Thus circled round the song of glee,

And all was tuneful mirth the while, Save on the cheeks of some, whose smile, As fix'd they gaze upon the sea, Turns into paleness suddenly!

What see they there? a bright blue light

That, like a meteor, gliding o'er The distant wave, grows on the sight,

As though 'twere wing'd to Zea's shore.

To some, 'mong those who came to gaze,
It seem'd the night-light, far away,
Of some lone fisher, by the blaze

Of pine torch, luring on his prey;
While others, as, 'twixt awe and mirth,

They breathed the bless'd Panaya's' name, Vow'd that such light was not of earth,

But of that drear, ill-omen'd flame, Which mariners see on sail or mast, When Death is coming in the blast. While marv'ling thus they stood, a maid, Who sat apart, with downcast eye, Nor yet had, like the rest, survey'd

That coming light which now was nigh, Soon as it met her sight. with cry

Of pain-like joy, ""Tis he! 'tis he!" Loud she exclaim'd, and, hurrying by

The assembled throng, rush'd tow'rds the sea.

At burst so wild, alarm'd, amazed,

All stood, like statues, mute, and gazed
Into each other's eyes, to seek

What meant such mood, in maid so meek?

Till now,
the tale was known to few,
But now from lip to lip it flew :-
A youth, the flower of all the band,

Who late had left this sunny shore,
When last he kiss'd that maiden's hand,
Ling'ring, to kiss it o'er and o'er,
By his sad brow too plainly told

Th' ill-omen'd thought which cross'd him then,

That once those hands should loose their hold,

They ne'er would meet on earth again!

In vain his mistress, sad as he,
But with a heart from Self as free
As gen'rous woman's only is,
Veil'd her own fears to banish his :-
With frank rebuke, but still more vain,
Did a rough warrior, who stood by,
Call to his mind this martial strain,
His favorite once, ere Beauty's eye
Had taught his soldier-heart to sigh:-

1 The name which the Greeks give to the Virgin Mary.

SONG.

MARCH! nor heed those arms that hold thee,
Though so fondly close they come;
Closer still will they enfold thee,

When thou bring'st fresh laurels home.
Dost thou dote on woman's brow?

Dost thou live but in her breath? March!-one hour of victory now

Wins thee woman's smile till death.

Oh, what bliss, when war is over,

Beauty's long-miss'd smile to meet, And, when wreaths our temples cover, Lay them shining at her feet! Who would not, that hour to reach,

Breathe out life's expiring sigh,Proud as waves that on the beach

Lay their war-crests down, and die

There! I see thy soul is burning

She herself, who clasps thee so, Paints, ev'n now, thy glad returning, And, while clasping, bids thee go. One deep sigh, to passion given, One last glowing tear, and thenMarch!-nor rest thy sword, till Heaven Brings thee to those arms again.

Even then, ere loath their hands could part, A promise the youth gave, which bore Some balm unto the maiden's heart,

That, soon as the fierce fight was o'er, To home he'd speed, if safe and freeNay, ev'n if dying, still would come, So the blest word of "Victory!"

Might be the last he'd breathe at home, "By day," he cried, "thou'lt know my bark; "But, should I come through midnight dark, "A blue light on the prow shall tell "That Greece hath won, and all is well!"

Fondly the maiden, every night,

Had stolen to seek that promised light; Nor long her eyes had now been turn'd From watching, when the signal burn'd. Signal of joy-for her, for all

Fleetly the boat now nears the land, While voices, from the shore-edge, call For tidings of the long-wish'd band.

Oh the blest hour, when those who've been Through peril's paths by land or sea,