Mankind to polish and to teach,

Be this the monarch's aim;
Above ambition's giant reach
The monarch's meed to claim.

IN

The EXORDIUM of Jaumi's Poem, entitled " Eusoor and
ZOOLEIKHA.' From THE INSTITUTES OF TIMOUR, &C.

By Major DAVY.

N the name of him whofe name is the refuge of the fouls of the faithful; Whofe praife is the ornament of eloquent tongues.

The most high, the only God, the eternal, the omniscient;

He who bestoweth ftrength and power on the feeble and the helpless.
The heavens he illum nes with multitudes of conftellations;

And with the human race he decorateth the earth, as with stars,
He who prepared the vaulted roof of the revolving sphere,
Who railed up the quadruple fold of the elements,

He who gives fragrance to the bofom of the rofe-bud,

And ornamenteth the parent-fhrub with wreaths of flowers.

He weaveth the garment for the brides of the fpring,

And teacheth the graceful cypress to erect his head on the border of the lake. He crowneth with fuccefs the virtuous intention,

And humbleth the pride of the self-conceited.

He accompanies the folitude of those who watch the midnight taper ;
He paffeth the day with the children of affliction.

From the fea of his bounty iffues the vernal cloud,

Which waters alike the thorn and the jeffamine.

From the repofitory of his beneficence proceeds the autumnal gale,
Which befpangles with gold the carpet of the garden.

It is his prefence that enflameth the orb of day,

From whence every atom derives its light.

Should he hide his countenance from the two great luminaries of the world,
Their mighty fpheres would defcend quick into the area of annihilation;
From the vault of heaven to the centre of the earth,

Which ever way we direct our thought and imagination,
Whether we defcend, or haften upwards,

We fhall not discover one atom uninfluenced by his power.
Wifdom is confounded in the contemplation of his effence;
The inveftigation of his ways exceeds the powers of man.
The angels blufh at their want of comprehenfion;
And the heavens are aftonished at their own motion.

Tranflaten

Tranflation of an Hymn to CAMDEO, the Hindoo God of Love.

W

By Sir WILLIAM JONES.

7HAT potent God, from Agra's orient bow'rs, Floats thro' the lucid air, whilft living flow'rs With funny twine the vocal arbours wreathe,

And gales enamour'd heavenly fragance breathe ?
Hail, power unknown! for at thy beck
Vales and groves their bofoms deck.
And every laughing bloffom dreffes
With gems of dew his mutky treffes.
I feel, I feel thy genial flame divine,
And hallow thee and kifs thy fhrine.

"Knowft thou not me?" Celeftial founds I hear; "Knowft thou not me?" Ah, ipare a mortal ear! "Behold"-My fwimming eyes entranc'd I raise, But oh! they fhrink before th' exceflive blaze. Yes, fon of Maya, yes, I know

Thy bloomy fhafts and cany bow,
Cheeks with youthful glory beaming,
Locks in braids ethereal ftreaming,
Thy fcaly ftandard, thy myfterious arms,
And all thy pains and all thy charms.

God of each lovely fight, each lovely found,
Soul-kindling, world-inflaming, ftar-ycrown'd,
Eternal Cama! Or doth Smara bright,
Or proud Ananga, give thee more delight?
Whate'er thy feat, whate'er thy name,
Seas, earth, and air, thy reign proclaim:
Wreathy fmiles, and rofeate pleasures,
Are thy richeft, fweeteft treasures.
All animals to the their tribute bring,
And hail thee universal king.

Thy confort mild, Affection ever true,

Graces thy fide, her veft of glowing hue,

And in her train twelve blooming girls advance,
Touch golden ftrings, and knit the mirthful dance.
Thy dreaded implements they bear,

And wave them in the fcented air;
Each with pearls her neck adorning,
Brighter than the tears of morning.

Thy crimfon enfign, which before them flies
Decks with new ftars the fapphire skies.

God

God of the flow'ry fhafts and flow'ry bow,
Delight of all above and all below!

Thy lov'd companion, conftant from his birth,
In heaven clep'd Beffent, and gay Spring on earth,
Weaves thy green robe and flaunting bow'rs,
And from thy clouds draws balmy thow'rs;
He with fresh arrows fills thy quiver,
(Sweet the gift and fweet the giver!)
And bids the many-plumed warbling throng
Burit the pont blooms with their fong.

He bends the lufcious cane, and twifts the ftring

With bees how iweet! but ah, how keen their fting!
He with five flow rets tips thy ruthless darts,

Which thro' five fenfes pierce enraptur'd hearts:
Strong Chumpa, rich in od'rous gold;

Warm Amer, nurs'd in heav'nly mould;
Dry Nagkefer in filver fmiling,

Hot Kiticum our fenfe beguiling;

And laft, to kindle fierce the fcorching flame,
Lovfhaft, which Gods bright Bela name.

Can men refift thy pow'r, when Krifben yields,
Krishen, who ftill in Matra's holy fields
Tunes harps immortal, and to ftrains divine
Dances by moonlight with the Gopia nine?
But when thy daring arm untam'd
At Mahaedeo a loveshaft aim'd,

Heav'n fhook and fmit with ftony wonder,
Told his deep dread in bursts of thunder;
Whilft on thy beauteous limbs an azure fire
Blaz'd forth, which never must expire.

O thou for ages born, yet ever young,
For ages may thy Bramins lay be fung!
And when thy lory spreads his em'rald wing
To waft thee high above the tow'rs of kings,
Whilft o'er thy throne the moon's pale light
Pours her foft radiance thro' the night,
And to each floating cloud discovers
The haunts of blett or joyless lovers,
Thy mildeft influence to thy bard impart,
To warm, but not confume, his heart.

MRS. SHERIDAN on her Brother's Violin.

WEET inftrument of him for whom I mourn, "Tuneful companion of my Lycid's hours,

"How

"How lieft thou now neglected and forlorn,

"What skilful hand thall now call forth thy pow'rs!

"Ah! none like his can reach those liquid notes,
"So foit, fo fweet, fo eloquently clear,
"To live beyond the touch, and gently float
"In dying modulations on the ear."

Thus o'er my Lycid's lyre as I complain'd,

And kifs'd the ftrings where he was wont to play, While yet in penfive fadnefs I remain'd,

Methought it figh'd, and fighing feem'd to fay,

"Ah! me, forlorn, forfaken, now no more Shall fame and juft applaufe around me wait; No power my gentle Mafter can restore,

"And I, alas! will thare his hapless fate.

"Fled is that fpirit, chill'd that youthful fire, Which taught thofe ftrains with harmony replete, And cold that hand which only can inspire

My fenfeless form to utter founds fo fweet.

"Those founds melodious ne'er again fhall please,
No tuneful ftrain from me fhall ever flow;
Save o'er my trembling ftrings a fighing breeze,
To call one fad, foft note of tender woe.

"Elfe ah! for ever mute let me remain,
Unftrung, untun'd, forgotten let me be;
Guard me from curious eye, and touch profane,
And let me reft in mournful fympathy !

"One fate with thee, dear Mafter, let me fhare;
Like thee in filent darkness let me lie;

My frame without thee is not worth my care!
With thee alone it liv'd, with thee fhall die!"

Her Brother's Lyre to Mrs. SHERIDAN. By Mr. PRATT.

TH

H'S faid a folemn filence breath'd around,
Cecilia wept upon her Lycid's lyre,

The penfive breeze then gave a fighing found,
And the ftrings feem'd to tremble and expire.

One hollow murmur, like the dying moan,

Was heard to vibrate then, with paufes flow,

From

From the fad inftrument, when thus the tone

Gave modulations of a fofter woe:

"Cease beauteous Mourner! partner of my grief!
Tuneful affociate of my loft despair,

Thou, only thou, canft bring this breaft relief;
Thy fympathy alone can footh my care.

"What though-ah, ftroke severe ! our Lycid's dead,
Nor more, alas! can ravifh mortal ear!
What though the foul of melody is fled,

His bleft attendant, to th' harmonious sphere.

"Struck by Cecilia's hand I yet may live;
Her magic touch again can tune my frame;
Her cherub voice my fpirit yet revive,.
And founds of heavenly forrow grace my fame.

But should nor dulcet fong, nor mufic's art,
Nor focial fighs, which mourn the youth we love,
Have power to heal the fifters wounded heart,
Nor to these chords forlorn a folace prove;

"Ah! ftill together let our forrows join,

And this fad form yet boaft thy gentle aid;

Lycid's companion fure fhould fill be thine;

Still fhouldft thou kifs the ftrings where he has play'd."

L'AMOUR TIMIDE.

ΤΟ

IF in that breaft, fo good, fo pure,
Compaffion ever lov'd to dwell,

Pity the forrows I endure,

The caufe-I muft not-dare not tell.

The grief that on my quiet preys

That rends my heart-that checks my tongue

I fear will last me all my days,

But feel it will not laft me long.

S O N G.

CEASE to blame my melancholy,
Though with fighs and folded arms
I mufe with filence on her charms;
Cenfure not-I know 'tis folly.

et,