E CLOGUE IV. Agib and Secander; or, the Fugitives. Scene, a Mountain in Circaffia. Time, Midnight. N fair Circaffia, where, to love inclin❜d, IN Each fwain was bleft, for every maid was kind; 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 through all its length of way! And yon wide groves, already past with pain! AGIB. Weak as thou art, yet hapless must thou know 1 न 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, In rage He blasts our harvests, and deforms our land. 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 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. AGIB. Yet thefe green hills, in fummer's fultry eat, 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 fcenes! but, ah! no more with peace poffeft, With ease 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 blossoms crown'd! SECANDER. In vain Circaffia boasts her spicy groves, Their eyes' blue languish, and their golden hair! AGIE. Ye Georgian fwains, that piteous learn from far Some weightier arms than crooks and staffs prepare, The villain Arab, as he prowls for prey, Oft marks with blood and wafting flames the way; To death inur'd, and nurft in fcenes of woe. He faid; when loud along the vale was heard A fhriller fhriek, and nearer fires appear'd: O DE S, DESCRIPTIVE AND ALLEGORICAL. ODE ΤΟ PITY. Thou, the friend of man affign'd, With balmy hands his wounds to bind, And charm his frantic woe: When first Distress, with dagger keen, Broke forth to waste his deftin'd scene, By Pella's Bard, a magic name, By all the griefs his thought could frame, Long, Pity, let the nations view But wherefore need I wander wide Deferted ftream, and mute? Wild Arun too has heard thy ftrains, A river in Suffex. There first the wren thy myrtles shed Come, Pity, come, by fancy's aid, Its fouthern fite, its truth complete There Picture's toil fhall well relate, The bufkin'd Muse fhall near her ftand, There let me oft, retir'd by day, To hear a British shell! ODE |