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A11-sweet to sense, the flaunting rose was there :
The fini'd chaplet well-adornd her hair.
Grcat Abbas chanc'd that fated morn to stray, 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 wood the rural maid ; She knew the monarch, and with fear obey'd.
“ Be every youth like royal Abbas movid, “ And every Georgian maid like Abra lov'd !"
The royal lover bore her from the plain ;
Yet till her crook and bloating flock remain :
Oft as she went, the backward euro'd her view,
And bad that crook and bleating Rock adieu.
Fair happy maid I to other secnes remove,
To richer scenes of golden power and love !
Go leave the fimple pipe, and shepherd's Brain ;
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 midn the blaze of courts the fix'd her love
On the cool fountain, or the shady grove ;
Still with the shepherd's innocence her mind
To the sweet vale, and flowery mead inclin'd;
And oft as spring renew'd the plains with flowers,
Breath'd his soft gales, and led the fragrant hours,
With sure return she fought the sylvan scene,
The breezy mountains, and the forests green.
Her maids around her mov'd, a duceous band !
Each bore a crook all-rural in her hand :
Some simple lay of flocks and herds they fung;
With joy the mountain, and the forest 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 shades and low-roof'd cots retir'd,
Or sought the vale where first his heart was fir'd:
A ruffet mantle, like a swain, he wore,
And thought of crowns and busy courts no more
“ Be every youth like royal Abbas mov'd,
“And every Georgian maid like Abra lov'd !"
Blest was the life, that royal Abbas led:
Sweet was his love and innocent his bed.
What if in wealth the noble maid excel ;
The simple shepherd girl can love as well.
Let those who rule on Perfia's jewell'd throne,
Be fam'd for love, and gentlest love alone;
Or wreathe, like Abbas, full of fair senown,
The lover's myrtle with the warrior's crown.
O happy days ! the maids around her say ;
O hafte, profuse of blessings, hafte away!
“ Be every youth, like royal Abbas mov'd,
• And every Georgian maid like Abra lovid!''
N fair Circaffia, where, to love inclin'd,
Each swain was bleit, 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 past 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 stole away.
Along the mountain's bending fides they ran,
'Till faint and weak Secander thus began :
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 flight 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 side !
Weak as thou art, yet hapless must thou know
The toils of flight, or fome feverer woe !
Still as I hate, the Tartar fhouts behind,
And shrieks and forrows load the faddening wind :
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.
SE CANDER. Unhappy land, whose bleflings tempt the sword, In vain, unheard, thou call'At thy Persian lord ! In vain thou court'st him, helpless, to thine aid, To shield the shepherd, and protect the maid !
Far off, in thoughtless indolence resign'd,
Soft dreams of love and pleasure footh his mind :
'Midt fair fultanas lost in idle joy,
No wars alarm him, and no fears annoy.
Yet these green hills, in fummer'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:
Fáir scenes ! but, ah! no more with peace posseft,
With ease alluring, and with plenty blest.
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 Circassia boast, her spicy groves,
For ever fam'd for pure and happy loves :
In vain the boasts her fairest of the fair,
Their eye's blae languish, and their golden hair!