SCENE, a forest TIME, the Evening 

In Georgia's land, where Tefflis' towers are seen, 
In distant view along the level green, 
While evening dews enrich the glittering glade, 
And the tall forests cast a longer shade, 
Amidst the maids of Zagen's peaceful grove, 
Emyra sung the pleasing cares of love. 
Of Abra first began the tender strain, 
Who led her youth with flocks upon the plain. 
At morn she came those willing flocks to lead, 
Where lilies rear them in the watery mead;
 
 From early dawn the livelong hours she told, 
Till late at silent ev'n she penned the fold. 
Deep in the grove beneath the secret shade, 
A various wreath of odorous flowers she made. 
Gay-motleyed pinks and sweet jonquils she chose, 
The violet-blue that on the moss-bank grows; 
All-sweet to sense, the flaunting rose was there; 
The finished chaplet well-adorned her hair. 
Great Abbas chanced that fated morn to stray, 
By love conducted from the chase away;
 
 Among the vocal vales he heard her song, 
And sought the vales and echoing groves among. 
At length he found and wooed the rural maid: 
She knew the monarch, and with fear obeyed. 
Be every youth like royal Abbas moved, 
And every Georgian maid like Abra loved. 
The royal lover bore her from the plain, 
Yet still her crook and bleating flock remain: 
Oft as she went, she backward turned 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 every youth like royal Abbas moved, 
And every Georgian maid like Abra loved. 
Yet midst the blaze of courts she fixed her love 
On the cool fountain or the shady grove; 
Still with the shepherd's innocence her mind 
To the sweet vale and flowery mead inclined,
 
 And oft as spring renewed the plains with flowers, 
Breathed his soft gales and led the fragrant hours, 
With sure return she sought the sylvan scene, 
The breezy mountains and the forests green. 
Her maids around her moved, 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 every youth like royal Abbas moved, 
And every Georgian maid like Abra loved. 
 And oft the royal lover left the care 
And thorns of state, attendant on the fair: 
Oft to the shades and low-roofed cots retired, 
Or sought the vale where first his heart was fired; 
A russet mantle, like a swain, he wore, 
And thought of crowns and busy courts no more. 
Be every youth like royal Abbas moved, 
And every Georgian maid like Abra loved. 
Blest 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 jewelled throne, 
Be famed for love and gentlest love alone: 
Or wreathe, like Abbas, full of fair renown, 
The lover's myrtle with the warrior's crown. 
Oh happy days! the maids around her say, 
Oh haste, profuse of blessings, haste away!

Be every youth like royal Abbas moved, 
And every Georgian maid like Abra loved.