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Gay-motley'd pinks and sweet jonquils she chose,
The violet ue that on the moss-bank grows ;
All-sweet to sense, the flaunting rose was there:
The finish'd chaplet well adorn'd her hair.

Great Abbas chanc'd that fated morn to stray,
By love conducted from the chace 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 mor'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 bad that crook and bleating flock adieu.
Fair happy maid ! to other scenes remove,
To richer scenes of golden power and love!
Go leave the simple pipe, and shepherd's strain ;
With love delight thee, and with Abbas reign.

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

Yet midst the blaze of courts she fix'd her love On the cool fountain, or the shady grove;

# That these flowers are found in very great abundance in some of the provinces of Persia ; see the modern history of Mr. Salmon.

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 Aowers,
Breath'd his soft gales, and led the fragrant hours,
With sure return she sought the sylvan scene,
The breezy mountaigs, 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 fami'd for love, and gentlest love alone ;

Or wreathe 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 moy'd;
“ And every Georgian maid like Abra lov'd !"




IN fair Circassia, where, to love inclin'd,
Each swain was blest, for every maid was kind;
At that still hour, when awful midright reigns,
And none, but wretches, haunt the twilight plains ;
What time the moon had hung her lamp on higli,
And past in radiance thro' 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,
'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 sad flight thro' all its length of way!
And first review that long-extended plain,

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 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.


Unhappy land, whose blessings tempt the sword, In vain, unbeard, thou call'st thy Persian lord ! In vain thou court'st him, helpless, to thive aid, To shield the shepherd, and protect the maid ! Far off, in thoughtless indolence resign'd, Soft dreams of love and pleasure sooth his mind :

'Midst fair sultanas lost in idle joy,
No wars alarm him, and no fears annoy.


Yet these green hills, in summer's sultry heat, Have lent the monarch oft 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 scenes! but, ab! 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.


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 eye's blue languish, and their golden hair! Those


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 ruin, and the waste of war;

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