The Child becomes one of the Family.

He mutter'd, glorying in the work begun,

‘ Well done, my little Wench;‘ twas nobly done!’

Then said, with looks more cheering than the fire,

And feelings such as Pity can inspire,

‘ My house has childless been this many a year;

While you deserve it you shall tarry here.’

The Orphan mark'd the ardor of his eye,

Blest his kind words, and thank'd him with a sigh.

Thus was the sacred compact doubly seal'd;

Thus were her spirits rais'd, her bruises heal'd:

Thankful, and cheerful too, no more afraid,

Thus little PHOEBE was the Miller's Maid.

Grateful they found her; patient of controul:

A most bewitching gentleness of soul

Made pleasure of what work she had to do:

She grew in stature, and in beauty too.

Five years she pass'd in this delightful home;

Five happy years: but, when the sixth was come,