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in the room of Zopyr. He then defired only that they would give him three days to execute his promife; telling them, that, at the expiration of that term, he would bring Palmyra into that apartment, and deliver her to the arms of Seid, in the prefence of them all. They then feparated, and Adonai left Seid, and all his companions in admiration, of his extraordinary beauty and accomplifhments. No fooner had he left them, but he repaired to the palace of the Sheick, and by the virtue of Solomon's feal which he had discovered, and which made him fecure of fuccefs in all his enterprizes, he foon brought Palmyra to the window of her father's palace; where the contemplated him with eyes as favourable, as if he had been Seid himself. She did not indeed fee the feal of Solonon, which he carried tied about his neck with a red ribbon, fo that his cloaths concealed it from the fight of others: fuch was the virtue of this feal, that whenever he moved it to his heart, he communicated the heart of the perfon he looked at, as full knowledge of what he defired, as if he had explained himself by letter. Palmyra immediately understood, that Adonai defired that he would watch her opportunity, and to quit the Sheick's palace in three days, and meet him juft by in an alley, where they might be out of the view of paffengers, and fo might go unmolefted where they pleafed. Palmyra during the interval of three days thought conftantly upon the vifion fhe had feen, for the thought Adonai an angel fent to her deliverance by God's holy prophet, and refolved to meet him at the time appointed. She accordingly went three days after to the place of rendezvous, covering her face with a veil, and as foon as the arrived there, perceived, that fomebody threw his arm about her neck; whereupon the lifted up her veil, and feeing the face of Adonai, whofe eyes beamed upon her with inexpreffible Tweetness, the thought herself fecure in the care of an angel, fent by the prophet to her deliverance, and they walked through the ftreets of Damafcus till they came to the palace where Seid and his friends were affembled. Such was the virtue of the feal of Solomon, that no body perceived them as they went along, a thick mift concealed them from the eyes of the vulgar, and entered the apartment where Palmyra's lover waited for them with impatience, without being feen either by him or any of his affociates. But Adonai suddenly removed the

feal from the place where he had held it before; the mift was difpelled, and Palmyra and Adonai stood before them; the charms of the former fhone with a new luftre, the appeared to refemble one of those beings, in whofe embraces the faithful are ever bleft in paradife, and Adonai feemed to equal in beauty thofe youths, who prefent a delicious potion to the juft, immediately after their entrance into that abode of never fading joys.

All that were present started from their feats in aftonishment and admiration, and Seid in raptures ran to embrace Palmyra and Adonai; he folded them in his arms with the fame tenderness, and the tranfports of love feemed to equal the ebullitions of gratitude. If his heart overflowed with joy, at feeing himself again poffeffed of a world of charms in Palmyra, he knew himfelf indebted for his happiness to the friendship of Adonai, and gratitude was in him as powerful as love. To fuch a flight did he carry it, that he immediately swore that he would do his utmoft to make Adonai Sheick of Damafcus, if Palmyra would confent to it, and his friends fecond him in the enterprize Palmyra readily agreed, upon condition her father's life might be spared ; and the partifans of Seid vowed that they were determined to fpill the last drop of their blood in his caufe.

It was not at all neceffary to proceed fo far; Adonai, by being poffeffed of the feal of Solomon, won the hearts of allthat faw him; he in a short time made fo confiderable a party, that his adhe rents, with those that Seid and his friends gained over at the fame time, might have eafily depofed the Seick, and given the government of the town to Adonai, had not Zopyr, as foon as ever he had mils'd his daughter, fent an exprefs to the Califf, to let him know that he could no longer keep Damascus in fubjection to his authority, except he fent a body of troops to his affifiance: he accordingly fent ten thousand men to Damafcus, under the command of Almanza, who, though not above four-andtwenty years of age, had given greater proofs of his courage and conduct than any general of that age. As soon as Almanza arrived with this body of men, a ftop was put to the proceedings of Adonai and Seid's partifans. The foldiers of Almanza immediately became mafters of the town, and Zopyr's party took fuch measures that Seid, and the

other

other friends of Adonai, were obliged to abfcond or betake themfelves to flight. Orders were given to feize Adonai, and bring him before the divan, that he might be proceeded against as an enemy to the ftate. He was at laft feized by a party of Almanza's foldiers, who difcovered him by means of an enemy of Adonai, who had pretended to efpoufe his cause in order to betray him. When he was brought before the divan, Almanza, who fat prefident there, was fo ftruck with the gracefulness of his perfon and his beauty, which feemed to receive a new luftre from his diftrefs, that his heart pleaded in his behalf, and he was as favourable to him as poffible: feeing however that this lenity gave offence to the oppofite faction, he ordered him to prifon under a guard, and promifed to give Zopyr's party fatisfaction, as foon as he had maturely weighed the cause.

A great ftruggle now arofe in the breaft of Almanza; he perceived that he could not fave the life of Adonai, without offending the Sheick and his party, and that would be acting contrary to his orders; he therefore formed a defign to let him efcape out of the prifon: this he thought he could easily effect, by going privately thither, and giving to Adonai a difguife in which he might make his escape, and fly to fome city where the power of the Sheick could not reach him.

This Adonai could have effected himfelf, had not he loft the feal of Solomon, which enabled him to become invifible whenever he thought proper. He would however have efcaped with life by the care of his friend Almanza, had not Aliah, who had poured to many gifts on him, and made him profper for a time, at laft withdrawn his protection from Adona, and thereby fhewed difapprobation of his enterprize. The habit of a woman was brought him by Almanza, and by means of this he eafi'y made his efcape out of prifon, without being immediately difcovered by any one. Soon after, the Sheick's party, with a body of the foldiers commanded by Almanza, came with a refolution to force the prifon, and hurry Adonai to execution; for the Sheick and his party fufpecting the defign of Almanza, had induftriously propagated a report amongst the foldiers of the latter, that Adonai, by means of certain enchantments, had deprived Almanza of life, and having affumed his figure by the magic power of a talifman, which he carried about him, intended to

put himself at their head, and lay the city of Damafcus in afhes. The credulous foldiers, fired by these fuggeftions of the Sheick and his friends, dragged Almanza out of prison, and hurried him away to execution, tho' he affured them he was their leader. They however paid no regard to his words, for the Saracen foldiery is naturally devoted to fuperftition; and foldiers, when unreftrained, ac from the fift impulfe, like brute beafts, who are actuated by inftinct alone.

Thus was Almanza impaled alive, his own foldiers affifting at the execution, for they had been fo eafily blinded by the artful infinuation of the Sheick and his party, that they thought they beheld the dying agonies of the magician Adonai, when they faw their general expire. In the mean time the Sheick and his party fent out emiffaries in queft of Adonai, who was foon difcovered, and thrown into prifon; his difguife had not the virtue of Solomon's feal, and as he had loft that, he had no refource left but fell a victim to the fury of his enemies. Some of his partifans who were not known to the guards were permitted to fee him, and wept his approaching fate, with as much grief as if they had been condemned to die at the fame time. Adonai however appeared undaunted, and discovered more concern at the hapless fate of the virtuous Almanza, who had fo nobly efpoufed his caufe, than at his own impending death. When it drew near, however, he discovered the fears natural to humanity; and though he had passed for fomething more than man during his life, difcovered all the frailties of a mortal at his death. The Sheick entering with four of the foldiers, one of whom held a cup of poifon in one hand, and a bow-ftring in the other, told him, that he was to die that moment, but left it to his choice in which manner he should end his life. Adonai hefitating too long, the Sheick made a fign to two of the foldiers, who immediately threw a crape over his face, and by the fatal bow-ftring put an end to his life, whilft the ftruggling of his body fhewed how unwilling the foul was to part from so fweet a manfion.

Thus fell Adonai, and his death for a time prevented the people of Damascus from fhaking off the yoke of the Califfs. His followers; who dreaded the refentment of the Sheick, immediately dispersed, and wandered through Syria and the neighbouring countries till they came to Egypt; whither Seid and Palmyra had H 2

retired

retired upon the imprisonment of Adonai, and where they lived happily the remainder of their lives, bleft in a mutual

love, and retaining always a tender re membrance of him to whom they owed their happiness.

POETRY.

Choral Ode in the Oedipus Tyrannus of Though man in wisdom man transcend,

Sophocles*.

Strophe.

No eye can pierce the future gloom. Sav'd from the pinion'd Sphinx's lure, By our fagacious

WHO now, hath Delphi's cavern hoar Unfolding allies Chieftain's aid,

o'er?

Of nameless deeds, the most accurft,
To perpetrate the monster durft;
But fwifter than the ftorm's career,
Let him fly on wings of fear;

For arm'd with lightening from above,
Defcends the vengeful fon of Jove;
The grisly minifters of Fate,
Inevitable round him wait.

Antistrophe.

From steep Parnaffus' facred rock
Crufted with eternal fnows,
The dread command in thunder broke,
"Trace the wretch where'er he goes."

Lonely now his footsteps ftray

Thro' the wild wood, and favage den, O'er ruptur'd rocks he bends his way, Shunning far the haunts of men; Far from his mate, in fad divorce,

Cold on the clay his limbs are laid; From earth's deep center fprang the curse, That hovers o'er his guilty head.

Strophe.

Fluttering ftill with hope and fear,
Amaz'd I heard the fullen feer.
Horrid! horrid! was the word;
But with truth can ne'er accord:
For how could dire diffenfion fpring,
Between our Prince and Corinth's king;
Shall then a groundless, vain furmife,
Against our noble hero rife,
Shall we, avenging Labdae's race,
Reward our chief with foul disgrace?
Antistrophe.

The fecret will of Fate to fcan

The gods immortal only know,
Who rule the changeful lot of man
In every scene of joy or woe;
Then let not mortals vain pretend
To fearch the records dark of doom

Our gratitude shall never fade.

THE DRYAD'S WARNING.

To ROBERT ANDERSON, M. D. on an Excurfion in the Country.

H

By Mr LEYDEN.

ARK! from the hills a folemn moan Breathes in the wind's expiring tone! While fweeps the breeze on circling wings, Forlorn and fad, fome fpirit fings! Down yonder vale, abrupt and low; Recedes the murmur dull and flow.

What omens, mighty Oak! can make Thy knotted stubborn heart to quake? No gale thy rustling foliage heaves; Then why thefe fearful, fhivering leaves?

The leaves were hufh'd, the winds were
calm-

A Dryad rais'd her flender palm-
With mifletoe her locks were wreath'd,-
And these prophetic accents breath'd:

"What can the oak's firm ftrength avail,
When ev'n the radiant Sun grows pale?
In magic chains behold him bound,
Faint yellow circles wreathing round,-
The wan Moon, glimmering thro' her tears,
At midnight ftill, confefs'd her fears.
I feel mine iron nerves revolt
At the deep-rending thunderbolt,
Whose fiery force my frame will rack,
And fcorch my fair green foliage black-
Hence, Mortal, like the light'ning, fly
Ere the deluge pour from high,
Ere the blaft's impetuous breath
Sweep you to the realms of death.”.
Then died the Dryad's voice away-
Because fhe had no more to say-
While I the proper time embrace
To feize the story, in her place;

And afk, Dear Doctor! what could tempt
Your placid foul, from cares exempt,
When mystic tomes no longer rife
With magic rhymes to daze your eyes†,

Το

Sung after the Oracle had denounced Oedipus guilty of the murder of Laius. + Dr. Anderson had lately finished his collection of "The Works of the British Poets, with Prefaces, Biographical and Critical," in 13 vols. 8vo; a work which reflects honour

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To leave your books, your letter'd cafe,
Your power of trifling when you please,
To trace the marth, the defart moors,
To converfe with unlettered boors;
To pore on the bleak morning sky,
And count each cloud that waggles by ;
To view the green moon thro' the trees
Swing like a huge fufpended cheese ;
Or fairy landfcapes in the mist,
Like fome poetic fabulist?

For fure, as anglers never fearch
Old Helicon for Trout or Perch,
The polish'd Mufes ever fhun
The echo of the Sportfman's gun.
No poets in these climes of ours
Have feen your fam'd Arcadian bowers;
Its fragrance sweet no mofs-rofe spreads,
Tho' numerous blue-bells paint our meads,
Tho' high our royal thiftle rears
His head begirt with bristling spears-
The linnet warbles faint and low,
But sharp and fhrill the jangling crow;
The wintry winds in fummer howl,
"While nightly fings the ftaring owl;"
For fwains, you find the furly clown,-
Dear Doctor, hafte, return to town,
Where fhines the fun on plafter'd walls,
Carts, cabbages, and coblers' stalls;
Now, only think how fweet he smiles,---
His beams reflected from the tiles.
Yet, Doctor, hear my boding voice,
While ftill you have the power of choice,
Quick fly impending floods of rain,
Nor deem the Dryad's warning vain.
Vain omens cease-you warn too late:
Impell'd by ftern resistless fate,
He goes! while fure as I'm a finner,
It rains before the hour of dinner.

Now having feiz'd (by way of trope)
Imagination's telescope,

I fee as well thro' ftone and timber,
As through the window of my chamber;
Nor highest hills impede my vifion,
Nay, mark and fmile not in derifion-
Lo! by a stream I see you ftray
Where chime the waves in wanton play;
Along with quicken'd pace you go,
And now with fteps revers'd and flow,
Still liftening to the buzzing crowd
Of idle gnats that murmur loud;
Where high the gufhing waters spout,
And frequent fprings the fpeckled trout;
While conftant in your raptur'd ear
The river's diftant hum you hear.

But heard you not at twilight's break The wrangling hen's harfh-twittering peck?

And fee these crows-in airy rings
They wheel on gloffy cil-fmooth'd wings,
Aloft they dart, oblique they range,
In hieroglyphic circles strange,
And now their mazy folds combine
To form one long continuous line.
That living hillock heaves its head
With crunibling earth so fresh and red,
Where, floundering blindfold from his hole,
Springs forth to light the darkling mole.
Fly, Doctor, fly, no longer ftay
Till twining earth-worms bar your way;
Till crawling fnails their antlers rear,
And Anne and Margaret* cry "O dear!
How hard yon path-way steep to climb,
And slide o'er flippery tracks of flime.”

The rains defcend, the thunders roar'Tis well you reach'd that cottage door.

The roads are floods-on fuch a day Would Homer's well-foal'd boots give way. With hopeless foot the traveller views His path who, lucklefs! trufts in fhoes; But you, perhaps, (ah vain pretence !) In coaches place your confidence. In vain in chariots and in horfe You trust to speed you on your course. That tempeft, fit for turning mills, The coachman's heart with horror fillsIt goes as well might feamen try To fteer ftraight in the North-wind's eyeBeneath the blast it tottering reels, And heaves aloft its ponderous wheels,

Well, Doctor, fince you must delay, Why, practise patience while you stayWhen tempefts fhroud the ftormy sky Thefe lines its utmost power may try. Edinburgh August 6, 1796.

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en Scotland, and which was undertaken folely from public confiderations; to vindicate the claims of many too much neglected poets, and to fecure a correct and uniform edition of their writings.

* Two young ladies, daughters of Dr. Anderson, who accompanied him on this rural excurfion.

The taunt of Pride, and Poverty's rude forms,

He feem'd, alas! no fhelter to expect.

A crutch fupported the remaining part Of a fpare body, cover'd half with weeds, Of coarseft texture mix'd Hisfhoulders bore The patched remnant which himself had

worn

Fuil oft on blood-ftain'd fields. One piece was left,

That told the paffing ftranger how he food At the dread hour, when Carnage loud was heard,

And all around him bleeding victims lay. As I approach'd, he bow'd; and, with a look

That feem'd to fay, "I am indeed fincere," A ftory then began, half mix'd with fighs, That might have pierc'd a "heart flint to the core;"

For his, alas! it felt too much to feign. When fuffering Virtue craves our friendly

aid,

"Tis in a tone of fupplication meek, That, in the penfive wand'rer's woe-fraught breaft,

Still finds a friend, and makes the beating heart

At once dictator to the bounteous hand.

Thus in my course arrested by the tale
That's oft-times told,and told full oft in vain,
Attestive long, with filent awe. I heard,
How, in his youthful days he vainly ftrove,
In filial tendernefs, to heal the woes
That laid an aged parent in the duft.
Here did his forrows feem to bleed afresh-
Twas Nature bade his tear-fwoln eyes to
weep:

Then feebly pointing to the distant hill,
He mark'd the spot where once his cottage

ftood,

Where he had spent life's fpring, and, with the lark,

Oft hail'd the day, as forth he led his team, With Poverty hard ftruggling. From the hour

Which gave him birth, he knew not Fortune's fmiles,

Nor Pleasure's giddy round-the pomp of

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Whofe fancied charms first fir'd his artless breaft,

Whom love had call'd his own, now prov'd as falfe

As youthful Fancy once had thought her fair.
The rural fcene of many a youthful sport,
Defpairingly he left his native meads,
The feat of Industry and blooming Health,
Where his forefathers dwelt, to Pride un-
known,

Won by the hero's name, difcordant founds,
And all the falfe appendages of war.
Now he began to tell of ftorming towns,
Of peaceful villages laid defolate;
How many a merry comrade bravely fell;
And would again have fought each battle
o'er,

Calling each wound to witness what he said.
All this the poor fuftainer might have fav'd,
With many a painful figh; for, to my ear,
Nought half fo grating as the horrid tales
Of battles, fieges, and fair towns destroy'd,
Who heeds no widow's figh, no orphan's
With thoufands falling at a tyrant's nod,

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o'er,

With half-bent body, floping to the grave, Told me, as on I mus'd, this fon of Want Was brother to Ambition's fplendid train, For whom he fought and bled: then did I wish,

For once, that Fortune had to me been kind; Then did I envy fcornful Pride his wealth; For, to the feeling heart, what joys fo great, As when it fhares a woe-worn brother'scares,

And, fympathizing, softens his distress!

O ye, who feel not Poverty's keen gripe, But loll with Luxury on beds of down; While the poor warrior, on the fun-burnt heath,

Or frozen plain, in fleepless anguish lies;
Think, think of him, the victim of your ease;
And, when he 'fcapes the gore-ftain'd field,
where Death,

So oft a friend, the hero frees from pain,
Attentive hear the wounded wand'rer's tale,
Nor mock with fcorn his honourable fears;
But let Compaffion pour foft Pity's balm
Into the wounds which only Death can cure.
THE BEGGAR GIRL,
A Song.

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