PITY.

HAIL, lovely pow'r! whofe bofom heaves a figh,
When fancy paints the fcene of deep diftrefs;
Whofe tears fpontan'ous chryftallize the eye,
When rigid fate denies the pow'r to blefs.
Not all the fweets Arabia's gales convey
From flow'ry meads, can with that figh compare:
Not dew-drops glitt'ring in the morning ray,
Seem near fo beaut'ous as that falling tear.

Devoid of fear the fawns around thee play;
Emblem of peace, the dove before thee flies;
No blood-ftain'd traces mark thy blameless way,
Beneath thy feet no hapless infect dies.

Come, lovely nymph! and range the mead with me,
To fpring the partridge from the guileful foe,
From fecret fnares the ftruggling bird to free,
And stop the hand uprais'd to give the blow.
And when th' air with heat meridian glows,
And nature droops beneath the conq'ring gleam,
Let us, flow wand'ring where the current flows,
Save finking flies that float along the stream.
Or, turn to nobler, greater tasks thy care,
To me thy fympathetic gifts impart;
Teach me in friendship's griefs to bear a share;
And justly boaft the gen'rous feeling heart.
Teach me to footh the helpless orphan's grief;
With timely aid the widow's woes affuage;
To mis'ry's moving cries to yield relief,

And be the fure refource of drooping age.
So when the verdant spring of youth shall fade,
And finking nature owns the dread decay,
Some foul congenial then may lend its aid,
And gild the clofe of life's eventful day.

HASSAN; OR, THE CAMEL-DRIVER.

Scene, the Defart.-Time, Mid-day.

IN filent horror, o'er the boundless waste,
The driver HASSAN, with his camels paft:
One crufe of water on his back he bore,
And his light ferip contain'd a fcanty ftore:
A fan of painted feathers in his hand,

To guard his fhaded face from scorching fand.
The fultry fun had gain'd the middle sky,
And not a tree, and not an herb, was nigh:
The beafts, with pain, their dufty way purfue,
Shrill roar'd the winds, and dreary was the view!
With defp rate forrow wild, th' affrighted man
Thrice figh'd, thrice ftruck his breaft, and thus
began:

Sad was the hour, and lucklefs was the day, When firft from SCHIRAZ' walls I bent my way! Ah! little thought I of the blatting wind,

The thirft, or pinching hunger that I find!

Bethink thee, HASSAN, where fhall thirft affuage, When fails this crufe, his unrelenting rage? Soon thall this fcrip its precious load refign; Then what but tears and hunger fhall be thine? Ye mute companions of my toils, that bear • In all my griefs a more than equal share! Here, where no fprings in murmurs break away, Or mofs-crown'd fountains mitigate the day, In vain ye hope the fresh delights to know, Which plains more bleft, or verdant vales, beflow: Here rocks alone, and taftelefs fands, are found, And faint and fickly winds for ever howl around.

Sad was the hour, and luckless was the day, When firft from SCHIRAZ' walls I bent my way! Curft be the gold and filver which perfuade Weak men to follow far-fatiguing trade! The lily PEACE outfhines the filver ftore, And LIFE is dearer than the golden ore:

Yet money tempts us o'er the defart brown,
• To ev'ry diftant mart and wealthy town.
Full oft we tempt the land, and oft the fea;
And are we only yet repaid by thee?
Ah! why this ruin fo attractive made?

Or, why fond man fo easily betray'd?

Why heed we not, while mad we hafte along, The gentle voice of PEACE, or pleafure's fong? Or, wherefore think the flow'ry mountain's fide, The fountain's murmurs, and the valley's pride--Why think we thefe lefs pleafing to behold, Than dreary defarts, if they lead to gold?

Sad was the hour, and lucklefs was the day, • When firft from SCHIRAZ' walls I bent my way! O, ceafe my tears!-All frantic as I go, When thought creates unnumber'd fcenes of wae. What if the LION in his rage I meet! Oft in the dufi 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 fcours the groaning plain, Gaunt WOLVES, and fullen TIGERS in his train: Before them DEATH with fhrieks directs their way! Fills the wild yell, and leads them to their

prey. Sad was the hour, and lucklefs was the day, • When firft from SCHIRAZ' walls I bent my way! At that dead hour, the filent ASP fhall creep, If ought of reft, I find upon my fleep: Or fome fwoln SERPENT twift his fcales around, And wake to anguish with a burning wound. Thrice happy they, the wife, contented poor, From luft of WEALTH, and dread of DEATH, fecure!

They tempt no defarts, and no griefs they find; PEACE rules the day, where REASON rules the mind.

Sad was the hour, and lucklefs was the day,
When firft from SCHIRAZ' walls I bent my way!

S

O hapless youth! for the thy love hath won,
The tender ZARA will be most undone!

Big fwell'd my heart, and own'd the pow'rful maid, When faft the dropp'd her tears, and thus the faid: "Farewell the youth, whom fighs could not detain; "Whom ZARA's breaking heart implor'd in vain! "Yet as thou go'ft, may ev'ry blast arise, "Weak and unfelt as thefe rejected fighs! "Safe o'er the wild, no perils may'ft thou fee; "No griefs endure, nor weep, falfe youth, like me!" O! let me fafely to the fair return,

6

Say, with a kifs, the muft not, fhall not mourn! O let me teach my heart to lofe its fears,

Recall'd by WISDOM's voice, and ZARA's tears!' He faid; and call'd on heav'n to blefs the day, When back to SCHIRAZ' walls he bent his way.

A MORAL THOUGHT.

THROUGH groves fequefter'd, dark and ftill,
Low vales, and moffy cells among,

In filent paths the careless rill,

Which languid murmurs, fteals along.
Awhile it plays with circling fweep,

And ling'ring leaves its native plain;
Then pours impet'ous down the steep,
And mingles with the boundless main.
O let my years thus dev'ous glide,
Through filent fcenes obfcurely calm!
Nor wealth, nor ftrife, pollute the tide,
Nor honour's fanguinary palm.
When labour tires, and pleasure palls,
Still let the stream untroubled be,
As down the fleep of age it falls,
And mingles with eternity.

THE SAILOR.

THE SAILOR fighs as finks his native shore,
As all its lefs'ning turrets bluely fade;

He climbs the maft to feaft his eye once more,
And bufy fancy fondly lends her aid.

Ah! now, each dear, domestic scene he knew,
Recall'd and cherish'd in a foreign clime,
Charms with the magic of a moon-light view,
Its colours mellow'd, not impair'd, by time.
True as the needle, homeward points his heart,
Through all the horrors of the ftormy main;
This, the laft wifh with which its warmth could part,
To meet the fmile of her he loves again.

When morn first faintly draws her filver line,
Or eve's grey cloud defcends to drink the wave;
When fea and fky in midnight darkness join,
Still,-ftill he views the parting look the gave.
Her gentle fpirit, lightly hov'ring o'er,
Attends his little bark from pole to pole;
And, when the beating billows round him roar,
Whifpers fweet hope to footh his troubled foul.
Carv'd is her name in many a fpicy grove,
In many a plantain-foreft, waving wide;
Where dufky youths in painted plumage rove,
And giant-palms o'er-arch the yellow tide.
But lo, at laft he comes with crowded fail!
Lo, o'er the cliff what eager figures bend!
And hark, what mingled murmurs fwell the gale!
In each he hears the welcome of a friend.
-'Tis fhe,-'tis fhe herfelf! fhe waves her hand
Soon is the anchor caft, the canvas furl'd;
Soon, through the whit'ning furge he fprings to land,
And clafps the maid, he fingled from the world.