To the Same (Amasia)

WHILE thus in scorching Fires I burn,
Amasia doubts the ardent Flame;
What, tho' in silent Grief I mourn,
Each Heart-felt Sigh breathes forth her Name.

O could my Pray'rs inspire her Heart
To feel the Rapture she bestows!—
Yet how can I my Pains impart,
When Honor, Virtue are my Foes?

Yes—so extravagant my Flame,
All Obstacles it can remove;
Honor and Virtue, cease your Claim,
What, what are ye, alas, to Love?

In vain do Sophists preach that Heav'n,
Has Charms conceal'd from mortal View;
They know not what a Pledge was giv'n;
They ne'er, Amasia, gaz'd on you.

Then, in this Extasy of Pain,
Bid me not from your Sight retreat,
Let me one heav'nly Smile obtain,
And breath my Ardors at your Feet.

May soft Compassion melt your Heart,
To ease the Agonies I feel!—
In vain I try their Force t'impart;
They're more than Language can reveal.

O, then behold my dying Eyes,
This trickling Tear my Pains may prove;
Or read in these Heart-rending Sighs,
Silence is eloquent in Love.

Since, tho' your Cruelty can kill,
Your Tenderness can bid me live;
Then Mercy's soft Commands fulfil,
And if you cannot bless—forgive.

By Nature to the Indian's shewn,
An Antidote for pois'nous Pains,
And who the Venom caus'd alone
Can chase it from the scorching Veins;

Thus, Fair-one, thou'rt in Justice bound,
To ease the Anguish I endure;
Thou could'st alone inflict the Wound,
Thou canst alone apply the Cure.