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Amasia, or, The Works of the Muses

A Collection of Poems. In Three Volumes. By Mr John Hopkins

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 I. 
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To Amasia, having dreamt of me.
  
  
  
  
  
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To Amasia, having dreamt of me.

The God of Sleep, who flies the Lover's Breast,
Yet Acts the Friend, and gives Amasia rest.
Your Guardian Angel slumb'rous dreams inspires,
And Whispers soft rewards, for soft desires.
Whilst in a dream your Bosom I possess,
You but the Image of a Lover bless;
How can Love live upon a Painted Feast?
Love, which is blind, can have no Eyes to tast.
O feed my Senses with thy real Face,
Let my Eyes gaze, and let my Arms Embrace;

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Thus let your Swain, your ravish'd Sylvius, feed,
No other Nourishment pure Flames can need.
With their fair Beams let thy bright Glances move,
Amasia, Waken from this dream of Love.
To truer Joys your ravish'd Lover take,
Waken Amasia, or let Sylvius wake.
If only sleep my fancy'd bliss can frame,
Pleasure is all but an imperfect dream.
By Day, let Lov'd Amasia yield delight,
Or let Night last, may it be ever Night.
Love seeks the Shades, but seeks them oft by Day,
Stay, my Amasia, let the Shadow stay;
It flies, alas! as the Sun shines, away.
You thus, unknown the fleeting bliss destroy,
Nor grant me, even the Shadow of a Joy.
This is the Pleasure that the damn'd may boast,
To hear of Blessings, but to know them lost,
Love is it self a Shadow, which will flee
From every Lover, but unhappy me;
What then are dreams?—
They must but Shadows of a Shadow be.
In vain, in vain, for ever I pursue,
You fly me fleeting, as yours dreams do you.