τυρῶ τε κάνιστρον καὶ τὸν λεκιθίταν οὐκ ἀπωθεῖται, πότερ' ἀπίωμες, ἢ λαβώμεθα ; αἱ μέν τι δώσεις·αἰ δὲ μὴ, οὐκ ἐάσομες ἢ τὰν θύραν φέρωμες, ἢ θὑπέρθυρον, οὐ γὰρ γέροντές εἶμες, ἀλλὰ παιδία. It was probably the answer of some stingy churl to these swallow-bearing children that afterwards passed into a proverb, One swallow does not make a spring. It does not sound like the hopeful wisdom of a good Greek. We left Patras with regret, and perhaps retain a fonder remembrance of it than it deserves. But the first landing-place on Grecian soil, the first sight of the Greek costume, the first Greek soldiers and the first Greek priests, somewhat ran away with our judgment. We passed the lights of the town of Zante, but it was too dark to see anything of the face of the island. On our left we saw the Cape Klarenza, from whence since Edward the Third's time the title of Clarence has been in our royal family. During the night we crossed the Gulf of Arcadia from Cape Katacolo, and at four in the morning we dropped anchor before Navarino. It is a beautiful bay, and the topography of course very interesting. The deep yellow cliffs of Sphacteria were before us, tufted with rich herbage, and lying across the mouth of the bay. So accurately is the locality described in Thucydides, that I had nothing whatever to add to the previous picture of the place in my own mind, except the peculiarly deep yellow of the cliffs. What concentrated suffering was borne upon that narrow bar of grassy rock, what a tumult of fear vibrated from it through the streets of unwalled Sparta, and what drunken pride did it beget among the restless assemblies of Athens ! The rapidity with which in advanced years we can read these passages of history is very unfavorable to their making a deep and lasting impression, compared with the painful diligence and arduous degrees by which in a series of many lessons we master them at school. Even from Herodotus and Thucydides the glory has passed away. How curiously history in its revolutions seems to touch and leave a romantic light in otherwise obscure places! Here is this round bay on the west shore of the Peloponnesus. Here has been no great city or commercial town; but what interest it excites! It was the Pylian kingdom of old Homeric Nestor; it was the scene of that important affair of Sphacteria, which the graphic power of Thucydides has made immortal; and upon its narrow waters was the battle fought, the accidental decision of the liberties of Greece, whereby it saw the pale of Christendom once more enlarged to the eastward. The foot-prints of destiny are not so very numerous upon the earth as to be familiar things; why has her awful step three times rested, in interesting though not critical times, on this lowly shore? Soon after leaving Navarino we entered upon a most lovely scene of headland views. Indeed the beauty of Greek scenery lies chiefly in sea prospects, and coasting the Morea brings the traveller to many of its most striking indentations. We came to Modon, and bright with an almost ghastly brightness shone the morning sun on the white towers of Modon, running out into the strait. From thence, looking back on Modon nearly the whole way, we passed through a strait, calm, blue, and with feluccas skimming like clean-winged gulls all over it. The mainland was on our left, and on our right were the islands of Sapienza, Santa Maria, and Cabrera, as green as possible, yet spotted with yellow cytisus flowers, and with creeks of the most enchanting tranquillity, the very scenes for Greek idylls. And it was really Greece. This was the uppermost thought. But it shifted like the scenes in a play. We bounded beyond the little island of Venetico, cleared Cape Gallo, and were in the broad Gulf of Kalamata. Low-lying Koron was on our left, and in front were the high, wild, snowy mountains of Maina, the grassless fastnesses of those gallant pirates the Mainotes, and very pale, over the bow of the vessel, was Cape Matapan. It was a very striking scene. The longer we gazed, the more we doubted. Was it really Greece, the true Pelopon nesus? That misty blue mountain-top, is it real? has it caves where Dian might have slept or Pan abode? had Dorian shepherds seen him there? had Helot feet wearily trodden its crooked paths? Its double peak, with the morning sun upon it, has the Dorian Apollo ofttimes visited it, when eyes saw the shining, and believed in the god? Is it really Greece? And then to hear, and from a Greek too, "Over that mountain is Sparta," did but increase the doubt. It is in a land like Greece that the doubt of its reality and the delight of being there meet and struggle within us, and sometimes in the stir enthusiasm becomes over-childlike. Yet when Greeks are the only witnesses, a man should be ashamed of having been ashamed of tears. In the afternoon we passed Cape Matapan, and, crossing the Gulf of Kolokythia, we ran between the islands of Servi and Cerigo, the far-famed Cythera of Aphrodite. Dr. Johnson might well say, "The shepherd in Virgil sought love, and found him a native of the rocks," for the side of Cerigo towards the continent is most sterile. The splendor of nature may have passed away with the beautiful goddess herself. After passing Cape St. Angelo, Cerigo soon faded from us, and we set our faces towards Hydra, which was just visible when night fell and such a night! Its beauty was extraordinary. The sea was as smooth as though satin tapestry had been thrown over it; large lustrous stars were shining down into the deep water like moons, and the air at midnight was warm and fragrant. My thoughts wandered to the bright nights of the English autumn before we left home, and though enchanted with the marvels of this night in the Gulf of Nauplia, I reverted to the different beauty of those cold autumnal nights at home. But they deserve a metrical apparel. Evening hath gone, hath died upon the hills, To guard the slumbering world! With what a weight, The earth still beating with the sun's late warmth ! All things are hushed, except the waterfalls, The inarticulate voices of the woods, And the scarce silent shining of the moon. |