The shadows fly before the roseate hours,
And the chill dew hangs glittering on the flowers:
The pruning hook or humble spade to wield,
The cheerful labourer hastens to the field;
When to the fleet with many a sounding oar,
The monarch sails; the natives crowd the shore.
Their various robes in one bright splendor join,
The purple blazes, and the gold-stripes shine;
Nor as stern warriors with the quivering lance,
Or moon-arch'd bow, Melinda's sons advance;
Green boughs of palm with joyful hands they wave,
An omen of the meed that crowns the brave.
Fair was the show the royal barge display'd,
With many a flag of glistening silk array'd,
Whose various hues, as waving thro' the bay,
Return'd the lustre of the rising day:
And onward as they came, in sovereign state
The mighty king amid his princes sate:
His robes the pomp of Eastern splendor shew,
A proud tiara decks his lordly brow:
The various tissue shines in every fold,
The silken lustre and the rays of gold.
His purple mantle boasts the dye of Tyre,
And in the sun-beam glows with living fire.
A golden chain, the skilful artist's pride,
Hung from his neck; and glittering by his side
The dagger's hilt of star-bright diamond shone,
The girding baldric burns with precious stone;
And
