The offspring of our pride.
For whilst on Britain’s favour’d soil,
Ten thousand round had ceas’d from toil,
Kind nature rack’d her frame:
But Time, the god of hope and fear,
Deign’d not, in love, to linger there;
Relief was wrought and came!
And Providence, so wondrous kind,
Thus sooth’d a mother’s anguish’d mind—
The parent[59] of our hope: