From early dawn the livelong hours she told, Great Abbas chanc'd that fated morn to stray, By love conducted from the clase away; Among the vocal vales he heard her song; And sought, the vales and echoing groves among; At length he found, and woo'd, the rural maid; She knew the monarch, and with fear obey'd. "Be every youth like royal Abbas mov'd; "And every Georgian maid like Abra lov'd!" The royal lover bore her from the plain; Yet still her crook and bleating flock remain: Oft, as she went, she backward turn'd her view, And bade that crook and bleating flock adieu. 1 That these flowers are found in very great abundance in some of the provinces of Persia; see the Modern History of Mr. Salmon. Fair happy maid! to other scenes remove; Yet, 'midst the blaze of courts, she 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 sought the sylvan scene, The breezy mountains, and the forests green. Her maids around her mov'd, a duteous band! Each bore a crook, all-rural, in her hand: Some simple lay, of flocks and herds they sung; 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; And thought of crowns, and busy courts, no more. Blest was the life that royal Abbas led : "Be every youth, like royal Abbas, mov'd; ECLOGUE IV. AGIB AND SECANDER; OR, THE FUGITIVES. SCENE, A MOUNTAIN IN CIRCASSIA. TIME, MIDNIGHT. In fair Circassia, where, to love inclin'd, Each swain was blest, 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 through the cloudless sky; Sad, o'er the dews, two brother shepherds fled Where wildering fear and desperate sorrow led: Fast as they prest their flight, behind them lay Wide ravag'd plains; and vallies stole away: Along the mountain's bending sides they ran, SECANDER. O stay thee, Agib, for my feet deny, Friend of my heart, O turn thee and survey! AGIB. Weak as thou art, yet, hapless, must thou know The toils of flight, or some severer woe! Still, as I haste, the Tartar shouts behind ; And shrieks and sorrows load the saddening wind: He blasts our harvests, and deforms our land. |