FROM THE ROMAIC OF CHRISTOPOULOS.
Orb of day, thus rising splendid,
Through the glowing realms of air!
Be thy course for once suspended,
For a message to my fair.
Two of thy bright rays be darted;
Let them, as the maid they greet,
Say, her lover, faithful-hearted,
Worships humbly at her feet.
He, of late so full of pleasure,
Tell her, now can scarce draw breath;
Living parted from his treasure,
He is like one sick to death.
Hour by hour, his pain enhancing,
Brings the final struggle near;
Death, with stealthy tread advancing,
Claims the spirit lingering here.
If he die, let her lament him;
Let her not forget the dead;
Let a message kind be sent him,
To the shores he now must tread.
If perchance where he is resting
In the cold and dreamless sleep,
She should pass, her steps arresting,
One soft tear there let her weep.
These, dear Sun, for me repeating,
Then pursue thy brilliant way;
But the words of this sad greeting,
O forget them not, I pray!

TO G. A. PERDICARIS.
We hail thee, Greek, from that far shore,
Young Freedom's chosen land of yore!
There were her first high Pæans poured—
There proved in fight her virgin sword—
There fell her eldest-martyr'd brave,
The heroes of the mount and wave!
We hail thee! Not a breast that burns
With but a spark of patriot fire,
But to thy country's altar turns,
And listens to thy country's lyre.
Grecian, forgive the idle thought!
We deemed old Hellas' spirit fled.
Yes! when thy brethren bravely fought
On plains where rest the immortal dead,
We scarce cast off the unworthy fear,
Scarce hoped that Greece might yet be free:
It seemed a boon too bright, too dear
For our degenerate age to see
A newly-won Thermopylæ.
And e'en if Grecian valor burst
Its chains, we little deemed thy clime
That generous intellect had nursed
That shone so bright in elder time.
But who could catch thy burning words,
The changes of thy speaking eye,
And deem that time, or tyrant swords
Could bid the Grecian spirit die?
Thanks for the lesson thou hast given!
It shows, where Freedom once hath dwelt,
Though every bolt of angry Heaven
Age after age should there be dealt,
There is a power they cannot kill;
The proud, free spirit of the race
Lives on through woe and bondage still,
The eternal Genius of the place.
Yes! Hear the lesson, distant lands,
Where Goth and Russ with iron rod
Press down and cramp in servile bands
The living images of God!
Hear, Poland! soon shall dawn the day
Of liberty and peace for thee!
And thou, where Rhine's blue waters play!
And thou, once glorious Italy!
And thou, my country, be thou true!
The great of former days arise,
The same bright path again pursue
That marked their ancient victories.
Greece is thy rival for renown!
Arouse thee to the noble strife!
Thou must not lose thy glory's crown,
Well won by many a hero's life!
No! Onward still, ye noble pair,
Each mindful of the illustrious past,
The struggle and the triumph share,
And ever may that triumph last!

B..

MS.S. OF BENJAMIN FRANKLIN.1