And the Seven Towers are scaled, and all is won and lost. "It is related as an authentic story, that a group "This building (the Castle of the Seven Tow- of Suliote women assembled on one of the preciers) is mentioned as early as the sixth century of pices adjoining the modern seraglio, and threw the Christian era, as a spot which contributed to their infants into the chasm below, that they the defence of Constantinople, and it was the prin- might not become the slaves of the enemy.”—Holcipal bulwark of the town on the coast of the Pro- land's Travels. &c. pontis, in the last periods of the empire.”—Pouqueville's Travels in the Morea.

Note 17, page 161, col. 1.

Preserved inviolate their awful fane.

See the account from Herodotus of the supernatural defence of Delphi.-Mitford's Greece, vol. i. p. 396, 7

Note 18, page 161, col. 2.

Who from the dead at Marathon arose.

"In succeeding ages the Athenians honoured Theseus as a demi-god, induced to it as well by other reasons, as because, when they were fighting the Medes at Marathon, a considerable part of the army thought they saw the apparition of Theseus completely armed, and bearing down before them upon the Barbarians."-Langhorne's Plutarch, Life of Theseus.

Or they whose forms, to Alaric's awe-struck eye. From Thermopyla to Sparta, the leader of the Goths (Alaric) pursued his victorious march without encountering any mortal antagonist, but one of the advocates of expiring paganism has confifidently asserted, that the walls of Athens were guarded by the goddess Minerva, with her formidable ægis, and by the angry phantom of Achilles, and that the conqueror was dismayed by the presence of the hostile deities of Greece."-Gibbon's Decline and Fall, &c. vol. v. p. 183.

Note 24, page 162, col. 2.

To lend their fall a mournful majesty.

The ruins of Sparta, near the modern town of Mistra, are very inconsiderable, and only sufficient to mark the site of the ancient city. The scenery around them is described by travellers as very striking.

Note 28, page 163, col. 2.

Its fruitful groves arise, revered and hallowed still. The olive, according to Pouqueville, is still regarded with veneration by the people of the Morea.

Note 29, page 163, col. 2.

Quenched is the torch of Ceres-all around.

It was customary at Eleusis on the fifth day of the festival, for men and women to run about with torches in their hands, and also to dedicate torches to Ceres, and to contend who should present the largest. This was done in memory of the journey of Ceres in search of Proserpine, during which she was lighted by a torch kindled in the flames of Etna.-Potter's Antiquities of Greece, vol. i. P. 392.

Note 30, page 164, col. 1.

Fount of Oblivion! in thy gushing wave.

in height, distance, and degrees of light and shade. In a moment they bent into arcades, like Roman aqueducts. A long cornice was next formed at the top, and above it rose innumerable castles, all perfectly alike; these again changed into towers, which were shortly after lost in colonnades, then windows, and at last ended in pines, cypresses and other trees."-Swinburne's Travels in the Two Sicilies

Note 34, page 165, col. 2.

Holy the amaranth strewed upon their grave. All sorts of purple and white flowers were sup posed by the Greeks to be acceptable to the dead, and used in adorning tombs; as amaranth, with which the Thessalians decorated the tomb of Achilles.-Potter's Antiquities of Greece, vol. ii. P. 232.

Note 35, page 165, col. 2.

Hark! Pericles records their honoured names. Pericles, on his return to Athens after the re

The Fountains of Oblivion and Memory, with the Hercynian fountain, are still to be seen amongst the rocks near Livadia, though the situa-duction of Samos, celebrated in a splendid manner tion of the cave of Trophonius in their vicinity can not be exactly ascertained.-See Holland's Travels.

Note 31, page 164, col. 2.

Fair Elis, o'er thy consecrated vales.

the obsequies of his countrymen who fell in that war, and pronounced, himself, the funeral oration usual on such occasions. This gained him great applause; and when he came down from the rostrum, the women paid their respects to him, and presented him with crowns and chaplets, like a

Elis was anciently a sacred territory, its inha-champion just returned victorious from the lists.— bitants being considered as consecrated to the ser- Langhorne's Plutarch, Life of Pericles. vice of Jupiter. All armies marching through it delivered up their weapons, and received them again when they had passed its boundary.

Note 32, page 164, col. 2.

And smile the longest in its lingering ray.

Note 36, page 166, col. 1.

Minerva's veil is rent-her image gone.

The peplus, which is supposed to have been suspended as an awning over the statue of Minerva, "We are assured by Thucydides that Attica Panathenaic festival; it was embroidered with in the Parthenon, was a principal ornament of the was the province of Greece in which population various colours, representing the battle of the Gods first became settled, and where the earliest pro-and Titans, and the exploits of Athenian heroes. gress was made toward civilization."-Mitford's When the festival was celebrated, the peplus was Greece, vol. i. p. 35.

Note 33, page 165, col. 1.

Raised by the magic of Morgana's wand.

brought from the Acropolis, and suspended as a sail to the vessel, which on that day was conducted through the Ceramicus and principal streets of Athens, till it had made the circuit of the Acrophe-polis. The peplus was then carried to the Parnomenon, which is thought by the lower orders thenon, and consecrated to Minerva.-See Chanof Sicilians to be the work of a fairy, is thus de- dler's Travels, Stewart's Athens, &-c. scribed by father Angelucci, whose account is

Fata Morgana. This remarkable aërial

quoted by Swinburne.

"On the 15th August, 1643, I was surprised, as I stood at my window, with a most wonderful

servation.

Note 37, page 166, col. 1.

Though with rich gold and massy sculpture graced. spectacle: the sea that washes the Sicilian shore still, according to Winckelmann, in high preThe gilding amidst the ruins of Persepolis is swelled up, and became, for ten miles in length, like a chain of dark mountains, while the waters near our Calabrian coast grew quite smooth, and in an instant appeared like one clear polished mirOn this glass was depicted, in chiaro scuro, a string of several thousands of pilasters all equal

ror.

Note 38, page 167, col. 1. There in each wreck imperishably glows. "In the most broken fragment the same great principle of life can be proved to exist, as in the

Wild Dartmoor! thou that, 'midst thy mountains | Guarding the dust which slumbers well beneath rude, (Nor needs such care) from each cold season's breath?

Hast robed thyself with haughty solitude,

As a dark cloud on Summer's clear-blue sky,
A mourner, circled with festivity!
For all beyond is life!-the rolling sea,

The rush, the swell, whose echoes reach not thee.
Yet who shall find a scene so wild and bare,
But man has left his lingering traces there?
E'en on mysterious Afric's boundless plains,
Where noon, with attributes of midnight reigns,
In gloom and silence, fearfully profound,
As of a world unwaked to soul or sound;
Though the sad wanderer of the burning zone
Feels, as amidst infinity, alone,

And nought of life be near; his camel's tread
Is o'er the prostrate cities of the dead!

Where is the voice to tell their tale who rest,
Thus rudely pillowed, on the desert's breast?
Doth the sword sleep beside them? Hath there been
A sound of battle 'midst the silent scene,
Where now the flocks repose? Did the scythed car
Here reap its harvest in the ranks of war?
And rise these piles in memory of the slain,
And the red combat of the mountain-plain?
It may be thus: the vestiges of strife,
Around yet lingering, mark the steps of life,
And the rude arrow's barb remains to tell(2)
How by its stroke perchance the mighty fell,
To be forgotten. Vain the warrior's pride,
The chieftain's power-they had no bard, and
died.(3)

But other scenes, from their untroubled sphere,

Some column, reared by long-forgotten hands,
Just lifts its head above the billowy sands--
Some mouldering shrine still consecrates the The eternal stars of night have witnessed here.

scene,

And tells that Glory's footstep there hath been.
There hath the spirit of the mighty passed,
Not without record; though the desert-blast,
Borne on the wings of Time, hath swept away
The proud creations, reared to brave decay.
But thou, lone region! whose unnoticed name
No lofty deeds have mingled with their fame,
Who shall unfold thine annals? Who shall tell
If on thy soil the sons of heroes fell,
In those far ages, which have left no trace,
No sunbeam on the pathway of their race?
Though, haply, in the unrecorded days

There stands an altar of unsculptured stone,(4)
Far on the moor, a thing of ages gone,
Propped on its granite pillars, whence the rains,
And pure bright dews, have laved the crimson
stains

Left by dark rites of blood: for here, of yore,
When the bleak waste a robe of forest wore,
And many a crested oak, which now lies low,
Waved its wild wreath of sacred misletoe;
Here, at dead midnight, through the haunted shade,
On Druid-harps the quivering moon-beam played,
And spells were breathed, that filled the deepening
gloom

Of kings and chiefs, who passed without their With the pale, shadowy people of the tomb.
praise,
Or, haply, torches waving through the night,

Thou might'st have reared the valiant and the Bade the red cairn-fires blaze from every height,(5) free,

In history's page there is no tale of thee.

Yet hast thou thy memorials. On the wild
Still rise the cairns of yore, all rudely piled,(1)
But hallowed by that instinct, which reveres
Things fraught with characters of elder years.
And such are these. Long centuries are flown,
Bowed many a crest and shattered many a throre,
Mingling the urn, the trophy, and the bust,
With that they hide--their shrined and treasured
dust:

Men traverse Alps and Oceans, to behold

Like battle-signals, whose unearthly gleams
Threw o'er the desert's hundred hills and streams,
A savage grandeur; while the starry skies
Rung with the peal of mystic harmonies,
As the loud harp its deep-toned hymns sent forth,
To the storm-ruling powers, the war-gods of the
North.

But wilder sounds were there: th' imploring cry,
That woke the forest's echo in reply,

But not the heart's!-Unmoved, the wizard train
Stood round their human victim, and in vain
His prayer for mercy rose; in vain his glance

Earth's glorious works fast mingling with her Looked up, appealing to the blue expanse,

mould:

But still these nameless chronicles of death,
'Midst the deep silence of the unpeopled heath,
Stand in primeval artlessness, and wear
The same sepulchral mien, and almost share
Th' eternity of nature, with the forms

Where, in their calm, immortal beauty, shone
Heaven's cloudless orbs. With faint and fainter

moan,

Bound on the shrine of sacrifice he lay,
Till, drop by drop, life's current ebbed away;
Till rock and turf grew deeply, darkly red,

Of the crowned hills beyond, the dwellings of the And the pale moon gleamed paler on the dead.

storms.

Yet, what avails it, if each moss-grown heap Still on the waste its lonely vigils keep,

Have such things been, and here?—where stillness dwells

'Midst the rude barrows and the moorland swells,

Were of sweet homes, by chainless mountain- Might, when the billow's awful rush was o'er,

To whom guilt owes one late, but dreadful hour, Who woke those passions to delirious life;