Classic Poem

Harsh Maid! suppose not this clear Spring
Can boyl thus cold by Natures course.
No, 'tis a miracle, a thing
That may thy hard hearts melting force.
Know this cold Spring thou now dost see
Was like me once: The Rock like thee.

This Spring was once a Lover true,
Turn'd all to Ice by coy disdain;
Till pitying gods his woes that knew,
Melted him thus to life again.
But love which alwayes racks the will,
Restless thus makes him bubble still.

Nor did she scape the gods just doom,
She Rock was made and could not stir:
So he that living could no room
Obtain, by death now dwells in her.
Oh take heed then, repent and know
They that chang'd her can alter you.