To Mrs. Delainy, Poem by Anne Hunter

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.