ECLOGUE IV.

AGIB AND SECANDER; OR, THE FUGITIVES.

SCENE, A MOUNTAIN IN CIRCASSIA.

I'

TIME, MIDNIGHT.

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

Each swain was bleft, 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 paft in radiance thro' the cloudless sky; Sad o'er the dews, two brother fhepherds fled, Where wildering fear and desperate forrow led: Faft as they preft their flight, behind them lay Wide ravag'd plains, and vallies ftole away. Along the mountain's bending fides they ran, Till faint and weak Secander thus began:

SECANDER.

O ftay thee, Agib, for my feet deny,

No longer friendly to my life, to fly.
Friend of my heart, O turn thee and furvey,
Trace our fad flight thro' all its length of way!
And first review that long-extended plain,
And yon wide groves, already paft with pain!

Yon

Yon ragged cliff, whofe dangerous path we tried! And laft, this lofty mountain's weary fide!

AGI B.

Weak as thou art, yet hapless must thou know The toils of flight, or fome feverer woe!

Still as I hafte, the Tartar fhouts behind,
And fhrieks and forrows load the faddening wind:
In rage of heart, with ruin in his hand,
He blafts 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.

SECAN DER.

Unhappy land, whose blessings tempt the sword, In vain, unheard, thou call'ft thy Perfian lord! In vain thou court'ft him, helpless, to thine aid, To fhield the shepherd, and protect the maid! Far off, in thoughtless indolence refign'd, Soft dreams of love and pleasure footh his mind: 'Midst fair fultanas loft in idle joy,

No wars alarm him, and no fears annoy.

A GIB.

Yet these green hills, in fummer's fultry heat, Have lent the monarch oft a cool retreat.

Sweet to the fight is Zabran's flowery plain,
And once by maids and fhepherds lov'd in vain!

No more the virgins fhall delight to rove
By Sargis' banks, or Irwan's fhady grove ;-
On Tarkie's mountain catch the cooling gale,
Or breathe the fweets of Aly's flowery vale:
Fair fcenes! but, ah! no more with

peace poffeft,
With ease alluring, and with plenty bleft.
No more the shepherd's whitening tents appear,
Nor the kind products of a bounteous year;
No more the date, with snowy bloffoms crown'd!
But ruin spreads her baleful fires around.

SE CAN DE R.

In vain Circaffia boafts her spicy groves, 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! Those eyes in tears their fruitless grief must send ;. Thofe hairs the Tartar's cruel hand fhall rend.

AGI B.

Ye Georgian fwains that piteous learn from far Circaffi's ruin, and the wafte of war;

Some weightier arms than crooks and ftaffs prepare,

fair:

To fhield your harvests, and defend your
The Turk and Tartar like defigns pursue,
Fix'd to deftroy, and ftedfast to undo.
Wild as his land, in native deserts bred,

By luft incited, or by malice led,

The

The villain Arab, as he prowls for prey,

Oft marks with blood and wafting flames the way; Yet none fo cruel as the Tartar foe,

To death inur'd, and nurs'd in scenes of woe.

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

A LET

Bethink thee, Haffan, where fhall thirst affwage,
When fails this cruife, his unrelenting rage:?
Soon fhall this fcrip its precious load refign;
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 fprings in murmurs break away, Or mofs-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 firft from Schiraz' walls 1 bent my way!"

Curft be the gold and filver which perfuade
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 defert brown,
distant mart and wealthy town.

To every
Full oft we tempt the land, and oft the sea.:
And are we only yet repay'd by thee?
Ah! why was ruin so attractive made,
Or why fond man fo easily betray'd?

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

Or