The following eclogues, written by Mr. Collins, are very pretty the images, it must be owned, are not very local; for the paftora fubject could not well admit of it. The defcript on of Afiatic magnificence, and manners, is a :ject as yet unattempted amongst us, and, I eve, capable of furnishing a great variety of ctical imagery.

E Perfian maids, attend you

YE

poet's lays,

And hear how fhepherds pa: their golden days.

Not all are bleft, whom Fortune. hand fuftains
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 fung, by facred Truth inspir'd ;
Nor praife, but fuch as Truth beftow'd, defir'd:

Wife in himself, his meaning fongs convey'd
Informing morals to the fhepherd maid;

Or taught the fwains that surest bliss to find,
What groves nor streams bestow, a virtuous mind.
When, fweet, and blufhing like a virgin bride,
The radiant morn refum'd her orient pride;
When wanton gales along the valleys play,
Breathe on each flower, and bear their sweets away;
By Tigris' wandering waves he fat, and fung
This useful leffon for the fair and young.

Ye Perfian dames, he faid, to you belong,
Well may they pleafe, the morals of my fong:
No fairer maids, I truft, than you are found,
Grac'd with soft arts, the peopled world around!
The morn that lights you, to your loves fupplies
Each gentler ray delicious to your eyes:
For you thofe flowers her fragrant hands beftow,
And yours the love that kings delight to know.
Yet think not thefe, all-beauteous as they are,
The best kind bleffings Heaven can grant the fair!
Who truft alone in beauty's feeble ray,

Boast but the worth Baffora's pearls display;
Drawn from the deep we own their surface bright,
But, dark within, they drink no luftrous light:
Such are the maids, and fuch the charms they boast,
By fenfe unaided, or to virtue loft.

Self-flattering fex! your hearts believe in vain

That love fhall blind, whence once he fires the swain ; Or hope a lover by your faults to win,

As fpots on ermin beautify the skin:

Who

Who feeks fecure to rule, be firft her care

Each fofter virtue that adorns the fair;
Each tender paffion man delights to find,
The lov'd perfections of a female mind!

Bleft were the days, when Wisdom held her reign, And shepherds fought her on the filent plain; With Truth fhe wedded in the fecret grove, Immortal Truth; and daughters blefs'd their love. O hafte, fair maids! ye Virtues come away; Sweet Seace and Plenty lead you on your way! The balmy shrub for you shall love our fhore, By Ind excell'd, or Araby, no more.

Loft to our fields, for fo the fates ordain, The dear deferters fhall return again.

Come thou, whofe thoughts as limpid fprings are clear,

To lead the train, fweet Modefty, appear:
Here make thy court, amidst our rural scene,
And shepherd-girls fhall own thee for their queen.
With thee be Chastity, of all afraid,
Diftrusting all; a wife, fufpicious maid:

But man the most-not more the mountain doe
Holds the swift falcon for her deadly foe.

Cold is her breaft, like flowers that drink the dew

A filken veil conceals her from the view.

No wild defires amidst thy train be known,
But Faith, whose heart is fix'd on one alone;

Defponding Meekness, with her downcaft eyes,
And friendly Pity, full of tender fighs;

VOL. I.

M

And

And Love the last: by these your hearts approve ; These are the virtues that must lead to love.

Thus fung the fwain; and antient legends fay, The maids of Bagdat verified the lay:

Dear to the plains, the Virtues came along;
The shepherds lov'd, and Selim blefs'd his fong.

ECLOGUE

'N filent horror, o'er the boundless wafte The driver, Haffan, with his camels paft: One cruise of water on his back he bore, And his light fcrip contain'd a fcanty ftore; A fan of painted feathers in his hand, To guard his shaded face from scorching fand. The fultry fun had gain'd the middle sky, And not a tree, and not an herb was nigh; The beafts, with pain, their dufty way pursue, Shrill roar'd the winds, and dreary was the view! With defperate forrow wild, th' affrighted man Thrice figh'd, thrice ftruck his breaft, and thus began:Sad was the hour, and luckless was the day, When firft from Schiraz' walls I bent my way!" Ah! little thought I of the blafting wind,

The thirst, or pinching hunger that I find!