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IN

The driver, Haffan, with his camels past: One cruise of water on his back he bore, And his light fcrip contain'd a fcanty store; A fan of painted feathers in his hand, To guard his fhaded face from fcorching 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 defperate 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 blafting wind,

The thirst, or pinching hunger that I find!

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Bethink thee, Haffan, where shall Thirst affwage,
When fails this cruise, his unrelenting rage?
Soon fhall this fcrip its precious load refign;
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 mofs-crown'd fountains mitigate the day,
In vain ye hope the green delights to know,
Which plains more bleft, or verdant vales, bestow:
Here rocks alone, and tasteless sands, are found,
And faint and fickly winds for ever howl around.

"Sad was the hour, and luckless was the day,
When first from Schiraz' walls I bent my way!"
Curft be the gold and filver, which persuade
Weak men to follow far-fatiguing trade!
The lilly peace outshines the filver ftore,
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 repair'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 hafte along,
The gentle voice of Peace, or Pleasure's fong?
Or wherefore think the flowery mountain's fide,
The fountain's murmurs, and the valley's pride;
Why think we these less pleafing to behold,
Than dreary deferts, if they lead to gold?

"Sad

"Sad was the hour, and lucklefs was the day, When first from Schiraz' walls I bent my way!" O ceafe, 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 duft, 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 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 firft from Schiraz' walls I bent my way!" At that dead hour the filent afp shall creep, If aught of reft I find, upon my fleep: Or fome swol'n ferpent twist his scales 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 deferts, and no griefs they find; Peace rules the day, where Reason rules the mind.

"Sad was the hour, and luckless was the day, When firft from Schiraz' walls I bent my way!" O hapless youth! for she thy love hath won, The tender Zara, will be most undone ; Big fwell'd my heart, and own'd the powerful maid, When fast she dropt her tears, as thus fhe faid: "Farewell the youth whom fighs could not detain, Whom Zara's breaking heart implor'd in vain!

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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'st thou fee,
No griefs endure, nor weep, falfe youth, like me."
O let me fafely to the fair return,

Say, with a kiss, the muft not, shall not mourn;
O! let me teach my heart to lofe its fears,
Recall'd by Wisdom's voice, and Zara's tears.
He said, and call'd on Heav'n to bless the day,
When back to Schiraz' walls he bent his way.

ECLOGUE

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'N Georgia's land, where Teflis' towers are seen,

I in diftant view along the level green,

While evening dews enrich the glittering glade,
And the tall forefts caft a longer fhade,

What time 'tis fweet o'er fields of rice to fray,
Or fcent the breathing maize at fetting day;
Amidst the maids of Zagen's peaceful grove,
Emyra fung the pleafing cares of love.

Of Abra, firft, began the tender strain,
Who led her youth with flocks upon the plain;
At morn fhe 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 filent eve, fhe penn'd the fold.
Deep in the grove, beneath the fecret fhade,
A various wreath of odorous flowers fhe made:

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