WE come! once more the land is free that bore us!
Bring forth your myrtle-garlands for our brows!
Io triumphe! swell the inspiring chorus!

Strew wide our path-way, strew with laurel-boughs!
Hellas is free! let your exultant voices

Shout Freedom!' o'er each glorious plain and height!
Let the proud Persian hear how Greece rejoices,
The while he mourns afar his humbled might!

Rejoice! rejoice! lift high the song of gladness;
Bring forth the lyre, and strike the festal chord:
But ah remember, in the wine-cup's madness,
Beneath the myrtle still to wear the sword!

II.

Their golden tiræ in the sun-light flashing,
Onward his thronging legions swept in pride;
His countless chariots o'er the land were crashing,
His myriad masts were bristling on the tide.

Where are they now, with whom the strait was swarming?
Where are the brazen beaks that swept the sea!
Rejoice! for Greece was up and boldly arming,

Her foe is shattered, and her soil is free!

We bear proud trophies of his conquered power:
Bring forth the crowns, and let the wine be poured!
But ah! remember, in the festal-hour,

Beneath the myrtle still to wear the sword!

Shout for your heroes! swing the incense o'er them!
Bring forth your cypress-coffins for their dead!
Strew with proud laurel-crowns the way before them
Pass they in triumph where their feet should tread!
And still raise high the choral song of gladness;

For oh! by these hath Greece her freedom won:
Hark! from his graves, above your wail of sadness,
Citharon calls Rejoice!' to Marathon.

Rejoice! rejoice! the heavens with light are glowing!
For peace once more to Hellas is restored:
But ah! remember, while with joy o'erflowing,
Beneath the myrtle still to wear the sword!

TRANSLATED FOR THE KNICKERBOCKER FROM HENRY MURGER'S SCENES K LA BOHEME.'

BY CHARLES ASTOR BRISTED.

CHAPTER SEVEN.

THE GIPSY COFFEE-HOUSE.

You shall hear how it came to pass that Carolus Barbemache, platonist and literary-man generally, became a member of the Gipsy Club, in the twenty-fourth year of his age.

At that time, Gustave Colline, the great philosopher, Marcel, the great painter, Schaunard, the great musician, and Rodolphe, the great poet, (as they called one another,) regularly frequented the Momus coffee-house, where they were surnamed the Four Musqueteers, because they were always seen together. In fact, they came together, went away together, played together, and sometimes did n't pay their shot together, with a unison worthy of the best orchestra.

They chose to meet in a room where forty people might have been accommodated, but they were usually there alone, inasmuch as they had rendered the place uninhabitable by its ordinary frequenters. The chance customer who risked himself in this den, became, from the moment of his entrance, the victim of the terrible four; and, in most cases, made escape without finishing his newspaper and cup of coffee, seasoned as they were by unheard-of maxims on art, sentiment, and political economy. The conversation of the four comrades was of such a nature that the waiter who served them had become an idiot in the prime of his life.

his

At length things came to such a point that the landlord lost all patience, and came up one night to make a formal statement of his griefs:

Mr. Rodolphe comes early in the morning to breakfast, and carries off to his room all the papers of the establishment, going so far as to complain if he finds that they have been opened; consequently, the other customers, cut off from the usual channels of public opinion and intelligence, remain till dinner in utter ignorance of political affairs. The Bosquet party hardly knows the names of the last cabinet.

'Mr. Rodolphe has even obliged the coffee-house to subscribe to the Castor, of which he is chief editor. The master of the establishment at first refused; but as Mr. Rodolphe and his party kept calling the waiter every half hour, and crying: 'The Castor! bring us the Castor!' some other customers, whose curiosity was excited by these obstinate demands, also asked for the Castor. So the Castor was subscribed to-a hatter's journal, which appeared every month, ornamented with a vignette and an article on The Philosophy of Hats and other things in general, by Gustave Colline.

'Secondly. The aforesaid Mr. Colline, and his friend Mr. Rodolphe,

repose themselves from their intellectual labors by playing backgammon from ten in the morning till mid-night; and as the establishment possesses but one backgammon-board, they monopolize that, to the detriment of the other amateurs of the game; and when asked for the board, they only answer, 'Some one is reading it; call to-morrow. Thus the Bosquet party find themselves reduced to playing piquet, or talking about their old love-affairs.*

'Thirdly. Mr. Marcel, forgetting that a coffee-house is a public place, brings thither his easel, box of colors, and, in short, all the instruments of his art. He even disregards the usages of society so far as to send for models of different sexes; which might shock the morals of the Bosquet party.

Fourthly. Following the example of his friend, Mr. Schaunard talks of bringing his piano to the coffee-house; and he has not scrupled to get up a chorus on a motive from his symphony, The Influence of Blue in the Arts. Mr. Schaunard has gone farther: he has inserted in the lantern which serves the establishment for sign, a transparency with this inscription:

'COURSE OF MUSIC FOR BOTH SEXES, GRATIS. APPLY AT THE BAR.'

In consequence of which, the bar aforesaid is besieged every night by a number of badly-dressed individuals, wanting to know where you go in. 'Moreover, Mr. Schaunard gives meetings to a lady calling herself Miss Phemy, who always forgets to bring her bonnet. Wherefore, Mr. Bosquet, Jr., has declared that he will never more put foot in an establishment where the laws of nature are thus outraged.

"Fifthly. Not content with being very poor customers, these gentlemen have tried to be still more economical. Under pretense of having caught the mocha of the establishment in improper intercourse with chicory, they have brought a lamp with spirits-of-wine, and make their own. coffee, sweetening it with their own sugar; all which is an insult to the kitchen.

Sixthly. Corrupted by the discourse of these gentlemen, the waiter Bergami, (so called from his whiskers,) forgetting his humble origin and defying all control, has dared to address to the mistress of the house a piece of poetry containing the most improper overtures; by the irregularity of its style, this letter is recognized as a direct emanation from the pernicious influence of Mr. Rodolphe and his literature.

Consequently, in spite of the regret which he feels, the master of the establishment finds himself obliged to request the Colline party to choose some other place for their revolutionary meetings.

Gustave Colline, who was the Cicero of the set, took the floor and demonstrated to the landlord that his complaints were frivolous and unfounded; that they did him great honor in making his establishment a home of intellect; that their departure and that of their friends would be the ruin of his house, which their presence elevated to the rank of a literary and artistic club.

* A NEVER-FAILING resource for a Frenchman, as it affords abundant food for his vanity, and scope for his imagination.

'But,' objected the other, 'you, and those who come to see you, call for so little!'

This temperance to which you object,' replied Colline, 'is an argument in favor of our morals. Moreover, it depends on yourself whether we spend more or not. You have only to open an account with us.'

The landlord pretended not to hear this, and demanded some explanation of the incendiary-letter addressed by Bergami to his wife. Rodolphe, accused of acting as secretary to the waiter, strenuously asserted his innocence:

'For,' said he, the lady's virtue was a sure barrier

The landlord could not repress a smile of pride. Finally, Colline entangled him completely in the folds of his insidious oratory, and every thing was arranged, on the conditions that the party should cease making their own coffee, that the establishment should receive the Castor gratis, that Phemy should come in a bonnet, that the backgammon-board should be given up to the Bosquets every Sunday from twelve to two; and above all, that no one should ask for tick.

On this basis every thing went well for some time.

It was Christmas eve. The four friends came to the coffee-house, accompanied by their friends of the other sex. There was Marcel's Musette; Rodolphe's new flame, Mimi, a lovely creature, with a voice like a pair of cymbals, and Schaunard's idol, Phemy the dyeress. That night, Phemy, according to agreement, had her bonnet on. As to Mrs. Colline that should have been, no one ever saw her; she was always at home, occupied in punctuating her husband's manuscripts. After the coffee, which was on this great occasion escorted by a regiment of small glasses, they called for punch. The waiter was so little accustomed to the order, that they had to repeat it twice. Phemy, who had never been to such a place before, seemed in a state of ecstasy at drinking out of glasses with feet. Marcel was quarrelling with Musette about a new bonnet which he had not given her. Mimi and Rodolphe, who were in their honey-moon, carried on a silent conversation, alternated with suspicious noises. As to Colline, he went about from one to the other, distributing among them all the polite and ornamental phrases which he had picked up in the Muses' Almanac.

While this joyous company was thus abandoning itself to sport and laughter, a stranger at the bottom of the room, who occupied a table by himself, was observing with extraordinary attention the animated scene before him. For a fortnight or thereabout, he had come thus every night, being the only customer who could stand the terrible row which the club made. The boldest pleasantries had failed to move him; he would remain all the evening, smoking his pipe with mathematical regularity, his eyes fixed as if watching a treasure, and his ears open to all that was said around him. As to his other qualities, he seemed quiet and well-off, for he possessed a watch with a gold chain; and one day, Marcel, meeting him at the bar, caught him in the act of changing a Napoleon to pay his score. From that moment, the four friends designated him by the name of the Capitalist.

Suddenly Schaunard, who had very good eyes, remarked that the glasses were empty.

'Yes,' exclaimed Rodolphe, and this is Christmas-eve! good Christians, and ought to have something extra.'

We are

Yes, indeed,' added Marcel, 'let's call for something supernatural.' 'Colline,' continued Rodolphe, 'ring a little for the waiter.'

Colline rang like one possessed.

"What shall we have?' said Marcel.

Colline made a low bow, and pointed to the women.

'It is the business of these ladies to regulate the nature and order of our refreshment.'

'I,' said Musette, smacking her lips, 'should not be afraid of champagne.'

Are you crazy?' exclaimed Marcel; champagne! that is n't wine to begin with.'

'So much the worse: I like it; it makes a row.'

'I,' said Mimi, with a coaxing look at Rodolphe, 'would like some Beaune, in a little basket.'

'Have you lost your senses?' said Rodolphe.

'No, but I want to lose them,' replied Mimi. The poet was thunderstruck.

'I,' said Phemy, dancing herself on the elastic sofa, 'would rather have Perfect Love; it's good for the stomach.'

Schaunard articulated, in a nasal tone, some words which made Phemy tremble on her foundation.

'Bah!' said Marcel, recovering himself the first; 'let us spend a hundred thousand francs for this once!'

'Yes,' said Rodolphe; and they complain of our not being good customers. Let's astonish them!'

'Ay,' said Colline, 'let us give ourselves up to the delights of a splendid banquet! Do we not owe passive obedience to these ladies? Love lives on devotion; wine is the essence of pleasure, pleasure the duty of youth; women are flowers, and must be moistened. Moisten away!' and Colline hung upon the bell-rope in a feverish excitement.

Swift as the wind, the waiter came. When he heard talk of champagne, burgundy, and various liqueurs, his physiognomy ran through a whole gamut of astonishment. But there was more to come.

'I have a hole in my inside,' said Mimi; 'I should like some ham.' 'And I some sardines, and bread-and-butter,' struck in Musette. 'And I, radishes,' quoth Phemy, and a little meat with them.' 'Say at once, then, that you want supper,' said Marcel. 'We should have no objection,' answered they.

"Waiter!' quoth Colline, gravely, 'bring us all that is requisite for a good supper.'

The waiter turned all the colors of the rain-bow. He descended slowly to the bar, and informed his master of the extraordinary orders he had received.

The landlord took it for a joke; but on a new summons from the bell, he ascended himself and addressed Colline, for whom he had a certain respect. Colline explained to him that they wished to see Christmas in at his house, and that he would oblige them by serving what they had asked for. Momus made no answer, but backed out, twisting his napkin.

VOL. XLII.

39