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AGIB AND SECANDER; OR, THE FUGITIVES.
SCENE, A MOUNTAIN IN CIRCASSIA.
N fair Circaffia, where, to love inclin'd,
Each swain was bleft, for every maid was kind; At that ftill 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:
O ftay thee, Agib, for my feet deny,
Yon ragged cliff, whofe dangerous path we tried! And last, this lofty mountain's weary fide!
A GI 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,
Unhappy land, whofe bleffings tempt the fword, In vain, unheard, thou call'ft thy Perfian lord! In vain thou court'ft him, helpless, to thine aid, To shield the shepherd, and protect the maid! Far off, in thoughtless indolence refign'd, Soft dreams of love and pleasure footh his mind: 'Midft fair fultanas loft in idle joy,
No wars alarm him, and no fears annoy.
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,
No more the virgins fhall delight to rove
In vain Circaffia boafts her fpicy groves,
Ye Georgian fwains that piteous learn from. far Circaffi's ruin, and the waste of war;
Some weightier arms than crooks and staffs prepare,
To fhield your harvests, and defend your fair :
Fix'd to deftroy, and ftedfaft to undo.
By luft incited, or by malice led,
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.
LETTER from ITALY,
To the Right Honourable
By Mr. ADDISON.
HILE you, my lord, the rural fhades admire,
Nor longer, her ungrateful fons to please,
For their advantage facrifice your ease;
And ftill I feem to tread on claffic ground;