THE
TURTLE DOVES.
 
HERE, ACHMED, let thy wearied frame once more
Enjoy the heavenly comforts of repose:
And may this much-lov’d solitude restore
Thy mind to calmness, long oppress’d with woes.
 
Unmanly RULER of the PERSIAN land,
A land of SLAVES, that abjectly obey;
This lonely region owns not thy command,
Here, ACHMED bends to no proud tyrant’s sway.
 
But blest with what primeval NATURE gave
To all that live—the right to rest, or roam;
For GOD ne’er form’d a tyrant, or a slave,
Nor chain’d mankind to any hateful home.
 
Free as the light the MAN of NATURE rose,
Gazed on her beauties, and with raptured heart
Adored the guardian of his sweet repose,
Who bade the SUN his genial powers impart.
 
He saw a charm diffused on all around,
His soul responsive, felt that charm her own;
His every thought with rosy chaplets crown’d,
And pure emotions blest his heart alone.
 
How different far the man of modern days
In vigorous health, and energy of mind;
Ev’n in maturity his strength decays,
His spirit daunted—wavering and confined.
 
He acts not, speaks not, as he thinks or feels,
But ruled by interest, or by custom led,
Awed by false shame or fear, his chariot wheels
Pursue the track from which lost REASON fled.
 
The sorceress, SUPERSTITION, waves her wand,
And blasts the face of NATURE to his view;
While USURPATION grasps with griffon hand
His scanty joys, his wealth, his freedom too.
 
Man taught alas! DELUSION’s voice to hear,
And lur’d from PEACE, to CRUELTY and STRIFE,
Led by AMBITION, meets the slaughtering spear,
Or lifts the sabre ’gainst his brother’s life.
 
Perhaps he falls:—the vulture screams delight,
Hovering impatient o’er the carnaged plain:
Perhaps—he triumphs in the field of fight,
A gory DEMON! ’midst the mangled slain.
 
Behold the neighbouring CITY, whose full fate
Hung on the chance of victory or defeat:
Lo! its high towers o’erturn’d—its wealth, its state,
Laid like their SOVEREIGN at the CONQUEROR’s feet.
 
The VIRGIN’s shriek—the WIDOW’s frantic tear,
The bitter anguish of a PARENT’s love,
Anticipating all the lot severe,
That his poor captive offspring soon must prove.
 
The chain that binds so cruelly their hands,
Binds them more firmly to his anguish’d soul:
Yet, see! the iron-hearted warrior stands
Exulting in the power of rude controul.
 
The smoaking ruin—the once lucid stream,
Whose trembling waters flow distain’d with blood;—
His dying sociate’s pangs,—awake no gleam
Of social feeling: VENGEANCE yells for food.
 
Nor yells in vain: Impetuous as the steed
That hears the shout of war with neighing joy:
While groans of DEATH to TERROR’s scream succeed,
Aloud the son of DISCORD cries, DESTROY!
 
Admit—the SULTAN whom his sword defends,
Yields him a scanty portion of the spoils;
RAPINE and MURDER still his hope extends,
With brutal revelry to crown his toils.
 
He lives a TYGER! If his hated name
Debase the annals of th’ historic page,
Indignant JUSTICE ’mid the sons of FAME,
Shall blast his memory—to each future age.
 
But hark! a gentler voice salutes mine ear,
With softly murmuring notes of joy and love;
A voice that long has breathed familiar here,
The placid spirit of the TURTLE DOVE.
 
Sweet birds! that nestling in the clefted stone,
Where the wild creeper forms a floating shade;
Ne’er may that discord to your lives unknown,
These sweetly-pensive solitudes invade.
 
Welcome—thrice welcome, then, my hallow’d fate,
And ah! farewel! thou world of cares and strife:
Wean’d from thy love, and heedless of thy hate,
HEAVEN yields me comforts, and sustains my life.