What pleafures canft thou hope for if difguft affaults thee in the very arms of love? I have certainly mistaken the objects of defire. I feel my wifhes extend beyond the enjoyments of the body. My fenfes are overpowered and cloyed. How inglorious is it to be thus buried in grofs gratifications, and to pafs my life like the brutes in indolence and inactivity! I feel my wishes expand. I feel my foul made for noble pursuits. I am formed for treading the paths of heroes, and for mounting to the fummit of glory by roads inacceffible to the voluptuary. No, I will no longer be imprisoned in a bower of myrtle, in a corner of the earth, unheard of and unknown. The fentiment that inclines me to honour and power is an earneft of fuccefs, and the ardent courage that is to raise me to fame muft no longer languish in the embraces of women. Ah! if Firnaz would once more be favourable! never till now have I felt a defire that was worthy of myself, or of his approbation. I now fee the whole extent of my paft errors. Will any thing then remain for me to with when I fhall fee my country as boundless as my defires, and my power the terror of my people? How delightful is it to confider onefelf as the lord of mankind, as the god of the earth, the arbiter of deftiny, deciding with a fingle look the fate of princes, with one hand launching the thunder, and with the other difpenfing bleffings! Ah! why is fuch happinefs with-held from me?"

While he was fpeaking, an invifible arm lifted him up, and bore him with ra pidity thro' the air. He faw below him a country of immenfe extent, interfected with forefts of cedars. Rivers like feas precipitated themfelves from the mountains, and were distributed into numberlefs canals running through plantations of palm trees. Zohar was ftruck with the fplendor of the cities that rofe fuperbly in the midft of thefe fruitful plains. “All that thou seeft, faid the invifible Genius, is thine," Zohar devoured with his eyes the vaft countries of which he was to become the poffeffor. His heart leaped for joy when, after a va pid flight, Firnaz defcended to the earth. Zohar found himself at once in the midft of a folemn and respectable assembly of heroes and old men, who proclaimed him their chief before he could recover from his aftonishment. He fees in an inftant a whole people proftrate at his feet. His head is encircled with a diadem, and the found of a trumpet announces his elec

T

tien, accompanied by the acclamations of his new fubjects. A felect body of old men conducts the new Prince to a fumptuous palace. Thither he is followed by a troop of warriors who divide themfelves into two bands. The bril liance of their armour is terrible. The thirft of carnage fparkles in their eyes, and they feem to breathe nothing but war. The people, in crowds, from all places of the city, come to kifs the steps of the throne; and innumerable camels bring, as prefents to the new king, the riches of his provinces, the gold of the ifles, and the fpices of Arabia.

The ears of Zohar were enchanted with the warlike found of the trumpet, and the neighing of the war-horse that fummoned him to the field. He marches forth, he attacks his neighbours, and defeats them. The fhouts of triumph, and the groans of the dying, are mufic to his ear. Proud of fuccefs, the new conqueror haftens to innundate another nation with blood: and as he runs from victory to victory, from conqueft to conquest, he difregards every obftacle. Already all the neighbouring ftates are made tributary, the provinces are ravaged, the forefts are burnt and deftroyed; but the ambition of Zohar is not fatisfied. He is tortured with the thought that there ftill exift people who have not experienced the power of his arms. He firft formed the wifh, recorded of another conqueror who lived long after him, that heaven had made other worlds for him to fubdue. Amongst the millions of flaves that were vile enough to worship him, he found a few wife men, who, with generous boldnefs, fummoned him back to the duties of humanity, by propofing to him a model for Princes in the example of the Deity, who is all-powerful only that he may do good. Zohar would not hearken to them; and indeed how fhould wifdom nake herself be heard by him who is deaf to the eloquence of tears and to the cries of murdered innocence. But the fall of this hero was approaching. A powerful nation, who for ages had enjoyed in peace the bleffings of li berty, excited his ambition. Unity and love for their country and for freedom made them a nation of heroes. Young. and old, without diftinction, fly to arms; the juftice of their caufe and native courage animate every heart, and invigorate the moft feeble. They attack the enemy with a valour which nothing can refift. E very ftroke is mortal. The barbarians fall, and thofe that efcape take refuge in un

2

known

known defarts and dark retreats. Our hero, who had with difficulty faved himfelf from the juft fury of his enemies, recovers at laft from his long delirium to perceive that he is but a man. Long he wanders thro' fecret paths, his limbs, though urged by terror, are hardly able to bear him on. After much fatigue, he finds himself in the middle of a plain encompafied with high mountains, where the fillness of the place invites him to repofe. He fits down at the brink of a fountain, and folitude and the viciflitudes of life lead Zohar to fericus reflection.

“Ah, Zohar, faid he, how haft thou been deceived by vain hopes! where are now thofe dreams of greatness that made thee fancy thyfelf the arbiter of fate and the god of the earth? Deftiny, more Fowerful than the most victorious arinies, has dethroned thee. Wretch that thou art, into what mifery art thou plun ged by thy own folly. Cruel Genius, dift thou not know that my request, when granted, would be fatal to me? Why did thou liften to me when I was ignorantly demanding of thee my ruin? Alas! how happy would man be if he were released from the imperious dominion of reafon, that vain prerogative, which, it is faid, exalts him above the brutes! From it flow all the evils that humanity is liable to. Dazzled with its falfe light, intoxicated with the greatnefs which it promifes him, man fancies him felf a god, but an unexpected blow fuddenly precipitates him from his imaginary heaven, far below the brutes of the earth. O happy tenants of the foreft, how freely you range through your na tive retreats! No paffions trouble your repose, but such as you can eafily gratify; you live in perpetual joy, while pride makes man his own tormentor. Your wants are few, and nature liberally fup plies what is neceffary to content them. The Spring difplays at its charms for you; love beftows on you its fweets without inflaming you with thofe impetuous fires that fpread devaftation among the human race, and that make their very enjoyments more odious to them than real fufferings.

As he was fpeaking, a butterfly with gilded wings perched upon a flower by his fide; he beheld it while with pleafed inconftancy it fluttered from the lilly to the rofe, and from the rofe to the lilly. "O Firmaz! cried Zohar, twice haft thou too eafily granted me the wish that was to operate my ruin: hear me now, for the last time, when I ask what will

enfure my felicity. I am now reduced fo low, as to envy the lot of a contemp tible infect. What is the pleasure which has perpetuaily involved me in a series of tumultuary paffions, compared to the inno cent enjoyment of this winged caterpil lar? I now prefer to the ruifery of being mafler of the world, and of being a flave to my own defires, the pleature of roving among the treafures of Flora. Change re into a butterfly." Immediately his Lody began to shrink, and dwindled into the fi gure of a worm; he is covered with a delicate plumage, and four painted wings display their beauty to the fun The foul of Zohar is aftonished to find itfelf con fined in fo narrow a circle, but his defires are are now more moderate, they are gratified with more cafe, and do not lead him beyond his proper fphere. The new butterfly, eager to try his wings, mounts from the flower, then fuddenly alights rifes again, and cautiously trufts himself in an element to which he is not yet ac cuftomed. Now he enjoys the fweet perfumes that iffue from a thousand bloffoms. He hovers over the flowers, and declares to them his tranfports. He was ftill fluttering and pleafing himself with his new condition, when a cruel enemy of the infect tribe, a female crow, feized him in her bill, to carry him for food to her young.

The fear of death had, fuch an effect on Zohar, that he awaked. Struck with the lively ideas that had paffed in his mind during fleep, he looked around him, and was overjoyed to think that the danger he had been expofed to was but a dream. He finds himself in his bed by the fide of Thirza, who enjoyed the calm repofe of the morning, while the first beams of Aurora darted on her as the lay, and never did they fhine on a fairer form. Zohar reflected on his dream, and was aftonished to find in it thofe defires that had often agitated him fo clearly pictured. "Yes, cried he, it is fome benevolent fpirit, perhaps Firnaz himself, who hath deigned to procure me this falutary dream. O friendly Genius, if thou didst mean to inftruct me thy ex pectations fhall not be deceived. Thy cares have performed during fleep what could not have been effectuated when the faculties were awake, as the body has then fo much influence on the mind. Now, I am convinced that hitherto my life has been only the dream of a foul deranged by error, and vilely enflaved by the tyranny of the fenfes. What new thoughts arife in my mind! how little

does

amiable Thirza, whofe beauty unites the varied perfections of nature. Henceforth

at this moment enjoy! O, Eternal Wifdom, guide my fteps by thy harmonious light! Already I fee the mifts that en veloped thy attractions begin to diffipate, With pleasure do I return to thy arms,

A Danish Song. BESTE Doras! engle pige,

Kranen for det (mukke kijn, Som i dyd ei har din lige,

Hör en elkers kiælen bön!

Mig din dyd har giort til fange,
Og din fodhed til din træl;
Frihed jeg nu vil forglemme,
Baandet fmager alt for vel!
Hold mig værdig til din lænke,
Og min hærskerinde bliv!.
Himelen mig da ei kan fkiænke
Storre glæde, bedre liv!

Kronen felv jeg ei vil bytte
For din f de kiærlighed;
Nei, jeg glad, udi en hytte,
Lev' hos dig med n ifomhed.

Tranflation.

DORAS! dear, angelic creature,
Fairest of the gentle fair,
Excellence of human nature,
Hear a lover's tender pray'r!

Me thy virtue hath enchanted;

Me thy fweetnefs hath enthrall'd: Freedom! tho' of thee I've vaunted, Doras' flave I must be call'd!

Thou than whofe all worth is leffer, Deem me worthy of thy chain! Doras, be my fweet poffefor!

Heav'ns! my life hoy blifsful then!"

For thy love I'd give, with pleasure,
Kingdoms, had I fuch to give;
And, with thee, beyond-ail measure
Blefs'd, in humble cottage live.

A. R. B. E.

Verfes written by MARY STUART,
Queen of Scotland;
On the Death of her Husband FRANCIS I.

Cres m' eft peine dure,

LE qui m'eftoit plaifant,

Le jour le plus luifant
M'eft nuit noire et obfcurè,
Et n'eft rien fi exquis
Qui de moy foit requis..."

Pour mon mal eftranger,
Je ne m'arrefte en place;
Mais jen ay beauchanger.
Si ma douleur n'efface!
Car mon pis, et non niieux
Sont les plus diferts lieux.
Si en quelque fejour,
Soit en bois ou en préc
Soit vers l'aube du jour,
Ou foit fur la vefpree,
Sans ceffe mon cœur fent
Le regret d'un absent.

Si parfois vers le cienx
Viens à dreffer ma vue,
Le doux trait de ses yeux
Je voy en une nue;
Soudain les voys en l'eau,
Comme dans fon tombeau.
Si je fuis en repos,
Sommeillant fur ma couche,
J'oy qu'il me tient propros
Je le fens qui me touche :
En labeur, en recoy,
Tousjours eft près de moy,

Nay, let the magic hand of art
The animated picture grace,
With all the hues it can devife;
Yet this no pleasure will impart,
Without the foul-enchanting face
Tinctur'd with nature's purer dies.

But what's thy life, O Hafez! fay?
A coin that will no value bear,
Altho' by thee 'tis priz'd in vain-
Not worthy to be thrown away
At the rich banquet of thy fair,

A charm within thy filken bond was furl'd,

An Elegy on the Unknown Author of

the ancient Ballad of Chevy Chace.

IN deep oblivion's dreary gloom
A magic name at rest is laid;
The ruthless rigours of the tomb

But half conceal the stately shade.
What if the Mufe's earth-born name
To blazing fame has been denied,
In merit's unabated claim

The loss is more than half supplied.
Perhaps misfortune in his youth

His rifing virtues might affail,
Or o'er the infant fhield of Truth
The points of Envy might prevail.

Or to his rude, untutor'd lays,
Untimely gratia, fublimely wild,
Mute was the voice of public praise,
Which made him more Misfortune's
child.

Perhaps, remote from hall or bower,

He wore his penfive hours alone,
Where Dulness lavifh'd all her power,
And died unhonour'd and unknown,

But now, from vulgar sight debarr'd
Genii felect his athes keep;
Their fpears transfix'd their bound'ries
guard,

Whilft o'er his hallow'd cell they weep.

Yet know, loft Bard of partial fame,
Such flames thy numbers ftill inspire,
Our village youth oft afk thy name,
And of thy story too inquire.

And, thoughtful of thy forceful lay,
Fair England's boaft, and Scotia's pride,
Now heap with flain th' embattl'd way,
'Gainft Gallia fighting side by side.
And down the live-long stream of time
Thy artlefs theme fhall e'er be fung
Throughout fair Albion's happy clime,
In moving ftrains by many a tongue.
W. H. REID.

world.

BRU

RUNETTA refuses my kiss,
Who late was fo loving and kind.
Fly, Zephyr, and tell the sweet Mifs,
Ah! tell her-we're both of a mind.
If we're left but a moment alone,

She flies with impatience away, "Tis cruel to fly, I muft own

-But 'twere vaftly more cruel to stay. Scarce afk'd the refign'd up her charms. I lov'd her because I hate trouble. Now the drives me, (fweet nymph!) from her arms,

My love and my tranfports are double. In my arms fhe would languifh and meltI felt a dull kind of a joy : But what were the raptures I felt,

When first he began to grow coy!

To the charmer my mournful farewell,
Ye Echoes and Zephyrs, convey:
For Zephyrs and Echoes may tell

What I cannot fo civilly fay.
Forbid her for Damon to mourn;
For Damon is heartily glad.
But fay, should her fondness return,
I fhall die, or run off, or run mad.

The Fair Moralist.

S late by Thames's verdant fide,

As with folitary, penfive air,

Fair Chloe fearch'd the filver tide,

With pleafing hope and patient care ; Forth as the caft the filken fly,

And mufing stroll'd the bank along, She thought no lift'ning car was nigh,

While thus fhe tun'd her moral fong. The poor, unhappy, thoughtless fair,

Like the mute race, are oft undone; These with a gilded fly we fnare,

With gilded flatt'ry thofe are won. Careless like them, they frolick round, And sportive tofs th' alluring bait;

At