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The balmy shrub for you shall love our shore,
By Ind excell'd, or Araby, no more..

Loft to our fields, for so the Fates ordain,
The dear deserters fhall return again.
Come thou, whose thoughts as limpid springs are clear,
To lead the train, sweet Modesty appear:
Here make thy court amidst our rural scene,
And Mepherd-girls shall own thee for their queen.
With thee be Chastity, of all afraid,
Distrusting all, a wise suspicious maid ;
But man the most - not more the mountain doe
Holds the swift faulcon for her deadly foe. .
Cold is her breast, like flowers that drink the dew,
A filken veil conceals her from the view.
No wild desires amidst thy train be known,
But Faith, whose heart is fix'd on one alone :
Desponding Meekness with her downcast eyes,
And friendly Pity, full of tender sighs ;
And Love the last : by these your hearts approve,
These are the virtues that must lead to love.

Thus sung the fwain ; and ancient legends say,
The maids of Bagdat verified the lay:
Dear to the plains, the Virtues came along,
The shepherds lov’d, and Selim bless’d his fong.


Hafsan; or the Camel-driver. Scene, the Desert.

Time, Mid-day.
IN filent horror o'er the boundless waste

The driver Hassan with his camels paft:
One cruise of water on his back he bore,
And his light scrip contain'd a scanty ftore :
A fan of painted feathers in his hand,
To guard his shaded face from scorching fand.
The sultry sun had gain’d the middle sky,
And not a tree, and not an herb was nigh;
The beasts, with pain, their dusty way pursue,
Shrill roar'd the winds, and dreary was the view !
With defperate forrow wild, th' affrighted man
Thrice sigh’d, thrice struck his breast, and thus began:
“ Sad was the hour, and luckless was the day,
" When first from Schiraz' walls I bent my way!”

Ah ! little thought I of the blasting wind,
The thirst, or pinching hunger, that I find ! .
Bethink thee, Hassan, where shall Thirst assuage,
When fails this cruise, his unrelenting rage ?
Soon shall this scrip its precious load resign;
Then what but tears and hunger shall be thine ?

Ye mute companions of my toils, that bear
In all my griefs a more than equal share !
Here, where no springs in murmurs break away,
Or moss-crown’d fountains mitigate the day,


In vain ye hope the green delights to know,
Which plains more blest, or verdant vales bestow :
Here rocks alone, and tasteless 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!”

Curst be the gold and silver which persuade
Weak men to follow far fatiguing trade !
The lily peace outlines the filver store,
And life is dearer than the golden ore:
Yet money tempts us o'er the desert 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 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 fide,

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 rouz’d, he scours the groaning plain,
Gaunt wolves and fullen tigers in his train :
Before them death with shrieks directs their way,
Fills the wild 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 seep:
Or fome 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 the thy love hath won, The tender Zara will be most undone ! Big swell’d my heart, and own’d the powerful maid, When fast she drops her tears, as thus she faid : “ Farewell the youth whom fighs could not detain, “ Whom Zara's breaking heart implor'd in vain! “ Yet as thou go'st, may every blaft arise « Weak and unfelt as these rejected fighs ! “ Safe o'er the wild, no perils may'st thou fee, “ No griefs endure, nor weep, false youth, like me.” O, let me fafely to the fair return, Say with a kiss, she must not, fall not mourn ; O ! let me teach my heart to lose its fears, Recall’d by Wisdom's voice, and Zara's tears.


He said, and callid on heaven to bless the day, When back to Schiraz' walls he bent his way,

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Abra; or, the Georgian Sultana. Scene, a Forest.

Time, the Evening.

IN Georgia's land, where TeMis' towers are seen,
1 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 :
At morn she came those willing flocks to lead,
Where lilies rear them in the watery mead;
From early dawn the live-long hours she told,
Till late at silent eve she penn'd the fold.
Deep in the grove, beneath the secret shade,
A various wreath of odorous flowers she made :
* Gay-motley'd pinks and sweet jonquils she chose,
The violet blue that on the moss-bank grows;

* That these flowers are found in very great abundance in some of the provinces of Persia, see the modern history of Mr. Salmon.


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