think it possible to return from the Grands Mulets the same day, but, at all events, the night is the most interesting time of the whole. He will there see enough to give him an idea, though an imperfect one, of the awful scenery which is only to be found above. He will have a splendid view during daylight, and (if he times his visit well) a glorious sunset and moonlight afterwards, and plenty of avalanches during the whole of his stay there. He will experience little danger of fatigue, and, moreover, he will have the distinction of being the first man who ever willingly halted at the Grands Mulets, or halfway-house, without the intention of proceeding further. GRANADA IN THE YEAR 1820. BY THE HONORABLE HOBART CRADOCK. O sacer et magnus Vatum labor, omnia fato LUCAN. Y ES! nations have their little span To boast awhile, and sink like man: Pelides struts his hour and dies, And TROY without a tombstone lies; "Twas but the ruddy drops that drip From the Ghoul's when his hated feast is o'er, More harmless now, the outworn dame Fasts once a week, and tells her beads, Y E'en Pallas saw her daughter droop, Obedient to her destiny. If still a loveliness was there, If still her cheek seemed young and fair, 'Twas but a hectic, which is oft, In bright deceit, Death's dearest hue; Those evening tints, so sweetly soft, Which sunset only brings to view. Freedom, that sun of life, is gone, And all is dark on Marathon. Oh, GREECE! how oft I've sighed to see The deepness of thy misery; How oft, when circled by the rude Bent sons of thy decrepitude, I've doubted all the storied page That makes thee great, and wise, and free, The Albion of thy studded sea! Who, gazing on thy helpless age, Recalls thee, as thou stood'st of old, Was heavenly, though it died on earth, And left its name and scent behind) Or, but when fancy's gorgeous wings Shake o'er our sleep a perfumed wind, Dream we these fabled things? What is that fire, that spreading bright Sea and shore were dark and dun All sound of human voice was still When the dreadful task begun; And it tinges the night with red, And it rises in pomp, for 'tis FREEDOM's star, Over PARGA's tower-crowned head. Yes! from the ashes of that fire A better dawn shall rise, Which soon shall mantle high and higher And wakening at the morning light, And shall rouse her like the Nazarite, But, men of Greece, remember ever, He, who a tyrant's chain would sever, He, who would free his land of birth, And six feet of his native earth Be welcome as her throne; There's a music upon the tongue that tells How the sons of GRANADA loved and sighed; There's a feverish thrill in the verse that swells O'er the rapture with which they fought and died; Oppressed, insulted, scorned, betrayed By treaties broke as soon as made, (Those cheap bright baits which sceptred knaves Throw to their own and their neighbor's slaves) The lordly conquerors of Spain Were outlaws in their own domain. They came upon the storm that hurled |