University of Virginia Library

To Amasia asking me if I slept well, after so tempestuous a Night as the last was, when we parted, and desiring me to describe it.

Yes, Dear Amasia, I slept Heav'nly well,
Not Poets raptures could my blessings tell.
Not Jove himself slept more a God than I,
Tho' at thy door I did dejected lie.
He on a flying state-bed richly made,
Rock'd by young thunder, is in transport lay'd,
Where little Gods sit smiling o'er his head.
A gawdy Cloud for his gay quilt he wears,
With Sun-beams fring'd, and studded o'er with Stars.
A little Heaven his Canopy above,
Where the pale Moon with her Attendants move.
The watching lights in drowsy twinklings peep,
And wink by turns, as if they wanted sleep.
There, painted dreams round his lull'd temples Swarm
And Cluster'd fancies break in Forms that Charm.
Whilst profound silence fills the Heav'nly round,
And the Night seems in it's own darkness drown'd.
In purling streams the Chrystal Water flows,
And by its murmurs seals his soft repose.
Thus Jove lay, truly Jove—
I had a dream, O most Cœlestial sweet,
Which but to think of, yields me transport yet:
Mars in possession of the Paphian Queen,
Felt no such Extasies as mine have been.
Such heights of rapture but in thought can lie,
There they will live, but would in Speeches die,
And the glad Winds would with their accents fly.
Not that I dream't I fought, or conqu'ring, rode
In a Triumphant Chariot like an Earthly God.
No, my Amasia, the big breath of Fame
Could not puff me beyond what now I am.
Soon as I found you could no longer stay,
I walk'd near half the lonely Night away.
The Night, which seem'd in gloomy shades to Mourn,
And put on sadness till your bright return.
With me, it seem'd your absence to deplore,
When you, all sparkling lustre, shin'd no more.
The Silver Moon, with Joy, while here you stay'd,
(As if from you her borrow'd stores she had,)
Shone at the full with more than usual Light,
And, swell'd with Pride, reign'd Empress of the Night,
O'er all Heaven's Vault she rode in Pompous show,
As if she glory'd to be seen by you.
But when thou, Fairest charming Sun, wert gone,
She put her darkest, cloudy Mantles on;
No gawdy Star appear'd thro' all the Skies,
But they wept dew, till they lost all their Eyes.
Why should those lights remain, since after thee
There is no object worth their while to see.
From the scorch'd Heav'ns large flakes of light'nings flew,
The very Heav'ns have suffer'd flames for you;
For on the Gods your Eyes have flashes thrown,
More bright, and far more Conqu'ring than their own.
Ev'n Jove himself for thy lost presence hurl'd
His flaming Bolts o'er all the frighted World.
Thus did He once for Semele deplore,
And speak in thunder—She is now no more.
In mildest flames he that lost Mistress Mourn'd,
But in more fierce for bright Amasia burn'd.
His Skies have twice a mighty hazzard run;
By one before, now by a brighter Sun.
The sleeping flowers did their gay Beauties hide,
As if their paint should be no more descry'd,
And hung their heads, rob'd of their blooming Pride.
The Mourning Spheres did with slow motions rowl,
And groans of thunder ran from Pole to Pole.
Themselves the Clouds with pangs of anguish tore,
With their ripe Birth of Vengeance first they roar,
Then fly, as frighted at what late they bore.
The wondring Eccho from the hollow ground,
In fearful Voice return'd the thund'ring sound.
The angry Winds wrought up the Ocean so,
The flashing Seas appear'd to lighten too,
Where curling Clouds of roaring Billows drew.
Then, while I lay, rock'd by the thund'ring Night,
I soon beheld my Scene of vast delight.
Thy dear Idea to thy Lover came,
And I embrac'd thee in a Charming dream.
Our blisses flew not in the Common road,
You were all Heav'n, and Sylvius all a God.
As when in trances ravish'd Infants lie,
They see the boundless Blessings of the Sky,
So, at that time, that happy time, did I.
Alas! how weak's their Judgment, and how poor,
Who call Death sleep, but on a longer score,
For I did ne'er so truly live before.
Oh! that the Night could have for ever stay'd!
Ah! too, too soon it's fleeting glories fled;
When lovelier far, than was the Fairest Day,
Her Shield of Clouds to pointed rays gave way,
And on her Wings bore thee, and all my Joys away.