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happy days ! the maids around her fay; O hafte, profuse of blessings, hafte away!

“ Be every youth, like royal Abbas, mov'd; “ And every Georgian maid, like Abra, lov'd!"







IN fair Circassia

, 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 shepherds fled, Where wildering fear and desperate forrow led : Fat 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 :

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SECANDER. O stay thee, Agib, for my feet deny, No longer friendly to my life, to fly. Friend of my heart, O turn thee and survey, Trace our fad fight thro' all its length of way! And first review that long-extended plain, And yon wide groves, already past with pain! Yon ragged cliff, whose dangerous path we tried ! And last this lofty mountain's weary fide!

AGIB. Weak as thou art, yet hapless must thou know The toils of fight, or some severer woe ! Still as I hafte, the Tartar shouts 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 swains, like us, in deep despair, And leave to ruffian bands their fleecy care. 4:


Unhappy land, whose blessings tempt the sword, In vain, unheard, thou call'st thy Perfian lord! In vain thou court'st him, helpless, to thine aid, To shield the shepherd, and protect the maid ! Far off, in thoughtlefs indolence resign'd, Soft dreams of love and pleasure footh his mind : 'Midft fair fultanas loft in idle joy, No wars alarm him, and no fears


AGIB. Yet these green hills, in summer's sultry 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 shady grove; On Tarkie's mountain catch the cooling gale, Or breathe the sweets of Aly's flowery vale : Fair scenes! but, ah! no more with peace poffet, 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 blossoms crown'd!
But ruin spreads her baleful fires around.


In vain Circallia 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!

eyes in tears their fruitless grief must send ; Those hairs the Tartar's cruel hand shall rend.


Ye Georgian swains that piteous learn from far Circassia's rain, and the wafle of war; Some weightier arms than crooks and staff's prepare, To shield your harvests, and defend your fair: The Turk and Tartar like designs pursue, Fix'd to destroy, and fedfast to undo.


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