And marj'ram fweet, in fhepherd's pofie found; And lavender, whofe fpikes of azure bloom Shall be, erewhile, in arid bundles bound,

To lurk amidst the labours of her loom, And crown her kerchiefs clean with mickle rare perfume.

And here trim rosemarine, that whilom crown'd The daintieft garden of the proudest peer, Ere, driven from its envied fite, it found

A facred fhelter for its branches here, Where edg'd with gold its glitt'ring fkirts ap

pear.

O waffel days! O cuftoms meet and well! Ere this was banifh'd from its lofty sphere;

Simplicity then fought this humble cell, Nor ever would the more with thane and lordling dwell.

Here oft the dame, on Sabbath's decent eve,

Lo! now with ftate fhe utters the command!
Eftfoons the urchins to their tasks repair;
Their books, of ftature finall, they take in hand,
Which with pellucid horn fecured are,
To fave from finger wet the letters fair.

The work fo gay that on their back is seen St. George's high achievements does declare, On which thilk wight that has ygazing been, Kens the forth-coming rod; unpleafing fight, I

ween!

Ah! lucklefs he, and born beneath the beam
Of evil ftar! it irks me whilft I write !
As crft the bard, by Mulla's filver ftream,
Oft as he told of deadly dolorous plight,
Sigh'd as he fung, and did in tears indite;
For, brandifhing the rod, fhe doth begin
To loofe the brogues, the ftripling's late de-
light!

mete.

If winter 'twere, fhe to her hearth did cleave: But in her garden found a fummer feat: Sweet melody! to hear her then repeat How Ifrael's fons, beneath a foreign king, While taunting foe-men did a fong entreat, All for the nonce untuning every string, Uphung their useless lyres-small heart had they to fing.

For fhe was juft, and friend to virtuous lore, And pafs'd much time in truly virtuous deed; And in thofe elfins ears would oft deplore The times when Truth by Popish rage did bleed,

And tortious death was true Devotion's meed; And fimple Faith in iron chains did mourn, That nould on wooden image place her creed; And lawny faints in fimould ring flames did burn: [return. Ah, dearest Lord! forefend thilk days fhould e'er In elbow-chair, like that of Scottish stem, By the fharp tooth of cank'ring Eld defac'd, In which, when he receives his diadem,

Our fov'reign prince and liefeft liege is plac'd, The matron fate: and fome with rank fhe grac'd,

The fource of children's and of courtier's pride!

Redrefs'daffronts (for vile affronts there pafs'd), And warn'd them not the fretful to deride, But love each other dear, whatever them betide. Right well the knew each temper to defery, Tothwart the proud, and the fubmifs to raife; Some with vile copper prize exalt on high,

And fome entice with pittance fmall of praife; And other fome with baleful fprig the 'frays: E'en abfent, fhe the reins of pow'r doth hold, While with quaint arts the giddy crowd the fways;

Forewarn'd, if little bird their pranks behold, Twill whisper in her car, and all the scene un

fold.

O ruthful scene! when from a nook obfcure
His little fifter doth his peril fee;
All playful as the fate, the grows demure,
She finds full foon her wonted fpirits flee;
She meditates a pray'r to fet him free:

Nor gentle pardon could this dame deny (If gentle pardon could with dames agree)

To her fad grief that fwells in either eye, And wrings her fo, that all for pity the could die. No longer can fhe now her fhricks command;

And hardly the forbears, thro' awful fear, To rufhen forth, and, with prefumptuous hand, To ftay harfh juftice in its mid career. On thee the calls, on thee, her parent dear! (Ah! too remote to ward the fhameful blow!) She fees no kind domeftic vifage near,

And foon a flood of tears begins to flow, And gives a loofe at laft to unavailing woe. But, ah! what pen his piteous plight may trace? Or what device his loud laments explain? The form uncouth of his difguifed face?

The pallid hue that dyes his looks amain ? The plenteous fhow'r that does his check diftain? When he in abject wife implores the dame, Ne hopeth aught of fweet reprieve to gain;

Or when from high fhe levels well her aim, And, thro' the thatch, his cries cach falling ftroke proclaim.

The other tribe, aghaft, with fore dismay

Attend, and conn their tasks with mickle care; By turns, aftonied, ev'ry twig furvey,

And from their fellow's hateful wounds

Sec, to their feats they hye with merry glee,
And in befeemly order fitten there,
All but the wight of bum v-galled; he
Abhorreth bench, and ftool, and form, and
chair

(This hand in mouth y-fix'd,thatrends his hair); And eke with fnuts profound, and heaving breast,

Convulfions intermitting! does declare

His grievous wrong, his dame's unjust beheft, And fcorns her offer'd love, and fhuns to be carefs'd.

His face befprent with liquid crystal fines; His blooming face, that seems a purple flow'r, Which low to carth its drooping head declines,

All fmcar'd and fullied by a vernal show'r.
Oh the hard bofoms of defpotic pow'r !

All, all but the, the author of his fhame,
All, all but the, regret this mournful hour:

Yet hence the youth, and hence the flow'r
fhall claim,

If fo I deem aright, tranfcending worth and fame.

Behind fome door in melancholy thought,
Mindlefs of food, he, dreary caitiff! pines;
Ne for his fellows joyaunce careth ought,

But to the wind all merriment refigns,
And deems it thame if he to peace inclines;
And many a fullen look afkaunce is fent,
Which for his dame's annoyance he defigas;
And fill the more to pleafure him fhe's bent,
The more doth he, perverfe, her 'haviour paft
refent.

Ah, me! how much I fear left pride it be!
But if that pride it be which thus infpites,
Beware, ye damnes! with nice difcernment fee,
Ye quench not too the sparks of nobler fires :
Ah! better for than all the Mufes' lyres

heat;

(All coward arts) is velour's genre The firm fix'd breaft which fit and right re

quires,

Like Vernon's patriot foul, more juftly great Than craft that pimps for ill, or flow'ry falfe deceit.

Yet, nurs'd with fkill, what dazzling fruits appear!

E'en now fagacious forefight points to show A little bench of heediefs bithops here, And there a chancellor in embryo, Or bard fublime, if bard may c'er be fo; As Milton, Shakespeare, names that ne'er fall die!

Tho' now he crawl along the ground so low;

Nor weeting how the Mufe fhould foar on high,

Wifheth, poor ftarv'ling elf! his paperkite may fly.

And this perhaps, who, cens'ring the defign,
Low lays the houfe which that of cards doth
build,
Shall Deunis be, if rigid Fates incline;
And many an epic to his rage fhall yield,

And many a poct quit th' Aönian field:
And, four'd by age, profound he fhall appear,
As he who now, with 'fdainful fury thrill'd,

Surveys mine work, and levels many a fneer, And furls his wrinkly front, and cries, • What ftuff is here!'

But now Dan Phoebus gains the middle fky, And Liberty unbars her prifon-door; And like a rushing torrent out they fly,

And now the graffy cirque han cover'd o'er With boift'rous revel-rout and wild uproar. A thoufand ways in wanton rings they run; Heaven fhield their fhort-liv'd paftimes, I im plore!

For well may Freedom, erft fo dearly won, Appear to British elf more gladfome than the fun.

Enjoy, poor imps! enjoy your fportive trade, And chace gay flies,and cull the fairest flow'rs; For when my bones in grafs-green fods are laid; For never may ye tafte more careless hours In knightly caftles or in ladies bow'rs.

O vain, to feek delight in earthly things! But moft in courts, where proud Ambition

tow'rs;

Deluded wight! who weens fair peace can fpring

Beneath the pompous dome of kefar or of king.

In

See in each fprite fome various bent appear!

Thefe rudely carol moft incondite lay; Thote fauut ring on the green, with jocund leer, Salute the franger pailing on his way: Some builden fragile tenements of clay;

Some to the flanding lake their couries bend, With pebbles fimooth, at duck and drake to play;

Thilk to the huxter's fav'ry cottage tend, paftry kings and queens th'alloted mite to fpend.

Here, as each feafon yields a diferent fore,

Each featon's ftores in order ranged been; Apples with cabbage-net y-cover'd o'er,

Galling full fore th unmonied wight, are feen; And goofeb'rie, clad in liv'ry red or green: And here of lovely dve the Cathrine pear; Fine pear! as lovely for thy juice I ween;

O may no wight e'er pennylefs come there. Left, fnit with ardent love, he pine with hopelcis

care!

See chenics here, ere cherries yet abound,

With thread fo-white in tempting pofies tied. Scatt ring like blooming maid their glances round, afide, With pamper'd look draw little eyes And must be bought, tho' penury betide; The plum all azure, and the nut all brown; And here each feafon do thofe cakes abide, Whofe honour'd names th' inventive city Rend'ring thro' Britain's ifle Salopia's praifes

own,

known.

Admir'd

' 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, where'er we dwell.' Thus Selim fung, by facred Truth infpir'd; Nor praise but fuch as Truth bestow'd, defir'd: Wife in himself, his meating fongs convey'd Informing morals to the fhepherd maid; Or taught the fwains that fureft bli's to find, What groves nor ftreams beftow-avirtuous mind. When tweet and blushing, like a virgin bride, The radiant morn refum'd her orient pride; When wanton gales along the vallies play, Breathe on each flow'r, and car their tweets away; By Tygris' wandering waves he fat, and fung This ufeful leffon for the fair and young:

Ye Perfian dames,' he faid, 'to you belong (Well may they pleafe) the morals of my fong: "No fairer maids, I truft, than you are found, Grac'd with foft arts, the peopled world around! The morn that lights you, to your loves fupplies Each gentler ray, delicious to your eyes; For you thofe flow'rs her fragrant hands beftow, And yours the love that kings delight to know. Yet think not thefe, all beauteous as they are, • The best kind bleffingsHeaven can grant the fair: "Who truit alone in Leauty's feeble ray,

Roaft but the worth Balfora's pearls difplay! Drawn from the deep, we own the furface bright; 'But, dark within, they, drink no luftrous light. Such are the maids, and fuch the charms they By fenfe unaided, or to virrue loft. [boaft, Self-flatt'ring fex! your hearts believe in vain That Love thall blind, when once he fires, the 'Or hope a lover by your faults to win, [fwain; As fpots on ermin beautify the fkin: 'Who fecks fecure to rule, be firft her care 'Each fofter virtue that adorns the fair; Each tender paffion man delights to find The loy'd perfection of a female mind!

Bleft were the days when wildom held her

reign,

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

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

Loft to our fields, for fo the fates ordain, The dear deferters thall return again.

Come thou, whofe thoughts as limpid fprings ' are clear;

To lead the train, fweet Modefty, appear:

Here make thy court amidst our rural scene, And fhepherd girls fhall own thee for their queen. With thee be Chaftity, of all afraid, Diftrufting all, a wife fufpicious maid;

But man the moft-not more the mountain doe Holds the fwift falcon for her deadly foc. Cold is her breaft, like flowers that drink the dow; A filken veil conceals her from the view. 'No wild defires amidst thy train be known, But Faith, whole heart is fix'd on one alone: Defponding Mecknefs, with her downcaft eyes, And friendly Pity, full of tender fighs; And Love the laft. By thefe your hearts approve; Thefe are the virtues that must 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 thepherds lov'd, and Selim blefs'd his fang.

ECLOGUE II.

Hafan; or, the Camel-Driver.

Scene, the Defart.---Time, Mid-Day.

IN filent horror, o'er the boundless wafte, The driver Halfan with his camels pafs'd: One crufe of water on his back he bore, And his light fcrip contain'd a fcanty store; A fan of painted feathers in his hand, To guard his fhaded face from fcorching fand. The fultry fun had gain'd the middle iky, And not a tree, and not an herb, was nigh: The beafts with pain their duty way purtue, 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 begin:

6

'Here,

way!

Curft be the gold and filver which perfuade Weak men to follow far-fatiguing trade! The lily Peace outfhines the filver-store, And life is dearer than the golden ore: Yet money tempts us o'er the defart brown, To ev'ry diftant mort and wealthy town. Full oft we tempt the land, and oft the fea; And are we only yet repaid by thee? Ah! why this 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 Pleafure's fong? Or wherefore think the flow'ry mountain's fide, The fountain's murmurs, and the valley's pride; Why think we thefe lefs pleafing to behold Than dreary defarts, if they lead to gold?

6

Sad was the hour, and lucklefs was the day, When firft from Schiraz' walls I bent my 'way!

O ceafe, my fears!-all frantic as I

go,

"Farewel the youth, whom fighs could not detain, "Whom Zara's breaking heart implor'd in vain; "Yet, as thou go'ft, may ev'ry blaft arife "Weak and unfelt as thefe rejected fighs! "Safe o'er the wild, no perils mayft thou fee; "No griefs endure; nor weep, false youth, like 66 me!"

let me fafely to the fair return, Say, with a kifs, fhe muft not, fhall not mourn! O let me teach my heart to lofe its fears, Recall'd by Wisdom's voice, and Zara's tears!' He faid; and call'd on Heaven to blefs the day When back to Schiraz' walls he bent his wa sway.

ECLOGUE III.

Abra; or, the Georgian Sultana.

Scene, a Foreft.---Time, the Evening.

IN Georgia's land, where Teffis' tow'rs are seen In diftant view along the level green; While evening dews enrich the glitt'ring glade, And the tall forcfts caft a longer fhade; What time 'tis fweet o'er fields of rice to ftray, Or fcent the breathing maize at fetting 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 fhe came, thofe willing flocks to lead,

'woc.

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 rous'd, he fcours the groaning plain, Gaunt wolves and fullen tigers in his train; Before them Death, with thrieks, directs their way!

6

Fills the wild yell, and leads them to their prey. Sad was the hour, and lucklefs 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 fcales around, And wake to anguith with a burning wound. Thrice happy they, the wife, contented poor; From luft of wealth, and dread of death, fecure! They tempt no defarts, and no griefs they find; Peace rules the day, where reafon rules the mind. Sad was the hour, and luckless was the day, When that from Schiraz' walls I bent my way!

O hapless youth! for fhe thy love hath won, The tender Zara, will be most undone !

Big fwell'd my heart, and own'd the pow'rful 'maid,

When faft fhe dropp'd her tears, and thus the 'faid:

From early dawn the live-long hours fhe told,
Till late at filent eve the penn'd the fold.
Deep in the grove, beneath the fecret shade,
A various wreath of odorous flowers she made.
Gay motley'd pinks and fweet jonquils she chose*,
The violet blue that on the mofs-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 ftray,
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 ev'ry youth like royal Abbas mov'd, And ev'ry Georgian maid like Abra lov'd! The royal lover bore her from the plain; Yet ftill her crook and bleating flock remain: Oft as the went the backward turn'd her view, And bade that crook and bleating flock adieu. Fair happy maid to other fcenes reinove; To richer feenes of golden pow'r and love! Go leave the fimple pipe, and fhepherd's ftrain; With love delight thee, and with Abbas reign.

Be ev'ry youth like royal Abbas mov'd, And ev'ry Georgian maid like Abra lov'd!' Yet, midft the blaze of courts, the fix'd her love On the cool fountain, or the fhady grove; Still, with the fhepherd's innocence, her mind To the fweet vale and flow'ry mead inclin'd: