FOETRT. 



ODE OF HAFEZ. 

 fxRANSLATED FROM THE PERSIAN BT SiR WILLIAM JONES.] 



xliTHER, boy, a goblet bring, 

 Be ir of wine's ruby spring; 

 Bring me one, and bring me twa. 

 Nought but purest wine will da ! 



It is wine, boy, that can ssve 

 E'en dying lovers from the grave J 

 Old and young alike will say, 

 'Tis the balm that makes us gay. 



Wine's the sun.- — The moan, sweet soul, 

 We will call the evening bowl : 

 Bring the sun, and bring him soon, 

 To the boiom of the moon ! 



Dalh us with this liquid fire. 

 It will thoughts divine inspire. 

 And, by nature taught to glow. 

 Let it like the water? ftow ! 



If the rose ihould fade, do you 

 Bid it chearfully adieu : 

 Like rose water to eqch guest. 

 Bring thy wine and make us blest. 



If the nightingale's rich throat. 

 Cease the music of its note; 

 It is fit, boy, thou (houldst bring 

 Cups that wiH with music ring. 



Be not sad, whatever change 

 O'er the busy world may range ; 

 Harp and lute together bring. 

 Sweetly mingling string with strlnj ! 



My bright maid, unlefa it be 

 In si)me dream, I cannot sec ; 

 Bring the draught that will disclose 

 Whence it was sleep first arose ! 



Should it chance t'o'erpow'r my mind, 

 Where's the remedy I find ? 

 'Tis in wine— Then, boy, supply 

 Wine, till all my senses <i.e 1 



