ORIENTAL
ECLOGUES
.
BY
MR.
WILLIAM
COLLINS
.
ECLOGUE
I.
SELIM
;
OR
,
THE
SHEPHERD'S
MORAL
.
SCENE
,
A
VALLEY
NEAR
BAGDAT
.
TIME
,
THE
MORNING
.
YE
Persian
maids
,
attend
your
Poet's
lays
,
And
hear
how
shepherds
pass
their
golden
days
,
Not
all
are
blest
,
whom
Fortune's
hand
sustains
With
wealth
in
courts
,
nor
all
that
haunt
the
plains
;
Well
may
your
hearts
believe
the
truths
I
tell
;
'Tis
virtue
makes
the
bliss
where'er
we
dwell
.
Thus
Selim
sung
,
by
sacred
Truth
inspir'd
;
Nor
praise
,
but
such
as
Truth
bestow'd
,
desir'd
:
Wise
in
himself
,
his
meaning
songs
convey'd
Informing
morals
to
the
shepherd
maid
;
Or
taught
the
swains
that
surest
bliss
to
find
,
What
groves
nor
streams
bestow
,
a
virtuous
mind
.
When
sweet
and
blushing
,
like
a
virgin
bride
,
The
radiant
morn
resum'd
her
orient
pride
,
When
wanton
gales
along
the
vallies
play
,
Breathe
on
each
flower
,
and
bear
their
sweets
away
:
By
Tygris'
wandering
waves
he
sat
,
and
sung
This
useful
lesson
for
the
fair
and
young
.
Ye
Persian
dames
,
he
said
,
to
you
belong
,
Well
may
they
please
,
the
morals
of
my
song
:
No
fairer
maids
,
I
trust
,
than
you
are
found
,
Grac'd
with
soft
arts
,
the
peopled
world
around
!
The
morn
that
lights
you
,
to
your
loves
supplies
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
these
,
all
beauteous
as
they
are
,
The
best
kind
blessings
heaven
can
grant
the
fair
!
Who
trust
alone
in
Beauty's
feeble
ray
,
Boast
but
the
worth
The
gulph
of
that
name
,
famous
for
the
pearl
fishery
.
Balsora's
pearls
display
;
Drawn
from
the
deep
we
own
their
surface
bright
,
But
,
dark
within
,
they
drink
no
lustrous
light
:
Such
are
the
maids
,
and
such
the
charms
they
boast
,
By
sense
unaided
,
or
to
virtue
lost
.
Self-flattering
sex
!
your
hearts
believe
in
vain
That
Love
shall
blind
,
when
once
he
fires
the
swain
;
Or
hope
a
lover
by
your
faults
to
win
,
As
spots
on
ermin
beautify
the
skin
;
Who
seeks
secure
to
rule
,
be
first
her
care
Each
softer
virtue
that
adorns
the
fair
;
Each
tender
passion
man
delights
to
find
The
lov'd
perfection
of
a
female
mind
!
Blest
were
the
days
,
when
Wisdom
held
her
reign
,
And
shepherds
sought
her
on
the
silent
plain
;
With
Truth
she
wedded
in
the
secret
grove
,
Immortal
Truth
,
and
daughters
bless'd
their
love
.
O
haste
,
fair
maids
!
ye
Virtues
come
away
,
Sweet
Peace
and
Plenty
lead
you
on
your
way
!
The
balmy
shrub
for
you
shall
love
our
shore
,
By
Ind
excell'd
or
Araby
no
more
.
Lost
to
our
fields
,
for
so
the
Fates
ordain
,
The
dear
deserters
shall
return
again
.
Come
thou
,
whose
thoughts
as
limpid
springs
are
clear
,
To
lead
the
train
,
sweet
Modesty
,
appear
:
Here
make
thy
court
amidst
our
rural
scene
,
And
shepherd-girls
shall
own
thee
for
their
queen
.
With
thee
be
Chastity
,
of
all
afraid
,
Distrusting
all
,
a
wise
suspicious
maid
;
But
man
the
most
—
not
more
the
mountain
doe
Holds
the
swift
salcon
for
her
deadly
foe
.
Cold
is
her
breast
,
like
flowers
that
drink
the
dew
;
A
silken
veil
conceals
her
from
the
view
.
No
wild
desires
amidst
thy
train
be
known
,
But
Faith
,
whose
heart
is
fix'd
on
one
alone
:
Desponding
Meekness
,
with
her
down-cast
eyes
,
And
friendly
Pity
,
full
of
tender
sighs
;
And
Love
the
last
:
by
these
your
hearts
approve
,
These
are
the
virtues
that
must
lead
to
love
.
Thus
sung
the
swain
;
and
ancient
legends
say
,
The
maids
of
Bagdat
verified
the
lay
:
Dear
to
the
plains
,
the
Virtues
came
along
,
The
shepherds
lov'd
,
and
Selim
bless'd
his
song
.
ECLOGUE
II
.
HASSAN
;
OR
,
THE
CAMEL-DRIVER
.
SCENE
,
THE
DESERT
.
TIME
,
MID-DAY
.
IN
silent
horror
o'er
the
boundless
waste
The
driver
Hassan
with
his
camels
past
:
One
cruise
of
water
on
his
back
he
bore
,
And
his
light
scrip
contain'd
a
scanty
store
;
A
fan
of
painted
feathers
in
his
hand
,
To
guard
his
shaded
face
from
scorching
sand
.
The
sultry
sun
had
gain'd
the
middle
sky
,
And
not
a
tree
,
and
not
an
herb
was
nigh
;
The
beasts
,
with
pain
,
their
dusty
way
pursue
,
Shrill
roar'd
the
winds
,
and
dreary
was
the
view
!
With
desperate
sorrow
wild
,
th'
affrighted
man
Thrice
sigh'd
,
thrice
struck
his
breast
,
and
thus
began
:
"
Sad
was
the
hour
,
and
luckless
was
the
day
,
"
When
first
from
Schiraz'
walls
I
bent
my
way
.
"
Ah
!
little
thought
I
of
the
blasting
wind
,
The
thirst
or
pinching
hunger
that
I
find
!
Bethink
thee
,
Hassan
,
where
shall
thirst
asswage
,
When
fails
this
cruise
,
his
unrelenting
rage
?
Soon
shall
this
scrip
its
precious
load
resign
;
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
moss-crown'd
fountains
mitigate
the
day
,
In
vain
ye
hope
the
green
delights
to
know
,
Which
plains
more
blest
,
or
verdant
vales
bestow
:
Here
rocks
alone
,
and
tasteless
sands
are
sound
,
And
faint
and
sickly
winds
for
ever
howl
around
.
"
Sad
was
the
hour
,
and
luckless
was
the
day
,
"
When
first
from
Schiraz'
walls
I
bent
my
way
.
"
Curst
be
the
gold
and
silver
which
persuade
Weak
men
to
follow
far-fatiguing
trade
!
The
lilly
peace
outshines
the
silver
store
,
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
repay'd
by
thee
?
Ah
!
why
this
ruin
so
attractive
made
,
Or
why
fond
man
so
easily
betray'd
?
Why
heed
we
not
,
while
mad
we
haste
along
,
The
gentle
voice
of
Peace
,
or
Pleasure's
song
?
Or
wherefore
think
the
flowery
mountain's
side
,
The
fountain's
murmurs
,
and
the
valley's
pride
,
Why
think
we
these
less
pleasing
to
behold
Than
dreary
deserts
,
if
they
lead
to
gold
?
"
Sad
was
the
hour
,
and
luckless
was
the
day
,
"
When
first
from
Schiraz'
walls
I
bent
my
way
!
"
O
cease
,
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
dust
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
scours
the
groaning
plain
,
Gaunt
wolves
and
sullen
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
first
from
Schiraz'
walls
I
bent
my
way
!
"
At
that
dead
hour
the
silent
asp
shall
creep
,
If
aught
of
rest
I
find
,
upon
my
sleep
:
Or
some
swoln
serpent
twist
his
scales
around
,
And
wake
to
anguish
with
a
burning
wound
.
Thrice
happy
they
,
the
wise
contented
poor
,
From
lust
of
wealth
,
and
dread
of
death
secure
!
They
tempt
no
deserts
,
and
no
griefs
they
find
;
Peace
rules
the
day
,
where
reason
rules
the
mind
.
"
Sad
was
the
hour
,
and
luckless
was
the
day
,
"
When
first
from
Schiraz'
walls
I
bent
my
way
!
"
O
hapless
youth
!
for
she
thy
love
hath
won
,
The
tender
Zara
will
be
most
undone
;
Big
swell'd
my
heart
,
and
own'd
the
powerful
maid
,
When
fast
she
dropt
her
tears
,
as
thus
she
said
:
"
Farewell
the
youth
whom
sighs
could
not
detain
,
"
Whom
Zara's
breaking
heart
implor'd
in
vain
!
"
Yet
as
thou
go'st
,
may
every
blast
arise
,
"
Weak
and
unfelt
as
these
rejected
sighs
!
"
Safe
o'er
the
wild
,
no
perils
may'st
thou
see
,
"
No
griefs
endure
,
nor
weep
,
false
youth
,
like
me
.
"
O
let
me
safely
to
the
fair
return
,
Say
with
a
kiss
,
she
must
not
,
shall
not
,
mourn
;
O
!
let
me
teach
my
heart
to
lose
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
.
IN
Georgia's
land
,
where
Tefflis'
towers
are
seen
,
In
distant
view
along
the
level
green
,
While
evening
dews
enrich
the
glittering
glade
,
And
the
tall
forests
cast
a
longer
shade
,
What
time
'tis
sweet
o'er
fields
of
rice
to
stray
,
Or
scent
the
breathing
maize
at
setting
day
;
Amidst
the
maids
of
Zagen's
peaceful
grove
,
Emyra
sung
the
pleasing
cares
of
love
.
Of
Abra
first
began
the
tender
strain
,
Who
led
her
youth
with
flocks
upon
the
plain
:
At
morn
she
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
silent
eve
she
penn'd
the
fold
.
Deep
in
the
grove
,
beneath
the
secret
shade
,
A
various
wreathe
of
odorous
flowers
she
made
:
That
these
flowers
are
found
in
very
great
abundance
in
some
of
the
provinces
of
Persia
;
see
the
Modern
History
of
the
ingenious
Mr.
Salmon
.
Gay
motley'd
pinks
and
sweet
jonquils
she
chose
,
The
violet
blue
that
on
the
moss-bank
grows
;
All-sweet
to
sense
,
the
flaunting
rose
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
song
,
And
sought
the
vales
and
echoing
groves
among
:
At
length
he
found
,
and
wooed
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
still
her
crook
and
bleating
flock
remain
:
Oft
as
she
went
,
she
backward
turn'd
her
view
,
And
bad
that
crook
and
bleating
flock
adieu
.
Fair
happy
maid
!
to
other
scenes
remove
,
To
richer
scenes
of
golden
power
and
love
!
Go
leave
the
simple
pipe
,
and
shepherd's
strain
;
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
she
fix'd
her
love
On
the
cool
fountain
,
or
the
shady
grove
;
Still
with
the
shepherd's
innocence
her
mind
To
the
sweet
vale
,
and
flowery
mead
inclin'd
;
And
oft
as
Spring
renew'd
the
plains
with
flowers
,
Breath'd
his
soft
gales
,
and
led
the
fragrant
Hours
,
With
sure
return
she
sought
the
sylvan
scene
,
The
breezy
mountains
,
and
the
forests
green
.
Her
maids
around
her
mov'd
,
a
duteous
band
!
Each
bore
a
crook
all-rural
in
her
hand
:
Some
simple
lay
,
of
flocks
and
herds
,
they
sung
;
With
joy
the
mountain
and
the
forest
rung
.
"
Be
every
youth
like
royal
Abbas
mov'd
,
"
And
every
Georgian
maid
like
Abra
lov'd
!
"
And
oft
the
royal
lover
left
the
care
And
thorns
of
state
,
attendant
on
the
fair
;
Oft
to
the
shades
and
low
roof'd
cots
retir'd
,
Or
sought
the
vale
where
first
his
heart
was
fir'd
:
A
russet
mantle
,
like
a
swain
,
he
wore
,
And
thought
of
crowns
and
busy
courts
no
more
.
"
Be
every
youth
like
royal
Abbas
mov'd
,
"
And
every
Georgian
maid
like
Abra
lov'd
!
"
Blest
was
the
life
that
royal
Abbas
led
:
Sweet
was
his
love
,
and
innocent
his
bed
.
What
if
in
wealth
the
noble
maid
excel
;
The
simple
shepherd
girl
can
love
as
well
.
Let
those
who
rule
on
Persia's
jewell'd
throne
,
Be
fam'd
for
love
,
and
gentlest
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
say
;
O
haste
,
profuse
of
blessings
,
haste
away
!
"
Be
every
youth
like
royal
Abbas
mov'd
,
"
And
every
Georgian
maid
like
Abra
lov'd
!
"
ECLOGUE
IV
.
AGIB
AND
SECANDER
;
OR
,
THE
FUGITIVES
.
SCENE
,
A
MOUNTAIN
IN
CIRCASSIA
.
TIME
,
MIDNIGHT
.
IN
fair
Circassia
,
where
,
to
love
inclin'd
,
Each
swain
was
blest
,
for
every
maid
was
kind
;
At
that
still
hour
,
when
awful
midnight
reigns
,
And
none
,
but
wretches
,
haunt
the
twilight
plains
;
What
time
the
moon
had
hung
her
lamp
on
high
,
And
past
in
radiance
thro'
the
cloudless
sky
;
Sad
o'er
the
dews
,
two
brother
shepherds
sled
,
Where
wildering
fear
and
desperate
sorrow
led
:
Fast
as
they
prest
their
flight
,
behind
them
lay
Wide
ravag'd
plains
,
and
vallies
stole
away
.
Along
the
mountain's
bending
sides
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
survey
,
Trace
our
sad
flight
thro'
all
its
length
of
way
!
And
first
review
that
long-extended
plain
,
And
yon
wide
groves
,
already
past
with
pain
!
Yon
ragged
cliff
,
whose
dangerous
path
we
tried
!
And
last
this
lofty
mountain's
weary
side
!
AGIB
.
Weak
as
thou
art
,
yet
hapless
must
thou
know
The
toils
of
flight
,
or
some
severer
woe
!
Still
as
I
haste
,
the
Tartar
shouts
behind
,
And
shrieks
and
sorrows
load
the
saddening
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
,
Drops
its
fair
honours
to
the
conquering
flame
:
Far
fly
the
swains
,
like
us
,
in
deep
despair
,
And
leave
to
russian
bands
their
fleecy
care
.
SECANDER
.
Unhappy
land
,
whose
blessings
tempt
the
sword
,
In
vain
,
unheard
,
thou
call'st
thy
Persian
lord
!
In
vain
thou
court'st
him
,
helpless
,
to
thine
aid
,
To
shield
the
shepherd
,
and
protect
the
maid
!
Far
off
,
in
thoughtless
indolence
resign'd
,
Soft
dreams
of
love
and
pleasure
soothe
his
mind
:
'Midst
fair
sultanas
lost
in
idle
joy
,
No
wars
alarm
him
,
and
no
fears
annoy
.
AGIB
.
Yet
these
green
hills
,
in
summer's
sultry
heat
,
Have
lent
the
monarch
oft
a
cool
retreat
.
Sweet
to
the
sight
is
Zabra's
flowery
plain
,
And
once
by
maids
and
shepherds
lov'd
in
vain
!
No
more
the
virgins
shall
delight
to
rove
By
Sargis'
banks
,
or
Irwan's
shady
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
possest
.
With
ease
alluring
,
and
with
plenty
blest
.
No
more
the
shepherds
whitening
tents
appear
,
Nor
the
kind
products
of
a
bounteous
year
;
No
more
the
date
,
with
snowy
blossoms
crown'd
But
Ruin
spreads
her
baleful
fires
around
.
SECANDER
.
In
vain
Circassia
boasts
her
spicy
groves
,
For
ever
fam'd
for
pure
and
happy
loves
:
In
vain
she
boasts
her
fairest
of
the
fair
,
Their
eyes
blue
languish
,
and
their
golden
hair
,
Those
eyes
in
tears
their
fruitless
grief
must
send
;
Those
hairs
the
Tartar's
cruel
hand
shall
rend
.
AGIB
.
Ye
Georgian
swains
,
that
piteous
learn
from
far
Circassia's
ruin
,
and
the
waste
of
war
;
Some
weightier
arms
than
crooks
and
staffs
prepare
,
To
shield
your
harvests
,
and
defend
your
fair
:
The
Turk
and
Tartar
like
designs
pursue
,
Fix'd
to
destroy
,
and
stedfast
to
undo
.
Wild
as
his
land
,
in
native
deserts
bred
,
By
lust
incited
,
or
by
malice
led
,
The
villain
Arab
,
as
he
prowls
for
prey
,
Oft
marks
with
blood
and
wasting
flames
the
way
;
Yet
none
so
cruel
as
the
Tartar
foe
,
To
death
inur'd
,
and
nurs'd
in
scenes
of
woe
.
He
said
;
when
loud
along
the
vale
was
heard
A
shriller
shriek
,
and
nearer
fires
appear'd
:
Th'
affrighted
shepherds
thro'
the
dews
of
night
,
Wide
o'er
the
moon-light
hills
renew'd
their
flight
.