So may his song, perhaps, impart
A glow of transport to the heart,
Bid rapture smile, or grief depart,
And he unknown the while.
Do SELIM's numbers flow in vain,
Because, as hundreds more complain,
FORTUNE will ne'er reward the strain,
Nor gild his vocal reed?
Then, where Canary blooms in spring,
Her golden tenants vainly sing,
If hunger urge to spread the wing,
Or stoop to peck the seed.
But know, where'er the songster rove,
The strain he warbles through the grove,
Delights himself, or charms his love,
Whose charms the strain inspire:
So I the lingering hour beguile,
Lean o'er my harp, entranced the while,
And gain, from her I love, a smile,
Whose beauty tunes my lyre.
No, SELIM does not sing in vain,
If fair ZORAYDA hear the strain,
And in her matchless numbers deiga
To plead the poet's cause ;
For others FATE may trophies pile,
Serener joys are his the while;
He asks no fortune but her smile,
No fame but her applause.
Go on, contented youth !-Zorayda err’d—
Resume your lyre and charm the Paphian grove,
Nor beg the boon, but claim your just reward,
The admiration of the sex you love.
But if the happy fair who tunes your lyre,
Reciprocate the flame her Selim sings,
Let Love not always whisper from the wire,
But loftier numbers animate the strings.
Your country's glory claims exalted praise,
In years, an infant, but matured in fame ;
Heroes are her's whose acts deserve your lays,
Then gild your rising song with FREEDOM's name.
When foreign despots dare usurp the deep,
And add new wrongs to insults unredress'd,
With bolder hand, the chords indignant sweep,
And vengeance wake in every Freeman's breast.
And should our injuries at length demand
BELLONA'S banner once again unfurl'd,
Then let the strain, which fires the patriot band, Swell like our thunders which shall shake the world.
The sword of vengeance will not gleam in vain,
Nor vainly burst our cataracts of fire;
FREEDOM shall ride triumphant o'er the main,
And Europe's pirates in dismay retire.
The dove of peace shall soon regain her nest,
And Jove's blest bird the olive branch display ;
Then be the change in softer notes express'd
And LOVE again be warbled in your lay :
Soft as the zephyrs, when they fan the lake,
And dimpling smiles betray the ravish'd kiss, In sweeter tones your numbers then may wake, And every note breathe friendship, love and peace.
So I have seen the bolt of heaven hurl'd,
While, clothed in tempests, angry Nature frown'd; Anon her smiles were scatter'd o'er the world,
And sweeter wreaths her glowing temples bound.
Bright gems of silver glittered from the spray,
And deeper tints in every blossom glow'd;
The woodland songsters caught a livelier lay,
And melody in richer streamlets flow'd.
Ah! why, sweet minstrel! why bid SELIM soar
Beyond the limits of his humble sphere ?
Why bid him ape the thunder's awful roar,
And swell the train in madd'ning WAR's career?
Forbear, dear girl! to urge the strange request,
He cannot rouse his milky heart to rage;
Then let him lull the timorous bird to rest,
Or feel it dance with pleasure in its cage.
His gentle muse on Heliconia strays,
Or gaily sports in sweet Pierian bowers ; And, when descending to inspire his lays,
Her airy form is but the breath of flowers.
MINERVA's helm her brow could ne'er sustain,
The sword of MARS her arm could never wield-
He cannot woo her to a task so vain—
She flies with terror the embattled field.
He once essay'd-but, like the Mantuan swain,
APOLLO check'd his vain presumptuous pride,
Forbade him to attempt the daring strain,
Nor paint the scene where brave MONTGOMERY died.
He blush'd, obey'd, nor more mistakes his powers;
One wish alone his ardent soul employs-
In Beauty's smile to bask life's summer hours,
To feast on love, and banquet on its joys.
Life is a chase the game, terrestrial bliss ;
If shadows please, why not a shade pursue?
He tastes it in affection's nectar'd kiss,
His song affords it-if approv'd by you.
There is a magic harp, whose dulcet tones
EOLUS only has the skill to wake;
Which breathes to Night its sweetly-sighing moans,
If no rude blast the soft enchantment break.
He came with fragrance on his lucid wings,
Paused as he pass'd, enraptured at the sight;
Then fondly stoop'd and kiss'd the silken strings,
Which woke in ecstasy and breathed delight.
The playful god in transport bore away
The ravish'd sweets his lawless kisses stole ;
And distance heard the breezy notes decay,
In sighs, whose softness harmonized the soul.
But BOREAS came with rude disastrous breath,
And swept the tender strings with direful force; Harsh DISCORD waked, and, like the bird of death, Shriek'd to the gale in accents loud and hoarse.
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