I feel not Sorrow's painful wound: I look upon thy glowing cheek; And the sole blessing that I seek Is in thy matchless beauty found.

In quest of thee, though to my sight Oppressive toil, and wild affright, The desert of research present, Expecting he may find thee there, Still Hafez, unsubdued by care,

Keeps on his weary way content.

And pray believe my Visions true;
They'll form your mind to ev'ry grace;
They'll add new beauties to your face :
And, when old-age impairs your prime,
You'll triumph o'er the spoils of time.
Childhood and youth engage my pen ;
'Tis labour lost to talk to men:

Youth may perhaps reform when wrong;
Age will not listen to my song.

Ile who at fifty is a fool,

Is far too stubborn grown for school.

What is that vice which still prevails, When almost ev'ry passion fails;

Which with our very dawn begun,

Nor ends but with our setting sun;
Which, like a noxious weed, can spoil

The fairest flow'rs, and choke the soil?-
'Tis Slander-and, with shame I own,
The vice of human kind alone.

Be Slander, then, my leading dream, Though you're a stranger to the theme; Thy softer breast, and honest heart,

Scorn the defamatory art;

Thy soul asserts her native skies,

Nor asks detraction's wings to rise:

In foreign spoils let others shine,

Intrinsic excellence is thine.

The bird in peacock's plumes who shone

Could plead no merit of her own;

The silly theft betray'd her pride,

And spoke her poverty beside.

Th' insidious sland'ring thief is worse

Than the poor rogue who steals your purse.

Say, he purloins your glitt❜ring store;

Who takes your gold, takes trash-no more; Perhaps he pilfers-to be fed

Ah! guiltless wretch, who steals for bread!

But the dark villain who shall aim

To blast, my fair, thy spotless name,
He'd steal a precious gem away,
Steal what both Indies can't repay!
Here the strong pleas of want are vain,
Or the more impious pleas of gain.
No sinking family to save!

No gold to glut th' insatiate knave!

Improve the hint of Shakespeare's tongue; 'Twas thus immortal Shakespeare sung:

And trust the bard's unerring rule,
For nature was that poet's school.

As I was nodding in my chair, I saw a rueful wild appear:

* Othello.

4

No verdure met my aching sight,

But hemlock and cold aconite;

Two very pois'nous plants, 'tis true,
But not so bad as vice to you.

The dreary prospect spread around;

Deep snow had whiten'd all the ground:

A bleak and barren mountain nigh,

Expos'd to ev'ry friendless sky!

Here foul-mouth'd Slander lay reclin'd, Her snaky tresses hiss'd behind;

A bloated toad-stool rais'd her head,

The plumes of ravens were her hed;'* She fed upon the viper's brood,

And slak'd her impious thirst with blood..

The rising sun, and western ray,

Were witness to her distant sway.

The tyrant claim'd a mightier host

Than the proud Persian e'er could boast.

* Garth's Dispensatory.