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THE

POEMS OF
OF WILLIAM COLLINS.

ORIENTAL

ECLOGUES.

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YE

E Perfian maids, attend your poet's lays,
And hear how fhepherds pass their golden
days.

Not all are bleft, whom fortune's hand fuftains With wealth in courts, nor all that haunt the plains:

Well may your hearts believe the truths I tell!
'Tis virtue makes the blifs, wheree'er we dwell.

Thus Selim fung, by facred truth infpir'd;
Nor praise, but such as truth bestow'd, defir'd:
Wife in himself, his meaning fongs convey'd
Informing morals to the fhepherd maid;
Or taught the fwains that sureft blifs to find,
What groves nor streams bestow, a virtuous mind.
When sweet and blushing, like a virgin bride
The radiant morn refum'd her orient pride,
When wanton gales along the vallies play,

Who seeks fecure to rule, be firft her care
Each fofter virtue that adorns the fair;
Each tender paffion man delights to find,
The lov'd perfections of a female mind!

Bleft were the days, when wisdom held her reign,

And fhepherds fought her on the filent plain;
With Truth fhe wedded in the fecret grove,
Immortal Truth, and daughters bless'd their love.
O hafte, fair maids! ye Virtues come away,
Sweet Peace and Plenty lead you on your way!
The balmy fhrub for you shall love our shore,
By Ind excell'd, or Araby, no more.

Loft to our fields, for fo the Fates ordain,
The dear deferters shall return again.

Come thou, whofe thoughts as limpid springs are clear,

To lead the train, sweet Modefty, appear:
Here make thy court amidst our rural scene,
And shepherd-girls fhall own thee for their queen.
With thee be Chastity, of all afraid,
Diftrufting all, a wife fufpicious maid;

Breathe on their flowers, and bears their fweets But man the moft-not more the mountain doe

away:

By Tigris' wandering waves he fat, and fung
This useful leffon for the fair and young.

Ye Perfian dames, he faid, to you belong,
Well may they please, the morals of my fong:
No fairer maids, I truft, than you are found,
Grac'd with soft arts, the peopled world around!
The morn that lights you, to your loves fupplies
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 thefe, all beauteous as they are,
The best kind bleffings heav'n can grant the fair!
Who truft alone in beauty's feeble ray,
Boaft but the worth Baffora's pearls difplay;
Drawn from the deep we own their furface bright,
But, dark within, they drink no luftrous light:
Such are the maids, and fuch the charms they boast,
By fenfe unaided, or to virtue loft.

Self-flattering fex! your hearts believe in vain
That love fhall blind, when once he fires the fwain ;
Or hope your lover by your faults to win,
As fpots on ermin beautify the fkin:

Holds the fwift faulcon for her deadly foe.
Cold is her breast, like flowers that drink the dew,
A filken veil conceals her from the view.
No wild defires amidst thy train be known,
But Faith, whofe heart is fix'd on one alone:
Defponding Meekness with her downcaft eyes,
And friendly Pity, full of tender fighs;
And Love the laft: by thefe your hearts approve,
Thefe are the virtues that must lead to love.

Thus fung the fwain; and ancient legends fay,
The maids of Bagdat verified the lay:
Dear to the plains, the Virtues came along,
The fhepherds lov'd, and Selim blefs'd his fong.

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One cruise of water on his back he bore,
And his light fcrip contain'd a fcanty ftore:
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 bearts, 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 luckless was the day,
"When firft from Schiraz' walls I bent my way!''
Ah! little thought I of the blasting wind,
The thirft, or pinching hunger, that I find!
Bethink thee, Haffan, where fhall Thirst affuage,
When fails this cruife, 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 fprings 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 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!"
Curst 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 defert brown,
To every 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 was ruin fo attractive made,
Or why fond man fo eafily 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 thefe lefs pleafing to behold,
Than dreary deferts, 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 fears all frantic as I go,
When thought creates unnumber'd fcenes 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 rouz'd, he fcours the groaning plain,
Gaunt wolves and fallen tigers in his train:
Before them death with fhricks directs their way,
Fills the wild yell, and leads them to their prey.
"Sad was the hour, and lucklefs was the day,
"When first from Schiraz' walls I bent my way !"
At that dead hour the filent afp thall creep,
If aught of reft I find, upon my fleep:
Or fome fwoln ferpent twift his fcales around,
And wake to anguish with a burning wound.
Thrice happy they, the wife contented poor,
From luit of wealth, and dread of death fecure!
They tempt no deferts, and no griefs they find;
Peace rules the day, where reafon rules the mind.

"Sad was the hour, and lucklefs was the day, "When first from Schiraz' walls I bent my way!" O, haple's youth! for the thy love hath won, The tender Zara will be rnoft undone !

Big fwell'd my heart, and own'd the powerful maid, When faft the dropt her tears, as thus fhe faid: "Farewell the youth whom fighs could not detain, "Whom Zara's breaking heart implor'd in vain! "Yet as thou go'ft, may every 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,

Say with a kifs, fhe 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 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.

N Georgia's land, where Tefflis' towers are feen, In diftant view along the level green, While evening dews enrich the glittering glade, And the tall forests caft a longer shade, What time 'tis fweet o'er fields of rice to ftray, Or fcent the breathing maize at fetting day; Amidft the maids of Zagen's peaceful grove, Emyra fung the pleafing cares of love.

Of Abra first began the tender strain,
Who led her youth with flocks upon the plain:
At morn fhe came thofe willing flocks to lead,
Where lillies rear them in the watery mead;
From early dawn the live-long hours fhe told,
Till late at filent eve fhe penn'd the fold.
Deep in the grove, beneath the secret shade,
A various wreath of odorous flowers fhe made:
*Gay-motley'd pinks and fweet jonquils fhe chofe,
The violet blue that on the mofs-bank grows;
All-fweet to fenfe, the flaunting rofe 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 fong,
And fought 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 ftill her crook and bleating flock remain :
Oft as fhe went, the backward turn'd her view,
And bade that crook and bleating flock adieu.
Fair happy maid! to other fcenes remove,
To richer fcenes of golden power and love!

*That these flowers are found in very great abundance in fome of the provinces of Perfia, fee the modern hiftory of Mr. Salmon.

Go leave the fimple pipe, and fhepherd's ftrain;
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 the fix'd her love
On the cool fountain, or the fhady grove:
Still with the fhepherd's innocence her mind
To the sweet vale, and flowery mead inclin'd;
And oft as fpring renew'd the plains with flowers,
Breath'd his foft gales, and led the fragrant hours,
With fure return fhe fought the sylvan scene,
The breezy mountains, and the forefts green.
Her maids around her mov'd, a duteous band!
Each bore a crook all rural in her hand:
Some fimple lay, of flocks and herds they fung;
With joy the mountain and the forest rung.
"Be every youth like royal Abbas mov'd
"And every Georgian majd like Abra lov'd!"
And oft the royal lover left the care
And thorns of state, attendant on the fair;
Oft to the fhades and low-roof'd cots retir'd,
Or fought the vale where first his heart was fir'd:
A ruffet mantle, like a swain, he wore,
And thought of crowns and bufy courts no more.
"Be every youth like royal Abbas mov'd,
"And every Georgian maid like Abra lov'd!"
Bleft was the life, that royal Abbas led:
Sweet was his love, and innocent his bed.
What if in wealth the noble maid excel;
The fimple shepherd-girl can love as well.
Let those who rule on Perfia's jewel'd throne,
Be fam'd for love, and gentleft 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 fay;
O hafte, profufe of bleffings, hafte away!
"Be every youth like royal Abbas mov'd;
"And every Georgian maid like Abra loved!"

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Agib and Secander; or, the Fugitives. Scene, a Mountain in Circaffia. Time, Midnight.

N fair Circaffia, where, to love inclin'd,

Each fwain was bleft, for every maid was kind; At that still hour, when aweful midnight reigns, And none, but wretches, haunt the twilight plains; What time the moon had hung her lamp on high, And past in radiance through the cloudless sky; Sad o'er the dews, two brother fhepherds fied, Where wildering fear and defperate forrow led: Faft as they preft their flight, behind them lay Wild ravag'd plains, and vallies ftole away. Along the mountain's bending fides 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 furvey, Trace our fad 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, whofe dangerous path we try'd!
And laft this lofty mountain's weary fide!

AGIB.

Weak as thou art, yet hapless muft thou know The toils of flight, or fome feverer woe! Still as I hafte, the Tartar's fhouts behind, And shrieks and forrows load the faddening 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 fwains, like us, in deep despair, And leave to ruffian bands their fleecy care.

SECANDER.

Unhappy land, whose bleffings tempt the fword, In vain, unheard, thou call'ft thy Perfian lord! In vain thou court'ft him, helpless, to thine aid, To fhield the fhepherd, and protect the maid! Far off, in thoughtless indolence refign'd, Soft dreams of love and pleasure foothe his mind, 'Midft fair fultanas loft in idle joy,

No wars alarm him, and no fears annoy.

AGIB.

Yet these green hills, in fummer's fultry heat,
Have lent the monarch oft a cool retreat.
Sweet to the fight is Zabran's flowery plain,
And once by maids and fhepherds lov'd in vain!
No more the virgins shall delight to rove
By Sargis' banks, or Irwan's fhady 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 poffeft,
With ease alluring, and with plenty blest.
No more the shepherd's whitening tents appear,
Nor the kind product of a bounteous year!
No more the date, with fnowy bloffoms crown'd!
But ruin fpreads her baleful fires around.

SECANDER.

In vain Circaffia boafts her fpicy groves, For ever fam'd for pure and happy loves: In vain she boafts her fairest of the fair, Their eyes' blue languish, and their golden hair! Those eyes in tears their fruitlefs grief muft fend; Thofe hairs the Tartar's cruel hand fhall rend.

AGIB.

Ye Georgian fwains, that piteous learn from far Circaffia's ruin, and the waste of war; Some weightier arms than crooks and staffs prepare, To fhield your harvests, and defend your fair : The Turk and Tartar like defigns purfue, Fix'd to destroy, and stedfaft to undo. Wild as his land, in native deserts bred, By luft incited, or by malice led,

The villain Arab, as he prowls for prey,

Oft marks with blood and wasting flames the way ;
Yet none fo cruel as the Tartar foe,

To death inur'd, and rurft in fcenes of woe.
He faid; when loud along the vale was heard
A fhriller fhriek, and nearer fires appear'd:
Th' affrighted thepherds, through the dews of
night,

Wide o'er the moon-light hills renew'd their flight.

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By Pella's Bard, a magic name,
By all the griefs his thought could frame,
Receive my humble rite :

Long, Pity, let the nations view
Thy fky-worn robes of tendereft blue,
And eyes of dewy light!

But wherefore need I wander wide
To old Iliffus' diftant fide,

Deferted ftream, and mute?
Wild Arun too has heard thy ftrains,
And Echo, 'midst my native plains,
Been footh'd by Pity's lute.

There first the wren thy myrtles shed
On gentlest Otway's infant head,

To him thy cell was shewn;
And while he fung the female heart,
With youth's foft notes unspoil'd by art,
Thy turtles mix'd their own.

Come, Pity, come, my fancy's aid,
Ev'n now my thoughts, relenting maid,
Thy temple's pride defign:
Its fouthern fite, its truth complete
Shall raife a wild enthufiaft heat,
In all who view the fhrine.

There picture's toil fhall well relate,
How chance, or hard involving fate,
O'er mortal blifs prevail :

The bufkin'd Mufe fhall near her stand,
And fighing prompt her tender hand,
With each difaftrous tale.

There let me oft, retir'd by day,
In dreams of paffion melt away,

Allow'd with thee to dwell:

There waste the mournful lamp of night,
Till, Virgin, thou again delight
Te hear a British fhell!

*A river in Suffex.

ODE TO FEAR.

THU, to whom the world unknown

With all its shadowy shapes is shewn;

Who seeft appall'd th' unreal scene,
While Fancy lifts the veil between :
Ah, Fear! ah, frantic Fear!

I fee, I fee thee near.

I know thy hurried step, thy haggard eye!
Like thee Iftart, like thee diforder'd fly,
For, lo, what monsters in thy train appear!
Danger, whofe limbs of giant mold
What mortal eye can fix'd behold?
Who ftalks his round, an hideous form,
Howling amidst the midnight ftorm,
Or throws him on the ridgy steep
Of fome loose hanging rock to fleep:
And with him thousand phantoms join'd,
Who prompt to deeds accurs'd the mind:
And thofe, the fiends, who near allied,
O'er nature's wounds and wrecks prefide;
While Vengeance, in the lurid air,
Lifts her red arm, expos'd and bare :
On whom that ravening brood of fate,
Who lap the blood of Sorrow, wait;
Who, Fear, this ghaftly train can fee,
And look not madly wild, like thee?

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Though gentle Pity claim her mingled part, Yet all the thunders of the fcene are thine.

ANTISTROPHE.

Thou who fuch weary lengths haft past, Where wilt thou reft, mad nymph, at last? Say, wilt thou shroud in haunted cell, Where gloomy Rape and Murder dwell? Or in fome hollow'd feat,

'Gainft which the big waves beat,

Hear drowning feamen's cries in tempefts brought! Dark power, with fhuddering meek fubmitted thought,

Be mine to read the vifions old,
Which thy awakening bards have told.

And, left thou meet my blasted view,
Hold each strange tale devoutly true;
Ne'er be I found, by thee o'er-aw'd,
In that thrice-hallow'd eve abroad,
When ghofts, as cottage-maids believe,
Their pebbled beds permitted leave,
And goblins haunt from fire, or fen,
Or mine, or flood, the walks of men!
O thou, whose spirit most possest
The facred feat of Shakespeare's breast!
By all that from thy prophet broke
In thy divine emotions spoke !
Hither again thy fury deal,

Teach me but once like him to feel:
His cypress wreath my meed decree,
And I, O Fear, will dwell with thee !

Thy fober aid and native charms infufe!
The flowers that sweetest breathe,
Though beauty cull'd the wreathe,
Still afk thy hand to range their order'd hues.
While Rome could none esteem,

But virtue's patriot theme,

You lov'd her hills, and led her laureate band; But ftaid to fing alone

To one diftinguish'd throne,

And turn'd thy face, and fled her alter'd land.

No more, in hall or bower,
The paffions own thy power,

Love, only Love, her forceless numbers mean :
For thou haft left her shrine,

Nor olive more, nor vine,

Shall gain thy feet to blefs the fervile scene.

Though tafte, though genius bless
To fome divine excess,

Faint's the cold work till thou inspire the whole;
What each, what all supply,

May court, may charm our eye, Thou, only thou, canft raise the meeting foul!

Of these let others ask,

To aid fome mighty task,

I only feek to find thy temperate vale:
Where oft my reed might found
To maids and shepherds round,
And all thy fons, O Nature, learn my tale.

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Thou, by Nature taught,

To breathe her genuine thought,

In numbers warmly pure, and fweetly ftrong :

Who first on mountains wild,

In Fancy, loveliest child,

ODE ON THE POETICAL CHARACTER.

A

S once, if not with light regard,

I read aright the gifted Bard, (Him whose school above the reft His lovelieft Elfin queen has bleft) One, only one unrival'd fair *,

Thy babe, and Pleasure's, nurs'd the powers of Might hope the magic girdle wear,

fong!

Thou, who with hermit heart

Difdain'ft the wealth of art,

And gauds, and pageant weeds, and trailing pall: But com'ft a decent maid,

In Attic robe array'd,

O chaste, unboastful nymph, to thee I call!

By all the honey'd store

On Hybla's thymy shore,

By all her blooms, and mingled murmurs dear, By her, whofe love-lorn woe,

In evening musings flow,

Sooth'd sweetly fad Electra's poet's ear:

By old Cephifus deep,

Who fpread his wavy sweep,

In warbled wanderings round thy green retreat,

On whose enamel'd fide,

When holy Freedom died,

No equal haunt allur'd thy future feet.

O fifter meek of Truth,

To my admiring youth,

At folemn tournay hung on high,
The wish of each love-darting eye;
Lo! to each other nymph in turn applied,

As if, in air unfeen, fome hovering hand,
Some chafte and angel-friend to virgin-fame,
With whifper'd spell had burft the starting band,
It left unbleft her loath'd difhonour'd fide;
Happier hopeless fair, if never

Her baffled hand with vain endeavour
Had touch'd that fatal zone to her denied!
Young Fancy thus, to me divineft name,
To whom, prepar'd and bath'd in heaven,
The ceft of ampleft power is given,
To few the god-like gift affigns,

To gird their bleft prophetic loins,

And gaze her vifions wild, and feel unmix'd her

flame.

The band, as fairy legends fay,

Was wove on that creating day,

When he who call'd with thought to birth

Yon tented sky, this laughing earth,

And drest with springs, and forefts tall,

And pour'd the main engirting all,

* Florimel. See Spenfer, Leg. 4.

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