And prov'd, that when with Tyranny opprest,
Poor Phoebe groan'd with wounds and broken rest,
George felt no less: was harassed and forlorn;
A rope's-end follow'd him both night and morn.
Andin that very storm when Phoebe fled,
When the rain drench'd her yet unshelter'd head;
That very Storm he on the Ocean brav'd,
The Vessel founder'd, and the Boy was say'd!
Mysterious Heaven!— and O with what delight —
She told the happy issue of her flight:
To his charm'd heart a living picture drew;
And gave to hospitality its due!
The list'ning Host observ'd the gentle Pair;
And ponder'd on the means that brought them there:
Convinc'd, while unimpeach'd their Virtue stood,
Twas Heav'n' s high Will that he should do them good.
But now the anxious Dame, impatient grown,
Demanded what the Youth had heard, or known,