Amasia, or, The Works of the Muses :: :: University of Virginia Library

Amasia, or, The Works of the Muses

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

Hopkins, John

VOL. I.

[dedication]

TO SYLVIUS, ON HIS AMASIA.

Book I.

TO THE GOD of LOVE.

ELYZIUM, OR, THE KINGDOM of LOVE.

II.

III.

II.

III.

Collapse All | Expand All expand section

Book I.

Non mihi mille placent; nisi sum desertor amoris:
Tu mihi (si qua fides) cura perennis eris.

TO THE GOD of LOVE.

A PINDARICK.

Sine Numine nihil.

1

Some lose themselves to gain a lasting Name,
And shun those Rocks which bar the Coasts of Fame:
Art does the skilful Pilot sit,
To guide in the full Sea of Wit,
The Poet flies with fancy's Sails,
Fame's wanton Breath affords him Gales,
A mighty Voyage now he takes
The Muses Indies must be sought,
The choicest Oare must thence be brought,

Whole Floods of Sense upon him rowl,
Behold, what wondrous way he makes!
His course will soon be run,
Tho' adverse Winds controul,
And rudely toss a while his Soul,
He Sails about the World of thought,
And Journies like the God of Wit, the Sun.
Me Love shall guide, tho' Love be blind,
To thee alone thy Poet flies,
Thy Mother sprung from Seas we find
Thou, little, Infant God, behind,
No Winds but gentle Sights shall rise,
I'll steer my course by my Amasia's Eyes,
Amasia lies the Golden Coast,
Which I shall reach at last, or in the Search be lost.

2

Fam'd by their Muses flights let others prove,
While I am Born upon the Wings of Love.
Some climb the Poets Hill with pain,
Yet to no height arrive,
Like Sysiphus his stone, in vain
Roll'd up, to be thrown down again,
When tir'd, at length, they cease to strive,
And on the barren plain dejected lie and live,

Me my Ambition only leads
Beneath the Hill to seek out pleasing Groves,
The Charming Muses haunt the shades,
And there in Lawrel Bow'rs I would reveal my Loves.
Congreve, and Wicherly are great,
Upon Parnassus tops they sit,
Not rais'd by Fortune, but by Fate,
Their Praise is to their Merits late,
They lord it o'er the World of Wit,
The Mighty Dryden, o'er their Heads,
Like a vast cloud appears,
Gilt with late Sun-beams, wide he spreads,
And grateful dew upon them sheds,
Fruitful, yet shining too in Evening Years.
His fancy still swift does in Light'nings fly,
And loudly rowling Words run Thundring from his Sky.

3

Behold his Lawrels scatter'd from him far,
Those Wreaths not proof against the Bolts of War.
The Godlike, great Nassaw is Crown'd;
A while we Martial noises hear,
Shrill Clangors Eccho thro' the Air,
The Musick of soft Numbers drown'd.

Branches that deck the Conqu'rour's brow,
Made wet with Blood, still blooming grow,
The Poet now that hopes to be renown'd,
Should his Just Praise, loud as his Trumpets, Sound.
Alcides, when an Infant, strove
With Serpents which against him rose,
His Cradle prov'd his claim to Jove,
He smil'd to see them gayly move,
And in their own bright Folds he chain'd the hissing Foes,
His Praise by mighty labours came,
In Paths of Glory still he trod,
His weighty Club beat out the Road,
His own great Pillars rais'd his Name,
High, soaring Praise he drew
From the Stymphalides he slew,
Their gawdy Plumes Feather'd the Wings of Fame.
His great Exploits such vast Applauses bore,
The Lyon which he kill'd ne'er could so loudly roar.

4

Godlike Nassaw the bloody Field has won,
Herculean labours have by him been done,
No Club does this great Hero weild,
Yet drives vast flying Legions far,

He makes no Monsters skin his Shield,
Himself's the dreadful Thunderbolt of War.
The giddy Goddess, Fortune Kneels,
Fond of her Conqu'rour's Love,
Joys in the Ravishment she feels,
Secure upon her Chariot Wheels,
Fixt with his weight of Glory, they want Power to move.
The bliss of Heav'n no living Man can know,
But Love to me, gives all the Joys below.
In the loud Field nor Arts, nor Arms I use,
I only Am'rous Battles fight,
Thee, little Boy, my chief I choose,
I live, and die in vast delight,
The Gods gave me a Mistress, and a Muse.
In Beauties Camp alone I lead,
How sure of Triumph must I grow
When taught to Conquer by the Maid
Who is alone my Foe?
Love is my War, Love is the Train that lies
To be blown fondly up by my Amasia's Eyes.

5

Proud as the Heav'ns, she sees us clouds below,
We Weep, and drive, when e'er her Tempests blow,

Her Smiles, like Radiant Sunshine, play,
She makes our Days appear,
Or Gloomy, or Serene and clear,
Each Glance she gives, like Light'ning cuts her wa
And, with one Angry word, she does like Thunder, slay,
Thou, God of Love, dost Merit Fame,
Greatness, and Honours are but Toys,
Compar'd with thy more real Joys,
A while the Bubbles gay appear,
Gaz'd at, they break, and scatter in the Air,
They yeild but Smoak, while you give warmer Flame.
The Thund'rer may unenvy'd sway,
And rule his Powers above,
As they his Laws, so he does thine obey.
How truly great would be the name of Jove,
If both the God of Thunder, and of Love!
Whene'er you Please to Smile or Frown,
His Bolts fall to the pavement down,
Your Flames more fiercely than his light'nings fly,
You make him quit his Heav'n, & lay his Godhead by.
He has his Bolts, Sol has his Silver Bow,
Nuptune is for his Trident fear'd, and for your Quiver, you.

ELYZIUM, OR, THE KINGDOM of LOVE.

A POEM Address'd to AMASIA.

You Wilds, and Plains, you Groves, and grateful Woods,
You pleasing Streams, and you delightful Floods
To your blest shades a Love-Sick Swain retires,
Be you the Scenes of my neglected Fires.
A gen'rous Friend till now possest my Soul,
But now Amasia has usurpt it whole.
A real Friendship our desires can move,
Yet still there's something more Divine in Love.

Driv'n by her Scorn, and by my own despair,
I seek your shades, yet she pursues me there.
Her Beauteous Image in my Thoughts appears,
And every Form, I think of borrows her's.
Wildly I run thro' all the Thickest Groves,
And in despairing Accents tell my Loves.
To Fair Amasia I am doom'd to pray,
Though Deaf as Winds, and Raging as the Sea.
Proud as the Heav'ns, and Brighter than the Sun,
Like that, for Men to fix their wonder on.
To Sing of War once Sylvius try'd in vain,
His Numbers fail'd him, and his lofty strain.
To peaceful Reeds his Martial Launces turn,
It is the business of his Muse to Mourn.
From Nassaw's Camps She Sings Amasia's Charms,
Her Eyes, are Conqu'ring as the Hero's Arms.
I with Amasia only wage my War,
And only wish that I may Triumph there,
The World be his, let me but Conquer her.
She Wounds my Soul, yet can't my Flames approve,
She wont be bought with Poetry or Love.
Here, Mourning here, then will I sadly Sing,
And bless those Eyes from which my sorrows Spring.

Here, all consum'd, all languishing I'll lie,
And speak of her in the sad honour I die.
My latest Breath shall beg the Gods by pray'r,
To make my Mistress their peculiar care.
Not Delia shall, Amasia, vie with thee,
You excel her, as Sacharissa, she.
O that I now could write in moving strains,
Soft as her Daphnis does, when he complains,
His Charming Courtship so her Soul could fill,
That she was pleas'd to hear him wooe her still.
In after times your Praise shall Lovers move,
With Fonder Passion than their present Love.
Thro' eating Ages safe your Fame shall fly,
Ne'er shall Amasia, nor her Sylvius dye.
Both by my Poem shall immortal grow,
I for my Love, as for your Beauty you.
Whilst Wit and War give some a lasting Name,
I from my Flames shall draw a brighter Fame.
In glorious Arms the Thund'rer shines above,
Cæsar, and greater Nassaw come the next to Jove,
I am the Cæsar here—
I am the Nassaw in the Field of Love.
Tho' not my Verse, all shall my Passion praise,
It is from thence I shall my Trophies raise.

Love's mighty Phænix, I my self survive,
Those Flames that kill me, make me ever live.
Mine shall be fam'd, when vaster labour dies,
While Swains have hearts, and Charming Maids have Eyes.
In all my Lines they shall such softness see,
That the whole World shall Learn to Love of me.

Passionate Fondness.

My Passion sure might be enough to move,
The tend'rest pity in the Queen of Love.
But she her self, not ev'n she can know
The racking Pains that I endure for you.
My Flames are more than I my self believe,
I know I Love, but know not if I live.
My Passions far beyond my Thoughts extend,
Soon shall my Life—
But Oh! my Constant Love shall never end.
Pity your Sylvius, dear Amasia, do,
That wretched Youth, whom you have render'd so.
Oh! you can Cure me, who have Pow'r to kill,
You must relent, my Fair,—I know, you will.

Your Thoughts are soft, but I want Arts to Charm,
I can't express how my desires are warm.
Who speaks his Flames shews they but faintly shine,
His Love ne'er flew to such excess as Mine,
The Passion Sylvius feels Mounts all Divine.
Oh! could you, but one Moment, know my Pain,
Know all the tedious suff'rings of your Swain,
Be well convinc'd how I sincerely Burn,
Sure you at last would make me some Return.
Reward your Sylvius with a Mutual Love,
Both will be happy as the blest above.
How does the thought thro' all my vitals run!
How does the very thought transport alone!
That were it self, but Oh! it hasts to flee,
That were it self reward enough for me.
For you I live, to you alone I pray,
And your Lov'd Name is all that I can say.
Thy Dear Idea still my fancy Frames,
Thou art the Charming Phantom of my Dreams.
Thro' Clouds of Night thy Beauteous Image flies,
And wantons loosly where your Lover lies.
You are my Dearer self, my Life, my Soul,
Sylvius is only yours, you have him whole.

When e'er you speak, my Senses wait your tongue.
And they are all on each Dear accent hung.
There lives a Charm in ev'ry thing you do,
Whom e'er you hate, I hate extreamly too,
And Love, with Passion, all belov'd by you.
You are alone all I desire to see,
For I have all the World in having thee.
While you are safe, I no misfortunes know,
Nor am I well, but when Amasia's so.
You, you alone are all I wish to please,
And when you die, shall Sylvius being cease.
What mighty dangers could I brave for thee,
If but thy pity the reward might be.
What could I stand at, if desir'd by you!
What could not Sylvius for Amasia do.
Inspir'd with Love, my Soul sits rais'd on high,
And Burns with Noble rage, when you are by.
From you my Thoughts, from you my Actions flow,
'Tis you create all I can think or do.
'Tis you can give me an Eternal Name,
And make it bright, and glorious as my Flame.
With thee alone I would desire to live,
Had I but thee, what could I more receive.

In Sandy desarts I could dwell with thee,
Blest, where no Creature ever stept, but we.
Nor Woods, nor Wilds, nor Seas could make me fear,
Where'er you are, there is a Tempe there.
Lost in some Isle, where raving Oceans roar,
And dash the rocks upon the barren shore.
Where breaking Waves make all the place resound,
And Eccho Thunder the whole Island round.
Where Monstrous Fish thro' all the Surges play,
With Voices louder than their Mother Sea.
Where Billows Foam, lasht by the raging Tide,
And nought but horrid Salvages reside.
With thee, Amasia, I could there be blest,
With thee, my Love, were I of thee possest.
My great concern would be to guard thee there,
To save my Mistress should be all my care.
Secure from Storms, and every Beast of prey,
Tho' thou art sure more cruel far than they.
A Scene not very diff'rent here I choose,
A place Convenient for the Mourning Muse.
To dark Recesses, and to Groves I run,
But carry with me all I wish to shun,
You shoot thro' Thickets, like the Noon-day Sun.

Well might I fancy thee Divine to be,
For thou art every where alike to me.
O could I think that I were so to you,
That I were always with Amasia too.
Here, a long exile from my Love I bear.
Repeated slights thus drive me to despair.

Despair.

Distracted now thro' every den I rove,
Search each recess, and visit every Grove,
Swift thro' confusion to find out my Love.
Thro' Woods, and Wilds, in Caves I Search in vain,
To Heav'n I look, and thro' the Fields complain,
But all unkindly answer not again.
Next, to some Brook; or shady Vale I fly,
Thinking my fair may in some grotto lye.
In vain! alass! my weary Limbs I bear,
I only find thou art a stranger there.
Then, stung with Passion, and o'ercome with Pain.
To Heav'n I loudly of my wrongs complain.
The panting Beasts which thro' the Forests rove,
Have now no longer any Power to move,
But stand amaz'd to hear my tale of Love.

Then, all confusion, all despair, I rise,
And throw my Arms to the regardless Skies.
Thence to the Ocean's Sandy banks I run,
View both the rising, and declining Sun.
Like that, my Thought a constant motion bears,
And when I rest, I set in Seas of Tears.
Rais'd with my griefs, and overcome with woes,
I sadly sigh to every Wind that blows.
Wild with despair, I view the Billows round,
Thinking some wave may with my love be crown'd,
While my complaints o'er all the shores resound.
Tell me, I cry, ye Surges, tell me true,
Is not Amasia hid in some of you?
No thought alas! can my Mind's Storms appease,
No second Venus will arise from Seas.
Then, fierce as Whirlwinds on the strands I Walk,
And loud as Thunder to my self I talk;
When from my Eyes I shed a gentle show'r,
And lay those Tempests I had rais'd before.
Rack'd with my griefs, my Anxious Soul survives,
Dash'd like a ship which with the Billows drives.
Thence, to the plains my fainting Limbs I bear,
Lost still in Love, and lost in Errour there.

In a deep Vale, where a thick Covert grows,
I fondly strive to be at soft repose.
But there I find, nor Sea, nor Cave, nor Wood,
Nor Stars, nor Heav'n it self can do me good.
Wild Thoughts distract me in those grateful bow'rs'
I take each gentle Breeze's Voice for yours.
Whilst by Succession day and night return,
I, greatly curs'd, must never cease to mourn.
Yet Groves like these did once the Joys improve,
Of blest Adonis, and the Queen of Love.
So might I rifle my Amasia's Charms,
And clasp my Goddess in my burning Arms.
How strangely blest might she her Sylvius see,
And make her self more happy, blessing me.
Securely close, and from all Cities far,
Remote from tumults, and the noise of War.
In secret shades she might my Passion crown;
There my Amasia might be all my own.
As boist'rous Storms endear the distant shore:
And hardship always shews our Joys the more.
So should she make me Court her even there,
And e'er she blest me, let me tast despair.
Whilst peaceful silence Reigns thro' all the bow'rs,
And ev'n no Whispers can be heard, but ours.

There we shall ne'er fear any watchful Spies.
None but the Moon sees where Amasia lies.
Such Thought as these my waking wishes fly,
Tho' none, Amasia loves so fixt as I.
Ev'n tho' you hate me most, I Love you still,
Nor would be cur'd of my Tormenting ill.
My very pain yields me some pleasure now,
I joy to smart, since 'tis impos'd by you.
A greater bless Lives in my deep despair,
Than in the Smiles of any other Fair.

Admiration.

First when I saw you! how all chang'd I grew!
My Blood thrill'd quick, and light'ning pierc'd me thro.
I view'd, all ravishment, your Charming Pow'rs,
When my Eyes dazzled with the sight of yours.
Still'd I look'd on, and pleasingly was fir'd,
I gaz'd, and gaz'd, and as I gaz'd, admir'd.
My kindling Flames your sunny glances fed,
And your each motion made them rage and spread.
Strange, unknown Passions wrought my fancy high,
Rais'd with desires, when I beheld you nigh.

I long'd extreamly, Charm'd at every view,
While to excess my eager wishes flew.
When e'er you stept, how brightly did you move!
You were all Charms, and made my Soul all Love.
What Beauteous awe in all your form was seen!
And Oh! how Sweet, how taking was your mien!
No fancy'd Goddess does so brightly shine,
Oh! you were all, all ravishing Divine.
No Pencil here, were it a task assign'd,
Could Paint your Face, no Pen describe your Mind.
Believe your Swain, by thy Dear self 'tis true,
Thy self I Love, and I Love only you.
I prize thee high as fancy'd Joys above,
I would not quit thee for the Queen of Love.
No, not to sway the Scepter of the Skies,
For you can give me more than Monarchs Joys.
In thee the Pow'rs made all their wonders shine,
They made thy Form, they made thy Breast Divine,
Could it but Pity all the Pains in mine.
How hard alas! is your lost Lover's Fate,
How oft did I for your admittance wait?
Deny'd the freedom to reveal my ill,
And shew the racking Tortures that I feel.

To tell how much the wretched Sylvius burns,
Fondly to tell, but meet no kind returns.
To stand all languishing beside my fair,
To move the truest, and the tend'rest Pray'r,
Gently to press her hands, to melt, and swear.

Address.

Once at your Feet you saw your Sylvius Kneel,
Unmov'd with anguish he was doom'd to feel.
You hear'd his Sighs, you saw his Tears run down,
You saw them all, but you return'd him none.
How shall I now my swelling Passion tell,
Which best my silence did ev'n then reveal?
Your Charming form kindles excessive Fires,
And something wond'rous as it self inspires.
In looks, and sighs, I faintly spoke my Soul,
Nought but Possession could express it whole.
While on your Knees the ruin'd Sylvius hung,
Imperfect Words fell from his fault'ring Tongue.
In sighs and wishes lost, did Sylvius lye,
And his sick Soul lay melting in his Eye.
Fasten'd with longings on your Charming Face,
And scarce he rose to the last dear embrace.

In vain, in vain, was all his Passion mov'd,
The wretched Swain must never, never be belov'd.

Parting.

Parting I felt most Mortal pangs, and smart,
I felt your scorn, and I resolv'd to part.
Think! think, Amasia, with what pains I strove
My long fixt Eyes from thy dear Face to move.
Not Men condemn'd with deadlier anguish go,
To meet their fate, than I to part from you.
Yes, I remember, too, too well I may,
When my despair deny'd my longer stay,
And urg'd me from my self, and thee more dear, away.
With forward steps to seek my fair I ran,
Resolv'd to part, resolv'd to part a Man.
Resolv'd no more to be a Slave, and pine,
But be my self, and be no longer thine.
Onward in hast to thy abode I flew,
To see, to leave, and not to Love thee too,
But with dry Eyes to bid a long Adieu.
To thy Apartment boldly now I came,
And hop'd, and fancy'd that I felt no flame.

Not as a Lover I approach'd thee near,
Ask'd what Commands you had for me to bear.
Scornful you Smil'd, and answer'd you had none,
Then, fixt I stood, a perfect Lover grown.
With silent Admiration there I gaz'd,
The more I look'd, I grew the more amaz'd.
My awful, trembling, wishing Eyes I drew,
I took them off, but to look on anew.
On thy dear Face fond glances still they cast,
They look'd, to see when they should look their last.
With wakeful Eyes so have I often lain,
Expecting Sleep to ease my Mortal pain,
But Expectation made the blessing vain.
Thus, he who sees thee, and expects to go,
Stands still expecting, and may still do so.
With wat'ry Eyes I strove in vain to see,
Take the last sight, since that the last must be.
That I no more must thy dear Beauties view,
Made streaming Tears flow from my Eyes anew,
Denying then the Pow'r of seeing too.
Strait, stagg'ring on, as to Salute, I bow'd,
And stumbled near you, and you laugh'd aloud.
With slow approaches, to your Lips I came,
While your Eyes sparkled with disdainful flame.

A glance so fierce rob'd me of all my Sense,
It did no Sun-shine on your Lips dispense,
But blasted the dear Fruits I should have gather'd thence.
Leaving no Kiss lodg'd on thy Lovely Face,
I totter'd feebly from the wish'd Embrace.
My Heart beat thick, and now alarm'd me whole,
Alarm'd my Senses, and alarm'd my Soul.
It's motions rose, to call me thence away,
But ah! that very motion urg'd my stay.
By slow degrees from thy lov'd sight I drew,
I sigh'd, and stood, to take another veiw,
Turn'd often back—
And gaz'd, and gaz'd, but could not bid adieu.

Absence.

Like wretches banish'd where no Sun appears,
Your hopeless Lover all his suff'rings bears.
Darkness and horrours spread before my view,
I knew no light, since here remov'd from you.
Yet still thy Image in my Breast I bear,
Spight of my Soul, I find you always there.
Would to my Thoughts you might be absent too,
My Thoughts alas! do all my Pangs renew.

My fancy brings thee to my ravish'd Eyes,
But ah! thy form ev'n from my fancy flyes.
O 'twere some ease to all the pains I feel,
If I knew when I could remove the ill.
But to the damn'd revolving Ages prove
A Hell of Absence, not a Heav'n of Love.
Eternal Racks, and Tortures must I bear,
And know no change, but to more deep despair.
Unhappy Orpheus, of his Wife bereft,
With sad remorse the gloomy Mansions left.
Lethe's dark streams he did to light prefer,
Yet, spight of Lethe, he remember'd her.
On those sad Banks the tuneful Poet mourn'd,
And with regret back to the World return'd.
Worse far than his my fated ills I find,
'Twas Hell he left, but I leave Heav'n behind.

Jealousy.

Great are the griefs which in my absence move,
And still my Jealousy torments my Love.
Tho' I my self must ne'er thy Charms possess,
'Tis Death to think you should another bless.

O let my Rival's flames be ne'er return'd,
'Tis Hell enough that I in vain have burn'd,
For envy rages in a Passion scorn'd.
Now, now perhaps some fav'rite Youth is blest,
And clasps thee panting to his ravish'd breast.
Hark, how he speaks, and sighs!—
He Kneels, and Bows, and languishes the rest.

Platonick Love.

How with Amasia could I wish to live;
The dearest blessing that the Gods could give.
What Heav'n of Joys, what Raptures would be mine,
Were you my darling, and were I but thine!
What vast delight your Passion would disclose,
He, who with transport sees it, only knows.
How sweet's the Balm which from your Lips distills,
The ravish'd Man, who gets the blessing, feels.
Whose Love's return'd, who hears your tender Sighs,
And sees kind looks from your relenting Eyes.
Who now no more must languish all in vain,
But makes his pleasure what was once his pain.

Receives vast bliss for his orerated Toils,
Views all his Heav'n Serene, and drest in smiles.
Secures you gently in his longing Arms,
And is all Joys, as you are all o'er Charms.
Presses your hand, and slowly steals a Kiss,
To shew consent, you softly too press his.
He hears ten thousand moving Words from you,
You think, Amasia, his Words moving too.
With oft repeated transports, you express,
Great as his Passion is, yours is not less.
Such tender things you speak, so much they move,
His Soul lives yours, and ev'ry pulse beats Love.
In vast Elyziums of delight he feeds,
No other bliss, no other Heav'n he needs.
He feels your fragrant Breath, surveys your Air,
Views all the Charms of his transporting fair.
Beholds the taking Beauties of your Face,
And struggles inwards to a near Embrace.
Rais'd by peculiar glories which surprize,
With softest glances from your kinder Eyes.
Such as you ne'er to any Mortal show,
But him alone who is belov'd by you.
Still new Delights, new Pleasures always Crown
That Happy Man, whom you could call your own.

What Heav'nly Joys, what vast, what Sacred bliss,
Could be exprest, or thought of, more than this!
That is the point, where circling Pleasures move,
When Happy Lovers have returns of Love.
Such Sweets can scarcely be by Death destroy'd,
Where, not the Body, but the Soul's enjoy'd.
Such blest delight I was not born to feel,
For I adore too truly, Love too well.
Yet, when from hence, to darker Groves I go,
And view the Shades, and Fragrant Bow'rs below.
When griefs no more, but lasting Joys appear,
There in some Grotto shall I find my Fair.
Freed from those pangs which long have rack'd my Breast,
None shall be there more Happy, none more blest.
Since here my Passion was all o'er Divine,
My Lov'd Amasia will be only mine.

Elyzium.

Low in the thought that pleasant Kingdom lies,
Which is o'erflown, and Hemm'd around with Joys.
Bright, Silver Gates lead to it's peaceful Lands,
Round which a Wall of lofty Chrystal stands.

The Happy Dwellers here are ever young,
And flowing pleasures gently rowl along.
No chilling Winter, no cold Frost is here,
But Spring, and Summer make up all the Year.
No Stormy Night show'rs gloomy Terrours down,
Fair Morns and Ev'nings here are only known.
Here Thousand Flow'rs of divers sorts are found,
And Nature's hand paints all the Gawdy ground.
The blushing Roses here for ever bloom,
No hurtful Blasts to their soft Beauties come.
But tender Winds their pleasing Odours bear,
And breath them sweetly in the Fragrant Air.
Thro' all the Meads clear, Liquid Chrystal Glides,
And softly twines by the Banks flow'ry sides.
Silent it runs, where it delights to stray,
And gently cuts it's rich, enamel'd way.
Here, the bright Field a Shining Harvest bears,
The Corn has Silver stalks, and real Golden Ears.
The glorious Trees a Sparkling Lustre show,
With Glitt'ring Jewels, which they bear, they bow.
Of these, the blest, bright Crowns and Bracelets wear,
And every Lover Walks in transport there.
Just o'er their Heads there hangs a Silver Sky,
And painted Clouds above them slowly fly.

Each Beauteous Maid does her Swain's flames approve,
And all are Happy here in Poetry, and Love.
Harmonious Musick plays thro' every Shade,
O'er which their Wings Cœrulean Turtles spread.
To grateful Groves the blessed Pairs retire,
With Charms still new, and ever fierce desire.
In Shining bow'rs, which Silver leafs adorn,
They reap those Joys, for which their flames were born.
There, in those Mansions I shall shortly move,
And Halcyon Days shall Crown my fated Love.
All o'r in tansport shall I meet my Fair,
And offer then another tender Pray'r.
Sighing my flames, all prostrate shall I fall,
And, kneeling to her, softly whisper all.
'Till forc'd, at length, for her own ease to tell,
Since thro' her scorn the wretched Sylvius fell,
She knew he Lov'd, and owns she Loves as well.
Then, hand in hand, where'er our pleasure leads,
We walk together thro' the flow'ry Meads.
When both with heighten'd raptures full exprest.
Vent all our Passion in each other's Breast.
Then shall Amasia to her Swain declare
Her Flames were here reserv'd, to shew them there.

Such Love is subject to no Anxious fears,
Too blest for troubles, too Serene for cares.
There shall we all our tender Thoughts express,
Her's Will be wond'rous, nor can mine be less.
Ravish'd with Joys, in Extasies we move,
And think, and talk of nothing else but Love.
Revolving Days shall Crown your Swain, and you,
And both our pleasures shall seem always new.
Whilst all the blest with Admiration see
No pair so Happy in those Shades as we.

The End of the First Book.