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All-sweet to fenfe, the flaunting rofe 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 ftill her crook and bleating flock remain:
Oft as fhe went, fhe backward turn'd her view,
And bade that crook and bleating flock adieu.
Fair happy maid! to other fcenes remove,
To richer scenes of golden power and love!
Go leave the fimple pipe, and fhepherd's ftrain;
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 midft the blaze of courts fhe fix'd her love
On the cool fountain, or the fhady grove:
Still with the fhepherd's innocence her mind
To the sweet vale, and flowery mead inclin'd;
And oft as spring renew'd the plains with flowers,
Breath'd his foft gales, and led the fragrant hours,
With fure return fhe 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 fung;
With joy the mountain and the forest rung.
"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 fhades and low-roof'd cots retir'd,
Or fought the vale where first his heart was fir'd:
A ruffet mantle, like a fwain, 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 fhepherd-girl can love as well.
Let those who rule on Perfia's jewel'd throne,
Be fam'd for love, and gentleft 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 hatte, profufe of bleffings, hafte away!
"Be every youth like royal Abbas mov'd;
"And every Georgian maid like Abra lov'd!”



Agib and Secander; or, the Fugitives. Scene, a Mountain in Circaffia. Time, Midnight.


IN fair Circaffia, where, to love inclin❜d,

Each fwain was bleft, for every maid was kind;
At that ftill 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 defperate forrow led:
Faft as they preft their flight, behind them lay
Wild ravag'd plains, and vallies ftole away.
Along the mountain's bending fides they ran,
Till, faint and weak, Secander thus began:


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


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

Still as I hafte, the Tartar fhouts behind,
And fhrieks and forrows load the faddening wind:
In rage of heart, with ruin in his hand,
He blasts our harvests, and deforms our land.
Yon citron grove, whence first in fear we came,
Droops its fair honours to the conquering flame:
Far fly the fwains, like us, in deep despair,
And leave to ruffian bands their fleecy care.


Unhappy land, whose blessings tempt the sword,
In vain, unheard, thou call'ft thy Perfian lord!
In vain thou court'ft him, helpless, to thine aid,
To shield the shepherd, and protect the maid!
Far off, in thoughtless indolence refign'd,
Soft dreams of love and pleasure foothe his mind,
'Midft fair fultanas loft in idle joy,

No wars alarm him, and no fears annoy.


Yet these green hills, in fummer's fultry heat,
Have lent the monarch oft a cool retreat.
Sweet to the fight is Zabran's flowery plain,
And once by maids and shepherds lov'd in vain!
No more the virgins shall delight to rove
By Sargis' banks, or Irwan's fhady grove
On Tarkie's mountain catch the cooling gale,
Or breathe the fweets of Aly's flowery vale:
Fair fcenes! but, ah! no more with peace poffeft,
With ease alluring, and with plenty bleft.
No more the shepherd's whitening tents appear,
Nor the kind products of a bounteous year;


No more the date, with snowy bloffoms crown'd!
But ruin spreads her baleful fires around.


In vain Circaffia boasts her spicy groves,
For ever fam'd for pure and happy loves:
In vain she boafts her fairest of the fair,
Their eyes' blue languish, and their golden hair!
Those eyes in tears their fruitless grief must send;
Thofe hairs the Tartar's cruel hand fhall rend.


Ye Georgian fwains, that piteous learn from far Circaffia's ruin, and the wafte of war; Some weightier arms than crooks and staffs prepare, To shield your harvests, and defend your fair: The Turk and Tartar like defigns pursue, Fix'd to deftroy, and ftedfast to undo. Wild as his land, in native deferts bred, By luft incited, or by malice led, The villain Arab, as he prowls for prey, Oft marks with blood and wafting flames the way; Yet none fo cruel as the Tartar foe,

'To death inur'd, and nurst in scenes of woe.

He faid; when loud along the vale was heard A fhriller fhriek, and nearer fires appear'd: Th' affrighted shepherds, through the dews of night, Wide o'er the moon-light hills renew'd their flight.


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