THE

PERSIAN EMBASSY TO LEONIDAS.

[IBID.]

THE king uprises from his seat, and bids
The Persian follow. He, amaz'd, attends,
Surrounded soon by each assembling band:
When thus at length the godlike Spartan spake―
'Here, Persian, tell thy embassy. Repeat
That, to obtain my friendship, Asia's prince
To me hath proffer'd sov'reignty o'er Greece.
Then view these bands, whose valour shall preserve
That Greece unconquer'd which your king bestows;
Shall strew your bodies on her crimson'd plains.
The indignation, painted on their looks,

Their gen'rous scorn, may answer for their chief.
Yet from Leonidas, thou wretch inur'd
To vassalage and baseness, hear.-The pomp,
The arts of pleasure in despotic courts,
I spurn, abhorrent! In a spotless heart
I look for pleasure. I from righteous deeds
Derive my splendour. No adoring crowd,
No purpled slaves, no mercenary spears,
My state embarrass. I in Sparta rule
By laws, my rulers, with a guard unknown

To Xerxes, public confidence and love.
No pale suspicion of th' empoison'd bowl,
Th' assassin's poniard, or provok'd revolt,
Chase from my decent couch the peace deny'd
To his resplendent canopy. Thy king,
Who hath profan'd by proffer'd bribes my ear,
Dares not to meet my arm. Thee, trembling slave
Whose embassy was treason, I despise,
And therefore spare.

THE COMBAT

OF

LEONIDAS AND HYPERANTHES.

[IBID.]

BUT Hyperanthes from the trembling ranks

Of Asia tow'rs, inflexibly resolv'd

The Persian glory to redeem, or fall.

The Spartan, worn by toil, his languid arm Uplifts once more. He waits the dauntless prince. The heroes now stand adverse. Each, awhile Restrains his valour, each admiring views

His godlike foe. At length their brandish'd points

Provoke the contest, fated soon to close
The long continued horrors of the day.
Fix'd in amaze and fear, the Asian throng,
Unmov'd and silent, on their bucklers pause.
Thus on the wastes of India, while the earth
Beneath him groans, the elephant is seen,
His huge proboscis writhing, to defy
The strong rhinoceros, whose pond'rous horn
Is newly whetted on a rock. Anon

Each hideous bulk encounters. Earth her groan
Redoubles. Trembling, from their covert gaze
The savage inmates of surrounding woods
In distant terror. By the varied art
Of either chief the dubious combat long
Its great event retarded. Now his lance
Far through the hostile shield Laconia's king
Impell'd. Aside the Persian swung bis arm.
Beneath it pass'd the weapon, which his targe
Encumber'd. Hopes of conquest and renown
Elate his courage. Sudden he directs

His rapid javelin to the Spartan's throat,
But he his wary buckler upward rais'd,

Which o'er his shoulder turn'd the glancing steel;
For one last effort then his scatter'd strength
Collecting, levell'd with resistless force

The massive orb, and dash'd its brazen verge

Full on the Persian's forehead. Down he sunk,
Without a groan expiring, as o'erwhelm'd
Beneath a marble fragment, from its seat
Heav'd by a whirlwind, sweeping o'er the ridge
Of some aspiring mansion. Gen'rous prince!
What could his valour more? His single might
He match'd with great Leonidas, and fell
Before hsi native bands. The Spartan king
Now stands alone. In heaps his slaughter'd friends,
All stretch'd around him, lie. The distant foes
Show'r on his head innumerable darts.

From various sluices gush the vital floods ;
They stain his fainting limbs. Nor yet with pain
His brow is clouded; but those beauteous wounds,
The sacred pledges of his own renown,

And Sparta's safety, in serenest joy

His closing eye contemplates. Fame can twine
No brighter laurels round his glorious head;
His virtue more to labour fate forbids,
And lays him now in honourable rest,
To seal his country's liberty by death.

SELIM; OR, THE SHEPHERD's MORAL.

AN ORIENTAL ECLOGUE.

[COLLINS.]

SCENE-A VALLEY NEAR BAGDAT.

TIME, THE MORNING.

YE Persian maids, attend your poet's lays,
And hear how shepherds pass their golden days.
Not all are blest whom Fortune's hand sustains

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 sung; by sacred Truth inspir'd;
Nor praise, but such as Truth bestow'd, desir'd:
Wise in himself, his meaning songs convey'd
Informing morals to the shepherd maid;
Or taught the swains that surest bliss to find,
What

groves nor streams bestow, a virtuous mind!

When sweet and blushing, like a virgin bride, The radiant morn resum'd her orient pride;