All-fweet to fenfe, the flaunting rose was there:
The finish'd chaplet well-adorn'd her hair.
Great Abbas chanc'd that fated morn to ftray,
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, the backward turn'd her view,
And bad that crook and bleating flock adieu.
Fair happy maid! to other fcenes remove,
To richer fcenes of golden power and love!
Go leave the fimple pipe, and fhepherd's frain;
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 fpring 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 forefts 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 foreft 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 firft his heart was fir'd::
A ruffet mantle, like a fwain, he wore,
And thought of crowns and bufy 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 jewell'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 hafte, 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 CIRCASSIA.
N fair Circaffia, where, to love inclin'd,
Each swain was bleft, for every maid was kind ;
At that ftill hour, when awful midnight reigns,
And none, but wretches, haunt the twilight plains ;
What time the moon had hung her lamp on high,
And paft in radiance thro' the cloudless sky;
Sad o'er the dews, two brother fhepherds fled,
Where wildering fear and desperate forrow led :
Faft as they preft their flight, behind them lay
Wide ravag'd plains, and vallies ftole away.
Along the mountain's bending fides they ran,
'Till faint and weak Secander thus began:
Oftay 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 thro' all its length of way!
And firft review that long-extended plain,
And yon wide groves, already past with pain!
Yon ragged cliff, whofe dangerous path we tried!
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: of heart, with ruin in his hand,
He blafts our harvefts, and deforms our land.
Yon citron grove, whence firft 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, whofe bleffings tempt the fword, In vain, unheard, thou call'ft thy Perfian lord! In vain thou court'ft him, helpless, to thine aid, To fhield the fhepherd, and protect the maid!
Far off, in thoughtlefs indolence refign'd,
Soft dreams of love and pleasure footh his mind: 'Midft fair fultanas lost 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 fhepherds lov'd in vain!
No more the virgins fhall 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:
Fáir fcenes! but, ah! no more with peace poffeft,
With eafe alluring, and with plenty blest.
No more the fhepherd's whitening tents appear,
Nor the kind products of a bounteous year;
No more the date, with fnowy bloffoms crown'd!
But ruin fpreads her baleful fires around.
In vain Circaffia boasts her spicy groves, For ever fam'd for pure and happy loves : In vain she boasts her fairest of the fair,
Their eye's blue languish, and their golden hair!
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