Imatges de pÓgina
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N fair Circadia, where, to love inclin'd,

Each swain was blest, for every maid was kind; At that still hour, when awful mignight 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 :

Oftay 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 fide!

AGI I B. Weak as thou art, yet hapless must thou know The toils of flight, or fome feverer woe! Still as I haste, the Tartar fhouts 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 grove, whence first in fear we came, Droops its fair honours to the conquering flame; Far fly the fwains, like us, in deep despair, And leave to ruffian bands their fleecy care.

S E C A N D E R. Unhappy land, whose blessings 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 ! Par off, in thoughtless indolence refign’d, Soft dreams of love and pleafure footh his mind : 'Midit fair sultanas loft in idle joy, No wars alarm him, and no fears annoy.

AG I B. Yet these green hills, in summer'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 thepherds lov'd in vain!

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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, ah! no more with peace poffeít,
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.

S, E. CA'N DE R.
In vain Circaflia boasts her spicy grove
For ever fam'd for pure and happy loves :
In vain fhe boasts her. faireft of the fair,
Their eye's blue languish, and their golden hair!

eyes in tears their fruitless grief muft fend; Those hairs the Tartar's cruel hand shall rend.

А ств.
Ye Georgian fwains that piteous learn from fari
Eircafli's ruin, and the waste of war;
Some weightier arms than crooks and ftaffs prepare;
To shield your harvests, and defend your fair :
The Turk and Tartar like designs pursue,
Fix'd to destroy, and stedfast to undo. .
Wild as his land, in native deserts 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 so 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 shriller 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.

A L E T.


Bethink thee, Hassan, where thall thirst ailwage,
When fails this cruise, his unrelenting rage:?
Soon shall this scrip its precious load resign;
Then what but tears and hunger shall be thine?

Ye mute companions of my toils, that bear
In all my griefs a more than equal share!
Here, where no Yprings,in murmurs break away,
Or moss-crown'd fountains mitigate the day,
In vain ye hope the green delights to know,
Which plains more bleft, or verdant vales bestow:
Here rocks alone, and tasteless fands are found,
And faint and fickly winds for ever howl around.

“ Sad was the hour, and luckless was the day,
«« When first from Schiraz' walls 1 bent my way!"

Curst be the gold and silver which persuade
Weak men to follow far-fatiguing trade!
The lilly peace outshines the filver store,
And life is dearer than the golden ore:
Yet money tempts us o'er the desert brown,
To every diftant mart and wealthy town.
Full oft we tempt the land, and oft the sea.:
And are we only yet repay'd by thee?
Ah! why was ruin fo attractive made,
Or why fond man so easily betray'd ?

Why heed we not, while mad we haste along,
The gentle voice of peace, or pleasure's song?


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