ODE.

THE CAPTURE OF BAGDAD, 1787.

BY EYLES IRWIN, ESQ.

TO RICHARD LOVEL EDGWORTH, ES2.

To Mr. Edgworth this Ode is inscribed, because a penciled observation of that gentleman, on a note relative to this subject, in the Occasional Epistles, viz. " this would be a fine subject for Mr. Irwin's Muse," induced the attempt, to add another illustration of the power of Music, to the unrivalled Odes of Dryden, Pope, and Collins.

"BARE the sabre, poise the lance,

"Bid the chosen bands advance;

"Rous'd by the trumpet's quick'ning breath,
"Let each warrior spurn at death.
"Lo! the sacred banner flies,
"Beacon bright of Paradise!
"Give our Prophet for the word,
"To edge anew the OTHMAN Sword:
"To pity's spell each heart to steel,
"That none the ties of nature feel;

"Should manhood shun the vengeance blade,
Or beauty's form the point invade:

"Or infancy, with potent eye,

"Or reverend age, for

So

mercy cry:

may I, holy OMAR! want thy grace, "If one escape

of ALI's hateful race!"

This mandate, streaming blood, Issued hoarse, from Tygris' flood,

Where AMURATH, victorious, rode. BAGDAD, in vain, resists his mighty powers, Her walls convulse! dispart, her towers! Fear, flight, her pale defenders goad,

While sabres storm the breach, and javelins drift in showers!

The servile soldiery the death-word hear,
More savage grow in cruelty's career,

And stain, with harmless gore, the warrior's generous spear!

In wrathful mood,

The Sultan stood;

Smiles on the field,

Which nought could yield,
But anguish to the good!

Hark! what notes distil from far,
Discordant to the din of war?

Now, through the sad and transient calm,
Pouring Music's healing balm.

Those notes pervade the royal ear-
Musician sweet! what fruitless zeal
Wakes thy lyre, for PERSIA's weal?

Can song the harden'd breast assail, Or charm to rest, the dagger'd hand? When justice and compassion fail, And lucre spurs the bigot band?

Arrested in his sanguine current wide, Fell AMURATH, indignant, eyes the tower,

Whence, gave the Bard, those numbers to the tide,

And shook the apathy of lawless power:

His hand he rais'd, the dulcet sounds to still,

But doubt his purpose crost-now first irresolute in ill!

Rous'd by the sight, the Bard invokes his art;
Its smiles, its terrors to impart :
To glory's goal he animates the brave,
Who nobly pant, to triumph, yet to save!
Or, taught by virtue to forbear,

Hold captive woes the conqueror's care;
Snatch Beauty's wrecks from War's tempestuous deep,
And grow immortal, while for man they weep!

Not so the tyrant bears his

sway,
Blood and terror print his way;
Plague and famine, Nature's bane!
And devastation close his train:

For him no grateful prayer ascends the sky,

Still loud the widow's curse, and orphan's vengeful cry! Stung with the likeness which he knew,

His sabre AMURATH half-drew,

And, like a statue stood, expos'd to public view!
The Bard, who saw the moment near,
When truth might pierce the royal ear;
With solemn movements courts the strings,
And BAGDAD's wayward fortune sings.

"Proud city! bow thy head,
"Low as th' Assyrian mead,

"Thy short, tho' prosperous course, fulfill'd:

Thy Caliphs, fam'd no more!

Thy matrons, bath'd in gore,

"Their lifeless babes deplore,

"So AMURATH has will'd!

"What now thy HAROUN's reign avails?
"Whence trac❜d the Muse her nightly tales;'
"Whence spread thro' earth thy grandeur wide,
"Cold, as his loves, and humbled, as his pride!"

The sounding weapon shook the hollow shore,
By AMURATH's strong arm replac'd;
Scar'd by the truth, his dubious breast,
Where every virtue lay defac'd,
Unbidden pangs possess'd:

Back on his splendid throne he, lab'ring, fell,
And sighs and groans his mental conflict tell!
"By the wreaths in battle won,
By the beams of Mercy's sun,
"Which gild the hero's days;
"By all the joys which empire gives,
"By pity, which each joy outlives,
"And yields unsully'd praise:

66

66

By the Prophet's gracious sign,"

Black-ey'd maids, and streams of wine; Given, to crown his votary's love, "In the blissful seats above;

Thy vow unhallow'd, AMURATH! forswear, "While persecution leaves one life to spare." He ceas'd-the Sultan cry'd, "The Minstrel's boon is heard; "Slaves! stop the purple tide

"Be grace to all prefer❜d!”

Blest Bard! whose design
Stamps thy talent divine,

See the conquest achiev'd by thy spirit!
Crowds snatch'd from the tomb,
Spite of AMURATH's doom,

Shall, to ages, emblazon thy merit!
Dear Music! charm of every woe!
Pulse of Love! and Friendship's flow!
See, thy divinity extend

Where all the finer feelings end,

On IRAK's plains, on TYGRIS' tide,
Where jarring hordes o'er right preside;
Where all the ruder passions reign-
Not ineffectual, glides thy strain:
Calming, by thy melting plaint,
Bosoms, that ne'er knew restraint.
Less the power, poetic praise
Gives to divine CECILIA's lays;
Than elicits from the wires,
Which the PERSIAN'S touch inspires.
A kindred spirit own'd her art;

His, charms from Death, the uplifted dart!

L'AMOUR TIMIDE.

SAY, if this heart should harbour love,
Would'st thou protect the blossom?
Would'st thou the tender plant improve,
And warm it in thy bosom?

Or, would'st thou bid it cease to bloom,
Even in its tender morning?

Thy cold disdain, its early tomb,
And Winter's blast, thy scorning.

O! rather let me nurse it here,

Tho' cold and dead my bosom, And water it with sorrow's tear, A timid, unknown blossom.

MR. JAMES IRVING,