer 
 For pleasant passages at sea, 
 
 And winds both soft and fair. 
 
 SCEKE: 
 The Home of Haro. 
 
 Leon, mortally wounded is laid on a couch and dying. Andros 
 and Lismore supporting him. Haro and others watching. 
 
 Leon — Silently from out the shadow, 
 
 Slowly forms the beauteous shade, 
 
 And with loving awe I breathe her 
 Name, " Aria"^" ! " My sweet Maid "! 
 
 So I greeted her in young love 
 
 When o'er golden sands wei strayed. 
 
 Her hair waves o'er tier bosom. 
 
 As the sun-light o'er the snow. 
 And her eyes are like the dew-drops. 
 
 Throwing back the sun-light glow 1 
 But her blue eyes have the splendour 
 
 Neither sun nor dew-drops know. 
 * * * ii 
 
 Bear me with thee, gentle spirit, 
 
 Through the night of cloudless skies, 
 Past the silent stars that watch us — 
 
 Bear me with thee — let us rise. 
 
 » Abia — pron. AJi - ree - a. 
 
LOKD LiSMOEE. 123 
 
 I am weary— very weary, 
 
 And I long to flee away — 
 Ha ! Is that the morning breaking ? — 
 
 It is day ! Aria, — Day 1 
 
 Solus. 
 
 Lismore — 
 
 In such a pause as this, thought wanders far. 
 
 Far out upon that dim and mystic sea 
 
 Which laves the shores of Time, not all unheard 
 
 For ever and again some murmur breaks 
 
 The painful silence, as the gloaming breeze 
 
 Across the loch, comes with th' accompaniment 
 
 Of waters, soft as of ^olian harps 
 
 On night and solitude 1 
 
 So quiet music steals into the soul 
 
 From the Invisible, the far-off shore, 
 
 As if some vanished hand had lightly touched 
 
 A chord or two upon its golden harp, 
 
 Reminding of undying sympathies. 
 
 Then, as on southern seas, when day-light fails, 
 And countless stars at once leap forth on night, 
 So the dark hour of nature's desolation. 
 Finds angels gathering as comforters ! 
 Encircling us around, though all unseen, 
 And most observant of our patient effort, 
 Our heart-break at the burial of our hopes, 
 Our day of war and toil with contradiction, 
 
124 PSILORITI. 
 
 Our lengthen'd conflict with the biting tongues 
 That aim suppression of each generous thought 
 And robbery of the virtue of our best, 
 Our most unselfish action. 
 
 SCENE: 
 In the grounds of the Hall. A bold and majestic view. 
 
 In the hack ground are awe-inspiring vwuntains, ravines, and 
 torrents, Eden-like nooks and terraces. 
 
 Andros alone in Archer Costume. 
 
 'Twas in this garb, in the brave days of old, 
 Went forth our fathers to the Trojan War, 
 And won them high renown, and victory, 
 Insured through their unerring aim. 
 And all the stories told of William Tell, 
 The patriot switzer, can be equalled here. 
 When, on a winter's night around our hearths 
 The hardy Sphakiots let loose their tongues, 
 
 {Lara calls in the distance) 
 Andros ! Andros ! Where art thou ? 
 Enter Lara. 
 
 Lara. — Ha ! Whom have we here ? — Andros, 
 How beautiful art thou, and thus accoutred ! 
 That light romantic dress doth suit thee well! 
 Thou conjurest up the visions of the past, 
 When we the brothers were in arms, of Greeks. 
 Dost thou not feel the spirits of the past 
 
Andbos and Laba. 125 
 
 Start from those weird looking heights up there 
 To watch thee shoot, my Andros ? 
 
 Andros. — Thou art merrj' this morning, Lara ! 
 
 Lara. — " My bosom's lord sits lightly on his throne, 
 And all this day an unaccustomed spirit 
 Lifts me above the ground with cheerful thoughts." 
 But Andros, thou art pale and wild I 
 What is it, man, that moves thee ? 
 
 Andros. — I like not thy quotation — round it gathers 
 Ill-omened memories — Remember Romeo 
 Was near his end when speaking thus, my Lara. 
 " Men have been merry at the point of death." 
 Lara we all have foes, the present short lived truce 
 Will not debar from harming us. — Beware ! 
 
 Lara- — I'll give thee one from Hamlet then 
 Since my first essay doth not please. 
 " We do defy augury I There's a special providence 
 
 in the fall of a sparrow. 
 If it be now, 'tis not to come ; if it be not to come, 
 
 it will be now ; if it be not now, yet it will come. 
 The readiness is all." 
 
 Andros. — " Thou canst not think how ill all's here 
 About my heart," my Lara. 
 That's another quotation for thee. 
 
 f^ara. — Thou canst not fright me by thy fantasies. 
 
126 PSILOBITI. 
 
 SCENE: 
 Night. A grave-yard in the valley. 
 
 Lara is seen kneeling by a grave. Soft music in the air. 
 
 Lara slowly rises and comes forward. 
 
 EAST night I dreamed a dream — a lovely dream — 
 I stood upon the margin of that river, 
 Whose clear and fertilizing stream 
 
 Makes glad the City of our God forever. 
 
 I saw the souls of those my childhood loved, 
 And many that I scarcely hoped to see ! — 
 
 Some hidden virtue that the King approved, 
 Had surely meetened them ! — They greeted me. 
 
 I saw them range the river-banks, and on 
 Their outstretched wings float o'er the golden 
 plain, 
 
 Or upward rise to where the zenith shone, 
 In dazzling splendour o'er the vast domain. 
 
 The river sparkled like a silver sea, 
 
 Or glowed with colours of a sunset sky, 
 
 And there were loving eyes that thrilled through me 
 Like flash of diamond as they flitted by. 
 
 Ah ! there was music ! Music everywhere ! — 
 At times like tinkling fall of fountain spray. 
 
 Anon, like bells that call to evening prayer, 
 Distinct and near, then melting far away. 
 
A NiQHT Scene. 127 
 
 I saw nor sun, nor moon, nor light of star, 
 Yet light and beauty shone in all around — 
 
 Mysterious light and beauty! — sweeter far 
 
 Then aught beheld on earth, and more profound — 
 
 A perfect peace brooded all heavenly things, 
 Calm as the sea-bird when she folds her wings. 
 
 Enter a young Frenchman, a volunteer, thoughtfully. Seeing 
 Lara, he swiftly draws aside. 
 
 Frenchman — Yes it was he who led us — the brave youth \ 
 * * * * 
 
 Down the rose garden, by the myrtle -trees, 
 Cold, clear and musical the streamlet runs 
 Beneath the summer moon, where nightingales 
 In long impassioned strains of burning love 
 Sing, filling all the night with melody. 
 
 There is a spot which Lara often haunts — 
 A place where the path leads us round a grave. 
 And where the roses thick and fragrant grow, 
 And flowering shrubs and clinging parasites 
 Twisting about the tender shadowing trees 
 Breathe out their perfume, there was Lara I 
 He stood ! and on his dark ethereal face, 
 And down into the depths of the dark eyes. 
 There played a light unknown to garish day, 
 'Twas that strange chastened light that falls on 
 
 things 
 That eyes of ours but seldom may behold. 
 
128 Pbilobiti. 
 
 He wore his armour 'neath his ample cloak, 
 Which now thrown back revealed the golden belt, 
 From which suspended hung his Syrian blade, 
 Scabbard and girdle glittering with gems 
 'Neath the soft moonbeams sporting over him. 
 Mon Dieu ! but he was beautiful, the youth, 
 The princely youth, the gentle warrior. 
 The smiter of swift blows, the peerless rider. 
 Who now alone with night, seemed not of earth, 
 But an Ithuriel, guarding paradise! 
 
 I stood close to him but he saw me not, 
 And seeing, in the mood that was upon him 
 He wanted no companion, I withdrew 
 So silently, I never stirred or broke 
 His chain of thought. 
 
 Hola ! Who are these ? 
 
 {The figures of men are seen moving among the trees.) 
 
 {He stands and speaks aside.) 
 
 I am fated to be an eaves-dropper this night ! 
 They are a villainous looking crew I Can they mean 
 mischief? 
 
 {He watches their movements.) 
 Ha! Scelerat! {aloud.) {Draws his sword and rushes off.) 
 Lara discovered kneeling by a grave. 
 {Soft music heard in the air.) 
 
A Night Soenb. 129 
 
 Maufaz rising from behind the pillar of a monument stabs 
 Lara in the back as he kneels. Lara springs to his feet, dagger 
 in hand and Maufaz falls dead. Two of the Kurds rush on 
 him sword in hand. The young Frenchman rushes in and cuts 
 one of them down, then turning, confronts the remainder, revolver 
 in hand, while Lara runs the other Kurd through the body and 
 then leans fainting on the tomb — falls — and dies. 
 
 The forms of bright ministering spirits hover round him, and 
 this verse in musical variations is sung— echoed — and re-echoed 
 — dying away in the far off distance as they slowly vanish with 
 the soul of Lara :— 
 
 Morning breaketh on the Soul! — 
 Backward borne on land and sea, 
 
 All the clouds and shadows roll 
 Thou art free ! 
 
 Enter Haro, Andros and Attendants. 
 
 Andros takes the body of Lara in his arms. 
 
 Andros — The Turk, again hath drunk of sacrifice, 
 And saints and angels— God himself looked on 
 And did not strike the damned murderer ! 
 
 Haro. — Andros, be silent ! Look around my boy ! 
 How ill-advised such words let these dead say. 
 
 The young French volunteer comes forward sword in hand and 
 kicks the body of Maufaz. 
 
 This villain fell beneath the hand of Lara. 
 Not sooner felt the youth the assassin's blade, 
 Than up he sprung, and 'twas the tiger's spring :— 
 
ISO PfilLOBITI. 
 
 His dagger flashed in air and Maiifaz fell ! 
 That instant these two rascals on him leaped 
 And met as swift a death. One fell to me, 
 The other to mon ami, my poor friend ! 
 
 (Falls on Haro's shoulder weepinq.) 
 
 SCENE: 
 
 Two English gentlemen having a quiet pipe together, in their 
 cabin, 
 
 isi Gentleman — There will be a diversity of opiniori 
 expressed in England about our business here in Crete. 
 "We may prepare ourselves for the stigma of " Filibus- 
 ters," and all the terms of the same category, and 
 probably the British Government will be called upon to 
 take "severe notice " of our interference in the affairs of 
 *' a friendly Power — Our ancient and faithful ally, the 
 amiable Sultan." Some few may say that we have 
 acted a part which strengthens their faith in the noble 
 British Race, let us hope. 
 
 2nd Gentleman — Yes, the best of actions invariably 
 call forth widely divergent criticism, 1 am reminded of 
 an incident that came under my own special observation, 
 and I shall never forget it. 
 
 'Twas at the close of a long summer-day, 
 As holy twilight, stealing calmly down 
 Whispered of peace and rest, I stood beside 
 A man the world knew not, nor cared to know ; 
 But all who knew him, thanked their God for him. 
 
Two EkQLISH GEKTIiEUEK. 131 
 
 He slept his last long sleep, a tender smile 
 Yet lingering on the face, as might a ray 
 Of glory linger on some mountain crest 
 While all below is night — lifeless and cold. 
 Between the curtains of the dark'ning room, 
 Whose windows stood ajar, came in the air 
 Heavy with scents of cottage-garden flowers — 
 Old English flowers that he so fondly loved. 
 And now their choicest incense freely giving. 
 With them that nestled in his bosom there — 
 Sweet, tender children of the gladsome day, 
 The dew yet glittering on their eye-lids, like 
 The tears wherewith bereaved Beauty weeps 
 The love that's gone for aye — 
 
 ■^ Nor these alone, 
 
 For, there were " broken vessels," broken hearts ! 
 Like Mary's shattered casket, pouring forth 
 The fragrance, earthly treasure could not buy. 
 They told how he, now in the coffin sleeping, 
 Had eyes been to the blind, feet to the lame. 
 Had wept in sympathy with weeping ones, 
 And how his soul grieved at the poor man's cry. 
 On him came oft the blessing of the wretch 
 Ready to perish, and this man had caused 
 The lonely widow's heart to sing for joy ; 
 " But trouble came when they so looked for peace, 
 And, while they watched and waited for the ligh 
 Behold! the sickness, wasting, and — the gravel" 
 Who was this man, that laid him down to sleep 
 
132 Pbilohti. 
 
 In the noon of life ? — who might have seen old age. 
 And children's children gathering around, 
 While he went gently down at Eventide 
 With the " Good Shepherd " to the peaceful fold ? — 
 Who — What, was he ? 
 
 " A man who killed himself" I — 
 So said the smug and comfortable world — 
 " By burning life's short candle at both ends" 
 It also said, he'd " acted like the moth, 
 That shoots on quiet domesticity, 
 Disturbing families with noisy wing, 
 By mad and frantic efforts, finally 
 It reaches, strikes against the burning lamp, 
 Circles around, then plunges madly down, 
 And sinks, consumed in ashes — so did he! 
 See how preposterous, those religionists 1 " 
 
 Ah, vain and selfish ! The ungodly found 
 This man true metal. He disturbed their quiet. 
 In hours of darkness or of moral weakness, 
 He acted out his principles of Faith. 
 He warned of danger to escape, of good 
 To be pursued, and a new heart to gain. 
 But he could soothe, and comfort, and bring peace 
 To broken hearted penitence, and win 
 
 A love stronger than death ! 
 
 To those who had consorted with this man, 
 
 And shared his noble purposes, he seemed 
 
 " The star, by whom the lights of heaven are led." 
 
In the Hall op Haro. 133 
 
 Their very nature was transformed — attuned 
 To the Divine, and in their inmost soul 
 They felt ; — that all who yearn and thirst for good, 
 The highest good — Are one forevermore. 
 
 Enter a messenger, hastily. — " For God's sake, Gentle- 
 men, come up to the Hall. Our dear Lara is murdered I" 
 
 SCENE : In the Hall of Haro. 
 
 Those solemn moments, no one stirred — none spake. 
 They hushed their very breath, and seemed as dead. 
 Till Haro whispered " Dia draweth near !'' 
 And Andros turning now beheld his wife 
 And in her eyes a strange wild agony. 
 * * * * 
 
 Her trembling hands withdrew the coverlet, 
 And in a moment on her sight there flashed 
 The startling truth, and half unconsciously, 
 While brow and dimpled cheek were deathly pale, 
 Around the smooth, fair neck she twinedher arms, 
 And on the marble brow and icy cheek 
 She pressed her own warm lips, then tenderly 
 But swiftly re-arranged the coverlet 
 And silently withdrew. 
 
 ¥ * * * 
 
 Haro now took a casket from the neck — 
 
 'Twas bathed in blood — a dark red smear 
 
 Passed o'er the shoulders 'neath the scarf of blue, — 
 
134 PSILOEITI. 
 
 And Andros saw his own face there revealed ! 
 And on the clasp of gold, inlaid with pearl, 
 Some loving hand had graved : — " My Brother 
 Andros." 
 
 Re-enter Did and kneels beside Andros. 
 
 Dia — Andros, my love, look up ! She is not dead ! 
 No ! such as she die not. She truly lives — 
 Oh, never, never more intensely lived 
 Than now ! 
 
 Her voice now mingles with the mighty voice 
 Of Martyrs who beneath the Altar cry 
 "Avenge of Lord — Thy slaughtered saints ! 
 Avenge I " — 
 
 Oh ! I am agonised with this most foul — 
 This most atrocious murder. 
 
 Thus Dii pleaded and she overcame — 
 
 For woman's love doth overcome at last ; 
 
 And Andros realised the sinfulness 
 
 Of his most wild, impossible suggestion, 
 
 That God doth unconcernedly behold 
 
 Our full o'erflowing cup of misery, 
 
 He rose and staggered to a marble bench 
 
 Then bowed his head, and broken heart, upon 
 
 His Dia's bosom, weeping bitterly. 
 
The Priest's SomoQUT. 135 
 
 The Priest's Soliloquy. 
 
 The way that noble souls win victory 
 Is through the valley of humility. 
 There get they power and splendid faculty 
 Of character that never can be hid. 
 There silent, unassertive blooms the flower 
 That needs no voice to lure the traveller ; 
 Its scent is on the air. The hum of bees, 
 And song of birds. And many feet ere now, 
 Have worn a pathway to that beauteous shrine 
 Of humble life, and left their footprints there, 
 Before they went up higher. 
 
 Another way is that of suffering I 
 
 Incessant as the " sufferings of Lint' " — 
 
 Lint scraped and torn — fibre from fibre rent, 
 
 Till the original fabric is marred. 
 
 Tortured and heckled into shapelessness ; 
 
 But through that process made a gracious thing, 
 
 To soothe our wounds, however they may smart — 
 
 Touching them softly, and all comforting. 
 
 And staunching of their tears untimely flow. 
 
 So men through suffering — " Sufferings of Lint,'' 
 
 Are qualified for grandest ministry 
 
 Of solace in affliction. Comforting 
 
 By that wherewith themselves are comforted 
 
 Of God. 
 
 * Greek expression. 
 
136 PSILORITI. 
 
 The way of Christ was by Gethsemane, 
 And o'er the awful crest of Calvary, 
 And by the cross he went down to the grave ; 
 But went down to ascend, opening the way — 
 Throwing a bridge across the dread abyss 
 That separates this world of ours from heaven, 
 And us from purer, brighter, larger life. 
 
 SCENE: 
 
 Tht Hall of Haw in the mountains. Terraced gardens, 
 marble fountains ; and in the distance the blue sea on which is 
 the setting sun. 
 
 Far off, the sound of sprightly music floats, 
 
 Of feathered songsters. Woods and glens are full 
 
 Of rapturous melody and busy life. 
 
 From woodland, grove and vineyard, every breath 
 That sighs or whispers in the myrtle trees 
 Brings with it odours sweet of many flowers, 
 And splash, and tinkle of the marble fountains — 
 So falls the evening of a mournful day, 
 Breathing of beauty, peace and love. 
 
 ■■ In a darkened room she rests 
 
 As though but sleeping — fair and cold is she ! 
 A ray of sunset from the latticed blinds 
 Illumining her form, and quivering on 
 The heads of those who kneel around and pray. 
 
 In statue grace, delicately moulded limbs 
 
The Hall of Haeo. VA7 
 
 Rigid — cold — pallid — but with nought like death, 
 She rests at last. 
 
 The loveliness so tender hath not fled I 
 
 Death felt instinctively enough was done, 
 
 And stayed his hand at this. 
 
 While heaven, in giving us this benison — 
 
 This light at eventide, smiles its approval. 
 
 Weep ! — but in hope. Beauty like this, dies not ! — 
 
 Alas for human hearts if such could die, 
 
 Attainments made on earth 
 
 Are carried forward on the golden page 
 Up yonder ! Knowledge, holiness acquired, 
 In many a scene of conflict, trial here, 
 Transferred ; and there shall form the starting point 
 On the Illimitable. 
 
 Love recognises not 
 A limit to her life. The flower that falls 
 From where it nestled in her bosom, falls 
 Upon a stream that still pursues its way 
 When hid beneath th' o'ershadowing arch. 
 Her eager eye chastened by rushing tears, 
 And purified and strengthened ; fixes on 
 That other portal quick as thought. 
 And sees her flower emerge rejoicing on 
 A course that ne'er had stayed when lost to sight, 
 And now goes on, and or, in perfect day. 
 
 The sun went down. Uprose the yellow moon, 
 And took her way across an opal sky, 
 
138 PSILORITI. 
 
 On which her shining guards the solemn stars 
 Were gathering in their thousands, reverently 
 To softest music — music of the spheres — 
 Doing fit honour to the queen of night. 
 
 Andros, with haggard face and tangled hair 
 Stood 'neath those beauteous stars— looked on the 
 
 night, 
 Saw in the distance, like a mirror, flash 
 The ocean that he loved. He heard the tones, 
 The dulcet tones of well played mandolin. 
 Mingled with songs of his loved nightingales. < 
 He turned and fled ; and hurrying swiftly in, 
 They who came forth parted to give him place ; 
 Then in the darkened room be disappeared, 
 Within — Alone. 
 
 Hours passed ere Haro came. 
 And found him fallen on his sister's bier — 
 Head buried in the dark locks that spread o'er 
 Her bosom cold. 
 
 His arms around her clenched as ne'er to part 
 And sobbing as the strong man only can 
 When perilously near the precipice 
 That overhangs the gulf of wild despair. 
 
 Slowly he raised his head when Haro spoke — 
 For Andros, Haro's voice had winning charm — 
 And he magnetic influence — be listened — 
 
The Home of Haro. 1S9 
 
 Loosened his locked arms then, and rose 
 With softened eyes and Jips. 
 
 The old chief took 
 And laid the drooping head upon his breast, 
 And threw around him his upholdmg arms 
 Then led him forth, with inward satisfaction 
 Because his Andros wept, and freely wept. 
 That rush of tears had saved the Reason, which 
 For many hours had trembled on her throne. 
 
 The burial of Aide. Flowers and Orange-blossom adorn the 
 grave, the mourners, and the people. 
 
 [Anthem sung) 
 
 " These are they that came out of great tribulation, and 
 have washed their robes, and made them white in the blood of 
 ike Lamb." 
 
 They waited for thee on the golden plain ! 
 And when was come our parting hour, 
 They bore thee home. 
 Charming the lingering fear away. 
 Mild beamed at first their deathless ray. 
 
 [Musical interval ) 
 
 [Chant resumed.) 
 
 When Psiloriti sunk in night 
 Far flashed the beams of Orient light, 
 And louder pealed each voice and string — 
 And so they led thee to the King. 
 
140 PfiiLORin. 
 
 Lifting the coffin, they transport it to the side of the grave to 
 the sound of melancholy music. Long palm branches are then 
 laid on the lid, symbolising the victory of faith. Then theptiest 
 with musical accompaniment intones the following sentences : — 
 
 " We bring her to be entombed with the dead and 
 
 for a season to abide in the grave. 
 " Separated from her kinsfolk and friends, to her, O 
 
 Lord, vouchsafe peace and rest. 
 " She hears no more the voice of the oppressor, nor 
 
 the sighs of the oppressed. 
 " The soul hath quitted its dwelling place. It hath 
 
 vanished, and Death causes the flower of youth to 
 
 wither away ; but the flowers bloom again when 
 
 the winter is past and gone. Even so our flowers, 
 
 in the paradise of God. Amen. 
 " Come, let us give her the last kiss, and render thanks 
 
 to God. She recketh no more of vanities and fleshly 
 
 toil. Come and kiss her, who but awhile ago was 
 
 amongst us." 
 
 They file slowly past the coffin, each kneeling and Tiissing the 
 hands and face of the dead. A s this ceremony proceeds, it is 
 accompanied with plaintive music. Then comes the funeral 
 hymn, which is put into the mouth of the deceased herself. 
 
 [Music — pathetic and touching. y 
 
 " Behold me lying here, silent, and lifeless ! Weep 
 over me, friends, and kinsfolk and acquaintances ; but 
 weep in hope. For if we believe that Jesus died and 
 rose again, so them also which sleep in Jesus will God 
 
Tbb End. U 
 
 bring with Him. Come, give me the last kiss. The las 
 kiss on earth. I cannot return it now. I kiss you n 
 more till I meet you again in my Father's Kingdom." 
 
 As the hymn closes, ike relatives slowly and reverently (i 
 throbbing, plaintive music) close the lid of the coffin, and raisin 
 it from the ground, the priest from a burning censer sprinkL 
 ashes mixed with thyme on the lid, repeating the while 
 " Ashes to ashes. Dust to dust. " 
 
 {Weird music, as the coffin is lowered into the grave.) 
 
 The ceremony concludes with the anthem 
 
 > " Blest are the departed. " 
 
 {Curtain.l 
 
 *The above is an adaptation of the Bnssian Litargy; but \7ith tlie 
 introduction of a larger hope. 
 
 THE END. 
 
M I S C E LLiA N E O U S . 
 
 IMPERIAti FBDEBATION 
 
 Speech of Mr. Chamherlain, the Colonial, Secretary, on the 
 
 eve of Lord Lamington's departure for QueenilaTid. 
 
 His voice, like that of silver clarion rang 
 
 Through the high hall, and fired our every vein ! 
 We breathed once more the prayer of him* vfho sang 
 
 To Britons o'er the sea this kindred strain : — 
 *' Heaven bless the man of comprehensive mind, 
 
 Who from afar, from varied soil and clime, 
 Explored— an Empire's various powers can bind, 
 
 And various orders in one form sublime 
 Of Polity," His fame shall outlive 'lime. 
 
 Our " company of nations " need not fear 
 
 The base intriguer's game, afar or near. 
 
 Swift flew the burning vfords under the deep. 
 
 Swifter than bird through the ambient air, 
 Fathoms deep down of eternal sleep. 
 
 And on, over caverns of beauty rare. 
 Arched and fringed with delicate plants. 
 
 And gem-tinted blossoms of pearly groves, 
 Where the weird and beautiful have their haunts. 
 
 And the merraaidens sing or sigh to their loves. 
 
 Till gained were the far Australian shores ; 
 
 They turned and flashed through the " Isles of the sea," 
 Where the " white cross " constellation soars. 
 
 And it bent like the lamps of the orange-tree, 
 
 In welcome of heaven-born federaoy. 
 
 I saw, as in a dream, confederate guests. 
 Gather around their loved and loving queen, 
 
 And the star-sparkle of their jewelled crests 
 Gave splendour to the gay and brilliant scene. 
 
 Thev came from stormy clime, from icy seas. 
 
 Where dense the mists hang on the mountain shelves, 
 And snow-clad stand the vasty forest-trees. 
 
 Halt the year silent ghosts or voiceless elves. 
 Others, from sunny calm, where Evening wakes. 
 
 And Night is not like night, but milder day, 
 When fairy boats glide over moon-lit lakes 
 
 To light-heart laughter, song, and music's sway. 
 
 Where moons have brighter silver, and the night 
 
 A fragrance as of many a flower enwreathed, 
 And stars have deeper intellectual light, 
 
 And lovers' words the sweetest ever breathed. 
 So came they — heirs of a resplendent Line ! 
 
 Their fathers' ways oft in the darkness trod, 
 Bnt now disparted golden links rejoin, 
 
 The chain that binds us to the throne of God. 
 • Emerson. 
 
In Memokiam of the late Mr. Than. Brooks, of South Elmsall, 
 
 Vuncaster, my very dear GoHeague in Sunday School work, 
 
 and other Christian ejhrti 
 
 SONNET. 
 The •' Silent Angel " wore no visage stern 
 
 On that calm Babbath Evening for ray friend ! — 
 He came— and soul-lit eyes at onoe discern 
 
 A Sabbath dawning that shall never end. 
 We weep, but weep in hope, the Good ! the Kind ! 
 
 And, ever after this, shall days of yore 
 Exert their influence, and firmly bind 
 
 Our souls to his, though hands we grasp no more. 
 Let us be patient. He who knows us best, 
 
 Hath bid us " watch " 1 Our night perchance is near I 
 Short Night, if coming day doth bring that Rest. 
 
 Whose contemplation shall dispel our fear. 
 And lift our eyes, like his, from scenes of sorrow, 
 To the glad meeting on the bright To-morrow. 
 
 THE BRITISH FLEET. 
 
 The British fleet ! The British fleet- 
 Warrior and merchant — ye, I greet 1 
 And hearty cheers of welcome, meet 
 All British ships at Sea, 
 Who bear the flag of high command 
 To isles afar, and stranger land. 
 The bannered "Cross" of Angle-land, 
 The flag of Liberty I 
 
 That glorious flag hath been unfurled 
 To help, to fclesB a struggling world, 
 Till Tyranny be downward hurled, 
 And Heaven-born Freedom rise, 
 Fair as the primal star of Night, 
 Leading her hosts of " kindly light " 
 Upward and on to splendour bright, 
 In wondering nation's eyes. 
 
 Where battle's thunder-cloud hath broke 
 On serried ranks, in fire and smoke — 
 Contending spear and sabre-stroke 
 Flashing like meeting waves — 
 There shone the flag, " Bed. white, and blue," 
 Borne — followed by the brave and true. 
 And when Death came, and Life withdrew. 
 It draped them to their graves. 
 
 Now floats it o'er our stately towers, 
 
 Our Holy Places, Homely bovvers. 
 
 Its waftures breathing hope, and powers 
 
 Beyond our own 1 
 
 In softer folds, the throne above, 
 
 It nestles to the Queen we love, 
 
 And whispers peace, when discords move 
 
 The men that wear a crown. 
 
Thund'ring leviathans sweep on 
 
 With cuirass'd heart's loud beat and tone I 
 
 Our graceful, ancient Order gone, 
 
 To you is left the sea. 
 
 The spirit of each ancient Sire 
 
 Your every mariner inspire, 
 
 To emulate his deeds— to fire 
 
 With high-souled chivalry. 
 
 THE LAST OF THE " SAILING SHIPS." 
 
 A lone bark sweeps through the moonlit isles 
 
 Of the dark blue Southern Sea ! 
 Light hearts on board, and beauty's smiles, 
 
 Music, and dance, and glee. 
 Softly fall on the listening ear 
 
 Of the night guard on our lee. 
 
 Eyes where the palm and the orange grow. 
 
 Look over the mirrored main. 
 And the hardy fisher hath ceased to row 
 
 From the spell of that midnight strain, 
 That holds him, like an Angelus 
 
 O'er the hills of his native Spain. 
 
 From yon Savannah of carpeting flowers, 
 The young come tripping and bright. 
 
 Pass scenes Elysian, fairy bowers, 
 Nor pause in their headlong flight. 
 
 Till the shore is gained and this bark of onrs 
 They cheer as " The Queen of Night. " 
 
 Arrow-like go the moon-beams down 
 
 To the shimmering depths below. 
 And bright and beautiful forms are shown 
 
 To the " Out-look " on the bow ; 
 But the form he loves — the loveliest there, 
 
 Is the bark that is passing now. 
 
 With sails out-spread like silvery wings 
 Whose feathers are touched with gold. 
 
 And the night air sighs and softly sings — 
 " Farewell to the days of old. 
 
 The pride of the sea is passing away, 
 And a splendid tale is told. " 
 
 And silence reigns as the moonlight fails — 
 
 No stir on the balm-fed air, 
 But the murmuring music of snow-white sails 
 
 Aloft — like a whispered prayer. 
 
 So she glided away, swan-like and pure. 
 
 That lovely vision of night I 
 Till the stars alone in their " clear obscure, " 
 
 Illumined the field of sight.