Wild as his land, in native deserts bred, The villain Arab, as he prowls for prey, Oft marks with blood and wasting flames the way; To death inur'd, and nurft in fcenes of woe. He faid; when loud along the vale was heard A fhriller fhriek, and nearer fires appear'd : Th' affrighted fhepherds thro' the dews of night, Wide o'er the moon-light hills renew'd their flight. ODE TO PITY. Thou, the friend of man affign'd, With balmy hands his wounds to bind, And charm his frantic woe: When first Distress, with dagger keen, Broke forth to waste his destin'd scene, His wild unfated foe! By Pella's Bard, a magic name, By all the griefs his thought could frame, Receive my humble rite: Long, Pity, let the nations view Thy fky-worn robes of tendereft blue, And eyes of dewy light! But wherefore need I wander wide To old Iliffus' diftant fide, |