W.—Such is my pledg’d relation.
H.—Stop Jane, stop Jane, let’s now shake hands
And we’ll be henceforth friends.
W.—No, not till you have stopp’d will I,
Be still, or make amends.
SONG OF THE FOSTER-SON, LOVE.
By Rev. Daniel evans, B.D.
I got a foster-son, whose name was Love,
From one endued with beauty from above.
To bring him up with fond and tender care—
Was an obligation from my fair.—
And for the guileless, beaming star’s sweet sake
Him to my bosom did I kindly take,
Him warmly cherished and with joy caress’d,
Like Philomela in the parent breast!
Thus on my breast, and sipping from my cup,
With food and nurture did I bring him up;
He grew a winged stripling, plump and fair,
And yet he filled and fills my soul with care!
Foster-son, indeed, a rebel has become,
Morose, insubordinate and glum,
A peevish, wayward, wanton, wicked swain:
To strive against the darts of love is vain.
And now with his ruthless, vengeful bow,
He points it at me and shoots high and low.
Ah! whither shall I from his anger flee;
Where from his darts and wily snares be free?