Self-flattering sex! your hearts believe in vain,

That Love shall blind, when once he fires the SELIM; OR, THE SHEPHERD'S MORAL.


Or hope a lover by your faults to win,

Ag spots on ermine beautify the skin :

Who seeks secure to rule, be first her care
• Y E Persian maids, attend your poet's lays, Each softer virtue that adorns the fair;
And hear how shepherds pass their golden days. Each tender passion man delights to find,
Not all are blest, whom Fortune's hand sustains The lov'd perfections of a female mind ! [reign.
With wealth in courts, nor all that haunt the plains: “ Blest were the days, when Wisdom beld her
Well may your hearts believe the truths I tell ! And shepherds sought her on the silent plain;
T is virtue makes the bliss, where'er we dwell.” With Truth she wedded in the secret grove,

Thus Selim sung, by sacred truth inspird; Immortal Truth, and daughters bless'd their love. Nor praise, but such as truth bestow'd, desir'd : “ O haste, fair maids! ye Virtues, come away, Wise in himself, his meaning songs convey'd Sweet Peace and Plenty lead you on your way! Inforining morals to the shepherd maid ;

The balmy shrub for you shall love our shore, Or taught the swains that surest bliss to find, By Ind excelld, or Araby, no more. What groves nor streams bestow a virtuous mind. “ Lost to our fields, for so the Fates ordain,

When sweet and blushing, like a virgin bride, The dear deserters shall return again. The radiant Morn resum'd her orient pride; Come thon, whose thoughts as limpid springs are When wanton gales along the valleys play,

clear, Breathe on each flower, and bear their sweets away: To lead the train, sweet Modesty, appear: By Tigris' wandering waves he sat, and suug Here make thy court amidst our rural scene, This useful lesson for the fair and young.

And shepherd-girls shall own thee for their queella “ Ye Persian dames,” he said, “to you belong, with thee be Chastity, of all afraid, Well may they please, the morals of my song: Distrusting all, a wise suspicious maid; No fairer maids, I trust, than you are found, But man the most-not more the mountain doe Grac'd with soft arts, the peopled world around! Holds the swift falcon for her deadly foe. The Morn that lights you, to your loves supplies Cold is her breast, like flowers that drink the dew, Each gentler ray delicious to your eyes:

A silken veil conceals her from the view. For you those flowers her fragrant bands bestow, No wild desires amidst thy train be known, And yours the love that kings delight to know. But Faith, whose heart is fix d on one alone : Yet think not these, all beauteous as they are, Desponding Meekness with her downcast eyes, The best kind blessings Heaven can grant the fair! And friendly Pity, full of tender sighs; Who trust alone in beauty's feeble ray,

And Love the last : by these your hearts approve, Boast but the worth Bassora's pearls display; These are the virtues that must lead to love." Drawn from the deep we own their surface bright, Thus sung the swain; and antient legends say, But, dark within, they drink no lustrous light : The maids of Bagdat verified the lay: Such are the maids, and such the charms they boast, Dear to the plains, the Virtues came along, By sense unaided, or to virtue lost.

The shepherds lov'd, and Selim bless'd bis song.


They 'tempt no deserts, and no griefs they find ;

Peace rules the day, where reason rules the mind. HASSAN; OR, THE CÀMEL-DRIVER,

Sad was the hour, and luckless was the day, SCENE, THE DESER'r. TIME, MID-DAY. When first from Schiraz' walls 1 bent my way! In silent horroar o'er the boundless waste

“O, hapless youth! for she thy love hath won The driver Hassan with bis camels pass'd : The tender Zara will be inost undone! One cruse of water on his back he bore,

Big swell?d my heart, and own'd the powerful maid, And his light scrip contain'd a scanty store: When fast she drops her tears, as thus she said A fan of painted feathers in his hand,

• Farewell the youth whom sighs could not detain, To guard his shaded face from scorching sand. Whum Zara's breaking heart implor'd in vain ! The sultry Sun had gain’d the middle sky, Yet, as thou go'st, may every blast arise And not a tree, and not an herb was nigb; Weak and unfelt as these rejected sighs ! The beasts, with pain, their dusty way pursue,

Safe o'er the wild, no perils mayst thou see, Sbrill roard the winds, and dreary was the view! No griefs endure, nor weep, false youth, like me.' With desperate sorrow wild, th' affrighted man 0, let me safely to the fair return, Thrice sigh'd, thrice struck his breast, and thus be- Say with a kiss, she must not, shall not moum; “ Sad was the hour, and luckless was the day, [gan: o let me teach my heart to lose its fears, When first from Schiraz' walls I bent my way! Recall'd by Wisdom's voice, and Zara's tears." “ Ah ! little thought I of the blasting wind,

He said, and call’d on Heaven to bless the day, The ihirst, or pinching hunger, that I find ! When back to Schiraz' walls he bent his way. Bethink thee, Hassan, where shall thirst assuage, When fails this cruse, his unrelenting rage? Soon shall this scrip its precious load resign; Then what but tears and hunger shall be tbine?

ECLOGUE III. “Ye mute companions of my toils, that bear

ABRA; OR, THE GEORGIAN SULTANA. In all my griefs a more than equal share! Here, where no springs in murmurs break away,

SCENE, A FOREST. TIME, THE EVENING. Or moss-crown'd fountains mitigate the day, In Georgia's land, where Teffis' towers are seen In vain ye hope the green delights to know, In distant view along the level green, Which plains more blest, or verdant vales bestow:

While evening dews enrich the glittering glade, Here rocks alone, and tasteless sands are found, And the tall forests cast a longer shade, And faint and sickly winds for ever howl around. What time 't is sweet o'er fields of rice to stray, Sad was the hour, and luckless was the day, Or scent the breathing maize at setting day; When first from Schiraz' walls I bent my way! Amidst the maids of Zagen's peaceful grove,

“Curst be the gold and silver which persuade Emyra sung the pleasing cares of love. Weak men to follow far fatiguing trade!

Of Abra first began the tender strain, The lily peace outshines the silver store,

Who led her youth with flocks upon the plain: And life is dearer than the golden ore :

At morn she came those willing flocks to lead, Yet money tempts us o'er the desert brown,

Where lilies rear them in the watery mead; To every distant mart and wealthy town.

From early dawn the live-long hours she told, Full oft we tempt the land, and oft the sea : Till late at silent eve she penn'd the fold. And are we only yet repaid by thee?

Deep in the grove, beneath the secret shade, Ah! why was ruin so attractive made;

A various wreath of odorous flowers she made: Or why fond man so easily betray'd ?

Gay-motley'd pinks' and sweet jonquils she ehose, Why heed we not, while mad we haste along, The violet blue that on the moss-bank grows; The gentle voice of Peace, or Pleasure's song?

All-sweet to sense, the faunting rose was there : Or wherefore think the flowery mountain's side,

The finish'd chaplet well adorn'd ber hair. The fountain's murmurs, and the valley's pride, Great Abbas chanc'd that fated morn to stray, Why think we these less pleasing to behold, By Love conducted froin the chase away; Than dreary deserts, if they lead to gold?

Among the rocal vales he heard her song, Sad was the hour, and luckless was the day, And sought the vales and echoing groves among: When first from Schiraz' walls I bent my way!

At length he found, and woo'd the rural maid; “ () cease, my fears! All frantic as I go, She knew the monarch, and with fear obey'd. When thought creates unnumber'd scenes of woe,

“ Be every youth like royal Abbas mor'd, What if the lion in his rage I mect !

And every Georgian maid like Abra lor'd !» Oft in the dust I view his printed feet :

The royal lover bore her from the plain; And, fearful! oft, when Day's declining light Yet still her crook and bleating flock remain : Yields her pale empire to the mourner Night, Oft as she went, she backward turn'd her view, By hunger rous'd, he scours the groaning plain, And bade that crook and bleating flock adieu. Gaunt wolves and sullen tigers in his train : Fair happy maid! to other scenes remove, Before them Death with shrieks directs their way, To richer scenes of golden power and love! Fills the wild yell, and leads them to their prey. Go, leave the simple pipe and shepherd's strain ; Sad was the hour, and luckless was the day, With love delight thee, and with Abbas reign. When first from Schiraz' walls I bent my way!

“ Be every youth like royal Abbas mov'd, " At that dead bour the silent asp shall creep,

And every Georgian maid like Abra lovid!"
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.

| That these flowers are found in very great Thrice happy they, the wise contented poor, abundance in some of the provinces of Persia, see From lust of wealth, and dread of death secure ! the modern history of Mr. Salmon.



Yet midst the blaze of courts she fix'd her love Yon citron grove, whence first in fear we came, On the cool fountain, or the shady grove : Droops its fair honours to the conquering flame : Still with the shepherd's innocence her mind Far fly the swains, like us, in deep despair, To the sweet vale and flowery mcad inclin'd; And leave to ruffian bands their fleecy care. And oft as Spring renew'd the plains with flowers, Breath'd his soft gales, and led the fragrant hours, Unhappy land, whose blessings tempt the sword, With sure return she sought the sylvan scene, In vain, unheard, thou call'st thy Persian lord ! The breezy mountains, and the forests green. In vain thou court'st him, helpless, to thine aid, Her maids around her mov'd, a duteous band ! To shield the shepherd, and protect the maid ! Each bore a crook all rural in her hand :

Far off, in thoughtless indolence resign'd,
Some simple lay, of flocks and herds they sung; Soft dreams of love and pleasure soothe his mind
With joy the mountain and the forest rung. 'Midst fair sultanas lost in idle joy,
“ Be every youth like royal Abbas mov’d,

No wars alarm him, and no fears annoy.
And every Georgian maid like Abra lov’d!
And oft the royal tover left the care

Yet these green hills, in summer's sultry heat, And thorns of state, attendant on the fair;

Have lent the monarch oft a cool retreat. Oft to the shades and low-roof'd cots retird,

Sweet to the sight is Zabran's flowery plain, Or sought the vale where first his heart was fir'd:

And once by maids and shepherds lov'd in vain ! A russet mantle, like a swain, he wore,

No more the virgins shall delight to rove And thought of crowns and busy courts no more,

By Sargis' banks, or Irwan's shady grove; “ Be every youth like royal Abbas mov'd,

On Tarkie's mountain catch the cling gale, And every Georgian maid like Abra lov'd !"

Or breathe the sweets of Aly's flowery vale : Blest was the life that royal Abbas led :

Fair scenes ! but, ah! no more with peace passest, Sweet was his love, and innocent his bed.

With ease alluring, and with plenty blest. What if in wealth the noble maid excel ;

No more the shepherd's whitening tents appear, The simple shepherd-girl can love as well.

Nor the kind products of a bounteous year;
Let those who rule on Persia's jewel'd throne
Be fam'd for love, and gentlest love alone,

No more the date, with snowy blossoms crowu’d!

But Ruin spreads her baleful fires around
Or wreathe, like Abbas, full of fair renown,
The lover's myrtle with the warrior's crown.
O happy days! the maids around her say;

In vain Circassia boasts her spicy grores,
O haste, profuse of blessings, haste away!

For ever fam'd for pure and happy loves : “Be every youth like royal Abbas mov'd,

in vain she boasts her fairest of the fair, And every Georgian maid like Abra lov'd !»

Their eyes' blue languish, and their golden hair!
Those eyes in tears their fruitless grief must send;
Those bairs the Tartar's cruel hand shall rend.





Ye Georgian swains, that piteous learn from far AGIB AND SECANDER; OR, THE FUGITIVES. Circassia's ruin, and the waste of war;

Some weightier arms than crooks and staffs preparo, SCENE, A MOUNTAIN IN CIRCASSIA.

To shield your harvests, and defend your fair : TIME,

The Turk and Tartar like designs pursue, Ix fair Circassia, where, to love inclin'd,

Fixt to destroy, and stedfast to undo.
Each swain was blest, for every maid was kind; Wild as bis land, in native deserts bred,
At that still hour, when awful midnight reigns, By lust incited, or by malice led,
And none but wretches haunt the twilight plains; The villain Arab, as he prowls for prey,
What time the Moon had hung her lamp on high, Oft marks with blood and wasting Hames the way;
And pass'd in radiance through the cloudless sky; Yet noue so cruel as the Tartar foe,
Sad o'er the dews two brother-shepherds fled, To death inur'd, and nurst in scenes of woe.
Where wildering fear and desperate sorrow led : He said; when loud along the vale was heard
Fast as they press'd their fight, behind them lay A shriller shriek, and nearer fires appear'd:
Wild ravag'd plains, and valleys stole away. Th’affrighted shepherds, through the dews of night,
Along the inountain's bending sides they ran, Wide o'er the moon-light hills renew'd their flight.
Tul, faint and weak, Secander thus began:

O stay thee, Agib, for my feet deny,
No longer friendly to my life, to fly,
Friend of my heart, o turn thee and survey,

Trace our sad flight through all its length of way! DESCRIPTIVE AND ALLEGORICAL,
Ånd first review that long-extended plain,
And yon wide groves, already past with pain !
Yon ragged cliff, whose dangerous path we try'd!'

ODE TO PITY. And last this lofty mountaiu's weary side ! O THOU, the friend of nran assign'd,

With balmy hands his wounds to bind, Weak as thou art, yet hapless must thou know

And charm his frantic woe: The toils of Aight, or some severer woe!

When first Distress, with dagger keen, Still as I haste, the Tartar shouts behind,

Broke forth to waste his destin'd scene, And shrieks and sorrows load the saddening wind :

His wild unsated foe!
In rage of beart, with ruin in his hand,

By Pella's bard, a magic name,
He blasts our harvests, and deforms our land. By all the griefs his thought could frame,


Receive my humble rite :

The maids and matrons, on her awful voice, Long, Pity, let the nations view

Silent and pale, in wild amazement hung. Thy sky-worn robes of tenderest blue,

Yet he, the bard ? who first invok'd thy name, And eyes of dewy light!

Disdain'd in Marathon its power to feel : But wherefore need I wander wide

For not alone he nurs'd the poet's flame, To old Ilissus' distant side,

But reach'd from Virtue's hand the patriot's steel. Deserted stream, and mute?

But who is he, whom later garlands grace, Wild Arun' too has heard thy strains,

Who left a while o'er Hybla's dews to rove, And Echo, 'midst iny native plains,

With trembling eyes thy dreary steps to trace, Been sooth'd by Pity's lute.

Where thou and furies shar'd the baleful grove? There first the wren thy myrtles shed

Wrapt in thy cloudy veil th' incestuous queen 3 On gentlest Otway's infant head,

Sigh'd the sad call her son and husband heard, To him thy cell was shown;

When once alone it broke the silent scene, And wbile he sung the female heart,

And he the wretch of Thebes no more appear'd. With youth's soft notes unspoil'd by art,

O Fear ! I know thee by my throbbing heart, Thy turtles mix'd their own.

Thy withering power inspir'd each mournful line; Comc, Pity, come, by Fancy's aid,

Thongh gentle Pity claim her mingled part, E'en now my thoughts, relenting maid,

Yet all the thunders of the scene are thine. Thy temple's pride design:

Its southern site, its truth complete,
Shall raise a wild enthusiast heat

Thou who such weary lengths hast past,

Where wilt thou rest, mad nymph, at last? In all who view the shrine.

Say, wilt thou shroud in haunted cell, There Picture's toil shall well relate,

Where gloomy Rape and Murder dwell? How Chance, or hard involving Fate,

Or in some hollow'd seat, O’er mortal bliss prevail :

'Gainst which the big waves beat, The buskin’d Muse shall near her stand,

Hear drowning seamen's cries in tempests brought ! And, sighing, prompt her tender hand

Dark power, with shuddering meek submitted With each disastrous tale.

tbonght, There let me oft, retir'd by day,

Be mine, to read the visions old, In dreams of passion melt away,

Which thy awakening bards have told. Allow'd with thee to dwell :

And, lest thou meet my blasted view, There waste the mournful lamp of night,

Hold each strange tale devoutly true; Till, Virgin, thou again delight

Ne'er be I found, by thee o'er-aw'd,
To hear a British shell !

In that thrice-hallow'd eve abroad,
When ghosts, as cottage-maids believe,
Their pebbled beds permitted leave,

And goblins haunt from fire, or fen,

Or mine, or food, the walks of men !
Thou, to whom the world unknown

O thou, whose spirit most possest With all its shadowy shapes is shown;

The sacred seat of Shakspeare's breast ! Who seest appail'd th' unreal scene,

By all that from thy prophet broke, While Fancy lifts the veil between :

In thy divine emotions spoke ! Ah, Fear! alı, frantic Fear !

Hither again thy fury deal, I see, I see thee near.

Teach me but once like him to feel : I know thy hurried step, thy baggard eye!

His cypress wreath my meed decree,
Like thee I start, like thee disorder'd fly,

And I, O Ftar, will dwell with thee!
For, lo, what monsters in thy train appear !
Danger, whose limbs of giant mould
What mortal eye can fixt behold?
Who stalks his round, a hideous form,

Howling amidst the midnight storm,

O thou, by Nature taught, Or throws him on the ridgy steep

To breathe her genuine thought, Of some loose hanging rock to sleep :

In numbers warmly pure, and sweetly strong ; And with him thousand phantoms join'd,

Who first on mountains wild, W bo prompt to deeds accurs'd the mind :

In Fancy, loveliest child, And those, the ficuds, who, ncar allied,

Thy habe, and Pleasure's, nurs'd the powers of song! O'er Nature's wounds and wrecks preside; While Vengeance, in the lurid air,

Thou, who with hermit heart Lifts her red arm, expos'd and bare;

Disdain'st the wealth of art, On whom that ravening brood of Fate,

And gauds, and pageant weeds, and trailing pall;

But com’st a decent maid,
Who lap the blood of Sorrow, wait;

In attic robe array'd,
Who, Fear, this ghastly train can see,
And look not madly wild, like thee?

O chaste, unboastful nymph, to thee I call!

By all the honey'd store In earliest Greece, to thee, with partial choice,

On Hybla's thymny shore, The grief-full Muse address'd her infant tongue; By all her blooms, and mingled murmurs dear,


1 A river in Sussex.

• Æschylus.

3 Jocasta.

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