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!