Selim to Zorayda. So may his song, perhaps, impart Do SELIM's numbers flow in vain, Then, where Canary blooms in spring, But know, where'er the songster rove, Lean o'er my harp, entranced the while, No, SELIM does not sing in vain, Zorayda to Selim. For others FATE may trophies pile, TO SELIM. Go on, contented youth !-Zorayda err’d— But if the happy fair who tunes your lyre, Your country's glory claims exalted praise, Then gild your rising song with FREEDOM's name. When foreign despots dare usurp the deep, And vengeance wake in every Freeman's breast. Zorayda to Selim. And should our injuries at length demand Then let the strain, which fires the patriot band, Swell like our thunders which shall shake the world. The sword of vengeance will not gleam in vain, The dove of peace shall soon regain her nest, Soft as the zephyrs, when they fan the lake, And dimpling smiles betray the ravish'd kiss, In sweeter tones your numbers then may wake, And every note breathe friendship, love and peace. So I have seen the bolt of heaven hurl'd, While, clothed in tempests, angry Nature frown'd; Anon her smiles were scatter'd o'er the world, And sweeter wreaths her glowing temples bound. Bright gems of silver glittered from the spray, Selim to Zorayda. TO ZORAYDA. Ah! why, sweet minstrel! why bid SELIM soar Forbear, dear girl! to urge the strange request, His gentle muse on Heliconia strays, Or gaily sports in sweet Pierian bowers ; And, when descending to inspire his lays, Her airy form is but the breath of flowers. MINERVA's helm her brow could ne'er sustain, He cannot woo her to a task so vain— She flies with terror the embattled field. He once essay'd-but, like the Mantuan swain, Nor paint the scene where brave MONTGOMERY died. Selim to Zorayda. He blush'd, obey'd, nor more mistakes his powers; In Beauty's smile to bask life's summer hours, Life is a chase the game, terrestrial bliss ; His song affords it-if approv'd by you. There is a magic harp, whose dulcet tones Which breathes to Night its sweetly-sighing moans, He came with fragrance on his lucid wings, The playful god in transport bore away But BOREAS came with rude disastrous breath, And swept the tender strings with direful force; Harsh DISCORD waked, and, like the bird of death, Shriek'd to the gale in accents loud and hoarse. |