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Selim; or the Shepherd's Moral. Scene, a Valley

near Bagdat. Time, the Morning.

E Perfian maids, attend your poet's lays,

And hear how shepherds pass their golden days. Not all are blest, whom fortune's hand sustains With wealth in courts, nor all that haunt the plains : Well may your

hearts believe the truths I tell ! 'Tis virtue make the bliss, wheree'er we dwell.

Thus Selim sung, by sacred truth inspir’d;
Nor praise, but such as truth bestow'd, desir'd:
Wife in himself, his meaning songs convey'd
Informing morals to the shepherd maid;
Or taught the swains that surest bliss to find,
What groves nor streams bestow, a virtuous mind.

When sweet and blushing, like a virgin bride
The radiant morn resum'd her orient pride,
When wanton gales along the vallies play,
Breathe on each flower, and bear their sweets away :
By Tigris’ wandering waves he sat, and sung
This useful lesson for the fair and


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

those flowers her fragrant hands bestow,
And yours the love that kings delight to know.
Yet think not these, all beauteous as they are,
The best kind blessings heaven can grant the fair !
Who truit alone in beauty's feeble

Boatt but the worth Bassora's pearls display ;
Drawn from the deep we own their surface bright,
But, dark within, they drink no lustrous light :
Such are the maids, and such the charms they boast,
By sense unaided, or to virtue lost.
Self-flattering fex! your hearts believe in vain
That love shall blind, when once he fires the swain ;
Or hope a lover by your faults to win,
As spots on ermin beautify the skin :
Who seeks secure to rule, be first her care
Each softer virtue that adorns the fair ;
Each tender passion man delights to find,
The lov'd perfections of a female mind!

Bleft were the days, when wisdom held her reign,
And shepherds sought her on the silent plain ;
With Truth she wedded in the secret grove,
Immortal Truth, and daughters bless’d their love.

O haste, fair maids ! ye Virtues come away,
Sweet Peace and Plenty lead you on your way!


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 deferters fhall return again.
Come thou, whose thoughts as limpid springs 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 Chastity, of all afraid,
Distrusting all, a wise fuspicious 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 fighs; 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 song.

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

Time, Mid-day.

N silent 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 store :
A fan of painted feathers in his hand,
To guard his fhaded 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 desperate forrow wild, th' affrighted man
Thrice figh'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 afluage,
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,

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In vain ye hope the green delights to know,
Which plains more bleft, 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 outshines the silver store,
And life is dearer than the golden ore :
Yet money tempts us o'er the desert brown,

every distant 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 hafte 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 1

go, When thought creates unnumber'd scenes of woe, What if the lion in his


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,

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