Page:Poems of Anne Countess of Winchilsea 1903.djvu/211

COUNTESS OF WINCHILSEA 73 �Strait the Boughs, and smooth the Rinds, Moist each Fibre, and each Top, Wearing a luxurious Crop, �Let the time of Youth be shown, 140 �The time alas! too soon outgrown; Whilst a lonely stubborn Oak, Which no Breezes can provoke, No less Gusts persuade to move, Than those, which in a Whirlwind drove, Spoil'd the old Fraternal Feast, And left alive but one poor Guest; Rlvell'd the distorted Trunk, Sapless Limbs all bent, and shrunk, Sadly does the Time presage, 150 �Of our too near approaching Age. When a helpless Vine is found, Unsupported on the Ground, Careless all the Branches spread, Subject to each haughty Tread, Bearing neither Leaves, nor Fruit, Living only in the Root; Back reflecting let me say, So the sad Ardelia lay; �Blasted by a Storm of Fate, 160 �Felt, thro' all the British State; Fall'n, neglected, lost, forgot, Dark Oblivion all her Lot; Faded till Armindd's Love, (Guided by the Pow'rs above) Warm'd anew her drooping Heart, And Life diffus'd thro' every Part; Mixing Words, in wise Discourse, Of such Weight and wond'rous Force, As could all her Sorrows charm, 170 ��� �