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Soon fhall this fcrip its precious load refign;
Then what but tears and hunger shall be thine? 20
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 first from Schiraz' walls I bent my way."

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Curft be the gold and filver which perfuade
Weak men to follow far fatiguing trade!
The lilly peace outfhines the filver ftore,
And life is dearer than the golden ore :
Yet money tempts us o'er the defert brown,
To
every distant mart and wealthy town.
Full oft we tempt the land, and oft the fea :
And are we only yet repay'd by thee?
Ah! why was ruin fo attractive made,
Or why fond man fo eafily betray'd?
Why heed we not, while mad we hafte along,
The gentle voice of peace, or pleasure's song?
Or wherefore think the flowery mountain's fide,
The fountain's murmurs, and the valley's pride,
Why think we these less pleafing to behold,
Than dreary deserts, if they lead to gold?

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

O cease, my fears!—all frantic as I go,
When thought creates unnumber'd fcenes of woe, 50
What if the lion in his rage I meet !-
Oft in the duft I view his printed feet:
And fearful! oft, when Day's declining light
Yields her pale empire to the mourner Night,
By hunger rous'd, he fcours the groaning plain, 55
Gaunt wolves and fullen tygers in his train :
Before them Death with fhrieks directs their way,
Fills the wild yell, and leads them to their prey.
"Sad was the hour, and luckless was the day,
"When first from Schiraz' walls I bent my way!"

At that dead hour the filent afp fhall creep,
If aught of reft I find, upon my fleep:
Or fome fwoln ferpent twift his scales around,
And wake to anguish with a burning wound.
Thrice happy they, the wife contented poor, 65
From luft of wealth, and dread of death fecure!
They tempt no deferts, and no griefs they find;
Peace rules the day, where reafon rules the mind.
"Sad was the hour, and luckless was the day,
"When firft from Schiraz' walls I bent

my way!"

O, hapless youth! for fhe thy love hath won, The tender Zara will be moft undone !

Big fwell'd my heart, and own'd the powerful maid, When fast she dropt her tears, as thus she said: "Farewell the youth whom fighs could not detain, "Whom Zara's breaking heart implor'd in vain! "Yet as thou go'ft, may every blast arise "Weak and unfelt as thefe rejected fighs! "Safe o'er the wild, no perils may'st thou fee,

No griefs endure, nor weep, falfe youth, like me." O, let me fafely to the fair return, Say with a kifs, she must not, shall not mourn; O! let me teach my heart to lose its fears, Recall'd by Wisdom's voice, and Zara's tears.

He faid, and call'd on heaven to bless the day, 85 When back to Schiraz' walls he bent his way.

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AGIB AND SECANDER; OR, THE FUGITIVES. SCENE, A MOUNTAIN IN CIRCASSIA.

TIME, MIDNIGHT.

IN fair Circaffia, where, to love inclin'd,
Each fwain was bleft, for every maid was kind;
At that ftill hour, when awful midnight reigns,
And none, but wretches, haunt the twilight plains;
What time the moon had hung her lamp on high, 5
And paft in radiance thro' the cloudless sky;

Sad o'er the dews, two brother fhepherds fled,
Where wildering fear and defperate 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:

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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, 15 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, whofe dangerous path we tried! And last this lofty mountain's weary fide!

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AGIB.

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,

In

And fhrieks and forrows load the faddening wind:
rage of heart, with ruin in his hand,
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He blasts our harvests, and deforms our land.
Yon citron grove, whence firft 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 lands their fleecy care.

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SECANDER.

Unhappy land, whofe bleffings tempt the sword,
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,

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No wars alarm him, and no fears annoy.

AGIB.

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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, 45 Or breathe the sweets of Aly's flowery vale: Fair scenes! but, ah! no more with peace poffeft, With ease alluring, and with plenty bleft. No more the fhepherd's whitening tents appear, Nor the kinds products of a bounteous year; 50 No more the date, with fnowy bloffoms crown'd! But Ruin spreads her baleful fires around.

SECANDER.

In vain Circaffia boasts her spicy groves, For ever fam'd for pure and happy loves:

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