A Flight. Song XXXIII

While wrapt in fancy's airy dreams, On wings of visionary bliss, My soul was borne, thro' heav'nly scenes, To brighter worlds than this—

Methought I saw AMELIA fair, (The dear impression still remains) Her sparkling eyes, her auburne hair, And heard her warb'ling strains—

The pow'r of love, metho't, she sung, In words, a savage heart would move, In sweetest accents from her tongue, That echo'd thro' the grove.—

Ah! would the charm had never broke, That thus, upon my soul had won; To disappointment, I awoke— AMELIA'S form was gone!