ORIENTAL ECLOGUES.

ORIENTAL ECLOGUES . By Mr. WILLIAM COLLINS .

ECLOGUE I. SELIM ; OR , THE SHEPHERD'S MORAL . SCENE , A VALLEY NEAR BAGDAT . TIME , THE MORNING . YE Persian maids , attend your poet's lays , And hear how shepherds pass their golden days . Not all are blest , 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 sung , by sacred Truth inspir'd ; Nor praise , but such as Truth bestow'd , desir'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 bestow , a virtuous mind . 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 ; By Tigris' wandering waves he sat , and sung This useful lesson for the fair and young . Ye Persian dames , he said , to you belong , Well may they please , the morals of my song : No fairer maids , I trust , than you are found , Grac'd with soft arts , the peopled world around ! The morn that lights you , to your loves supplies Each gentler ray delicious to your eyes : For you those flowers her fragrant hands bestow , And yours the love that kings delight to know . Yet think not these , all beauteous as they are , The best kind blessings heaven can grant the fair ! Who trust alone in beauty's feeble ray , Boast but the worth Bassora's pearls display ; Drawn from the deep we own their surface bright , But , dark within , they drink no lustrous light : Such are the maids , and such the charms they boast , By sense unaided , or to virtue lost . Self-flattering sex ! your hearts believe in vain That love shall blind , when once he fires the swain ; Or hope a lover by your faults to win , As spots on ermin beautify the skin : Who seeks secure to rule , be first her care Each softer virtue that adorns the fair ; Each tender passion man delights to find , The lov'd perfections of a female mind ! Blest were the days , when wisdom held her reign , And shepherds sought her on the silent plain ; With Truth she wedded in the secret grove , Immortal Truth , and daughters bless'd their love . O haste , 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 . Lost to our fields , for so the fates ordain , The dear deserters shall return again . Come thou , whose thoughts as limpid springs are clear , To lead the train , sweet modesty appear : Here make thy court amidst our rural scene , And shepherd girls shall own thee for their queen . With thee be Chastity , of all afraid , Distrusting all , a wise suspicious maid ; But man the most — not more the mountain doe Holds the swift falcon for her deadly foe . Cold is her breast , like flowers that drink the dew ; A silken veil conceals her from the view . No wild desires amidst thy train be known , But Faith , whose heart is fix'd on one alone : Desponding Meekness , with her down-cast eyes , And friendly Pity , full of tender sighs ; And love the last : by these your hearts approve , These are the virtues that must lead to love . Thus sung the swain ; and ancient legends say , The maids of Bagdat verified the lay : Dear to the plains , the Virtues came along , The shepherds lov'd , and Selim bless'd his song .

ECLOGUE II . HASSAN ; OR , THE CAMEL-DRIVER . SCENE , THE DESERT . TIME , MID-DAY . IN silent horror o'er the boundless waste The driver Hassan with his camels past : One cruise of water on his back he bore , And his light scrip contain'd a scanty store ; A fan of painted feathers in his hand , To guard his shaded face from scorching sand . The sultry sun had gain'd the middle sky , And not a tree , and not an herb was nigh ; The beasts , with pain , their dusty way pursue , Shrill roar'd the winds , and dreary was the view ! With desperate sorrow wild , th' affrighted man Thrice sigh'd , thrice struck his breast , and thus began : " Sad was the hour , and luckless was the day , " When first from Schiraz' walls I bent my way ! " Ah ! little thought I of the blasting wind , The thirst or pinching hunger that I find ! Bethink thee , Hassan , where shall Thirst asswage , When fails this cruise , his unrelenting rage ? Soon shall this scrip its precious load resign ; 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 springs in murmurs break away , Or moss-crown'd fountains mitigate the day , In vain ye hope the green delights to know , Which plains more blest , or verdant vales bestow : Here rocks alone , and tasteless sands are found , And faint and sickly winds for ever howl around . " Sad was the hour , and luckless was the day , " When first from Schiraz' walls I bent my way ! " Curst be the gold and silver which persuade Weak men to follow far-fatiguing trade ! The lilly peace outshines the silver store , And life is dearer than the golden ore : Yet money tempts us o'er the desert brown , To 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 haste along , The gentle voice of peace , or pleasure's song ? Or wherefore think the flowery mountain's side , The mountain's murmurs , and the valley's pride , Why think we these less pleasing to behold , Than dreary deserts , 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 fearful ! oft , when day's declining light Yields her pale empire to the mourner night , By hunger rous'd , he scours the groaning plain , Gaunt wolves and sullen tygers in his train : Before them death with shrieks 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 silent asp shall creep , If aught of rest I find , upon my sleep : Or some swoln serpent twist his scales around , And wake to anguish with a burning wound . Thrice happy they , the wise contented poor , From lust of wealth , and dread of death secure ! They tempt no deserts , and no griefs they find ; Peace rules the day , where reason 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 she thy love hath won , The tender Zara will be most undone ! Big swell'd my heart , and own'd the powerful maid , When fast she dropt her tears , as thus she said : " Farewell the youth whom sighs could not detain , " Whom Zara's breaking heart implor'd in vain ! " Yet as thou go'st , may every blast arise " Weak and unfelt as these rejected sighs ! " Safe o'er the wild , no perils may'st thou see , " No griefs endure , nor weep , false youth , like me . " O let me safely to the fair return , Say with a kiss , she must not , shall not mourn ; O ! let me teach my heart to lose 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 Schiraz' walls he bent his way .

ECLOGUE III . ABRA ; OR , THE GEORGIAN SULTANA . SCENE , A FOREST . TIME , THE EVENING . IN Georgia's land , where Tefflis' towers are seen , In distant view along the level green , While evening dews enrich the glittering glade , And the tall forests cast a longer shade , What time 'tis sweet o'er fields of rice to stray , Or scent the breathing maize at setting day ; Amidst the maids of Zagen's peaceful grove , Emyra sung the pleasing cares of love . Of Abra first began the tender strain , Who led her youth with flocks upon the plain : At morn she came those willing flocks to lead , Where lillies-rear them in the watery mead ; From early dawn the live-long hours she told , 'Till late at silent eve she penn'd the fold . Deep in the grove , beneath the secret shade , A various wreath of odorous flowers she made : Gay-motley'd pinks and sweet jonquils she chose , The violet blue that on the moss-bank grows ; All-sweet to sense , the flaunting rose was there : The finish'd chaplet well-adorn'd her hair . Great Abbas chanc'd that fated morn to stray , By love conducted from the chace away ; Among the vocal vales he heard her song , And sought the vales and echoing groves among : At length he found , and woo'd the rural maid ; She knew the monarch , and with fear obey'd . " Be every youth like royal Abbas mov'd , " And every Georgian maid like Abra lov'd ! " The royal lover bore her from the plain ; Yet still her crook and bleating flock remain : Oft as she went , she backward turn'd her view , And bad that crook and bleating flock adieu . Fair happy maid ! to other scenes remove , To richer scenes of golden power and love ! Go leave the simple pipe , and shepherd's strain ; With love delight thee , and with Abbas reign . " Be every youth like royal Abbas mov'd , " And every Georgian maid like Abra lov'd ! " Yet midst the blaze of courts she fix'd her love On the cool fountain , or the shady grove ; Still with the shepherd's innocence her mind To the sweet vale , and flowery mead inclin'd ; And oft as spring renew'd the plains with flowers , Breath'd his soft gales , and led the fragrant hours , With sure return she sought the sylvan scene , The breezy mountains , and the forests green . Her maids around her mov'd , a duteous band ! Each bore a crook all-rural in her hand : Some simple lay , of flocks and herds they sung ; With joy the mountain , and the forest rung . " Be every youth like royal Abbas mov'd , " And every Georgian maid like Abra lov'd ! " And oft the royal lover left the care And thorns of state , attendant on the fair ; Oft to the shades and low-roof'd cots retir'd , Or sought the vale where first his heart was fir'd : A russet mantle , like a swain , he wore , And thought of crowns and busy courts no more . " Be every youth like royal Abbas mov'd , " And every Georgian maid like Abra lov'd ! " Blest was the life , that royal Abbas led : Sweet was his love , and innocent his bed . What if in wealth the noble maid excel ; The simple shepherd girl can love as well . Let those who rule on Persia's jewell'd throne Be fam'd for love , and gentlest love alone ; Or wreathe , like Abbas , full of fair renown , The lover's myrtle with the warrior's crown . O happy days ! the maids around her say ; O haste , profuse of blessings , haste away ! " Be every youth , like royal Abbas , mov'd ; " And every Georgian maid , like Abra , lov'd ! "

ECLOGUE IV . AGIB AND SECANDER ; OR , THE FUGITIVES . SCENE , A MOUNTAIN IN CIRCASSIA . TIME , MIDNIGHT . IN fair Circassia , where , to love inclin'd , Each swain was blest , for every maid was kind ; At that still hour , when awful midnight reigns , And none , but wretches , haunt the twilight plains ; What time the moon had hung her lamp on high , And past in radiance thro' the cloudless sky ; Sad o'er the dews , two brother shepherds fled , Where wildering fear and desperate sorrow led : Fast as they prest their flight , behind them lay Wide ravag'd plains , and vallies stole away . Along the mountain's bending sides they ran , 'Till faint and weak Secander thus began : SECANDER . O stay thee , Agib , for my feet deny , No longer friendly to my life , to fly . Friend of my heart , O turn thee and survey , Trace our said flight thro' all its length of way ! And first review that long-extended plain ! And yon wide groves , already past , with pain ! Yon ragged cliff , whose dangerous path we tried ! And last this lofty mountain's weary side ! AGIB . Weak as thou art , yet hapless must thou know The toils of flight , or some severer woe ! Still as I haste , the Tartar shouts behind , And shrieks and sorrows load the saddening wind : In rage of heart , with ruin in his hand , He blasts our harvests , and deforms our land . Yon citron grove , whence first in fear we came , Droops its fair honours to the conquering flame : Far fly the swains , like us , in deep despair , And leave to ruffian bands their fleecy care . SECANDER . Unhappy land , whose blessings tempt the sword , In vain , unheard , thou call'st thy Persian lord ! In vain thou court'st him , helpless , to thine aid , To shield the shepherd , and protect the maid ! Far off , in thoughtless indolence resign'd , Soft dreams of love and pleasure sooth his mind : 'Midst fair sultanas lost in idle joy , No wars alarm him , and no fears annoy . AGIB . Yet these green hills , in summer's sultry heat , Have lent the monarch oft a cool retreat . Sweet to the sight is Zabran's flowery plain , And once by maids and shepherds lov'd in vain ! No more the virgins shall delight to rove By Sargis' banks , or Irwan's shady grove ; On Tarkie's mountain catch the cooling gale , Or breathe the sweets of Aly's flowery vale : Fair scenes ! but , ah ! no more with peace possest , With ease alluring , and with plenty blest . No more the shepherd's whitening tents appear , Nor the kind products of a bounteous year ; No more the date , with snowy blossoms crown'd ! But ruin spreads her baleful fires around . SECANDER . In vain Circassia boasts her spicy groves , For ever fam'd for pure and happy loves : In vain she boasts her fairest of the fair , Their eye's blue languish , and their golden hair ! Those eyes in tears their fruitless grief must send ; Those hairs the Tartar's cruel hand shall rend . AGIB . Ye Georgian swains that piteous learn from far Circassia's ruin , and the waste of war ; Some weightier arms than crooks and staffs prepare , To shield your harvests , and defend your fair : The Turk and Tartar like designs pursue , Fix'd to destroy , and stedfast to undo . Wild as his land , in native deserts bred , By lust incited , or by malice led , The villain Arab , as he prowls for prey , Oft marks with blood and wasting flames the way ; Yet none so cruel as the Tartar foe , To death inur'd , and nurst in scenes of woe . He said ; when loud along the vale was heard A shriller shriek , and nearer fires appear'd : Th' affrighted shepherds thro' the dews of night , Wide o'er the moon-light hills renew'd their flight .