TO Mrs. DELAINY, UPON THE MARKS OF ROYAL BOUNTY WHICH SHE RECEIVED AT A VERY ADVANCED AGE, AFTER THE DEATH OF HER FRIEND THE DUCHESS OF PORTLAND, IN 1786. DELAINY, far from courtly art, My free lyre vibrates to my heart The simple notes of truth; I joy to see thy virtuous age With honours crown'd, a fair presage For well deserving youth. I joy to see desert repaid, And talents cherish'd in the shade, Unchill'd by evening's dew; Bright glows for thee thy setting sun, And ere thy mortal race is run, The goal appears in view. Born in a fair auspicious hour, To mark thy lot the ruling pow'r Both wit and worth assign'd; Gave thee to pass thy early days With genius, whose congenial rays Still animate thy mind. Nor has thy guardian spirit fled, But still by steps unerring led To honour and repose; For in fair Windsor's royal seat Thy virtues find a calm retreat, And wait their final close. Low hung the louring clouds of fate, And thy soul sicken'd with regret O'er friendship's sacred tomb; 'Twas in that hour of aching thought The cares of royal bounty sought To dissipate the gloom. Sweet the delight of gen'rous deeds, When from the heart the wish proceeds, Warm, noble, and refin'd; How exquisite the grateful sense Of heav'n-born, pure benevolence Upon the feeling mind! Happy who thus have pow'r to give, Who thus with honour may receive, What just esteem bestows; While from the starry realms above The powers beneficent approve The source from whence it flows.