Yet not my own; but likely so to prove;
Though but the pledge of an unlawful Love:
I cherish'd him, to hide a Sister's shame:
He shar'd my best affections, and my name.
But why, young folks, should I detain you here?
Go; and may blessings wait upon your cheer:
I too will travel on;— perhaps to find
The only treasure that I left behind.
Such kindly thoughts my fainting hopes revive!—
Phoebe, my Cherub, ART thou still alive?’
Could Nature hold!— Could youthful Love forbear!
George clasp'd the wond'ring Maid, and whisper'd,‘ There!
You're mine for, ever!— O, sustain the rest;
And hush the tumult of your throbbing breast.’
Then to the Soldier turn'd, with manly pride,
And fondly led his long-intended Bride:
‘ Here see your Child; nor wish a sweeter flow'r.
‘ Tis George that speaks; thou'lt bless the happy hour!—