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happy days! the maids around her say ; O hafte, profufe of bleffings, hafte away! "Be every youth, like royal Abbas, mov'd; "And every Georgian maid, like Abra, lov'd!"








N fair Circaffia, where, to love inclin'd, Each swain was bleft, for every maid was kind; At that still 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 shepherds fled,
Where wildering fear and desperate forrow led :
Fast 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:

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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, whofe dangerous path we tried! And last 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 blafts 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, 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 shield the shepherd, and protect the maid!
Far off, in thoughtless indolence refign'd,
Soft dreams of love and pleasure footh 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 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 sweets of Aly's flowery vale :
Fair fcenes! but, ah! no more with peace poffeft,
With ease alluring, and with plenty bleft.



No more the fhepherd's whitening tents appear,
Nor the kind products of a bounteous year;

No more the date, with snowy 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 the boafts her faireft of the fair, Their eye's blue languish, and their golden hair! Thofe 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 wafle of war;

Some weightier arms than crooks and staffs prepare,
To shield your harvefts, and defend your fair :
The Turk and Tartar like defigns pursue,
Fix'd to deftroy, and ftedfaft to undo.

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