I

E CLOGUE II.

HASSAN; OR, THE CAMEL-DRIVER,

SCENE, THE DESERT.

TIME, MID-DAY.

N filent horror o'er the boundless waste

The driver Haffan with his camels past:
One cruife of water on his back he bore,
And his light fcrip contain'd a scanty store;
A fan of painted feathers in his hand,

To guard his shaded face from scorching 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 purfue,.
Shrill roar'd the winds, and dreary was the view!
With defperate forrow wild, th' affrighted man
Thrice figh'd, thrice ftruck his breaft, and thus began
"Sad was the hour, and lucklefs was the day,
"When first from Schiraz' walls I bent my way!"""

Ah! little thought I of the blafting wind, The thirft or pinching hunger that I find! Bethink thee, Haffan, where shall Thirst affwage, When fails this cruife, his unrelenting rage? Soon fhall this fcrip its precicus load refign; 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 fprings in murmurs break away, Or mofs-crown'd fountains mitigate the day, In vain ye hope the green delights to know, Which plains more bleft, or verdant vales bestow: Here rocks alone, and taftelefs 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!"

Curft be the gold and filver which perfuade

Weak men to follow far-fatiguing trade!

The

The lily peace outshines the filver store,
And life is dearer than the golden ore:

Yet

Το

money tempts us o'er the defert brown,

every distant mart and wealthy town.
Full oft we tempt the land, and oft the sea:
And are we only yet repay'd 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 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 I 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

And fearful! oft, when day's declining light
Yields her pale empire to the mourner night,
By hunger rous'd, he fcours the groaning plain,
Gaunt wolves and fullen tygers in his train :
Before them death with fhrieks 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 shall creep,
If aught of rest I find, upon my fleep:
Or fome fwoln ferpent twift 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 dropt 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 fee,
"No griefs endure, nor weep, false youth, like me."
O let me fafely to the fair return,

Say with a kifs, fhe muft 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 said, and call'd on heaven to bless the day, When back to Schiras' walls he bent his way.