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Why think we these less pleasing to behold Than dreary desarts, if they lead to gold ! Sad was the hour, and luckless was the

day, When first from Schiraz' walls I bent my

way !

Ocease, my fears ! all frantic as I go,
When thought creates unnumber'd scenes of

woe.

What if the lion in his rage I meet !
Oft in the dust I view his printed feet ;
And, fearful! oft, when day's declining

light Yields her pale empire to the mourner night, By hunger rouz'd, he scours the groaning

plain, Gaunt wolves and sullen tigers in his train ; Before them Death, with shrieks, directs

their way!

Fills the wild yell, and leads them to their

prey.

Sad

Sad was the hour, and luckless was the

day, When first from Schiraz' walls I bent my

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way!

At that dead hour the filent asp shall creep,
If aught of reft I find, upon my sleep:
Or some swoln serpent twist his scales around,
And weak to anguish with a burning wound.
Thrice happy they, the wise, contented poor;
From lust of wealth, and dread of death fe-

cure !
They tempt no desarts, and no griefs they

find ; Peace rules the day, where -rcafon rules the

mind. Sad was the hour, and luckleis was the

day, When first from Schiraz' walls I bene my

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way!

O hapless youth! for the thy love hath won,
The der Zara, will be most undone !

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Big swellid my heart, and own’d the power

ful maid, When fast she dropp'd her tears, and thus

she said : Farewell the youth, whom sighs could not detain;

(vain Whom Zara's breaking heart implor'd in Yer as thou go'st, may ev'ry blast arise, Weak and unfelt as these rejected sighs ! Safe o'er the wild, no perils may'st thou see; No griefs endure ; nor weep, false youth,

like me! O let me safely to the fair return, Say, with a kiss, the muft not, shall not

mourn !
O let me teach my heart to lose its fears,
Recall'd by Wisdom's voice, and Zara's

tears !'-
He said; and callid on Heav'n to bless the
day,

[way,
When back to Schiraz' walls he bent his

COLLINS.

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Conference between Achilles and

HeEtor, at the Time of that Engagement, which proved fatal to the last-mentioned Hero.

ENOUGH, O son of Peleus ! Troy has

view'd Her walls thrice circled, and her chief pur

su'd. But now some god within me bids me try Thine, or my fate : I kill thee, or I die. Yet on the verge of battle let us stay, And for a moment's space suspend the day ; Let Heav'n's high pow'rs be call'd to arbi

trate

The just conditions of this stern debate, (Eternal witnesses of all below, And faithful guardians of the treasur'd row!)

To

To them I swear ; if, victor in the frite,
Jove by these hands shall shed thy noble life,
No vile dishonour shall thy corps pursue ;
Stript of its arms alone (the conqu'ror's due)
The reft to Greece, uninjur'd I'll restore :
Now plight thy mutual oath, I ask no more.

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Talk not of oaths (the dreadful chief replies,
While anger flash'd from his disdainful eyes)
Detested as thou art, and ought to be,
Nor oath nor pact Achilles plights with

thee :
Such pacts, as lambs and rapid wolves com-

bine, Such leagues, as men and furious lions join, To such I call the gods? one constant state Of lafting rancour and eternal hate : No thought but rage, and never-ceasing ftrife, "Till death extinguila rage, and thought,

and life. Rouze then thy forces this important hour, Colleet thy soul, and call forth all thry pow'r.

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