Page:Poems of Anne Countess of Winchilsea 1903.djvu/162

24  Ne'er us'd a Verse, till Love became his Theme. To his stray'd Son, still as his Passion rose, He rais'd his hasty Voice in clam'rous Prose: But when in Daphne he wou'd Love inspire, He woo'd in Verse, set to his silver Lyre.
 * The Trojan Prince did pow'rful Numbers join

To sing of War; but Love was the Design: And sleeping Troy again in Flames was drest, To light the Fires in pitying Dido's Breast.
 * Love without Poetry's refining Aid

Is a dull Bargain, and but coarsely made; Nor e'er cou'd Poetry successful prove, Or touch the Soul, but when the Sense was Love.
 * Oh ! cou'd they both in Absence now impart

Skill to my Hand, but to describe my Heart; Then shou'd you see impatient of your Stay Soft Hopes contend with Fears of sad Delay ; Love in a thousand fond Endearments there, And lively Images of You appear. But since the Thoughts of a Poetick Mind Will never be to Syllables confin'd; And whilst to fix. what is conceiv'd, we try, The purer Parts evaporate and dye: You must perform what they want force to do, And think what your thinks of you.
 * October 21, 1690.

UPON ARDELIA'S RETURN HOME (After to[o] long a walk in Eastwell Park) in a water cart driven by one of the under-keepers in his green Coat, with a Hazel-Bough for a whip. July, 1689

What Fate within itts Bosome carry's For Him thats born, or Him that Marry's Though Fate itts self does not unfold 