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E CLOG U E I.
SELIM ; OR, THE SHÉPHÉRD'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 sustains With wealth in courts, nor all that haunt the plains : Well may your hearts believe the truths I tell ; * 'Tis virtue makes the bliss, where'er we dwell.
Thus Selim fung, by sacred Truth infpir'd; Nor praise, but such as Truth beftow'd, defir'd : Wise 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 beftow, a virtuous mind.
When sweet and blothing, like a virgin bride,
Ye Persian dames, he said, to you belong,
Such are the maids, and such the charms they boast,
Bleft were the days, when wisdom held her reign, And shepherds sought her on the filent plain ; With Truth she wedded in the secret grove, Immortal Truth, and daughters bless’d their love.
O hafte, 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 deerters shall return again.