A man of virtues, talents, and accomplishments, to which he owed his advancement in the world: his life has lately been given to the publick by Lord Teignmouth; and it affords a rare and useful example of the power of industry, combined with genius.

SOLIMA,

AN ARABIAN ECLOGUE;

Written in the year 1768.

YE maids of Aden, hear a loftier tale

Than e'er was sung in meadow, bower, or dale.
The smiles of Abelah, and Maia's eyes,

Where beauty plays, and love in slumber lies;

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The fragrant hyacinths of Azza's hair,
That wanton with the laughing summer-air;
Love-tinctured cheeks, whence roses seek their
bloom,

And lips, from which the Zephyr steals perfume;

Invite no more the wild, unpolish'd lay,
But fly like dreams before the morning ray.
Then farewell, love! and farewell, youthful fires
A nobler warmth my kindled breast inspires.
Far bolder notes the listening wood shall fill:
Flow smooth, ye rivulets, and ye gales be still.

See yon fair groves that o'er Amana rise,
And with their spicy breath embalm the skies;
Where every breeze sheds incense o'er the
vales,

And every shrub the scent of musk exhales!
See through yon opening glade a glittering scene,
Lawns ever gay; and meadows ever green!
Then ask the groves and ask the vocal bowers,
Who deck'd their spiry tops with blooming

flowers,

Taught the blue stream o'er sandy vales to flow,

And the brown wild with liveliest hues to glow?

Fair Solima! the hills and dales will sing;
Fair Solima! the distant echoes ring.

But not with idle shows of vain delight,
To charm the soul, or to beguile the sight;
At noon on banks of pleasure to repose,
Where bloom intwined the lily, pink, and rose,
Not in proud piles to heap the mighty feast,
Till morn with pearls has deck'd the glowing

east;

Ah! not for this she taught those bowers to rise,
And bade all Eden spring before our eyes:
Far other thoughts her heavenly mind employ,
(Hence, empty pride! and hence, delusive joy !)
To cheer with sweet repast the fainting guest;
To lull the weary on the couch of rest;

To warm the traveller numb'd with winter's

coll;

The young to cherish, to support the old ;
The sad to comfort, and the weak protect;
The poor to shelter, and the lost direct:

These are her cares, and this her glorious task;
Can heaven a nobler give, or mortals ask?

*It was not easy in this part of the translation to avoid a turn similar to that of Pope, in the known description of the Man of Ross.

Come to these groves, and these life-breathing

glades,

Ye friendless orphans, and ye dowerless maids! With eager haste your mournful mansions leave, Ye weak, that tremble, and ye sick that grieve; Here shall soft tents, o'er flowery lawns display'd,

At night defend you, and at noon o'ershade ; Here rosy health the sweets of life will shower, And new delights beguile each varied hour. Mourns there a widow, bathed in streaming.

tears?

Stoops there a sire beneath the weight of years?
Weeps there a maid, in pining sadness left,
Of tender parents, and of hope, bereft ?
To Solima their sorrows they bewail;
To Solima they pour their plaintive tale.
She hears; and, radiant as the star of day,
Through the thick forest gains her easy way:
She asks what cares the joyless train opppress,
What sickness wastes them, or, what wants
distress;

And as they mourn, she steals a tender sigl,
Whilst all her soul sits melting in her eye:
Then with a smile the healing balm bestows,
And sheds a tear of pity o'er their woes,

Which, as it drops, some soft-eyed angel bears
Transferr'd to pearl, and in his bosom wears.

When, chill'd with fear, the trembling pilgrim

roves

Through pathless deserts, and through tangled

groves,

Where mantling darkness spreads her dragon wing, And birds of death their fatal dirges sing,

While vapours pale a dreadful glimmering cast, And thrilling horror howls in every blast;

She cheers his gloom with streams of bursting light,

By day a sun, a beaming moon by night;

Darts through the quivering shades her heavenly

ray,

And spreads with rising flowers his solitary way.

Ye heavens, for this, in showers of sweetness shed
Your mildest influence o'er her favour'd head!
Long may her name, which distant climes shall
praise,

Live in our notes, and blossom in our lays!
And, like an odorous plant, whose blushing flower
Paints every dale, and sweetens every bower,