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By hunger rouz'd, he scours the groaning plain,
Gaunt wolves and sullen tigers in his train :
Before them death with shrieks directs their way,
Fills the wild yell, and leads them to their prey.
“ Sad was the hour, and luckless was the day,
« When first from Schiraz' walls I bent my way !”

At that dead hour the silent asp shall creep,
If aught of rest I find, upon my sleep:
Or fome fwoln serpent twist his scales around,
And wake to anguish with a burning wound.
Thrice happy they, the wise contented poor,
From luft of wealth, and dread of death secure !
They tempt no deserts, and no griefs they find;
Peace rules the day, where reason rules the mind.
« Sad was the our, and luckless was the day,
“ When first from Schiraz' walls I bent my way!”

O, hapless youth ! for the thy love hath won, The tender Zara will be most undone ! Big swell’d my heart, and own’d the powerful maid, When fast she drops her tears, as thus she said : “ Farewell the youth whom fighs could not detain, « Whom Zara's breaking heart implor'd in vain ! “ Yet as thou go'st, may every blast arise “ Weak and unfelt as these rejected sighs ! “ Safe o'er the wild, no perils may'st thou see, “ No griefs endure, nor weep, false youth, like me.” 0, let me fafely to the fair return, Say with a kiss, she must not, shall not mourn; O ! let me teach my heart to lose its fears, Recall'd by Wisdom's voice, and Zara's tears.


He said, and callid on heaven to bless the day,
When back to Schiraz' walls he bent his way.

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Abra; or, the Georgian Sultana. Scene, a Forest.

Time, the Evening.

N Georgia's land, where Temis' towers are seen,

In diftant view along the level green,
While evening dews enrich the glittering glade,
And the tall forests cast a longer shade,
What time 'tis sweet o'er fields of rice to stray,
Or scent the breathing maize at setting day;
Amidst the maids of Zagen's peaceful grove,
Emyra fung the pleasing cares of love.

Of Abra first began the tender strain,
Who led her youth with flocks upon the plain :
At morn she came those willing flocks to lead,
Where lilies rear them in the watery mead;
From early dawn the live-long hours she told,
Till late at silent eve she penn’d the fold.
Deep in the grove, beneath the fecret shade,
A various wreath of odorous flowers she made :
• Gay-motley'd pinks and sweet jonquils she chose,
The violet blue that on the moss-bank grows;

* That these flowers are found in very great abundance in some of the provinces of Persia, see the modern history of Mr. Salmon.


All-sweet to sense, the faunting rose was there:
The finish'd chaplet well-adorn'd her hair.

Great Abbas chanc'd that fated morn to stray,
By love conducted from the chace away;
Among the vocal vales he heard her song,
And fought the vales and echoing groves among:
At length he found, and woo'd the rural maid;
She knew the monarch, and with fear obey'd.
“ Be every youth like royal Abbas mov'd,
“ And every Georgian maid like Abra lov’d!”

The royal lover bore her from the plain;
Yet still her crook and bleating flock remain:
Oft as she went, she backward turn'd her view,
And bade that crook and bleating flock adieu.
Fair happy maid! to other scenes remove,
To richer scenes of golden power and love!
Go leave the simple pipe, and shepherd's strain;
With love delight thee, and with Abbas reign.
“ Be every youth like royal Abbas mov’d,
“ And every Georgian maid like Abra lov'd!”

Yet midst the blaze of courts she fix'd her love
On the cool fountain, or the shady grove:
Still with the shepherd's innocence her mind
To the sweet vale, and flowery mead inclin'd;
And oft as spring renewid the plains with flowers,
Breath'd his soft gales, and led the fragrant hours,
With sure return the fought the fylvan scene,
The breezy mountains, and the forests green.
Her maids around her mov'd, a duteous band !
Each bore a crook all rural in her hand :


Some fimple lay, of flocks and herds they sung;
With joy the mountain and the forest

“ Be every youth like royal Abbas mov'd,
“ And every Georgian maid like Abra lov’d!

And oft the royal lover left the care
And thorns of state, attendant on the fair;
Oft to the shades and low-roof'd cots retir’d,
Or fought the vale where first his heart was fir'd:
A russet mantle, like a swain, he wore,
And thought of crowns and busy courts no more.
“ Be every youth like royal Abbas mov’d,
“ And every Georgian maid like Abra lov'd!"

Bleft was the life, that royal Abbas led:
Sweet was his love, and innocent his bed.
What if in wealth the noble maid excel;
The fimple shepherd-girl can love as well.
Let those who rule on Persia's jeweld throne,
Be fam’d for love, and gentlest love alone;
Or wreathe, like Abbas, full of fair renown,
The lover's myrtle with the warrior's crown.
O happy days! the maids around her fay;
O halte, profuse of blessings, hafte away!
Be every youth like royal Abbas mov'd;
“ And every Georgian maid like Abra lov'd!"


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Agib and Secander; or, the Fugitives. Scene, a

Mountain in Circassia. Time, Midnight.

IN fair Circalia, where, to love inclin'd,


Each swain was blest, for every maid was kind;
At that still hour, when aweful midnight reigns,
And none, but wretches, haunt the twilight plains ;
What time the moon had hung her lamp on high,
And paft in radiance through the cloudless sky;
Sad o'er the dews, two brother shepherds fled,
Where wildering fear and desperate forrow led :
Fast as they preft their flight, behind them lay
Wild ravag'd plains, and vallies stole away.
Along the mountain's bending fides they ran,
Till, faint and weak, Secander thus began:


O stay thee, Agib, for my feet deny,
No longer friendly to my life, to fly.
Friend of my heart, O turn thee and survey,
'Trace our fad flight through all its length of way!
And first review that long-extended plain,
And yon wide groves, already past with pain!
Yon ragged cliff, whose dangerous path we try'd!
And last this lofty mountain's weary fide !

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Weak as thou art, yet hapless must thou know The toils of flight, or some severer woe!

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