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Of Abra first began the tender ftrain,
Who led her youth with flocks upon the plain ;
At morn she came, those willing flocks to lead
Where lilies rear them in the wat’ry mead :
From early dawn the live-long hours she told,
Till late at filent eve she penn'd the fold.
Deep in the grove, beneath the secret shade,
A various wreath of odorous flowers she made.
Gay-motley'd pinks and sweet jonquils the chofe,
The violet blue 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 fought 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 ev'ry youth like royal Abbas mov'd,

And ev'ry 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.
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 ev'ry youth like royal Abbas mov'd,

And ev'ry Georgian maid like Abra lov'd !! Yet, midst the blaze of courts, the 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 pro. yinces of Persia, see the Modern History of the ingenious Mr. Salmon.

Still, with the shepherd's innocence, her mind
To the sweet vale and flow'ry mead inclin'd:
And oft as Spring renew'd the plains with flow'rs,
Breath'd his soft gales, and led the fragrant Hours;
With fure return she fought the fylvan 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 ev'ry youth like royal Abbas mov'd,

And ev'ry Georgian maid like Abra lov'd !!
And oft the royal lover left the care
And thorns of state, .aftendant on the fair;
Oft to the shades and low-roof'd cots retir'd,
Or fought 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 ev'ry youth like royal Abbas mov'd,

• And ev'ry Georgian maid like Abra lov'd!'
Bless’d 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 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, hafte away!
• Be ev'ry youth like royal Abbas mov'd,

And ev'ry Georgian maid like Abra lov'd !!







N fair Circassia, where, to love inclin'd,

Each swain was bless'd, for ev'ry 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 thro' the cloudless sky;
Sad o'er the dews two brother shepherds fled,
Where wild'ring fear and desperate forrow led :
Fast as they press’d their fight, behind them lay
Wide ravag'd plains, and vallies stole away.
Along the mountain's bending fide 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.
J'riend of my heart, O turn thee and survey ;
Trace our sad Aight thro' all it's length of way !
And first review that long-extended plain,
And yon wide groves, already pass'd with pain !
Yon ragged cliff, whose dangerous path we try'd !
And last, this lofty mountain's weary fide !

Weak as thou art, yet hapless must thou know
The toils of flight, or some severer woe !
Still as I hafte, the Tartar shouts behind,
And shrieks and sorrows load the faddening wind
In rage of heart, with ruin in his hand,
He blasts our harvests, and deforms our land.
Yon citron


whence first in fear we came, Drops it's 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, unheard, thou call'st thy Persian lord !
In vain thou court'st him, helpless, to thine aid,
To fhield the shepherd, and protect the maid !
Far off, in thoughtless indolence resign’d,
Soft dreams of love and pleasure foothe his mind :
Midit fair sultanas loft in idle joy;
No wars alarm him, and no fears annoy.

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Yet these green hills, in summer's sultry heat,
Have lent the monarch oft a cool retreat.
Sweet to the fight is Zabra's flow'ry 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 Tady grove ;
On Tarkie's mountain catch the cooling gale,
Or breathe the sweets of Aly's flow'ry vale:
Fair scenes ! but, ah! no more with peace poffefs’d,
With ease alluring, and with plenty bless’d.
No more the shepherds 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 the 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.


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



From no observance of mechanick laws:

Some weightier arms than crooks and staffs prepare,
To shield your harvest, and defend your fair :
The Turk and Tartar like designs pursue,
Fix'd to destroy, and sted fast to undo.
Wild as his land, in native desarts bred,
By luft incited, or by malice led,
The villain Arab, as he prowls for prey,
Oft marks with blood and wasting flames the way;
Yet none fo cruel as the Tartar foe,
To death inur'd, and nurs'd in scenes of woe.

He said ; when loud along the vale was heard
A fhriller shriek, and nearer fires appear'd:
Th’affrighted shepherds, thro' the dews of night,
Wide o'er the moon-light hills renew'd their flight.


CTING, dear Thornton, it's perfection draws



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No settled maxims of a fav’rite stage,
No rules deliver'd down from age to age,
Let players nicely mark them as they will,
Can e'er en tail hereditary skill.
If, 'mongst the humble hearers of the pit,
Some curious vet'ran critick chance to fit,
Is he pleas'd more because 'twas acted fo
By Booth and Cibber thirty years ago?
The mind recalls an object held more dear,
And hates the copy, that it comes so near,


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