ORIENTAL

ECLOGUES.

YE

E Perfian maids, attend your poet's lays,
And hear how fhepherds pafs their golden
days.

Not all are bleft, whom fortune's hand fuftains With wealth in courts, nor all that haunt the plains:

Well may your hearts believe the truths I tell!
'Tis virtue makes the blifs, wheree'er we dwell.
Thus Selim fung, by facred truth infpir'd;
Nor praife, but fuch as truth beftow'd, "defir'd:
Wife in himfelf, his meaning fongs convey'd
Informing morals to the fhepherd maid;
Or taught the fwains that fureft blifs to find,
What groves nor streams bestow, a virtuous mind.
When sweet and blushing, like a virgin bride

The radiant morn refum'd her orient pride,
When wanton gales along the vallies play,

Who feeks fecure to rule, be first her care
Each fofter virtue that adorns the fair;
Each tender paffion man delights to find,
The lov'd perfections of a female mind!

Bleft were the days, when wisdom held her reign,

And fhepherds fought her on the filent plain; With Truth the wedded in the fecret grove, Immortal Truth, and daughters bless'd their love.

O hafte, fair maids! ye Virtues come away, Sweet Peace and Plenty lead you on your way! The balmy fhrub for you shall love our shore, By Ind excell'd, or Araby, no more.

Loft to our fields, for fo the Fates ordain,
The dear deferters fhall return again.
Come thou, whofe thoughts as limpid fprings are
clear,

To lead the train, sweet Modefty, appear:
Here make thy court amidst our rural scene,
And shepherd-girls fhall own thee for their queen.
With thee be Chaftity, of all afraid,
Diftrusting all, a wife fufpicious maid;

away:

By Tigris' wandering waves he fat, and fung
This ufeful leffon for the fair and young.

Ye Perfian dames, he said, to you belong,
Well may they please, the morals of my fong:
No fairer maids, I truft, than you are found,
Grac'd with soft arts, the peopled world around!
The morn that lights you, to your loves fupplies
Each gentler ray delicious to your eyes:

For you those flowers her fragrant hands bestow,
And yours the love that kings delight to know.
Yet think not thefe, all beauteous as they are,
The best kind bleffings heav'n can grant the fair!
Who truft alone in beauty's feeble ray,
Boaft but the worth Baffora's pearls difplay;
Drawn from the deep we own their furface bright,
But, dark within, they drink no luftrous light:
Such are the maids, and fuch the charms they boaft,
By fenfe unaided, or to virtue loft.
Self-flattering fex! your hearts believe in vain
That love shall blind, when once he fires the swain ;
Or hope your lover by your faults to win,
As fpots on ermin beautify the fskin :

Holds the fwift faulcon for her deadly foe.
Cold is her breaft, like flowers that drink the dew,
A filken veil conceals her from the view.
No wild defires amidst thy train be known,
But Faith, whofe heart is fix'd on one alone:
Defponding Meeknefs with her downcaft eyes,
And friendly Pity, full of tender fighs;
And Love the laft: by these your hearts approve,
These are the virtues that muft lead to love.

Thus fung the fwain; and ancient legends fay,
The maids of Bagdat verified the lay:
Dear to the plains, the Virtues came along,
The fhepherds lov'd, and Selim blefs'd his fong.

ECLOGUE II.

Scene, the Defert

Haffan: or the Camel-driver.
Time, Mid-day.

'N filent horror o'er the boundlefs wafte The driver Haffan with his camels paft:

One cruise of water on his back he bore,
And his light fcrip contain'd a scanty store:
A fan of painted feathers in his hand,
To guard his fhaded face from scorching fand.
The fultry fun had gain'd the middle sky,
And not a tree, and not an herb was nigh;
The beats, with pain, their duty way pursue,
Shrill roar'd the winds, and dreary was the view!
With defperate forrow wild, th' affrighted man
Thrice figh'd, thrice ftruck his breaft, and thus
began:

"Sad was the hour, and luckless was the day,
"When firft from Schiraz' walls I bent my way!''
Ah! little thought I of the blafting wind,
The thirst, or pinching hunger, that I find!
Bethink thee, Haffan, where fhall Thirst affuage,
When fails this cruife, his unrelenting rage?
Soon fhall this fcrip its precious load refign;
Then what but tears and hunger fhall be thine?

Ye mute companions of my to.ls, that bear
In all my griefs a more than eval share!
Here, where no springs in murmurs break away,
Or mofs-crown'd fountains mitigate the day,
In vain ye hope the green delights to know,
Which plains more bleft, or verdant vales bestow:
Here rocks alone, and tastelefs fands are found,
And faint and fickly winds for ever howl around.
"Sad was the hour, and luckless was the day,
"When first from Schiraz' walls I bent my way!"

Curft be the gold and filver which persuade Weak men to follow far fatiguing trade! The lily peace outthines the filver store, And life is dearer than the golden ore: Yet money tempts us o'er the defert brown, To every diftant 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 fo attractive made, Or why fond man fo easily betray'd? Why heed we not, while mad we hafte along, The gentle voice of peace, or pleasure's fong? Or wherefore think the flowery mountain's fide, The fountain's murmurs, and the valley's pride, Why think we thefe lefs pleafing to behold, Than dreary deferts, if they lead to gold? "Sad was the hour, and lucklefs was the day, "When first from Schiraz' walls I bent my way!" O ceafe, my fears!-all frantic as I go, When thought creates unnumber'd fcenes of woe, What if the lion in his rage I meet Oft in the duft I view his printed feet: And, fearful! oft, when day's declining light Yields her pale empire to the mourner night, By hunger rouz'd, he fcours the groaning plain, Gaunt wolves and fullen tigers in his train: Before them death with fhrieks directs their way, Fills the wild yell, and leads them to their prey. "Sad was the hour, and luckless was the day, "When firft from Schiraz' walls I bent my way!" At that dead hour the filent afp fhall creep, If aught of reft I find, upon my fleep: Or fome fwoln ferpent twift his feales around, And wake to anguish with a burning wound. Thrice happy they, the wife contented poor, From luft of wealth, and dread of death fecure! They empt no deferts, and no griefs they find; Peace rules the day, where reafon rules the mind.

"Sad was the hour, and lucklefs was the day, "When first from Sehiraz' walls I bent my way !" O, hapless youth! for fhe thy love hath won, The tender Zara will be most uncone!

Big fwell'd my heart, and own'd the powerful maid, When faft the dropt her tears, as thus the faid: "Farewell the youth whom fighs could not detain, "Whom Zara's breaking heart implor'd in vain! "Yet as thou go'ft, may every blaft arife "Weak and unfelt as thefe rejected fighs! "Safe o'er the wild, no perils may'st thou fee, "No griefs endure, nor weep, falfe youth, like

me."

I'

'N Georgia's land, where Tefflis' towers are feen, In diftant view along the level green,

While evening dews enrich the glittering glade,
And the tall forefts caft a longer shade,

What time 'tis fweet o'er fields of rice to ftray,
Or fcent the breathing maize at setting day;
Amidst the maids of Zagen's peaceful grove,
Emyra fung the pleafing cares of love.

Of Abra firft began the tender strain,
Who led her youth with flocks upon the plain :
At morn she came thofe willing flocks to lead,
Where lillies rear them in the watery mead;
From early dawn the live-long hours the told,
Till late at filent eve the penn'd the fold.
Deep in the grove, beneath the fecret fhade,
A various wreath of odorous flowers the made:
* Gay-motley'd pinks and sweet jonquils the chofe,
The violet blue that on the moss-bank grows;
All-fweet to fenfe, the flaunting rofe was there :
The finish'd chaplet well-adorn'd her hair.

Great Abbas chanc'd that fated morn to stray,
By love conducted from the chace away;
Among the vocal vales he heard her fong,
And fought 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 mov'd,
"And every Georgian maid like Abra lov'd!"

The royal lover bore her from the plain;
Yet ftill her crook and bleating flock remain :
Oft as she went, the backward turn'd her view,
And bade that crook and bleating flock adieu.
Fair happy maid to other scenes remove,
To richer fcenes of golden power and love!

* That these flowers are found in very great abundance in fome of the provinces of Pertia, fee the modern hiftory of Mr. Salmon.

Go leave the fimple pipe, and thepherd's fitrain;
With love delight thee, and with Abbas reign.
"Be every youth like royal Abbas mov'd,
"And every Georgian maid like Abra lov'd !"

Yet midft the blaze of courts the fix'd her love
On the cool fountain, or the thady grove:
Still with the shepherd's innocence her mind
To the sweet vale, and flowery mead inclin'd;
And oft as fpring renew'd the plains with flowers,
Breath'd his foft gales, and led the fragrant hours,
With fure return fhe fought the sylvan fcene,
The breezy mountains, and the forefts green.
Her maids around her mov'd, a duteous band!
Each bore a crook all rural in her hand:
Some fimple lay, of flocks and herds they fung;
With joy the mountain and the forest rung.
"Be every youth like royal Abbas mov'd
"And every Georgian maid like Abra lov'd!"
And oft the royal lover left the care
And thorns of ftate, attendant on the fair ;
Oft to the fhades and low-roof'd cots retir'd,
Or fought the vale where first his heart was fir'd:
A ruffet mantle, like a fwain, he wore,
And thought of crowns and bufy courts no more.'
"Be every youth like royal Abbas mov'd,
"And every Georgian maid like Abra lov'd !"
Bleft was the life, that royal Abbas led:
Sweet was his love, and innocent his bed.
What if in wealth the noble maid excel;
The fimple shepherd-girl can love as well.
Let thofe who rule on Perfia's jewel'd throne,
Be fam'd for love, and gentleft love alone;
Or wreathe, like Abbas, full of fair renown,
The lover's myrtle with the warrior's crown.
O happy days ! the maids around her fay ;
O hafte, profufe of bleffings, hafte away!
"Be every youth like royal Abbas mov'd;
"And every Georgian maid like Abra lov'd!"

Each fwain was bleft, for every maid was kind;
At that still hour, when aweful midnight reigns,
And none, but wretches, haunt the twilight plains ;
What time the moon had hung her lamp on high,
And past in radiance through the cloudless sky;
Sad o'er the dews, two brother shepherds filed,
Where wildering fear and defperate forrow led:
Faft as they preft their flight, behind them lay
Wild ravag'd plains, and vallies stole away.
Along the mountain's bending fides they ran,
Till, faint and weak, Secander thus began :
SECANDER.

O ftay thee, Agib, for my feet deny,
No longer friendly to my life, to fly.
Friend of my heart, O turn thee and furvey,

Trace our fad flight through all its length of way!

And first review that long-extended plain,
And yon wide groves, already paft with pain!
Yon ragged cliff, whose dangerous path we try'd!
And laft this lofty mountain's weary fide !

AGIB.

Weak as thou art, yet hapless must thou know The toils of flight, or fome feverer woe! Still as I hafte, the Tartar's fhouts behind , And fhrieks and forrows load the faddening wind: In rage of heart, with ruin in his hand, He blafts our harvests, and deforms our land. Yon citron grove, whence firft in fear we came, Droops its fair honours to the conquering flame : Far fly the fwains, like us, in deep defpair, And leave to ruffian bands their fleecy care.

SECANDER.

Unhappy land, whofe bleffings tempt the fword, In vain, unheard, thou call'ft thy Peifian lord! In vain thou court'ft him, helplefs, to thine aid, To fhield the fhepherd, and protect the maid! Far off, in thoughtless indolence refign'd, Soft dreams of love and pleafure foothe his mind, 'Midft fair fultanas loft in idle joy,

No wars alarm him, and no fears annoy.

AGJB.

Yet thefe green hills, in fummer's fultry heat,
Have lent the monarch oft a cool retreat.
Sweet to the fight is Zabran's flowery plain,
And once by maids and fhepherds lov'd in vain!
No more the virgins fhall delight to rove
By Sargis' banks, or Irwan's fhady grove,
On Tarkie's mountain catch the cooling gale,
Or breathe the fweets of Aly's flowery vale:
Fair fcenes ! but, ah ! no more with peace poffeft,
With ease alluring, and with plenty blest.
No more the shepherd's whitening tents appear,
Nor the kind product of a bounteous year!
No more the date, with fnowy bloffoms crown'd!
But ruin spreads her baleful fires around.

SECANDER.

In vain Circaffa boasts her spicy groves, For ever fam'd for pure and happy loves : In vain the boafts her fairest of the fair, Their eyes' blue languifh, and their golden hair! Thofe eyes in tears their fruitless grief must send Those hairs the Tartar's cruel hand fhall rend.

AGIB.

Ye Georgian fwains, that piteous learn from far Circaffia's ruin, and the waste of war; Some weightier arms than crooks and staffs prepare, To fhield your harvests, and defend your fair : The Turk and Tartar like defigns pursue, Fix'd to deftroy, and ftedfaft to undo. Wild as his land, in native deferts bred, By luft incited, or by malice led, The villain Arab, as he prowls for prey,

Oft marks with blood and wafting flames the way; Yet none fo cruel as the Tartar foe,

To death inur'd, and nurft in fcenes of wos.

He faid; when loud along the vale was heard A fhriller fhriek, and nearer fires appear'd: Th' affrighted thepherds, through the dews of night,

Wide o'er the moon-light hills renew'd their fight.

By Pella's Bard, a magic name,

By all the griefs his thought could frame,
Receive my humble rite:
Long, Pity, let the nations view
Thy fky-worn robes of tenderest blue,
And eyes of dewy light!

But wherefore need I wander wide
To old Iliffus' diftant fide,

Deserted stream, and mute?
Wild Arun too has heard thy ftrains,
And Echo, 'midst my native plains,
Been footh'd by Pity's lute.

There first the wren thy myrtles shed
On gentleft Otway's infant head,

To him thy cell was shewn ;
And while he fung the female heart,
With youth's foft notes unspoil'd by art,
Thy turtles mix'd their own.

Come, Pity, come, my fancy's aid,
Ev'n now my thoughts, relenting maid,
Thy temple's pride defign:

Its fouthern fite, its truth complete
Shall raife a wild enthusiast heat,
In all who view the shrine.

There picture's toil fhall well relate,
How chance, or hard involving fate,'
O'er mortal blifs prevail:

The bufkin'd Mufe fhall near her stand,
And fighing prompt her tender hand,
With each difaftrous tale.

There let me oft, retir'd by day,
In dreams of paffion melt away,

Allow'd with thee to dwell:

There waste the mournful lamp of night,
Till, Virgin, thou again delight
To hear a Britifh fhell!

A river in Suffex.

With all its fhadowy shapes is shewn;
Who feeft appall'd th' unreal scene,
While Fancy lifts the veil between :
Ah, Fear! ah, frantic Fear!
I fee, I fee thee near.

I know thy hurried step, thy haggard eye!
Like thee Iftart, like thee diforder'd fly,
For, lo, what monsters in thy train appear!
Danger, whofe limbs of giant mold
What mortal eye can fix'd behold?
Who ftalks his round, an hideous form,
Howling amidst the midnight storm,
Or throws him on the ridgy steep
Of fome loofe hanging rock to sleep:
And with him thousand phantoms join'd,.
Who prompt to deeds accurs'd the mind:
And thofe, the fiends, who near allied,
O'er nature's wounds and wrecks prefide;
While Vengeance, in the lurid air,
Lifts her red arm, expos'd and bare :
On whom that ravening brood of fate,
Who lap the blood of Sorrow, wait;
Who, Fear, this ghaftly train can fee,
And look not madly wild, like thee?
EPODE.

In earliest Greece, to thee, with partial choice,
The grief-full Muse addrest her infant tongue
The maids and matrons, on her aweful voice,
Silent and pale, in wild amazement hung.

Yet he, the Bard * who first invok'd thy name,
Difdain'd in Marathon its power to feel t

For not alone he nurs'd the poet's flame,
But reach'd from Virtue's hand the patriot's
fteel.

Though gentle Pity claim her mingled part, Yet all the thunders of the scene are thine.

ANTISTROPHL.

Thou who fuch weary lengths haft paft, Where wilt thou reft, mad nymph, at last? Say, wilt thou fhroud in haunted cell, Where gloomy Rape and Murder dwell? Or in fome hollow'd feat,

'Gainft which the big waves beat,

Hear drowning feamen's cries in tempefts brought! Dark power, with fhuddering meek fubmitted thought,

Be mine to read the vifions old,
Which thy awakening bards have told.

And, left thou meet my blafted view,
Hold each strange tale devoutly true;
Ne'er be I found, by thee o'er-aw'd,
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 flood, the walks of men!
O thou, whofe fpirit moft poffeft
The facred feat of Shakespeare's breaft!
By all that from thy prophet broke,
In thy divine emotions spoke !
Hither again thy fury deal,
Teach me but once like him to feel:
His cypress wreath my meed decree,
And I, O Fear, will dwell with thee !

Thy fober aid and native charms infufe!
The flowers that fweetest breathe,
Though beauty cull'd the wreathe,
Still afk thy hand to range their order'd hues.
While Rome could none efteem,

But virtue's patriot theme,

You lov'd her hills, and led her laureate band; But ftaid to fing alone

To one diftinguish'd throne,

And turn'd thy face, and fied her alter'd land.

No more, in hall or bower,
The paffions own thy power,

Love, only Love, her forcelefs numbers mean :
For thou haft left her fhrine,

Nor olive more, nor vine,

Shall gain thy feet to blefs the fervile scene.

ODE TO SIMPLICITY.

Thou, by Nature taught,

genuine thought,

In numbers warmly pure, and fweetly strong:

Who firft on mountains wild,

In Fancy, lovelieft child,

ODE ON THE POETICAL CHARACTER.

A

S once, if not with light regard,

I read aright the gifted Bard, (Him whofe fchool above the reft His loveliest Elfin queen has bleft) One, only one unrival'd fair *,

fong!

At folemn tournay hung on high,
The wish of each love-darting eye;
Lo! to each other nymph in turn applied,

As if, in air unfeen, fome hovering hand,
Some chaste and angel-friend to virgin-fame,
With whisper'd spell had burst the starting band,
It left unbleft her loath'd difhonour'd fide;
Happier hopeless fair, if never

Her baffled hand with vain endeavour
Had touch'd that fatal zone to her denied!
Young Fancy thus, to me divinest name,
To whom, prepar'd and bath'd in heaven,
The ceft of ampleft power is given,

To few the god-like gift affigns,

To gird their bleft prophetic loins,

And gaze her vifions wild, and feel unmix'd he

flame.