Will she not shudder at the thought, and say,
My son! and lift her eyes to heaven and pray?
Alas! I fear—and yet my soul she won
While she with fond endearments call’d me son!
Then first I felt—yet knew that I was wrong—
This hope, at once so guilty and so strong; 290
She gave—I feel it now—a mother’s kiss,
And quickly fancy took a bolder bliss;
But hid the burning blush, for fear that eye
Should see the transport, and the bliss deny.