Come, Selim, let us pierce the grove, While night befriends, to seek my love. The clouds of fragrance as they rise Shall mark the place where Abla lies. Around her tent my jealous foes, Like lions, spread their watchful rows; Amidst their bands, her bow'r appears Embosom'd in a wood of spears-- A wood still nourish'd by the dews, Which smiles, and softest looks diffuse. Thrice happy youths! who midst yon shades Sweet converse hold with Idham's maids, What bliss, to view them gild the hours, And brighten wit and fancy's powers, While every foible they disclose New transport gives, new graces shows. 'Tis theirs to raise with conscious art The flames of love in every heart; 'Tis yours to raise with festive glee The flames of hospitality: Smit by their glances lovers lie, And helpless sink and hopeless die; While slain by you the stately steed To crown the feast, is doom'd to bleed, To crown the feast, where copious flows The sparkling juice that soothes your woes, That lulls each care and heals each wound, As the enlivening bowl goes round. Amidst those vales my eager feet Shall trace my Abla's dear retreat, A gale of health may hover there, To breathe some solace to my care. I fear not love--I bless the dart Sent in a glance to pierce the heart: With willing breast the sword I hail That wounds me thro' an half-clos'd veil: Tho' lions howling round the shade, My footsteps haunt, my walks invade, No fears shall drive me from the grove, If Abla listen to my love. Ah, Selim! shall the spells of ease Thy friendship chain, thine ardor freeze! Wilt thou enchanted thus, decline Each gen'rous thought, each bold design? Then far from men some cell prepare; Or build a mansion in the air-- But yield to us, ambition's tide, Who fearless on its waves can ride; Enough for thee if thou receive The scattered spray the billows leave. Contempt and want the wretch await Who slumbers in an abject state-- 'Midst rushing crowds, by toil and pain The meed of Honor we must gain; At Honor's call, the camel hastes Thro' trackless wilds and dreary wastes, Till in the glorious race she find The fleetest coursers left behind: By toils like these alone, he cries, Th' adventurous youths to greatness rise; If bloated indolence were fame, And pompous ease our noblest aim, The orb that regulates the day Would ne'er from Aries' mansion stray. I've bent at Fortune's shrine too long-- Too oft she heard my suppliant tongue-- Too oft has mock'd my idle prayers, While fools and knaves engross'd her cares, Awake for them, asleep to me, Heedless of worth she scorn'd each plea. Ah! had her eyes, more just survey'd The diff'rent claims which each display'd, Those eyes from partial fondness free Had slept to them, and wak'd for me.