Yet, 'midst the blaze of courts, she fixed 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;

Or sought the vale where first his heart was fir'd:
A russet 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 Persia's jewell'd throne
Be fam'd for love, and gentlest love alone;
Or wreath, like Abbas, full of fair renown,
The lover's myrtle with the warrior's crown.
O happy days! the maids around her say;
O haste; profuse of blessings, haste away!
"Be every youth like royal Abbas mov'd;
And every Georgian maid like Abra lov'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 pass'd 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 valleys stole away:
Along the mountain's bending sides they ran,
Till, faint and weak, Secander thus began:

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 sad flight through 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!

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:
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.

SECANDER.

Unhappy land, whose blessings tempt the sword, In vain, unheard, thou call'st 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 soothe his mind: 'Midst fair sultanas lost in idle joy,

No wars alarm him, and no fears annoy.

AGIB

Yet these green hills, in summer's sultry heat, Have lent the monarch of a cool retreat. Sweet to the sight 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 scene! but, ah! no more with peace possest, 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.

SECANDER.

In vain Circassia boasts her spicy groves, For ever fam'd for pure and happy loves: In vain she boasts her fairest of the fair,

Their eyes blue languish, and their golden hair! Those eyes in tears their fruitless grief must send; Those hairs the Tartar's cruel hand shall rend.

AGIB.

Ye Georgian swains, that piteous learn from far Circassia's ruin, and the waste of war;