Here, where no springs in murmurs break away, stow: Here rocks alone, and tasteless sands, are found; And faint and sickly winds for ever howl around. Sad was the hour, and luckless was the day, When first from Schiraz' walls I bent my way! 'Cursed be the, gold and silver which persuade Weak men to follow far fatiguing trade! The lily peace outshines the silver store; And life is dearer than the golden ore: Yet money tempts us o'er the desert brown, To every distant mart and wealthy town. Full oft we tempt the land, and oft the sea; And are we only yet repaid by thee? -Ah! why was ruin so attractive made? Or why fond man so easily betray'd? Why heed we not, while mad we haste along, The gentle voice of Peace, or Pleasure's song? Or wherefore think the flowery mountain's side, The fountain's murmurs, and the valley's pride, Why think we these less pleasing to behold Than dreary deserts, if they lead to gold! Sad was the hour, and luckless was the day, When first from Schiraz' walls I bent my way! 'O cease, my fears!—all frantic as I go, When thought creates unnumber'd scenes of woe, What if the lion in his rage I meet !— Oft in the dust I view his printed feet: And, fearful! oft, when Day's declining light Yields her pale empire to the mourner Night, By hunger roused, he scours the groaning plain, Gaunt wolves and sullen tigers in his train: Before them Death with shrieks directs their way, Fills the wide yell, and leads them to their prey. Sad was the hour, and luckless was the day, When first from Schiraz' walls I bent my way! 'At that dead hour the silent asp shall creep, If aught of rest I find, upon my sleep: Or some swoln serpent twist his scales around, And wake to anguish with a burning wound. Thrice happy they, the wise contented poor, From lust of wealth, and dread of death secure ! They tempt no deserts, and no griefs they find; Peace rules the day, where reason rules the mind. Sad was the hour, and luckless was the day, When first from Schiraz' walls I bent my way! 'O hapless youth!—for she thy love hath wonThe tender Zara will be most undone ! Big swell'd my heart, and own'd the powerful maid, Say, with a kiss, she must not, shall not mourn; He said; and call'd on Heaven to bless the day When back to Schiraz' walls he bent his way. ECLOGUE III. ABRA; OR, THE GEORGIAN SULTANA. SCENE-A FOREST. TIME, THE EVENING. IN Georgia's land, where Tefflis' towers are seen, In distant view, along the level green, While evening dews enrich the glittering glade, And the tall forests cast a longer shade, What time 'tis sweet o'er fields of rice to stray, Or scent the breathing maize at setting day; Amidst the maids of Zagen's peaceful grove, Emyra sung the pleasing cares of love. Of Abra first began the tender strain, Who led her youth with flocks upon the plain : 1 These flowers are found in very great abundance in some of the provinces of Persia. Great Abbas chanced that fated morn to stray, By Love conducted from the chase away; Among the vocal vales he heard her song; And sought, the vales and echoing groves among; At length he found, and woo'd, the rural maid; She knew the monarch, and with fear obey'd. 'Be every youth like royal Abbas moved; And every Georgian maid like Abra loved!' The royal lover bore her from the plain; Yet still her crook and bleating flock remain: Oft, as she went, she backward turn'd her view, And bade that crook and bleating flock adieu. Fair happy maid! to other scenes remove; To richer scenes of golden power and love; Go leave the simple pipe, and shepherd's strain; With love delight thee, and with Abbas reign! 'Be every youth like royal Abbas moved; And every Georgian maid like Abra loved!" Yet, midst the blaze of courts, she fix'd her love On the cool fountain, or the shady grove; Still, with the shepherd's innocence, her mind To the sweet vale, and flowery mead inclined; And, oft as Spring renew'd the plains with flowers, Breathed his soft gales, and led the fragrant hours, With sure return she sought the silvan scene, The breezy mountains, and the forests green. Her maids around her moved, a duteous band! Each bore a crook, all-rural, in her hand: Some simple lay, of flocks and herds, they sung; With joy the mountain, and the forest rung. Be every youth like royal Abbas moved; And every Georgian maid like Abra loved!' And oft the royal lover left the care And thorns of state, attendant on the fair; Oft to the shades and low-roof'd cots retired; Or sought the vale where first his heart was fired; A russet mantle, like a swain, he wore; And thought of crowns, and busy courts, no more, Be every youth like royal Abbas moved; And every Georgian maid like Abra loved!' Bless'd was the life that royal Abbas led; 'Be every youth like royal Abbas moved; And every Georgian maid like Abra loved!' |