Viewing page 253 of 285

This transcription has been completed. Contact us with corrections.

196 ANNUAL REGISTER  For the YEAR 1772. 197
The thrush's mellow note, the lark's more shrill, 
The woodman's echo from the neighboring hill, 
While oft the cuckow from the steepy wood 
Cheers the soft murmurs of the nether flood.
Thrice happy youth, to whom is given such joy!
Thrice happy, whom such guiltless sports employ!
Such were the dear delights that once were mine,
And such the scenes, loved Erne, which still are thine.
Fairest of floods! with whom my youthful day
Smooth like thyself stole unperceived away;
Blest days! when near thy ample wave I ranged,
To all the busy cares of life estranged;
When up the breezy hill each morn I flew,
And airy youth gave rapture to the view,
The funny mead, the love-inviting bower,
The rush-clad hamlet, and the ruined tower,
They numerous isles, with waving verdure crowned,
And azure hills, the landscape's distant bound.

SOLIMA; an Arabian Eclogue. Written in the Year 1768.
From Poems consisting chiefly of Translations from the Asiatick Languages, &c. By the very ingenious and learned Mr. Jones, so well known for his extraordinary knowledge in the Oriental Languages. Lately published at the Clarendon Press, Oxford.
YE maids of Aden, hear a loftier tale
Than e'er was sung in meadow, bow'r, or dale.
The smiles of Abelah, and Maia's eyes,
Where beauty plays, and love in slumber lies;
The fragrant hyacinths of Azza's hair,
That wanton with the laughing summer-air;
Love-tinctur'd cheeks, whence roses seek their bloom,
And lips, from which the Zephyr steals perfume,
Invite no more the wild unpolish'd lay,
But fly like dreams before the morning ray.
Then farewel, love! and farewel, youthful sires!
A nobler warmth my kindled breast inspires.
Far bolder notes the list'ning wood shall fill:
Flow smooth, ye riv'lets; and, ye gales, be still.
See yon fair froves that o'er Amana rife,
And with their spicy breath embalm the skies;
Where ev'ry breeze shed incense o'er the vales,
And ev'ry shrub, the scent of musk exhales!
See through yon op'ning glade a glitt'ring scene,
Lawns ever gay, and meadows ever green!
Then ask the groves, and ask the vocal bow'rs,
Who deck'd their spiry tops with blooming flow'rs,
5  Taught

Taught the blue stream o'er sandy vales to flow,
And the brown wild with liveliest hues to glow?
*Fair Solima! the hills and dales will sing,
Fair Solima! the distant echoes ring.
But not with idle shows of vain delight,
To charm the soul, or to beguile the sight;
At noon on banks of pleasure to repose,
Where blooms intwin'd the lily, pink, and rose;
Not in proud piles to heap the nightly feast,
Till morn with pearls has deck'd the glowing east;
Ah! not for this she taught those bow'rs to rise,
And bade all Eden spring before our eyes:
Far other thoughts her heav'nly mind employ,
(Hence, empty pride! and hence, delusive joy!)
To cheer with sweet repast the fainting guest;
To lull the weary on the couch of rest;
To warm the trav'ler numb'd with winter's cold;
The young to cherish, to support the old;
The sad to comfort, and the weak protect;
The poor to shelter, and the lost direct:
These are her cares, and this her glorious task;
Can heav'n a nobler give, or mortals ask?
Come to these groves, and these life-breathing glades,
Ye friendless orphans, and ye dow'rless maids!
With eager haste your mournful mansions leave,
Ye weak, that tremble, and, ye sick, that grieve;
Here shall soft tents o'er flow'ry lawns display'd,
At night defend you, and at noon o'ershade:
Here rosy health the sweets of life will show'r,
And new delights beguile each varied hour.
Mourns there a widow, bath'd in streaming tears?
Stoops there a sire beneath the weight of years?
Weeps there a maid in pining sadness left,
Of fondling parents, and of hope bereft?
To Solima their sorrows they bewail,
To Solima they pour their plaintive tale.
She hears; and, radiant as the star of day,
Through the thick forest wins her easy way:
She asks what cares the joyless train oppress,
What sickness wastes them, or what wants distress;
Whilst all her soul sits melting in her eye:
Then with a smile the healing balm bestows,
And sheds a tear of pity o'er their woes,
Which, as it drops, some soft-eyed angel bears
Transform'd to pearl, and in his bosom wears.

*It was not easy in this part of the translation to avoid a turn similar to that of Pope in the known description of the Man of Ross.
O 3  When,

Transcription Notes:
---------- Reopened for Editing 2023-05-13 16:38:06