Rutland Herald

THE GREEK MAIDEN.

BY MARY V. SPENCER.

It was a summer afternoon, and the murmur of bees came drowsily to the ear. The light wind scarcely stirred the leaves, and the sea heaved up and fell lazily. On a bold promontory, overlooking the Aegean, sat a Greek maiden, her eyes now straining across the distant waters, and now watching the narrow mountain road which led up to the summit where she stood, as a fond one on the lookout for some one, but uncertain by which way he would approach. At length her eye caught sight of an athletic form bounding up the rocks, and in the splendid costume of his race she recognized her long looked for lover.

"You have come at last, my life," she said, in the passionate language of the East, embracing him, "never to leave me again, I hope."

"Would to God it were so," he answered sadly. "But while our native soil is profaned by the foot of a Turk, every true Greek must be up and in arms. Pray heaven, love, that this scourge may be over soon, and then we can be happy."

Tears filled the maiden's eyes, but she knew her lover was inflexible, and indeed how could she ask him to desert his country's cause, even if he would consent?

"I have watched for you, day by day, from this spot, but I forget every anxiety now that you are here. Let us to the house, for you look weary."

"I am indeed so," was the reply. "It was through a thousand perils I reached you, for the whole lower country swarms with the enemy, and I had more than one narrow escape."

The maiden started in alarm,

"What if they should track you here?" she said, with trembling tones.

"Oh! there is no danger of that," said her lover, reassuring her. "I eluded them too adroitly, and they are now looking for me on the other side of the plain. But let us to the house."

It was one of these mountain homes where alone security could be found during the late struggle for the Greeks for freedom: and when the young soldier entered its neat walls, he felt a sense of security that had been a stranger to him, in that wild and predatory warfare, for months. The family consisted only of the aged father and mother of the maiden, and their delight to see him was only equalled by that of the daughter. So all were happy; and as they sat around the evening meal, they forgot for a while even the wrongs of their country, and pictured years of happiness in the future yet in store for them.

The sun was just setting, and the young Greek and his mistress had walked to the door to see the Aegean smiling upon his departing beams, when suddenly the noise of a rock tumbling headlong, as if dislodged from some neighboring spot and dashing down the precipice, attracted the quick ear of the lover. He looked hurriedly around. The head of a Turk was just rising above the level of the rock, and immediately two or three other turbans were seen following him as he sprung on the little plain where the dwelling stood.

"We are betrayed," he cried. "Secret yourself in the house, or seek some spot for concealment; the enemy are on us." He drew his yatagan as he spoke, and, at the same instant, the enemy recognizing him sprang forward with loud shouts.

"This way," eagerly said the maiden, "they are too many for you. Fly, oh! fly," she exclaimed agonizingly, as he hesitated, "we have a sure place of refuge if we can gain it unseen."

Her lover cast a bitter glance at the foe as he counted their overwhelming numbers and then reluctantly yielded and with quick steps followed his mistress into the house. Her parents had already disappeared. Hastening through the back door, she led her lover into a small grove of trees, and in a few minutes stood before the mouth of a cave, completely concealed by the thick underwood growing over it. Here they took refuge.

For half an hour the fugitives remained in their retreat, though the lion heart of the young Greek chafed to hear his enemies so near, and be unable to strike a blow. At length the sound of their voices died away. Many minutes now were suffered to elapse; but finally the young soldier insisted on his going forth to see if the enemy had departed. His mistress begged him to remain longer, and her entreaties for a while prevailed, but when another half hour had elapsed he cautiously left the cave.

With trembling anxiety they awaited his return, and every minute seemed as an hour to the maiden. At length even her parents admitted that his absence was unexpectedly long, and could not conceal their fears. The daughter would listen to no entreaties, but insisted on leaving their retreat to ascertain the cause of his absence, and notwithstanding her mother's entreaties, finally set forth.

What a scene presented itself to her eyes as she emerged into the open air. The night had set in, but the whole heavens were illuminated with a lurid glare, while her heart told her, even before she approached it, came from her burning home, once so happy, and where she had so fondly hoped to spend her wedded life. But a greater sorrow than the destruction of the roof under which she had been born was before her. In vain she searched everywhere for her lover. The little plain on which the house stood, was circumscribed at the most, and a few minutes was sufficient for a thorough search in every part of it: but nowhere was her lover to be found. With tearful eyes and fainting heart she approached at the last precipice, where the enemy had first appeared. She almost fainted when her eyes met the broken yatagan of her lover, and saw the ground wet with large drops of blood and dented with hurried footsteps as if a deadly struggle had taken place there. She sank on the rock, and leaned her head on her hands, while large tears rolled quick and fast down her cheeks. She looked across the darkened sea, over which the still burning embers of her father's house threw a fitful glare. All at once her eyes fell upon a boat, in which her lover, if alive, was being borne away into captivity, and burying her face on the rock, she gave way to convulsive sobbings.

Oh! the first sorrow of the young and innocent heart. How it crushes the soul and makes us wish for death.

Long wept the helpless maiden, her only thought being that life was now worthless, and that it would have been better if she had never been born. It would in that moment have been a relief to her to have found the corpse of her lover, for she could then have enjoyed the melancholy satisfaction of giving it the last rites of sepulcher: but now, that was not here, she knew he was a prisoner, and reserved, perhaps, for the dreadful death of impalement.

Long she wept hysterically. Once or twice she looked up, but her eyes were so blinded with tears she could see nothing but a dim waste before her: and when she fixed her gaze on the spot where the sail had been it was not there.

"It has vanished in the gloom," she murmured, "and I shall never see him more. Would that I were dead!"

The terrible conviction was more than she could endure, the weak nerve gave way, and she fainted. "Ah! wisely does heaven when our sorrows become too great for endurance, fling the veil of insensibility over them."

Morning came heavily and slowly, and on that now desolate promontory, the weeping parents watched over their dying daughter. The dreadful shock had destroyed her, and during the night she had passed from one fainting fit to another. The agonized hearts of her parents almost broke to see her sufferings, and as they watched over her couch on the hard rock—for the conflagration had left them no better repose—the tears fell thickly from their eyes. "I shall meet him soon dearest mother," said the poor girl faintingly as the dawn began to break. "They cannot separate us in heaven. His sufferings too will soon be over."

"Do not talk so," said her sobbing parent. "He may yet escape, and all of us be happy. O! it breaks my heart to hear you."

The sufferer smiled faintly, but she shook her head. A silence of several minutes now ensued, broken only by the half stifled sobs of her mother.

"Hark!" suddenly said the maiden. "I hear a footstep—oh! God, can it be?" she said rising with flushed cheek and eager eyes, "surely it is his—yet no! it cannot be," she added plaintively.

All started up and listened attentively. A step was certainly approaching, though the darkness that preceded the dawn prevented them from seeing at once. Suddenly, a form emerged from the shadows, and with a quick joy they recognized him whom they had thought was a prisoner.

"Are you indeed alive! Oh! heavenly Father, be praised," said the now reviving girl, flinging herself on her lover's bosom; while the parents lifted up their eyes to their Creator and poured forth deep prayers for his providential return and for the life of their child, which they now felt was restored to them.

As soon as the mutual agitation had somewhat subsided, the young Greek narrated the circumstances which had befallen him since he left the cave. He had, as they supposed, fallen into the hands of the Turks, and had been threatened with death for not revealing the retreat of his mistress, whom they had seen with him on their first appearance. But, finding him immovable, they resolved to bear him off. Luckily, a few miles at sea, they had met with a Greek cruiser and been captured, when, taking a light skiff, the young soldier had hastened back to assure his mistress of his safety, and undertake her protection in their now homeless state.

In one of the prettiest valleys of Greece, amid embowering vines and wild flowers loaded with fragrance, stands a neat dwelling, and there, the toils and perils of war long past, the hero and heroine of our story now reside, surrounded by a family of lovely children. But often, in the gathering twilight, the father, that they may appreciate the blessings of the peace their beautiful country now enjoys, rehearses the story of that eventful night.