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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 fo the Fates ordain,
The dear deferters fhall return again.
Come thou, whose thoughts as limpid springs 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 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 defires amidst thy train be known,
But Faith, whose heart is fix'd on one alone :
Defponding Meekness 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 bless'd his fong.

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Haffan; or the Camel-driver. Scene, the Defert.
Time, Mid-day.


N filent horror o'er the boundless wafte
The driver Haffan with his camels past:
One cruife 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 shaded face from fcorching fand.
The fultry fun had gain'd the middle sky,
And not a tree, and not an herb was nigh;
The beafts, with pain, their dufty way pursue,
Shrill roar'd the winds, and dreary was the view!
With defperate 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, 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 toils, that bear
In all my griefs a more than equal fhare!
Here, where no fprings in murmurs break away,
Or mofs-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 sands are found,
And faint and fickly winds for ever howl around.
"Sad was the hour, and lucklefs was the day,
"When first from Schiraz' walls I bent
my way!"
Curft be the gold and filver which perfuade
Weak men to follow far fatiguing trade!
The lily peace outshines the filver store,
And life is dearer than the golden ore :
Yet money tempts us o'er the defert brown,
To 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 fo 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 fong?
Or wherefore think the flowery mountain's fide,
The fountain's murmurs, and the valley's pride,
Why think we these less pleafing to behold,
Than dreary deferts, 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 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,

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By hunger rouz'd, he fcours 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 filent afp fhall creep,
If aught of reft I find, upon my fleep:
Or fome fwoln ferpent twist his fcales 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 tempt no deserts, and no griefs they find;
Peace rules the day, where reafon 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 fhe thy love hath won,
The tender Zara will be moft undone !

Big fwell'd my heart, and own'd the powerful maid,
When fast she drops her tears, as thus fhe 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 blast arise
"Weak and unfelt as these rejected fighs!
"Safe o'er the wild, no perils may'st thou see,
"No griefs endure, nor weep, false youth, like me."
O, let me fafely to the fair return,

Say with a kiss, she must 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 bless the day, When back to Schiraz' walls he bent his way.



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


'N Georgia's land, where Tefflis' towers are seen,
In diftant view along the level green,
While evening dews enrich the glittering glade,
And the tall forests 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 first began the tender strain,
Who led her youth with flocks upon the plain:
At morn fhe 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 filent eve fhe penn'd the fold.
Deep in the grove, beneath the secret shade,
A various wreath of odorous flowers fhe made:
Gay-motley'd pinks and fweet jonquils fhe chofe,
The violet blue that on the mofs-bank grows;


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


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