Amasia, or, The Works of the Muses A Collection of Poems. In Three Volumes. By Mr John Hopkins |
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To Amasia.
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Amasia, or, The Works of the Muses | ||
113
To Amasia.
[Enough—'tis done, the fatal Work is done]
Enough—'tis done, the fatal Work is done,Now, Cruel fair! you may disdain me on.
No further ills has he to fear, who feels
More Mortal Pains—
Than Wretches dash'd on Rocks, or broke on Wheels.
The flourishing Oak shakes, when the tempest blows;
The naked Tree does it's bare Trunk expose,
Nor bows, nor shakes, tho' the Winds fury grows.
Frown, gloomy Heaven! pour fast your Thunders down,
All that I can, I have already known;
Frown gloomy Heav'n, and fair Amasia, frown.
Let me the worst extreams of Rigour try,
Heap on me all at once, I can but die.
Who, who's that Wretch who can your Vengeance flee?
Or where's the Man who dares not die for thee?
Scorning, I laugh at those who boast their fall,
Slighting all Deaths, and yet afraid of all.
Why should I Perish; No, Amasia, no,
So tho' I fell, I could not gain you so;
Love is Romantick in the Shades below.
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For I can meet no kind Amasia there;
Where shall I find thee then, O tell me, where?
Thro' Seas, thro' Fires, o'er Mountains would I go,
O'er Mountains cover'd with Eternal Snow:
Thro' Salvage Wilds, thro' Dens and Forrests rove,
Thro' the whole Universe, to gain thy Love.
Tho' I disdain with flatt'ring Vows to Whine,
Hear me, yon starry roof, hear me, ye Pow'rs Divine!
There are no dangers under Heav'n—
I would not brave, to have Amasia mine.
Amasia, or, The Works of the Muses | ||