“ Thy future worth no flattering friends decide:
“ A wretched mother press'd by tyrant fate,
“ Can yield no succour to thy helpless state:
“ The spoiler's chains, that load her languid frame,
“ By spoiler's right thy fetter'd service claim.
“ Has o'er this pallid race a mother's love
“ E'er bent in fondness?—Could they ever prove
“ A wife's soft transport, as she gently prest
“ The smiling stranger to a father's breast?
“ Ah, sure the soft remembrance would have pow'r