" by Morad Beg, about three weeks ago, who was at Ghinnah

" in pursuit of Hussein Beg, one of Ismaul Beg's partizans !

" Monfieur Chevalier, the late governor of Chandernagore, ar" rived here a few days ago from Judda, by the route of Cofire.

" He met with Morad Beg at Ghinnah, who gave him his paff

66

port, for his safety down the river.

" I hope to leave Cairo in about five days, attended by our old " servant Ibrahim, who has been wise enough to marry here, and " is as completely settled as he well can be. I have advised him " to push off to India with us. As if I had not been sufficiently "punished for making a second vifit to this country, I have had " the addition of an epidemical sickness, which has raged here "with great violence, and, I believe, has extended to every Euro

THE

APPENDIX.

ODE TO THE DESART.

Written on a Journey through the Defarts of Thebais, September 1777.

T

HOU waste! from human fight retir'd,
By nought esteem'd, invok'd, defir'd;

Where stony hill and sterile plain,
And ever-fullen filence reign * :

Where nought is seen to cheer the eye,
But ruffet earth and funny sky;
Nor tree nor herbage bless the ground,
Nor aught to cherish life is found.

Save, where the deer, whom fears assail,
Shoots suddenly athwart the vale;
If chance the found of distant feet
Approach his lonesome, dark retreat..

O! while thy fecrets I explore,
And traverse all thy regions o'er,
The patient camel I bestride-
May no ill hap his steps betide!

* " And ever-musing melancholy reigns." POPE's Eloisa to Abelard.

As on we press the burning soil,
And through the winding valley toil,
Still lend some hill's projecting height,
To shield me from Sol's piercing fight.

And should our scrips of water fail,
And horrid thirst my lips assail,
Then, then, thy scanty drops impart,
To renovate my fainting heart.

Nor to thy toiling fon refuse
The trufle's leaf, or berry's juice;
These stinted products of the waste,
Luxurious! let my camel taste.

At noontide heat, and midnight cold,
Thy vengeful stores of wrath with-hold :
Nor bid the sudden whirlwind rise,
To blend at once, hills, vales, and skies!

Dread cause ! too fubtile to define,
Where horror! danger! ruin join!-
Stop, stop its pestilential breath,
That 'whelms a caravan in death!

But chief, whence lies our daily track,
O! turn the roving * Arab back;
Who, tyger-like, infests the way,
And makes the traveller his prey.

:

* The reader will have found that this wish was not granted. We fell in with a party of wild Arabs, and, what was more extraordinary, on the very day that this Ode was written. This meeting, so dreaded by us, was, in all probability, the cause of our preservation. These foes to man, by an unexpected turn, became our friends. They were our guides when our people were at a loss for the road; they led us to the springs, and supplied us with food, when our water or provision failed What an incontestible evidence is this of the weakness of human opinions! of the vanity of human wishes!

us.

3 E 2

As

:

As erst the fons of Ifrael fled
From Pharaoh's reign and Nilus' bed,
Here manna fell by God's command,
And water follow'd Mofes' wand:

So may old Nilus paffing nigh,
A portion of his floods supply;
Invite the neighb'ring peasant's toil,
To cultivate thine alter'd foil.

So be thy hills with verdure spread,
And trees adorn each naked head;
So in the thirsty vales below,
Discover'd springs be taught to flow.

So, teeming with neglected veins,
Thy marble pay the sculptor's pains;
Who, emulous of Grecian taste,
May give an Athens to the waste!

And on thy furthest sandy shore,
Which hears the Red-fea's billows roar,
May Commerce smile, her fails unfold,
And change thine iron age to gold !

ODE

ODE TO THE NILE.

Written during a Voyage down that River. Sept. 1777

I

MMORTAL stream! whom Afric leads
Through barren plains and verdant meads;
Now flaming o'er the Nubian sands,
Now laving Egypt's cultur'd lands;

To mark where first thou court'st the gale,
The poet's stretch of thought might fail :
Might heroes shudder to behold

The wonders which thy depths unfold.

O! place me on thy gentle tide,
When first it leaves its fountain wide;
'Till, threat'ning on the Cat'ract's brow,
It rushes to the world below.

Here, as the joyless wild we trace,
Where Nature shrouds her beauteous face,
The Oftrich-child of want and gloom!
Dips in thy wave his silver plume.