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
;
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
?
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
Nor
do
thou
,
lofty
Structure
!
boast
,
Since
undermin'd
by
Time
and
Frost
:
Since
thou
canst
no
Reception
give
,
In
untrod
Meadows
thou
may'st
live
.
None
from
his
ready
Road
will
turn
,
With
thee
thy
wretched
Change
to
mourn
.
Not
the
soft
Nights
,
or
chearful
Days
Thou
hast
bestow'd
,
can
give
thee
Praise
.
No
lusty
Tree
that
near
thee
grows
,
(
Tho'
it
beneath
thy
Shelter
rose
)
Will
to
thy
Age
a
Staff
become
.
Fail
,
wretched
Building
!
to
thy
Tomb
.
Thou
,
and
thy
painted
Roofs
,
in
Ruin
mixt
,
Fall
to
the
Earth
,
for
That
alone
is
fixt
.
The
same
,
poor
Man
,
the
same
must
be
Thy
Fate
,
now
Fortune
frowns
on
thee
.
Her
Favour
ev'ry
one
pursues
,
And
losing
Her
,
thou
all
must
lose
.
No
Love
,
sown
in
thy
prosp'rous
Days
,
Can
Fruit
in
this
cold
Season
raise
:
No
Benefit
,
by
thee
conferr'd
,
Can
in
this
time
of
Storms
be
heard
.
All
from
thy
troubl'd
Waters
run
;
Thy
stooping
Fabrick
all
Men
shun
.
All
do
thy
clouded
Looks
decline
,
As
if
thou
ne'er
did'st
on
them
shine
.
O
wretched
Man
!
to
other
World's
repair
;
For
Faith
and
Gratitude
are
only
there
.