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 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, wheree'er we dwell.
Thus Selim fung, by facred truth inspir'd;
Nor praise, but such as truth bestow'd, defir'd:
Wife in himself, his meaning fongs convey'd
Informing morals to the fhepherd maid;
Or taught the swains that fureft blifs to find,
What groves nor ftreams bestow, a virtuous mind.
When sweet and blushing, like a virgin bride
The radiant morn refum'd her orient pride,
When wanton gales along the vallies play,
Breathe on each flower, and bear their fweets away:
By Tigris' wandering waves he fat, and fung
This useful lesson for the fair and young.
Ye Perfian 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 foft arts, the peopled world around!
The morn that lights you, to your
loves fupplies
Each gentler ray delicious to your eyes :
For you those flowers her fragant hands bestow,
And yours the love that kings delight to know.
Yet think not these, all beauteous as they are,
The best kind bleffings heaven can grant the fair!
Who truft alone in beauty's feeble ray,
Boaft but the worth Baffora's pearls display;
Drawn from the deep we own their surface bright, But, dark within, they drink no luftrous light: Such are the maids, and fuch the charms they boast, By fenfe unaided, or to virtue loft.
Self-flattering fex! your hearts believe in vain
That love fhall blind, when once he fires the fwain; Or hope a lover by your faults to win,
As fpots on ermin beautify the skin:
Who feeks fecure to rule, be firft her care
Each fofter virtue that adorns the fair;
Each tender paffion man delights to find,
The lov'd perfections of a female mind!
Bleft were the days, when wisdom held her reign, And fhepherds fought her on the filent plain; With Truth fhe wedded in the fecret grove, Immortal Truth, and daughters blefs'd their love. hafte, fair maids! ye Virtues come away, pace and Plenty lead you on your way!
The balmy fhrub 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 shall return again.
Come thou, whofe thoughts as limpid fprings are clear,
To lead the train, fweet Modesty appear:
Here make thy court amidst our rural scene,
And fhepherd-girls shall own thee for their queen.
With thee be Chastity, 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, whofe heart is fix'd on one alone:
Defponding Meekness with her downcaft eyes,
And friendly Pity, full of tender fighs;
And Love the last: by these your hearts approve,
Thefe 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 blefs'd his fong.
Haffan; or the Camel-driver.
Defert. Time, Mid-day.
N filent horror o'er the boundless wafte
The driver Haffan with his camels past:
One cruise 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 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 assuage,
When fails this cruise, his unrelenting rage?
Soon fhall this fcrip its precious load refign;
Then what but tears and hunger shall be thine?
Ye mute companions of my toils, that bear
Tn all my griefs a more than equal share!
where no fprings in murmurs break away,
crown'd fountains mitigate the day,
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