The poetical works of Sir William Jones With the life of the author ... in two volumes |
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| SONGS AND BALLADS. |
 | The poetical works of Sir William Jones |  |
191
SONGS AND BALLADS.
A PERSIAN SONG OF HAFIZ.
Sweet maid, if thou wouldst charm my sight;
And, bid these arms thy neck infold;
That rosy cheek, that lily hand,
Would give thy poet more delight
Than all Bocara's vaunted gold,
Than all the gems of Samarcand.
And, bid these arms thy neck infold;
That rosy cheek, that lily hand,
Would give thy poet more delight
Than all Bocara's vaunted gold,
Than all the gems of Samarcand.
Boy! let yon liquid ruby flow,
And bid thy pensive heart be glad,
Whate'er the frowning zealots say:—
Tell them their Eden cannot show
A stream so clear as Rocnabad,
A bower so sweet as Mosellay.
And bid thy pensive heart be glad,
Whate'er the frowning zealots say:—
192
A stream so clear as Rocnabad,
A bower so sweet as Mosellay.
O! when these fair, perfidious maids,
Whose eyes our secret haunts infest,
Their dear destructive charms display;—
Each glance my tender breast invades,
And robs my wounded soul of rest;
As Tartars seize their destin'd prey.
Whose eyes our secret haunts infest,
Their dear destructive charms display;—
Each glance my tender breast invades,
And robs my wounded soul of rest;
As Tartars seize their destin'd prey.
In vain with love our bosoms glow:
Can all our tears, can all our sighs,
New lustre to those charms impart?
Can cheeks, where living roses blow,
Where nature spreads her richest dyes,
Require the borrow'd gloss of art?
Can all our tears, can all our sighs,
New lustre to those charms impart?
Can cheeks, where living roses blow,
Where nature spreads her richest dyes,
Require the borrow'd gloss of art?
193
Speak not of fate;—ah! change the theme,
And talk of odours, talk of wine,
Talk of the flow'rs that round us bloom:—
'Tis all a cloud, 'tis all a dream:
To love and joy thy thoughts confine,
Nor hope to pierce the sacred gloom.
And talk of odours, talk of wine,
Talk of the flow'rs that round us bloom:—
'Tis all a cloud, 'tis all a dream:
To love and joy thy thoughts confine,
Nor hope to pierce the sacred gloom.
Beauty has such resistless power,
That even the chaste Egyptian dame
Sigh'd for the blooming Hebrew boy;
For her how fatal was the hour,
When to the banks of Nilus came
A youth so lovely and so coy!
That even the chaste Egyptian dame
Sigh'd for the blooming Hebrew boy;
For her how fatal was the hour,
When to the banks of Nilus came
A youth so lovely and so coy!
But ah, sweet maid! my counsel hear,—
(Youth should attend when those advise
Whom long experience renders sage,)
While music charms the ravish'd ear;
While sparkling cups delight our eyes,
Be gay; and scorn the frowns of age.
(Youth should attend when those advise
Whom long experience renders sage,)
194
While sparkling cups delight our eyes,
Be gay; and scorn the frowns of age.
What cruel answer have I heard!
And yet, by heaven! I love thee still:
Can aught be cruel from thy lip?
Yet say, how fell that bitter word
From lips which streams of sweetness fill,
Which nought but drops of honey sip?
And yet, by heaven! I love thee still:
Can aught be cruel from thy lip?
Yet say, how fell that bitter word
From lips which streams of sweetness fill,
Which nought but drops of honey sip?
Go boldly forth, my simple lay,
Whose accents flow with artless ease,
Like orient pearls at random strung:
Thy notes are sweet, the damsels say;
But O! far sweeter, if they please
The nymph for whom these notes are sung.
Whose accents flow with artless ease,
Like orient pearls at random strung:
Thy notes are sweet, the damsels say;
But O! far sweeter, if they please
The nymph for whom these notes are sung.
195
A SONG, From the Persian, paraphrased in the Measure of the Original.
I
Sweet as the rose that scents the gale,Bright as the lily of the vale,
Yet with a heart like summer hail,
Marring each beauty thou bearest.
II
Beauty like thine, all nature thrills;And when the Moon her circle fills,
Pale she beholds those rounder hills,
Which on the breast thou wearest.
III
Where could those peerless flow'rets blow?Whence are the thorns that near them grow?
Wound me, but smile, O lovely foe!
Smile on the heart thou tearest.
IV
Sighing, I view that cypress waist,Doom'd to afflict me till embrac'd;
Sighing, I view that eye too chaste,
Like the new blossom smiling.
V
Spreading thy toils with hands divine,Softly thou wavest like a pine,
Darting thy shafts at hearts like mine,
Senses, and soul beguiling.
196
VI
See at thy feet no vulgar slave,Frantic with love's enchanting wave,
Thee, ere he seek the gloomy grave,
Thee his blest idol styling.
PLASSEY-PLAIN ,
A BALLAD, Addressed to Lady Jones by her Husband.
Aug. 3, 1784.
T'is not of Jàrfer, nor of Clive,
On Plassey's glorious field I sing;
'Tis of the best good girl alive,
Which most will deem a prettier thing.
On Plassey's glorious field I sing;
'Tis of the best good girl alive,
Which most will deem a prettier thing.
The Sun, in gaudy palanqueen,
Curtain'd with purple, fring'd with gold,
Firing no more heav'n's vault serene,
Retir'd to sup with Ganges old.
Curtain'd with purple, fring'd with gold,
Firing no more heav'n's vault serene,
Retir'd to sup with Ganges old.
When Anna, to her bard long dear,
(Who lov'd not Anna on the banks
Of Elwy swift, or testa clear?)
Tripp'd thro' the palm grove's verdant ranks.
(Who lov'd not Anna on the banks
Of Elwy swift, or testa clear?)
Tripp'd thro' the palm grove's verdant ranks.
197
Where thou, blood-thirsty Subahdar,
Wast wont thy kindred beasts to chase,
Till Britain's vengeful hounds of war,
Chas'd thee to that well-destin'd place.
Wast wont thy kindred beasts to chase,
Till Britain's vengeful hounds of war,
Chas'd thee to that well-destin'd place.
She knew what monsters rang'd the brake,
Stain'd like thyself with human gore,
The hooded, and the necklac'd snake,
The tiger huge, and tusked boar.
Stain'd like thyself with human gore,
The hooded, and the necklac'd snake,
The tiger huge, and tusked boar.
To worth, and innocence approv'd,
E'en monsters of the brake are friends:
Thus o'er the plain at ease she mov'd:—
Who fears offence that ne'er offends?
E'en monsters of the brake are friends:
Thus o'er the plain at ease she mov'd:—
Who fears offence that ne'er offends?
Wild perroquets first silence broke,
Eager of dangers near to prate;
But they in English never spoke,
And she began her moors of late.
Eager of dangers near to prate;
But they in English never spoke,
And she began her moors of late.
Next, patient dromedaries stalk'd,
And wish'd her speech to understand;
But Arabic was all they talk'd:—
Oh, had her Arab been at hand!
And wish'd her speech to understand;
But Arabic was all they talk'd:—
Oh, had her Arab been at hand!
A serpent dire, of size minute,
With necklace brown and freckled side,
Then hasten'd from her path to shoot,
And o'er the narrow causey glide.
With necklace brown and freckled side,
Then hasten'd from her path to shoot,
And o'er the narrow causey glide.
198
Three elephants, to warn her, call,
But they no western tongue could speak;
Tho' once, at Philobiblian stall,
Fame says a brother jabber'd Greek.
But they no western tongue could speak;
Tho' once, at Philobiblian stall,
Fame says a brother jabber'd Greek.
Superfluous was their friendly zeal;
For what has conscious truth to fear?
Fierce boars her pow'rful influence feel,
Mad buffaloes, or furious deer.
For what has conscious truth to fear?
Fierce boars her pow'rful influence feel,
Mad buffaloes, or furious deer.
E'en tigers, never aw'd before,
And panting for so rare a food,
She dauntless heard around her roar,
While they the jackals vile pursued.
And panting for so rare a food,
She dauntless heard around her roar,
While they the jackals vile pursued.
No wonder since, on Elfin Land,
Prais'd in sweet verse by bards adept,
A lion vast was known to stand,
Fair virtue's guard, while Una slept.
Prais'd in sweet verse by bards adept,
A lion vast was known to stand,
Fair virtue's guard, while Una slept.
Yet oh! had one her perils known,
(Tho' all the lions in all space
Made her security their own,)
He ne'er had found a resting place.
(Tho' all the lions in all space
Made her security their own,)
He ne'er had found a resting place.
It can scarcely be necessary to recall to the recollection of the reader, the victory gained by Lord Clive, over Seraj'uddoula, Subahdar or Viceroy of Bengal, on Plassey-Plain.
199
Au FIRMAMENT.
‘Would I were yon blue field above,’
(Said Plato, warbling am'rous lays,)
‘That with ten thousand eyes of love,
‘On thee for ever I might gaze.’
(Said Plato, warbling am'rous lays,)
‘That with ten thousand eyes of love,
‘On thee for ever I might gaze.’
My purer love the wish disclaims,
For were I, like Tiresias, blind,
Still should I glow with heavenly flames,
And gaze with rapture on thy mind.
For were I, like Tiresias, blind,
Still should I glow with heavenly flames,
And gaze with rapture on thy mind.
SONG.
[Wake, ye nightingales, oh, wake!]
Wake, ye nightingales, oh, wake!
Can ye, idlers, sleep so long?
Quickly this dull silence break;
Burst enraptur'd into song:
Shake your plumes, your eyes unclose,
No pretext for more repose.
Can ye, idlers, sleep so long?
Quickly this dull silence break;
Burst enraptur'd into song:
Shake your plumes, your eyes unclose,
No pretext for more repose.
Tell me not, that Winter drear
Still delays your promis'd tale,
That no blossoms yet appear,
Save the snow-drop in the dale
Tell me not the woods are bare;—
Vain excuse! prepare! prepare!
Still delays your promis'd tale,
That no blossoms yet appear,
Save the snow-drop in the dale
Tell me not the woods are bare;—
Vain excuse! prepare! prepare!
200
View the hillock, view the meads:
All are verdant, all are gay;
Julia comes, and with her leads
Health, and Youth, and blooming May.
When she smiles, fresh roses blow;
Where she treads, fresh lilies grow.
All are verdant, all are gay;
Julia comes, and with her leads
Health, and Youth, and blooming May.
When she smiles, fresh roses blow;
Where she treads, fresh lilies grow.
Hail! ye groves of Bagley, hail!
Fear no more the chilling air:
Can your beauties ever fail?
Julia has pronounc'd you fair.
She could cheer a cavern's gloom,
She could make a desert bloom.
Fear no more the chilling air:
Can your beauties ever fail?
Julia has pronounc'd you fair.
She could cheer a cavern's gloom,
She could make a desert bloom.
| The poetical works of Sir William Jones | |