POEMS OF WILLIAM COLLINS. ORIENTAL ECLOGUES. ECLOGUE I. SELIM; OR, THE SHEPHERD'S MORAL. SCENE, A VALLEY NEAR BAGDAT. YE Persian maids, attend your poet's lays, "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. "Blest were the days, when Wisdom held her 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 thon, whose thoughts as limpid springs are clear, To lead the train, sweet Modesty, appear: Thus sung the swain; and antient legends say, ECLOGUE II. HASSAN; OR, THE CAMEL-DRIVER, SCENE, THE DESERT. TIME, MID-DAY. IN silent horrour o'er the boundless waste The driver Hassan with his camels pass'd: One cruse 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 be"Sad was the hour, and luckless was the day, [gan: 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 assuage, When fails this cruse, 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 lily 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 repaid 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 fountain'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 tigers 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, 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 't is 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 lilies 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 chase 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 bade 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!" That these flowers are found in very great abundance in some of the provinces of Persia, see the modern history of Mr. Salmon. 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 reuew'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; Blest was the life that royal Abbas led : ECLOGUE IV. Yon citron grove, whence first in fear we came, 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 soothe 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 eyes' 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 AGIB AND SECANDER; OR, THE FUGITIVES. Circassia's ruin, and the waste of war; SCENE, A MOUNTAIN IN CIRCASSIA. Is fair Circassia, where, to love inclin'd, 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 sad flight through 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 try'd! 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. Some weightier arms than crooks and staffs preparo, Fixt to destroy, and stedfast to undo. He said; when loud along the vale was heard ODES, DESCRIPTIVE AND ALLEGORICAL, ODE TO PITY. O THOU, the friend of man assign'd, By Pella's bard, a magic name, Receive my humble rite : Thy sky-worn robes of tenderest blue, Long, Pity, let the nations view And eyes of dewy light! But wherefore need I wander wide Deserted stream, and mute? Been sooth'd by Pity's lute. There first the wren thy myrtles shed To him thy cell was shown; Its southern site, its truth complete, In all who view the shrine. The buskin'd Muse shall near her stand, There let me oft, ret'r'd by day, Allow'd with thee to dwell: There waste the mournful lamp of night, Till, Virgin, thou again delight To hear a British shell! ODE TO FEAR. THOU, to whom the world unknown Ah, Fear! ah, frantic Fear! I know thy hurried step, thy haggard eye! What mortal eye can fixt behold? EPODE. In earliest Greece, to thee, with partial choice, The maids and matrons, on her awful voice, But reach'd from Virtue's hand the patriot's steel. But who is he, whom later garlands grace, Who left a while o'er Hybla's dews to rove, With trembling eyes thy dreary steps to trace, Where thou and furies shar'd the baleful grove? Wrapt in thy cloudy veil th' incestuous queen 3 Sigh'd the sad call her son and husband heard, When once alone it broke the silent scene, And he the wretch of Thebes no more appear'd. O Fear! I know thee by my throbbing heart, Thy withering power inspir'd each mournful line; Though gentle Pity claim her mingled part, Yet all the thunders of the scene are thine. ANTISTROPHE, Thou who such weary lengths hast past, 'Gainst which the big waves beat, Hear drowning seamen's cries in tempests brought! Dark power, with shuddering meek submitted thought, Be mine, to read the visions old, And, lest thou meet my blasted view, ODE TO SIMPLICITY. O THOU, by Nature taught, In numbers warmly pure, and sweetly strong; In Fancy, loveliest child, Thy habe, and Pleasure's, nurs'd the powers of song! And gauds, and pageant weeds, and trailing pall: In attic robe array'd, O chaste, unboastful nymph, to thee I call! By all the honey'd store On Hybla's thymy shore, The grief-full Muse address'd her infant tongue; By all her blooms, and mingled murmurs dear, 1 A river in Sussex. • Æschylus. 3 Jocasta. |