A draught like this 'twere vain to seek,
No grape can such supply;
It steals its tints from Leila's cheek,
Its brightness from her eye.
FROM THE PERSIAN 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.
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.
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 destined 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!
Speak not of fate:-ah! change the theme,
And talk of odours, talk of wine,
Talk of the flowers 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 e'en 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.
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?
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.
FROM THE PERSIAN OF HAFIZ.
OH! I have borne, and borne in vain,
The pang of love's delirious pain;
But she for whom my tear-drops fell,
Oh! ask me, ask me not to tell.
Oh! I have borne the lingering smart
Of absence cankering in the heart;
But she for whom my tear-drops fell,
Oh! ask me, ask me not to tell.
Far have I roam'd with wandering feet,
And found a fair so heavenly sweet
That in my breast she still shall dwell,
But ask me not her name to tell.
How long her footsteps I pursued,
How long with tears their prints bedew'd,
How long she made my sighs to swell,
Oh! ask me, ask me not to tell.
Sounds of the kindest, tenderest tone,
To fondest lovers only known,
Last evening from her dear lips fell;
But ask me, ask me not to tell.
Why frown and bite that angry lip?
I love her honied kiss to sip:
How soft the melting rubies swell!
But ask me not her name to tell.
Dear love! when far from thee I pine,
All lonely is this home of mine,
What sighs my tortured bosom swell,
Oh! ask me, ask me not to tell.
To love's dear bliss before unknown,
To such a height has passion grown
That Hafiz ne'er its power can quell;
Then ask him, ask him not to tell.
FROM THE PERSIAN OF RUDEKI.
He who my brimming cup shall view
In trembling radiance shine,
Shall own the ruby's brilliant hue
Is match'd by rosy wine.
Each is a gem from Nature's hand
In living lustre bright;
But one congeals its radiance bland,
One swims in liquid light.
Ere you can touch, its sparkling dye
Has left a splendid stain;
Ere you can drink, the essence high
Floats giddy through the brain.
FROM THE PERSIAN.
ONCE on a time, no matter when,
But 'twas some ages since; say ten-
(For asses now more wise appear,
And deer affect to herd with deer).
Once on a time then, it is said,
An Ass and Stag together fed;
In bonds of love so closely bound,
That seldom were they separate found.
The upland lawns when summer dried,
They ranged the meadows side by side;
And when gaunt famine chased them thence,
They overleap'd the garden fence,
Dividing, without strife or coil,
Like ministers of state, the spoil.
In that gay season when the hours,
Spring's handmaids, strew the earth with flowers,
Our pair walk'd forth, and frisk'd and play'd,
And cropp'd the herbage as they stray'd.
'Twas evening-stillness reign'd around,
And dews refresh'd the thirsty ground;
When, homeward browsing, both inhale
Unusual fragrance from the gale.
It was a garden, compass'd round
With thorns, (a perfect Indian mound),
Through which they saw enough within
To make a drove of asses sin.
No watchdog-gardener-all was hush'd;
They bless'd their stars, and in they push'd;
Fell to with eager haste, and wasted
Ten cabbages for one they tasted.
And now the Ass (to fulness fed)
Cherish'd strange fancies in his head;
On Nature's carpet idly roll'd,
By care or prudence uncontroll❜d;
His pride froth'd up, his self conceit,
And thus it bubbled forth-How sweet,
Prince of the branching antlers wide,
The mirth-inspiring moments glide!
How grateful are the hours of spring!
What odours sweet the breezes bring!
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