Amasia, or, The Works of the Muses A Collection of Poems. In Three Volumes. By Mr John Hopkins |
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 | Amasia, or, The Works of the Muses |  |
To a Lady, whose Maid, having given her a Manuscript, I sent her, and being ask'd from whom, she receiv'd it, reply'd—from the Conjurer himself, she thought.
Whilst your Sage Maid does on my Papers look,And sees Chains, Flames and Altars in my Book,
Light'ning and Thunder scatter'd up and down,
And Heaven and Hell, drawn in each smile and frown,
No wonder, every hint she should improve;
There is a certain Magick dwells in Love.
But while my Thoughts flow from a wounded Heart,
Mine's Magick Nature, 'tis not Magick Art.
All that my skill, my little skill can boast,
Is, not to find my Heart, but know it lost.
Like weak Magicians, who their Spir'ts can raise,
But have not Power their fury to appease,
I, with unwarranted presumption play,
And raise fierce Love, which I can never lay.
77
I'll brave the Fiend, and fear no Counter Charms.
| Amasia, or, The Works of the Muses | |