Still the sweet murmur of thy throat,
Prelusive of the thrilling note!
Nor shrink not up thy nostrils, friend,
Nor thy fair ample jaws extend;
Lest thou repent thee, when too late,
And moan thy pains and well earn'd fate.'
Impatience stung the warbler's soul,
Greatly he spurn'd the mean control,
And from the verdant turf uprear'd,
He on his friend contemptuous leer'd ;
Stretch'd his lean neck, and wildly stared,
His dulcet pitchpipe then prepared,
His flaky ears prick'd up withal,
And stood in posture musical.
"Ah!' thought the stag, 'I greatly fear,
Since he his throat begins to clear,
And strains and stares, he will not long
Deprive us of his promised song.
Friendship to safety well may yield,"
He said, and nimbly fled the field.
Alone, at length, the warbler Ass
Would every former strain surpass;
So right he aim'd, so loud he bray'd,
The forest shook, night seem'd afraid;
And, starting at the well known sound,
The gardeners from their pallets bound;
The scared musician this pursues,
That stops him with insidious noose :-
Now to a tree behold him tied,
While both prepare to take his hide;
But first his cudgel either rears,
And plies his ribs, his nose, his ears;
His head converted to a jelly,
His back confounded with his belly;
All bruised without, all broke within,
To leaves they now convert his skin:
Whereon, in characters of gold,
For all good asses, young and old,
This short instructive tale is told.
I SEE inscribed the stern decree of Fate;
The poison burns in every vein: 'tis done;
Imports not now thy kindness or thy hate;
My lot is certain, and my race is run.
No; never can I break the circling snare,
Or flee my fix'd, inevitable doom:
Say thou art cold-I perish in despair;
Say that thou lovest-my transport is my tomb.
ON THE OMNIPRESENCE OF THE DEITY.
FROM THE PERSIAN OF ACHMED ARDEBEILI.
WHY was this spirit, ardent still to rise,
Chain'd in a dungeon of compacted clay?
Why were those thoughts, aspiring to the skies,
In heavy fetters doom'd to pine away?
Strange mystic union of discordant things,
Beyond the powers of reason to descry:
Like the wild ostrich of the waste, whose wings,
Though strongly nerved, yet are not form'd to fly.
O sluggish clay, that bend'st thine inmate down,
Low to the parent dust that gave thee birth!
I fain would spurn thee, all thy ties disown,
And roam a pilgrim from the realms of earth.
Roam where? What unknown worlds wouldst thou explore?
Where rest in boundless space thy weary flight? Float o'er etherial oceans without shore,
Mount to the stars,.or sink in endless night? What is thine aim? What mighty object, say, To rise above this sublunary sphere?
Even Him, who reigns o'er all the realms of day, Say, dost thou seek? Vain man! then seek him
For his almighty Wisdom, Power, and Love Are neither circumscribed by time nor space, But perfect here, as in the realms above,
Sustain the myriads of the human race.
Here shall the faithful heart with transport own, God's awful presence fills not heaven alone.
FROM THE PERSIAN OF KHAKANI.
THAT cheek which boasts the ruby's hue,
That breast, a lily bathed in dew,
That form whose graceful beauty gleams
Like cypress bending o'er the streams,
Thou marble heart! destroyer! say,
What tyrant steals my soul away?
That airy form, that amorous sigh,
The flower bud of that liquid eye,
Whose glances steal my soul away,
Thy name, thou lovely tyrant, say!—
O thou, whose wanton footsteps tread
The garden's flower-enamel'd glade,
Whose pouting rose-bud lips contain
More luscious honey than the cane,
Whose eyes in liquid lustre shine
Bright as the hue of sparkling wine,
Whose bending eyebrows shafts of woe
Dart, like arrows from the bow,
Brows that stole their pearly light
From the silver queen of night,
Whose charms have stolen my soul away,-
Thy name, thou beauteous tyrant, say!
The wine of love, that thrills the soul,
Thy bard has drunk beyond control;
To learn thy name would gladly drain
His life from each enamour'd vein:
Thou charmer of Khakani, say
What beauty steals his soul away?
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.
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.
Where could those peerless flowerets blow?
Whence are the thorns that near them grow?
Wound me, but smile, O lovely foe,
Smile on the heart thou tearest.
Sighing, I view that cypress waist,
Doom'd to afflict me till embraced;
Sighing, I view that eye too chaste,
Like the new blossom smiling.
Spreading thy toils with hands divine,
Softly thou wavest like a pine,
Darting thy shafts at hearts like mine,
Senses and soul beguiling.
See at thy feet no vulgar slave,
Frantic with love's enchanting wave,
Thee, ere he seek the gloomy grave,
Thee, his bless'd idol styling.
ONCE I wrote to my charmer, ah! pity my case, And, though in a dream, let me see your fair face. She replied, if in absence your eyes you can close, My presence shall never disturb your repose.
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