Page:Poems of Anne Countess of Winchilsea 1903.djvu/222

84 THE POEMS OF ANNE �Had Cypresse, with his Lawrells wound, And slept like Graham, on the field he wonn, When the great businesse of the day, was done. �THE CHANGE �Poor River, now thou'rt almost dry, �What Nymph, or Swain, will near thee lie? �Since brought, alas! to sad Decay, �What Flocks, or Herds, will near thee stay? �The Swans, that sought thee in thy Pride, �Now on new Streams forgetful ride: �And Fish, that in thy Bosom lay, �Chuse in more prosp'rous Floods to play. �All leave thee, now thy Ebb appears, �To waste thy sad Remains in Tears; 10 �Nor will thy mournful Murmurs heed. �Fly, wretched Stream, with all thy speed, �Amongst those solid Rocks thy Griefs bestow ; �For Friends, like those alas ! thou ne'er did'st know. �And thou, poor Sun! that sat'st on high ; But late, the Splendour of the Sky ; What Flow'r tho' by thy Influence born, Now Clouds prevail, will tow'rds thee turn? Now Darkness sits upon thy Brow, What Persian Votary will bow ? 20 �What River will her Smiles reflect, Now that no Beams thou can'st direct? By watry Vapours overcast, Who thinks upon thy Glories past? If present Light, nor Heat we get, Unheeded thou may'st rise, and set. Not all the past can one Adorer keep, Fall, wretched Sun, to the more faithful Deep. ��� �