the turks were massacred by thousands. mahomed, when he found that all was lost, fled to the mountains, with a train of guards and eunuchs, and left the care of his dispersed host to his pachas. the hills were covered with the fugitives and their pursuers. some fled also to the seashore, where the turkish fleet was at anchor. the plain was strewn with corpses and arms, and tents and standards. the sun was now high in the heavens. the mist had cleared away; but occasional clouds of smoke still sailed about.

a solitary christian knight entered a winding pass in the green hills, apart from the scene of strife. the slow and trembling step of his wearied steed would have ill qualified him to join in the triumphant pursuit, even had he himself been physically enabled; but the christian knight was covered with gore, unhappily not alone that of his enemies. he was, indeed, streaming, with desperate wounds, and scarcely could his fainting form retain its tottering seat.

the winding pass, which for some singular reason he now pursued in solitude, instead of returning to the busy camp for aid and assistance, conducted the knight to a small green valley, covered with sweet herbs, and entirely surrounded by hanging woods. in the centre rose the ruins of a doric fane: three or four columns, grey and majestic. all was still and silent, save that in the clear blue sky an eagle flew, high in the air, but whirling round the temple.

the knight reached the ruins of the doric fane, and with difficulty dismounting from his charger, fell upon the soft and flowery turf, and for some moments was motionless. his horse stole a few yards away, and though scarcely less injured than its rider, instantly commenced cropping the inviting pasture.

at length the christian knight slowly raised his head, and leaning on his arm, sighed deeply. his face was very pale; but as he looked up, and perceived the eagle in the heaven, a smile played upon his pallid cheek, and his beautiful eye gleamed with a sudden flash of light.

“glorious bird!” murmured the christian warrior, “once i deemed that my career might resemble thine! ‘tis over now and greece, for which i would have done so much, will soon forget my immemorial name. i have stolen here to die in silence and in beauty. this blue air, and these green woods, and these lone columns, which oft to me have been a consolation, breathing of the poetic past, and of the days wherein i fain had lived, i have escaped from the fell field of carnage to die among them. farewell my country! farewell to one more beautiful than greece, farewell, iduna!”

these were the last words of nic?|us, prince of athens.