"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 ftate, 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 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 thofe 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.

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!".

ECLOGUE

ECLOGUE IV.

AGIB AND SECANDER; OR, THE FUGITIVES.

SCENE, A MOUNTAIN IN CIRCASSIA.

TIME, MIDNIGHT.

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

IN

Each fwain 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 past in radiance thro' the cloudless sky;
Sad o'er the dews, two brother fhepherds fled,
Where wildering fear and desperate forrow led:
Fast as they preft their flight, behind them lay
Wide ravag'd plains, and vallies stole away.
Along the mountain's bending fides they ran,
"Till faint and weak Secander thus began:

SECANDER.

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 thro' all its length of way!
And first review that long-extended plain,

And yon wide groves, already paft with pain!
Yon ragged cliff, whose dangerous path we tried!
And laft this lofty mountain's weary fide!

AGIB.

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 blafts our harvests, 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 defpair,
And leave to ruffian bands their fleecy care.

4

SE

SECANDER.

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 pleafure footh his mind: 'Midft fair fultanas loft in idle joy,

No wars alarm him, and no fears annoy.

AGIB.

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:
Fair scenes! but, ah! no more with peace poffeft,
With ease alluring, and with plenty blest.