Persian love elegies :: :: University of Virginia Library

To Love, the song of hapless Selim flows:
Ah! bless the swain who sighs before thy shrine:
Lo! ev'ry dear delight which rapture knows,
Queen of the tender heart, is wholly thine.

No more I'll idly tune the line for praise:
Diviner hopes my glowing fancy move:
I ask the muses for their sweetest lays,
To tell a beauteous maid how much I love.

Vain are our vows to Fame, alas! how vain!
She waits to see us on the mournful bier,
Before she pours the sweet ungrateful strain:
What cruel mock'ry to the lifeless ear!

Mine be the bliss to press the blushing maid,
And all the wishes of my soul impart:
Be mine the rapture, 'midst her smiles to read
The name of Selim on the virgin's heart.

How lost to life are all the lost to love!
Far from my presence let indiff'rence fly;
Far let the silent sullen tongue remove,
The careless air and cold unsocial eye.

Divine the blush that o'er the virgin glows,
When soft consenting sighs our toils requite!
Wild from our hearts what joy extatic flows,
How from each yielding charm we drink delight!

Let fools from love contemptuous turn away:
The soft desire, the tender sigh revile:
Ah! let my bosom feel th'inspiring ray;
For what is life unblest by beauty's smile!

ELEGY II.

[From Spahan's walls the pride of Persia stray'd]

HE GIVES AN ACCOUNT OF MIRVA'S RETIRING FROM SPAHAN, THE CAPITAL OF PERSIA, TO THE VALLEY OF ZULPHA.

From Spahan's walls the pride of Persia stray'd,
With peace to wander through the flow'ry vale;
With meek Content to smile, the dove-ey'd maid,
And breathe with rosy health the morning gale,

Where Sandru's streams the banks of Zulpha lave,
And crown her valley with unfading bloom;
Where, to the winds, whole woods of fragrance wave,
And tuneful rapture floats from gloom to gloom.

From courts she flew, where Envy's imps reside,
Where prostitution pours her wanton songs,
Where abject slav'ry bends the neck to pride,
And Tumult thunders with his thousand tongues.

Tho' Courts admir'd, the modest damsel chose
To steal her beauties from the public view:
How like the berry that through Zulpha glows,
And hides beneath the leaf its blushing hue.

Tho' Mirva's smiles so dear to ev'ry eye,
Life, like the sun, to Persia's realms impart;
Tho' at her bloom the rose of Salem die,
What are the virgin's beauties to her heart!

To Mirva's hand, I own my wish aspires;
Mean are my merits, hers how far above!
Yet can I boast what she alone requires,
A heart to guard her, and a soul to love.

Few are the wants which wait the happy pair:
What, tho' no gold their humble cot displays:
Content, divine Content with careless air,
'Midst folly's palace bids the bauble blaze.

Contentment shuns the splendid domes of kings,
Where rankling Jealousies in ambush lie;
Where mad Ambition plum'd with eagle wings,
Strikes at the stars his wild aspiring eye.

Kings, like their slaves who lick the dust, can mourn,
Yet slav'ry scarce can dream of royal woe!
Too oft they bleed by mis'ry's goading thorn,
And look with envy on the world below.

In rural bow'rs, Content delights to dwell,
To cull the sweets of nature's simple vale,
To join the hermit in the moss-clad cell,
And carol with the daughters of the dale.

To fortune's radiant shrine let thousands bow.
And to their wishes heap their golden piles;
To one fair virgin let me breathe my vow,
And let my only treasure be her smiles.

ELEGY III.

[Whilst Achmet]

SELIM'S ADDRESS TO HIS MISTRESS.

Whilst Achmet owns the triumph of thy eye,
And mourns amidst the fair Sultana train;
Will Zulpha's virgin hear the hopeless sigh,
Breath'd from the glooms of Salem's humble plain?

Whilst Spahan's wealthy sons with rapture own
What all confess, that none like thee are fair;
Can I, possest of tender love alone,
Touch thy soft bosom with my soul's despair?

Wild as the gloomy Caspian's thund'ring wave,
Thought urging thought along my bosom glows;
Thy smiles alone the sinking wretch can save,
And lull the storm that wrecks him, to Repose.

Can language paint what hapless love inspires!
Ev'n sighs are weak my anguish to impart:
I blush to tell thee all my vain desires:
Oh! read my wishes in a bleeding heart!

Vain is the wish I fear, to call thee mine!
When will the shepherd's long lost peace return?
Ah! why did fate disclose that form divine,
To bid my captive heart admire and mourn?

Spare, my deep sorrow, gentle virgin spare,
Whose beauties fir'd me with the fond alarm;
Blame not my sighs, but blame the guilty star,
Which bounteous gave thee ev'ry grace to charm.

Unlike the cruel proud insulting fair,
Whose frowns the lover's fruitless sighs reprove,
Thy dove-like nature will not scorn my pray'r,
But learn to pity where it cannot love.

Forbear, ye blooming tyrants, to upbraid
Our humble sighs, with pride and hard disdain;
Is it a crime to love a beauteous maid?
Enough we suffer when we sigh in vain!

The swains behold my heart with anguish stung,
Mark its wild tumults at thy magic name;
Pitying they hear my hurry'd fault'ring tongue,
And see me tremble at a rival flame.

In vain I strive to hide my jealous fears,
Nature's still voice how eloquent, how strong!
Confusion, blushes, sighs and starting tears,
Paint with more force than all the pow'rs of song.

Fix'd to forget thy form was ever dear,
In wan despondence to these shades I stray'd;
Alas! thine image still pursues me here,
Still haunts me through the solitary glade.

Thus from the hunter wings the wounded hart;
But lo! not death his light'ning feet elude:
Firm on his purpled side the deadly dart
Stings as he bounds along, and drinks his blood.

The Emperor.

ELEGY IV.

[On Ogar's hoary cliff I sit and sigh]

SELIM LAMENTS HIS FATE ON THE CLIFFS OF OGAR IN THE PROVINCE OF SHIRVAN.

On Ogar's hoary cliff I sit and sigh,
Whose base the deep's eternal thunder braves,
Whilst through the region of the troubled air,
The madding Genius of the tempest raves.

What are the tumults of the howling wind?
What are the gloomy waves which round me roll?
Calms to the raging tempest of my mind!
Rills to the mountain surges of my soul!

Here like the senseless statue, o'er the main,
From morn to eve I droop with grief forlorn:
When scouling night begins her dreary reign,
Lone, in some cavern's murky round, I mourn.

Intent to please, I vainly urg'd my toil,
No hopes, alas! the virgin's looks impart:
Inform me, Fair-one, what can win thy smile;
And heave, Oh heave! the mountain from my heart.

Thou bid'st my eye no more with sorrow flow;
Thou bid'st my heart no more with anguish heave:
Command the raging tempest not to blow,
And bid the Caspian smooth his gloomy wave.

For thee, I'll dauntless tread the time-struck tow'r,
Where broods wan horror, darkling, lorn and lone,
With stretch'd ear drinking, 'midst the twilight hour,
The toad's hoarse croak, and owl's discordant moan.

For thee, I'll wander by the moon's pale beam,
Where on the wild heath swells the frequent mound,
That holds, ah! many a son of martial fame,
Whose ghosts inspiring terror shriek around.

For thee, I'll haunt the mansion of the tomb,
Where the lone taper near th'unconscious clay,
Sheds on the horrors of the baleful gloom,
The silent glimm'ring solitary ray.

There, whilst the vault resounds my plaintive sigh,
In deathful echoes, shall Despondence bring
The saddest visions on the mind's wan eye,
That ever wav'd on Fancy's blackest wing.

For thee I'll glow beneath the burning beam,
Where lives no flow'r, nor cooling springs arise;
Where sallow, parch'd and panting for the stream
Thirst, on the flaming desart, gasps and dies.

Where the dark Witch amidst the murky cell,
Holds damned converse with the sheeted dead;
Where Night's pale fiends to her's unite their yell
And fright ev'n Horror from her midnight shade:

Lo! to the depths of Erac's sounding glooms,
Where the fierce Arab haunts the murd'rous wood,
Where threat'ning loud the headlong lion roams,
Rolls the wild glaring eye, and roars for blood:

I go; if such the wishes of my Fair;
Nor shall my softest sighs the nymph reprove:
Whate'er the virgin can command, I dare,
But lose her image and forget to love.

ELEGY V.

[How few are lur'd by Love's delightful voice!]

HE IS PERSUADED BY HIS FRIENDS TO RELINQUISH HIS PURSUIT OF MIRVA, AND TO ADDRESS SOME OTHER FAIR-ONE. HE REJECTS THEIR ADVICE.

How few are lur'd by Love's delightful voice!
To sordid wealth each youthful flatterer flies;
But Fortune well rewards the venal choice,
With hourly discord and repentant sighs.

Spare, O my friends, the killing counsel spare,
Nor bid me to the nymphs of Tauris kneel;
I cannot pour my flatt'ries to the fair,
Nor feign the passion which I cannot feel.

Fair are the maids of Tauris, fair the maids
Which Spahan boasts, and Casbin's walls display;
Sweet are the nymphs of Salem's peaceful shades,
And sweet the nymphs where Domar winds away.

Alas! it is not Beauty's smile divine,
Can swell the constant rapture in my breast,
No! 'tis that secret charm, and only thine,
Can make me happy and secure me blest.

Should I, by wealth, by specious wealth betray'd,
To some new nymph my lifeless hand impart,
How could I press with love th'expecting maid,
How bear the murmurs of a breaking heart?

Let angry Fortune all her gifts resume,
Pleas'd I'll resign the fruits of all my toil:
I cannot be unhappy in my doom,
If on her lover Mirva deign to smile.

Me, cannot fortune's gloomy frowns dismay,
Nor sink in dark despair my chearful mind;
Mere clouds that pass the radiant orb of day,
Dim for a while, but leave no trace behind.

Curs'd be the wretch, and doom'd to dwell alone
'Midst the wild roar of Tadmur's howling waste,
Who weds the virgin to his heart unknown,
Tho' with the treasures of Golconda grac'd.

Where is the sweet discourse that never tires,
Each fondling act, the soul's delight to prove,
The soft endearment kindling soft desires,
The sigh, the smile, the tear of tender love.

Methinks the murmur of reproof I hear.
The wish to part, the deep desponding sigh:
I see th'averted cheek, th'upbraiding tear,
Scorn's killing smile and Hate's disdainful eye.

Ah! could my heart to ev'ry virtue dead,
Desire with other damsels to be blest,
Lose the soft image of my long lov'd maid,
I'd tear the fond inconstant from my breast.

Hope lately sung in Ofar's lonely bow'r,
“The pride of Persia, Selim shall be thine.”
No more she charms my solitary hour:
No more I kindle at her voice divine.

Sweet Siren! shall I never hear thee more?
Haste with thy smiles and magic looks along;
I know thee faithless, yet thy voice adore:
O haste, and still delight me with thy song.

ELEGY VI.

[Dear to the eye is beauty's melting charm]

SELIM DECLAIMS ON THE DANGERS OF BEAUTY; AND ACCUSES HIS COUNTRYMEN OF RUINING ARTLESS INNOCENCE.

Dear to the eye is beauty's melting charm,
Yet the sweet cause of many a deadly sigh:
Oft to the fair possessor, fraught with harm,
Whene'er unwatch'd by wisdom's eagle eye.

Form'd to defend the fair; insidious man
Each art to lull the simple maid explores;
With horror big contrives the villain plan,
And seeks to ruin whom his eye adores!

“Divine the cheek of innocence” he cries,
Yet bids that cheek divine with blushes burn:
“Sweet is her voice,” yet swells that voice with sighs
And bids that bosom which delights him, mourn.

He sees the silent tear of sorrows start,
Marks on her cheek the sallow hand of care,
Eyes the wild tumult of her lab'ring heart,
Yet, meanly triumphs at her deep despair.

Say, what for injur'd virtue can atone?
What from the secret mourner wipe the stain?
Not all the gems of Persia's splendid throne!
A thousand years of anguish, mourn in vain!

Ye Persian youth, how savage is the deed,
To force from artless innocence the tear:
How base to doom the virgin's heart to bleed,
Because she fondly deem'd your sighs sincere.

Make your torn country's deadly foes your prey,
Who chill ev'n horrors dreary soul with dread,
Who rush where blood-ey'd Murder leads the way,
And wolf-like howl along the midnight shade.

But ah! forbear to spread the deathful wile,
And wanton, thus our Persian maids destroy:
The deed which robs us of their fav'ring smile,
From Life's few pleasures steals its brightest joy.

ELEGY VII.

[To false delights the youth of Spahan fly]

SELIM TO THE YOUTH OF SPAHAN. HE ADVISES THEM TO DROP THEIR UNLAWFUL CONNECTIONS WITH THE DAMSELS OF GEORGIA, A PROVINCE REMARKABLE FOR BEAUTIFUL WOMEN. HE FANCIES HIMSELF IN POSSESSION OF MIRVA.

To false delights the youth of Spahan fly,
Who court for happiness the wanton's arms;
That darts on all the fond inflaming eye,
And choiceless yields to all, for gold, her charms.

When on the syren's panting breast, you sigh,
And print with transport wild the burning kiss;
Doth friendship's breath inspire th'unhallow'd joy,
Or love's sweet spirit swell the surge of bliss?

When droops enjoyment, what is then the fair?
The valley's short liv'd flow'r that blooms and fades,
A sun that pours a momentary glare,
Whose radiant orb a simple vapour shades.

'Tho' Georgia's nymphs a purer blush display
Than kindles on the cheek of virgin morn;
Their eyes, tho' rivals to the di'mond's ray;
Tho' Tarkies' snows their polish'd necks adorn;

Yet, yet their charms the maids of Spahan boast,
Truth's sacred voice their cultur'd minds revere:
Tho' in their eyes the di'mond's beam be lost,
Lo! modesty, a nobler gem is there!

Ye swains, to Spahan's gentle daughters turn:
To mental beauty let your hearts be led:
Bid, by your flight, the venal wanton mourn,
And press in tears her solitary bed.

When round your neck she glues her fondling arms,
And, bent to please, exhausts each winning art,
With rapture melts you 'midst her glowing charms;
She leads your passions captive, not the heart.

The midnight riot whilst you madly hold,
Lo! of a tender partner I'm possest:
What bliss her fragrant beauties to enfold,
And soothe my slumbers on her faithful breast!

Time from her bosom Tarkies' snows may steal,
His wrinkled hand her matchless bloom invade:
Still to my faded charmer will I kneel,
And love her most when ev'ry grace is dead.

Who spurns the faded beauty from his breast,
Hard is his heart, in ev'ry virtue poor:
Hard is his heart to wound the fair distress'd.
Who only weeps that she can charm no more.

Cruel, to bid her breast with anguish heave,
Because her cheek no more to rapture warms:
Base, to forget the joys her beauty gave,
And oh! forget, it faded in his arms.

How curs'd the stranger to the nuptial tie,
When Death's pale horrors gloom around his head!
Without a friend to close his hopeless eye,
Drop the due tear, and mourn his parting shade.

Whene'er I droop beneath the wound of death,
A tender wife the hour of dread will chear;
Who, whilst she sooths with hope my short'ning breath,
Shrinks from my gaze to wipe the hopeless tear.

How hard to brighten the wan cheek of Care,
And steal from deep desponding thought the sigh:
To drown in mirth the murmurs of Despair,
And cloath with chearful smiles her haggard eye.

Yet will she strive to gild the deathful gloom,
And charm the horrors of my fate away;
Bid her pale cheek the faint-forc'd smile assume:
Ah! not the smile that bless'd my healthful day.

Her pious sorrow shall my death proclaim;
What woes, alas! her tender heart will rend!
Her flowing tears shall be her husband's fame,
And to his mem'ry make the world a friend.

ELEGY VIII.

[Curst be the wretch who cries “the gentle maid]

SELIM EXPRESSES HIS INDIGNATION AGAINST SUCH AS DENY THE EXISTENCE OF WOMEN IN A FUTURE STATE HE PARTICULARLY REPROVES SADI, AN ELEGANT POET (THE PETRARCH) OF PERSIA, FOR ADVANCING IN HIS POEMS SO CRUEL AN OPINION.

Curst be the wretch who cries “the gentle maid
Drinks not in yonder Sphere the living spring:
Doom'd like the transient flow'r to blow and fade,
To die like insects with a painted wing.”

The fairest forms which Nature's hand displays,
Which Love inspires and Wisdom's beams illume,
Giv'n were they only to delight our gaze?
For sensual blisses did they only bloom?

Yet thus the fav'rite bard of Persia sings:
Fame through each city wafts the poet's praise:
'Midst the rude Turk the name of Sadi rings,
The savage Arab softens at his lays.

Sweet swan of Tauris, cease th'unhallow'd song,
No more the Muses' sacred art profane;
Ah! think what praises to the Fair belong,
Whose soft'ning beauty gave the world thy Strain.

Blest in thy numbers which to Selma flow;
Her smiles alone the melting verse inspire;
Ah! should the blooming nymph her smiles withdraw,
I see thee hapless, and extinct thy fire.

Love learnt thy feeling lines with fond delight,
The lays of Sadi ever grac'd his tongue;
How oft he charm'd the list'ning ear of Night,
And charm'd Night's pale companion with thy song.

To hear, mute Silence hush'd the darkling vale,
The shaded warbler dropp'd her plaintive tune:
Intent, the pale-ey'd ghost forgot to wail,
And stare despondence on the wandering moon.

Thy crown which bloom'd so fresh is blasted now:
That blooming crown which all the muses wove;
Blest on the tender Sadi to bestow
The fairest garland of th'Aonian grove.

Displeas'd, the Graces loath thy once-lov'd name,
Offended Beauty spurns thy songs away:
The Muses now their fav'rite bard disclaim,
Despise the poet, and forget his lay.

What virgin now on Sadi's verse shall smile?
What generous youth of Persia's wide domains?
Thy name would now the page of Fame defile,
Now none but Envy shall repeat thy strains.

His Mistress.

The Moon.

ELEGY IX.

[What demons keep my soul's delight away]

SELIM HAVING ENGAGED HIS MISTRESS'S AFFECTIONS, AGREES TO MEET HER IN A RETIRED PART OF THE VALLEY.

What demons keep my soul's delight away,
And cruel thus my fondest wish invade?
Alas! I tremble at the setting ray,
Pale ev'ning waves around a dreadful shade!

How expectation loads th'important hour!
Impatience wilder with each moment grows:
Thou loit'ring fair-one bless th'appointed bow'r,
And snatch thy lover from a thousand woes.

From vale to vale my eager gaze I strain,
From glade to glade with wild emotion move:
Now turn and sigh, now move and turn again,
Devour each sound, and chide my ling'ring love.

Now on the ground in wan despondence lie,
And anxious murmur to the desart air;
Now call on Slumber to my closing eye:
But Slumber lights not on the lids of Care.

Dark as the bosom of the stormy deep,
Wild as its waves my thoughts succeeding roll,
Cool reason vainly soothes the wretch to sleep,
Ah! what is reason to the love-sick soul!

Ye sweet companions of my lonely bow'r
Whose simple melodies my shades inspire,
Oh! that my bosom felt your happy hour,
Oh! that my voice could join your chearful choir.

Light as your wing that skims the midway sky,
From joy to joy my heart so lately flew!
With me my moments never left a sigh,
Nor bath'd my lids in sorrow's baleful dew.

Hate to the nymph I vow, and cold disdain,
Yet at each idle sound alarm'd I start:
To meet her, panting ev'ry nerve I strain,
And show too plain her triumph o'er my heart.

Where is my love? Alas! my transports die:
My cheek that redden'd with dispair turns pale.
With disappointment drops my languid eye,
Each pining feature tells a mournful tale.

See, see! the sun descends beneath the deep,
Behold the melancholy bird of night!
In vain along the winding gloom I weep,
And wish in vain to stop the parting light.

ELEGY X.

[Faint as the lustre of a lonely star]

DISAPPOINTED AT NOT MEETING HER, HE ACCUSES HER OF INCONSTANCY.

Faint as the lustre of a lonely star,
That sheds through night's abyss his distant fire;
Hope feebly glimmer'd on my heart's despair:
Behold at length her paly lamp expire!

Know, lovely virgin, thy deluding art
Hath lodg'd a thousand scorpions in my breast:
O say what happier rival wins thy heart,
Is Selim there no more a welcome guest?

To a false fair-one have I told my tale,
For a false fair-one fondly sigh'd so long!
Why dear deceiver did thy charms prevail?
Thy charms the subject of my ev'ry song.

Ye swains who heard so oft my raptur'd lays,
False is the damsel that your wonder drew:
Ye nymphs who listen'd to the lavish'd praise,
My soul's soft idol proves at length untrue.

Your tears for me, ye gentle virgins, spare,
Let not my fate your sighs, ye shepherds, draw:
For faithless Beauty drop the pitying tear,
And grieve so fair a diamond holds a flaw.

Can Falshood's stain that dove-like heart defile?
Ah! see the tear by blushing Virtue shed!
Lurks Perfidy beneath that heav'nly smile?
See Love with horror mark the guilty maid!

Yet, yet the tyrant of my breast she reigns,
Restless for her it heaves with constant sighs,
My wounded heart of cruelty complains,
Yet softly pleads her pardon whilst it dies.

The sacred vow can beauteous Mirva break!
Lo! scarcely vanish'd is the blush divine,
That modest deepen'd on the virgin's cheek,
When yielding pleas'd, she gave her hand to mine.

Scarce on that hand is cold my kiss sincere:
Scarce from that hand my raptur'd lips I part:
Ev'n now the echo of my joys I hear,
And feel th'extatic tremble of my heart.

Each Persian youth will treat her now with scorn,
Each Persian maid will blush her name to hear:
Those walls which boasted her of Spahan born,
Will shut their gates for ever on the fair.

Yet tho' she slights the swain who for her dies,
For her my friendly wish shall ever flow;
May injur'd Love forget my pitied sighs,
And make her blisses equal to my woe.

ELEGY XI.

[To thee, my Rival, by her smiles betray'd]

SELIM ADDRESSES HIS SUPPOSED RIVAL.

To thee, my Rival, by her smiles betray'd,
I urge no counsel, all advice is lost!
Thy heart hath felt the fascinating maid:
On Love's wild surge I see thy reason tost.

Who meets her magic eye without desire,
Or hears unmov'd her love-commanding tongue?
Keen as the light'ning's momentary fire,
Sweet as the moon-light warbler's melting song!

The nymph might rule me with an iron sway,
In vain would Memory my wrongs enroll:
One sigh from her would waft my rage away,
One tear of penitence dissolve my soul.

ELEGY XII.

[Soft as the sighs of her who died for love]

SELIM BEING INFORMED THAT HIS MISTRESS WAS FORCED FROM HER HABITATION BY THE ARABS; THAT SHE WAS RECOVERED BY SOME PERSIAN SOLDIERY AND CARRIED TO THE EMPEROR'S HARAM; HE LAMENTS HER MISFORTUNE.

Soft as the sighs of her who died for love,
The plaintive lute of Pity moans forlorn:
From Irvan's bow'rs, and Siloe's ravag'd grove,
The melting airs of Melancholy mourn.

Fair hapless virgin by thy charms undone,
Dimm'd is the living lustre of thy eye,
Dimm'd are those radiant rivals to the sun,
Which drew from ev'ry Persian youth the sigh.

Along my groves had Mirva deign'd to stray,
For seldom now in peace her eye-lids close,
Sweet Innocence had bless'd her chearful Day,
And Love had charm'd her Evening to Repose.

No more shall dove-ey'd Innocence delight,
To lead her smiling through the rural shade:
From her she wings, for ever wings her flight,
Whilst Love forsakes the solitary maid.

Th'exulting rose of Zulpha's balmy vale,
That lately droop'd at thy superior bloom,
Now waves in wanton triumph to the gale,
Proclaims thy fall, and pleas'd insults thy Doom.

Oh! had thy star condemn'd each virgin grace,
Beneath the blasting hand of death to fade,
Calm had I led thee to the tomb of peace,
Deck'd thy pale shrine, and hail'd thy spotless shade.

The youth of Persia round thy honor'd bier,
With white-stol'd nymphs had breath'd the softest sighs,
Thy fate had forc'd from ev'ry lid the tear,
Thy sweet remains with fragrance fill'd the skies.

The gentlest Spirits had thy grave adorn'd,
With ev'ry flow'r of Zulpha's green domain.
There had their nightly harps melodious mourn'd,
And Virtue's sigh had swell'd the tender strain.

Nor Virtue's sigh on Mirva's grave shall mourn,
Nor spirits strike their lyres where thou art laid,
No white-rob'd virgins weeping o'er thy urn,
With melting swains shall wail thy sullen shade.

No early warbler on thy turf shall sing,
Nor nightly o'er thee waste his little breath;
But boding ravens wave the dusky wing,
And mournful croak the hoarse dread dirge of death.

Lo! far from thee the breeze shall breathe perfume,
And storms indignant howl around thy head;
The light'nings livid blaze shall fire the gloom,
And pealing thunder rock thy lonely bed.

What bosom pants not for the voice of Fame?
With thee thy mem'ry sleeps within the tomb:
Lo! pale Oblivion o'er thy blasted name,
Shall wave with sullen look his deepest gloom.

What have I said inspir'd by frantic woe?
In Fame's fair page thy sacred Name shall live:
For thee, tho' fall'n, the tear of Pity flow,
Whilst tender Pity hath a tear to give.

ELEGY XIII.

[“To thee, who rul'st o'er Persia's wide domain]

MIRVA'S SUPPLICATION TO THE SULTAN.

“To thee, who rul'st o'er Persia's wide domain,
The wretch of Zulpha pours the suppliant sigh:
Shall Love the bleeding bosom bare in vain,
And Pity vainly raise th'imploring eye?

Lo! Virtue weeps! her sacred drops revere,
Nor thus her cheek with burning blushes stain;
The Monarch's heart, that melts at Virtue's tear,
More than a thousand triumphs gilds his reign.

Enough of woe, have War's wild horrors spread:
Ev'n now the vallies shriek, the hamlets burn:
See Havock pour the blaze from shade to shade!
See the wan shepherd o'er the ruin mourn!

Say, cannot this the soft emotion wake;
Force from thy eye the sympathizing stream;
But shall thy cruelty the wretch o'ertake,
'Scap'd from the ruffian's sword and wasting flame?

Those weeping orbs eternal darkness shade,
If one fond glance thy savage hope inspires;
Love's keenest vengeance smite the guilty maid,
False to her fame and faithless to his fires.

Ye vales of Zulpha, live in mem'ry's eye,
Whose song so often stole my ravish'd ear:
Let Selim's name embalm my constant sigh,
His image brighten ev'ry falling tear.

Can Zulpha's vallies from remembrance fade,
Mir's ecchoing rill, and Dinur's conscious grove;
Where Truth and Selim won a willing maid,
Where flow'd the shepherd's sigh of purest love.

Ye fair sultanas, that around me throng,
Ah! cease to sooth a captive's hapless hours:
Harsh to my ear is Pleasure's careless song,
And dim the radiance scepter'd Grandeur show'rs.

Say, what avails the purple's costly glare,
The ruby's blush, the di'mond's light'ning beam,
Attendant slaves, or music's wanton air,
Or floods of fragrance that around me stream?

Can Pomp, of hopeless Love, the sorrows shroud,
Smooth with gay smiles the wrinkled front of Care,
Chace from wan Melancholy's eye the cloud,
And lull the deep-ton'd murmurs of Despair?

Away those tow'rs that thus their heads advance,
Where servile Flatt'ry crawls a welcome guest,
Where Prostitution darts the wanton glance,
And Envy's demons gnaw the throbbing breast:

Fairer to me is Suzan's dangerous shade,
Where growling fate, the restless savage roams;
Where Horror breathes around a death-like dread,
And crowding spectres haunt the twilight glooms.

Fairer to me the dungeon's dreary round,
Deep sounding to the captive's hollow sigh:
Where the sad pond'ring wretch in thought profound,
Nails to the murky floor his haggard eye.

Ye Persian nymphs, with artless manners blest,
And blest with blooms by Beauty's pencil spread;
Retire, sweet strangers to the throbbing breast,
And court, of Solitude her deepest shade.

Wing, where gay freedom bounds from grove to grove,
Where Love in safety points the tender gaze:
Where feeds, young Innocence, her cooing dove,
And meek Contentment pours the song of praise.

Parents of lovely maids, be deaf the ear,
Whilst Pride the flatt'ring pompous tale imparts,
Far from those bow'rs each blushing damsel bear,
Nor give to Mis'ry's gripe their gentle hearts.

The tyger growling thro' th'affrighted wood,
Springs to defend th'endanger'd young from harm,
The fierce, the wild-ey'd Vulture, bath'd in blood,
Feels for her youngling's cry the fond alarm.”

Thus sung the nymph, the soft sultanas sigh'd:
Desire with Virtue in the monarch strove:
Be blest, be Selim thine, (at length) he cry'd,
Then gave the Maid to liberty and love.

The NYMPH of TAURIS.

Whose happy suns, without a cloud descend!
Who treads the wild of life, nor meets a thorn?
To grief is god-like Virtue doom'd to bend;
The turtle eye of Innocence to mourn.

A gentle nymph of Media's green domain,
Where Tauris lifts with pride her hundred tow'rs,
Far from the precincts of her native plain,
Breathes her last sigh in Spahan's hapless bow'rs.

What shepherds melt at Nora's sacred tomb?
At Nora's tomb, each nymph of Spahan sighs;
While sadly sweet along the list'ning gloom,
On Sorrow's lyre the dirge complaining dies.

The band of white-rob'd virgins let me join,
And scatter incense on the hallow'd ground;
Where waving mournful o'er the lonely shrine,
The grove in silent horror glooms around.

Tho' far from Tauris thy fair reliques lie,
Thy gentle ghost her grateful daughters mourn;
Her sons in sorrow heave the fruitless sigh,
And melt in visions o'er thy distant urn.

Tho' far from Media's once delightful plain,
In Spahan's valley sleeps the beauteous maid;
No prowling Arab shall thy tomb profane,
Breathe on thy shrine and wound thy shrinking shade.

Far hence the demons of the troubled air,
Shall bid their thunders roll, the tempest rave:
No livid light'nings through the grove shall glare,
To blast th'eternal bloom that decks thy grave.

Here shall the rose with softest fragrance spring,
Heav'ns mildest dews thy humble bed adorn:
Hence shall the songster mount on early wing,
And warble round thee e'er he meets the morn.

Ah! here with woe a Sister's heart shall heave,
A Heart by all the Virtues lov'd in vain!
Pale, on her tears, shall rise the Star of eve,
And Midnight hear her pitied voice complain.

Here shall the lustre of ascending morn,
That wakes to gladness all the world below,
In sorrow find her o'er thy silent urn,
A melancholy monument of woe.

No beam of Mirth shall deck her clouded eye:
No Smile, her paly cheek, but of Despair,
To life's last sand her soul for thee shall sigh,
For thee her closing lids shall shed the tear.

What heedless wanderer through the gloomy vale,
Neglects to spread the flowret o'er thy tomb,
From such may Fortune snatch her fav'ring gale,
And demons blast their hopes of brightest bloom.

Ah! cease to murmur to the midnight air,
Nor bid a drooping brother haste away,
Think on our loss in thee, thou hapless Fair,
And think how short is life, one little day!

Too soon shall Ali join thy beck'ning ghost,
Too soon his fate shall make an empire bleed,
What virtues, ah! to Persias' land are lost,
When such lie number'd with the silent dead!

Too soon shall Fame th'illumin'd page display,
And sighing blend his sacred name with thine,
Where beam the worthy with distinguished day,
Where crown'd with Glory glows thy ancient line.

This Elegy was written on the death of Miss Ann Trelawny, sister to our late worthy Governor.

The END.