WHY, with thy seductive strain,
Didst thou, oh Lyre, my senses lure?
Since Fame's still lambent like the vane,
And hapless poets all are poor?
But, tempter, thou didst swear to bend
Nature and fate to my desire,
And that my joys should never end-
Oh! thou abominable lyre!
You swore a work that you devised
Should bring the public to my hook,
And I should be immortalized;
Why, fool, I've scarcely sold a book!
And I, in spite of all you swore,
Unconstellated shall expire,
The same dull clod I was before-
Oh! what a devil of a lyre!
Thou bad'st me Folly's haunts invade,
And mend the age, and make a fuss;
And what a tinker's job I made!
Why, zounds! the age grew ten times worse!
Swor'st that thou friends to friends wouldst add,
If once 'gainst vice I would conspire;
And so I lost the few I had;-
An't you ashamed? you monstrous lyre!
Once I confess, thou told'st me truth;
Through thee, for solace of my life,
I wrote her praise in early youth
Who long has proved my constant wife:
But then thou undertook'st to prove
That I a fortune should acquire
To make me worthy of her love-
Was ever such a shabby lyre?
Yet we are friends.--If hard my lot,
While struggling with the world's despite,
Still let me own, thy faults forgot,
Thou'st given me, oh! what sweet delight!
And might I find, derived from thee,
Fuel to feed old age's fire,
Thou'st lied like truth, and thou shalt be
My oracle, my hallowed lyre!
A TURKISH ODE OF MESIHI.
HEAR! how the nightingales, on every spray,
Hail, in wild notes, the sweet return of May!
The gale, that o'er yon waving almond blows,
The verdant bank with silver blossoms strows;
The smiling season decks each flowery glade.
Be gay: too soon the flowers of spring will fade.
What gales of fragrance scent the vernal air!
Hills, dales, and woods, their loveliest mantles wear.
Who knows what cares await that fatal day,
When ruder gusts shall banish gentle May?
E'en death, perhaps, our valleys will invade.
Be gay: too soon the flowers of spring will fade.
The tulip now his varied hue displays,
And sheds, like Ahmed's eye, celestial rays.
Ah, nation ever faithful, ever true,
The joys of youth, while May invites, pursue!
Will not these notes your timorous minds persuade?
Be gay: too soon the flowers of spring will fade.
The sparkling dewdrops o'er the lilies play,
Like orient pearls, or like the beams of day.
If love and mirth your wanton thoughts engage,
Attend, ye nymphs! a poet's words are sage;
While thus you sit beneath the trembling shade,
Be gay: too soon the flowers of spring will fade.
The fresh-blown rose like Zeineb's cheek appears, When pearls, like dewdrops, glitter in her ears. The charms of youth at once are seen and past; And nature says, "They are too sweet to last." So blooms the rose; and so the blushing maid. Be gay: too soon the flowers of spring will fade.
See! yon anemones their leaves unfold,
With rubies flaming and with living gold.
While crystal showers from weeping clouds descend,
Enjoy the presence of thy tuneful friend:
Now, while the wines are brought, the sofa's laid, Be gay: too soon the flowers of spring will fade.
The plants no more are dried, the meadows dead,
No more the rose-bud hangs her pensive head;
The shrubs revive in valleys, meads, and bowers,
And every stalk is diademed with flowers;
In silken robes each hillock stands arrayed.
Be gay: too soon the flowers of spring will fade.
ODE IN IMITATION OF ALCÆUS.
Clear drops, each morn, impearl the rose's bloom,
And from its leaf the zephyr drinks perfume;
The dewy buds expand their lucid store;
Be this our wealth: ye damsels, ask no more.
Though wise men envy, and though fools upbraid,
Be gay: too soon the flowers of spring will fade.
The dewdrops, sprinkled by the musky gale,
Are changed to essence ere they reach the dale.
The mild blue sky a rich pavilion spreads,
Without our labour, o'er our favoured heads.
Let others toil in war, in arts, or trade:
Be gay: too soon the flowers of spring will fade.
Late, gloomy winter chilled the sullen air,
Till Soliman arose, and all was fair.
Soft, in his reign, the notes of love resound,
And pleasure's rosy cup goes freely round.
Here on the bank, which mantling vines o'ershade,
Be gay: too soon the flowers of spring will fade.
May this rude lay from age to age remain,
A true memorial of this lovely train.
Come, charming maid! and hear thy poet sing,
Thyself the rose, and he the bird of spring.
Love bids him sing, and love will be obeyed.
Be gay: too soon the flowers of spring will fade.
ODE IN IMITATION OF ALCÆUS.
WHAT constitutes a state?
Not high-raised battlement or laboured mound,
Thick wall or moated gate;
Not cities proud, with spires and turrets crowned;
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