Whereon to ground those doubts but just exprest;—
Doubts, which must interest the feeling breast:
‘ Her Brother wert thou, George?— how; prithee say:
Canst thou forego, or cast that name away?’
‘ No living proofs have I,’ the Youth reply'd,
That we by closest ties are not allied;
But in my memory live, and ever will,
A mother's dying words...... I hear them still:
She said, to one who watch'd her parting breath,
“Do n't separate the Children at my death;
They're not both mine: but —” Here the scene was clos'd;
She died, and left us helpless and expos'd;
Nor Time hath thrown, nor Reason's opening power,
One friendly ray on that benighted hour.’
Ne'er did the Chieftains of a Warring State
Hear from the Oracle their half-told fate
With more religious fear, or more suspense,
Than Phoebe now endur'd:— for every sense