Rock, river, forest, mountain, all abound,
And bluest skies that harmonize the whole :

Beneath, the distant torrent's rushing sound
Tells where the volumed cataract doth roll

Between those hanging rocks, that shock, yet please, the soul.
Amidst the grove that crowns yon tufted hill,

Which, were it not for many a mountain nigh,
Rising in lofty ranks, and loftier still,

Might well itself be deemed of dignity,
The convent's white walls glisten fair on high:
Here dwells the caloyer," nor rude is he,

Nor niggard of his cheer; the passer by
Is welcome still; nor heedless will he flee
From hence, if he delight kind Nature's sheen to see.
Here in the sultriest season let him rest,

Fresh is the green beneath those aged trees;
Here winds of gentlest wing will fan his breast,
From Heaven itself he may inhale the breeze:
The plain is far beneath-oh! let him seize
Pure pleasure while he can; the scorching ray
Here pierceth not, impregnate with disease:
Then let his length the loitering pilgrim lay,
And gaze, untired, the morn, the noon, the eve, away.

Dusky and huge, enlarging on the sight,
Nature's volcanic amphitheatre,t

Chimera's alps, extend from left to right:

Beneath, a living valley seems to stir;

Flocks play, trees wave, streams flow, the mountain-fir

Nodding above: behold black Acheron!

Once consecrated to the sepulchre.

Pluto! if this be hell I look upon,

Close shamed Elysium's gates, my shade shall seek for none!

nania and Ætolia may contest the palm. Delphi, Parnassus, and, in Attica, even Cape Colonna and Port Raphti, are very inferior; as also every scene in Ionia, or the Troad: I am almost inclined to add the approach to Constantinople; but, from the different features of the last, a comparison can hardly be made.

The Greek monks are so called.

↑ The Chimariot mountains appear to have been volcanic.

Ne city's towers pollute the lovely view;

Unseen is Yanina, though not remote,

Veiled by the screen of hills: here men are few,
Scanty the hamlet, rare the lonely cot;

But, peering down each precipice, the goat
Browseth; and, pensive o'er his scattered flock,
The little shepherd in his white capote*

Doth lean his boyish form along the rock,

Or in his cave awaits the tenpest's short-lived shock.

But the most striking picture which the poem presents is that of the Serai and dwelling-place of Ali Pacha:

The sun had sunk behind vast Tomerit,

And Laos, wide and fierce, came roaring by ;t
The shades of wonted night were gathering yet,
When, down the steep banks winding warily,
Childe Harold saw, like meteors in the sky,
The glittering minarets of Tepalen,

Whose walls o'erlook the stream; and, drawing nigh,
He heard the busy hum of warrior-inen

Swelling the breeze that sighed along the lengthening glen.
He passed the sacred Harem's silent tower,

And underneath the wide o'erarching gate.
Surveyed the dwelling of this chief of power,
Where all around proclaimed his high estate.
Amidst no common pomp the despot sate,

While busy preparation shook the court,

Slaves, eunuchs, soldiers, guests, and santons, wait;
Within, a palace; and without, a fort:

Here men of every clime appear to make resort.

Richly caparisoned, a ready row

Of armed horse, and many a warlike store,
Circled the wide-extending court below:

Above, strange groups adorned the corridore;

Albanese cloak.

† The river Laos was full at the time the author passed it; and, immediately above Tepalen, was to the eye as wide as the Thames at Westminster; at least in the opinion of the author and his fellow-traveller, Mr. Hobhouse. In the summer it must be much narrower. It certainly is the finest river in the Levant; neither Achelous, Alpheus, Acheron, Scamander, nor Cayster, approached it in breadth or beauty.

And oft-times through the Area's echoing door Some high-capped Tartar spurred his steed away:

The Turk, the Greek, the Albanian, and the Moor,

Here mingled in their many-hued array,

While the deep war-drum's sound announced the close of day.
The wild Albanian, kirtled to his knee,
With shawl-girt head and ornamented gun,
And gold-embroidered garments, fair to see;
The crimson-scarfed men of Macedon;
The Delhi with his cap of terror on,
And crooked glaive; the lively supple Greek;
And swarthy Nubia's mutilated son;
The bearded Turk that rarely deigns to speak,
Master of all around, too potent to be meek;

Are mixed conspicuous: some recline in groups,
Scanning the motley scene that varies round;
There some grave Moslemn to devotion stoops,
And some that smoke, and some that play, are found;
Here the Albanian proudly treads the ground;
Half-whispering there the Greek is heard to prate;

Hark! from the mosque the nightly solemn sound,
The Muezzin's call doth shake the minaret,

"There is no god but God!-to prayer-lo! God is great!"
Here woman's voice is never heard apart,
And scarce permitted, guarded, veiled, to move,
She yields to one her person and her heart,
Tamed to her cage, nor feels a wish to rove:
For, not unhappy in her master's love,

And joyful in a mother's gentlest cares,

Blest cares! all other feelings far above!

Herself more sweetly rears the babe she bears,

Who never quits the breast, no meaner passion shares.
The old barbarian himself is thus introduced:

In marble-paved pavilion, where a spring
Of living water from the centre rose,
Whose bubbling did a genial freshness fling,
And soft voluptuous couches breathed repose,

Ali reclined, a man of war and woes ;

Yet in his lineaments ye cannot trace,

While Gentleness her milder radiance throws

Along that aged venerable face,

The deeds that lurk beneath, and stain him with disgrace.

It is not that yon hoary lengthening beard
Ill suits the passions which belong to youth;
Love conquers age-so Hafiz hath averred,

So sings the Teian, and he sings in sooth-
But crimes that scorn the tender voice of Ruth,
Beseeming all men ill, but most the man

In years, have marked him with a tiger's tooth;
Blood follows blood, and, through their mortal span,
In bloodier acts conclude those who with blood began.

The particulars of this old man's bloodstained life, and the manner of his death, which befitted such a life, are already before the public. Perhaps, however, as an anecdote which is told by Mr. Hobhouse, in his Travels,' is not, we believe, very generally known, and as it serves, as well as a volume could, to illustrate Ali's façon d'agir, we may be permitted here to insert it:

One of the traveller's guides was talking of Ali Pacha, and said that he had often been engaged in warfare against him, with others of his own tribe.' Among other exploits the man said that he went once with a party of marauders to Ali's house, hoping to surprise it; but, being disappointed, they only broke all his windows by firing on them, and retired.' And how was the quarrel at last ended ?' asked Mr. Hobhouse, the guide being at this time a subject of the Pacha's. "Ob,' replied the man, Ali invited our chief to go and see him, which he did; and, when he was in his power, Ali put him upon a spit, and roasted him-and then we submitted.'

Lord Byron's liking for the Albanians seems to have been very strong: he saw in them a striking resemblance, as he thought, to the Highlanders of Scotland. We must confess that, excepting the circumstance of their both wearing kilts, ('There is a river at Monmouth, look you; and, moreover, there is a river at Macedon,) we cannot see upon what this supposed resemblance is founded. For his attachment to them he gives much better reasons. Their courage, hospitality,

and fidelity, are highly estimable, and all of these Lord Byron had occasion to prove. He was once driven by stress of weather

On the coast of Suli's shaggy shore,

and most warmly received by the people. He afterwards engaged some of them as a body-guard, when to travel alone through the mountain passes of their country would have been dangerous, and was served by them with more honorable fidelity than he would, perhaps, have experienced from a more civilized race. In the following war song Lord Byron has endeavored to convey some idea of the poetry of this singular people:

Tambourgi! Tambourgi !* thy 'larum afar
Gives hope to the valiant, and promise of war;
All the sons of the mountains arise at the note,
Chimariot, Illyrian, and dark Suliote!

Oh! who is more brave than a dark Suliote,
In his snowy camese and his shaggy capote?

To the wolf and the vulture he leaves his wild flock,

And descends to the plain like the stream from the rock.

Shall the sons of Chimari, who never forgive
The fault of a friend, bid an enemy live?

Let those guns so unerring such vengeance forego?
What mark is so fair as the breast of a foe?
Macedonia sends forth her invincible race;
For a time they abandon the cave and the chase;
But those scarfs of blood-red shall be redder, before
The sabre is sheathed and the battle is o'er.

Then the pirates of Parga that dwell by the waves,
And teach the pale Franks what it is to be slaves,'
Shall leave on the beach the long galley and oar,
And track to his covert the captive on shore.

I ask not the pleasures that riches supply,
My sabre shall win what the feeble must buy ;
Shall win the young bride with her long flowing hair,
And many a maid from her mother shall tear.

I love the fair face of the maid in her youth-
Her caresses shall lull me, her music shall sooth;

* Drummer.

A