Classic Poem

On a Spring rising in the midd'st of a Rock.

Harsh Mayd, suppose not this cleere Spring
Does boyle so cold by Natures course;
No, 'tis a Miracle, a thing
That may thy hard hearts melting force:
Know this cold Spring thou now do'st see
Was like mee once, the Rock like Thee.

This Spring was once a Lover true,
Turn'd all to Ice by cold Disdaine;
Till pittying Gods, his Woes that knew
Transform'd him thus to ease his paine:
But Love that ever wracks the Will,
Restlesse thus makes him bubble still.

Nor did shee scape the Gods just doome,
Shee Rock was made and could not stirr:
So hee that Living could no roome
Obtaine, by Death now dwells in Hir.
Ô take heed then, and know tis true;
They that chang'd Her, can alter You.