Over this he wore a very light jacket of crimson velvet, equally
embroidered, and lined with sable. He wore also the full white camese
common among the Albanians; and while his feet were protected by
sandals, the lower part of his legs was guarded by greaves of
embroidered green velvet. From a broad belt of scarlet leather peeped
forth the jewelled hilts of a variety of daggers, and by his side was
an enormous scimitar, in a scabbard of chased silver.
The stranger gazed upon the wide prospect before him with an air of
pensive abstraction. "Beautiful Greece," he exclaimed, "thou art still
my country. A mournful lot is mine, a strange and mournful lot, yet
not uncheered by hope. I am at least a warrior; and this arm, though
trained to war against thee, will not well forget, in the quick hour of
battle, the blood that flows within it. Themistocles saved Greece and
died a Satrap: I am bred one, let me reverse our lots, and die at least
a patriot."
At this moment the Evening Hymn to the Virgin arose from a neighbouring
convent.
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