University of Virginia Library

To Amasia.

[Why am I charg'd to lay aside my claim?]

Why am I charg'd to lay aside my claim?
Why am I charg'd to stifle sacred Flame?
Let the dull Hind Plow up the Patient soil,
And duller Warriors in their Trenches toil.
To gainful Trades their Sons let Fathers bind,
And let the Sailor, go, pursue the Wind!
In their own Spheres let every Mortal move,
And let, (Amasia) let your Sylvius Love.
Bid the bright Sun be now no longer bright,
Bid the succeeding Stars withdraw their light.
O would thou couldst, then might my suff'rings end,
There's not one Star in Heav'n that shines my Friend.
Bid rowling Billows, cease to lash the shore,
Bid the insulting Tempest cease to roar,
Then bid me cease to Love, and to adore.
O Charming Maid! Bid thy own Beauties fade,
Till then, Mankind must Love thee, Charming Maid!
Why wert thou form'd of that Celestial Mould?
Gold's base to thee—O be not bought with Gold;
Beauty should only be for Passion sold.
Freely on me confer the Heav'nly store,
Freely—as Nature gave it thee before,
And Heav'n, by which 'twas form'd—
Will, pleas'd, (if possible) yet make it more.
Where should the Lovely fair her Charms confer?
Where? but to that fond Youth—
Who Burns, and Bleeds, and Sighs, and Dies for her?
Receive me, O receive me to thy Arms,
Or if thou still wilt scorn, withdraw thy Charms.
Let me some ease from Mortal suff'rings find,
O be not too, too Lovely, yet unkind;
But thou art Deaf to Pray'rs—
As raging Seas, or as the Storming Wind.
Oft, when alone, you Dance before my view,
And every thing I think of, turns to you.
Flee, Phantom Love,—or where shall Sylvius flee?
Why should I think—she never thinks of me,
The Cruel, Haughty, Proud, Imperious she.
O say, Amasia, whom all Charms adorn,
Can'st thou feel no Remorse, and wilt thou ever scorn!
Gods! 'tis too much to bear—it can't be born.
It must, alas!—how idly did I rave?
What Charm can succour me, what Pow'r can save?
Now I resolve by force thy House to Storm,
Again I rave—
But what, ye Gods! can't Men in Love perform?
Sometimes, on wiles I think, because I know
Acontius gain'd his fair Cydippe so;
Again resolve near your aboad to stay,
And snatch, and carry thee by force away,
Snatch, like the Bird of Jove, the Lovely prey.
The Thund'rer's Ensigns on his Wings he rears,
Love's light'ning's fiercer than the Flames he bears.
This 'midst a Thousand other Thoughts, comes on,
Orythia so was by Young Boreas won.
Then, as you pass along the Crowded Street,
I think—your Sylvius thinks, his fair to meet,
And fall a Victim, prostrate at her Feet.
Soon will a passage to my Heart be found,
The Sword but ent'ring where Love made the Wound.