ECLOGUE I. SELIM; OR, THE SHEPHERD'S MORAL: SCENE, A VALLEY NEAR BAGDAT. TIME, THE MORNING. E Perfian maids, attend your poet's lays, YE And hear how fhepherds pafs their golden days. Not all are bleft, whom fortune's hand fuftains Thus Selim fung, by facred Truth infpir'd; Or taught the fwains that fureft bliss to find, When sweet and blushing, like a virgin bride, The radiant morn resum'd her orient pride, When wanton gales along the valleys play, Breathe on each flower, and bear their sweets away; Ye Perfian dames, he faid, to you belong, For you thofe flowers her fragrant hands bestow, The best kind bleffings heaven can grant the fair I 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 Such are the maids, and fuch the charms they boast, By fenfe unaided, or to virtue lost. Self-flattering fex! your hearts believe in vain That love fhall blind, whence once he fires the fwain ; Or hope a lover by your faults to win, As fpots on ermin beautify the fkin: ; 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. 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 fhore, By Ind excell'd or Araby no more. Loft to our fields, for fo the fates ordain, The dear deferters fhall return again. Come |