To chain, or set their chain'd affections free:
Affinity beyond all doubts to prove;
Or clear the road for Nature and for Love.
Never, till now, did PHOEBE count the hours,
Or think _May_ long, or wish away its flowers;
With mutual sighs both fann'd the wings of Time;
As we climb Hills and gladden as we climb,

_Eager Expectation_.

And reach at last the distant promis'd seat,
Casting the glowing landscape at our feet
Oft had the Morning Rose with dew been wet,
And oft the journeying Sun in glory set,
Beyond the willow'd meads of vigorous grass,
The steep green hill, and woods they were to pass;
When now: the day arriv'd: Impatience reign'd;
And GEORGE,--by trifling obstacles detain'd--
His bending Blackthorn on the threshold prest,
Survey'd the windward clouds, and hop'd the best.
PHOEBE, attir'd with every modest grace,
While Health and Beauty revell'd in her face,
Came forth; but soon evinc'd an absent mind,
For, back she turn'd for something left behind;
Again the same, till George grew tir'd of home,
And peevishly exclaim'd, _'Come, Phoebe, come.'_
Another hindrance yet he had to feel:
As from the door they tripp'd with nimble heel,

_The Old Soldier_.