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Memoirs of Laetitia Pilkington Vol 2 - DEDICATION


To the right honourable the Lord Baron Kingsborough.

My Lord,

Though your Lordship has been pleased positively to prohibit my dedicating this volume to you, yet as I had the following poem written, I could not resist the temptation of prefixing it to my work, which I must rely on your goodness to pardon as
I really am,
With all possible gratitude, and respect.
Your Lordship's
Most obliged,
Humble servant,
L. Pilkington.

Oh! KING, Live for ever!

TO thee within whose heaven-illumined breast
Resides each virtue, which adorns the blest
'Tis bold presumption to attune my lays;
Seraphic notes should hymn sublimer praise;
Angels enthroned, in bliss with rapture view
Their own divine perfections live in you
Say, while you wander, thro' the rural shade
By sapphire fount, or flower-enamelled mead,
By wisdom nursed, by contemplation fed,
By both, to every art and science led;
While sacred honour, that immortal guest
Lives in each action of thy life confessed,
Wilt thou, propitious, while I wake the string,
Attentive listen to the strains I sing;
No venal lay I offer to impart,
Accept the rapture of a grateful heart.
Come, inspiration, from thy hermit-seat,
O, give me flowing numbers sweetly great!
Free as his bounties, beauteous as his frame,
And pure and bright, as his unspotted fame;
For nature, prodigal to KING, has given
All gifts, admired on earth, and dear to Heaven;
Then to Hibernia, lent this sacred store,
Too blest Hibernia, can'st thou wish for more :
Philosophers can, from the noon-tide sun,
Extra& one solar ray, tho' finely spun;
Then, in that ray, the various colours show,
With which god paints the rain-foretelling bow;
May I, like them, presume, with happy art,
To trace, distinct, the virtues of thy heart,
Or turn, astonished, from the dazzling light,
And own it too intolerably bright,
When every beam does with full force unite.
Here did I pause, when, lo! the heaven-born muse,
Who, if aright invoked, will ne'er refuse
Her aid, appeared, and said, thy noble choice
May better than the muse inspire thy voice :
To me eternal wisdom gave the care
Of KING, no meaner power could interfere
Pleased with the talk, I took the lovely child,
Blooming as spring, with looks serenely mild;
Hence flows beneficent his boundless mind,
The joy, the love, the friend of human-kind;
Modesty, learning, genius, wit, and taste,
By female sweetness, manly virtue graced;
Hence take their source, oh favourite of the Skies
To which, tho' late, triumphant shalt thou rise;
There mix with souls, like thine, divinely pure,
And taste the rapture fitted to endure:
She ceased; thanks heavenly visitant, I said,
To thee my gratitude be ever paid;
For what, sufficient, may I render thee,
Who raised a PATRON that protected me;
Who viewed my anguish with a pitying eye,
When even a son, and brother pass it by.
All-righteous heaven, attend my ardent Prayer,
Make him thy constant, thy peculiar care,
Whose mercy, like the dews that bless the ground,
Silently falls, refreshing all around;
While, with such winning grace, his bounties flow,
They double all the blessings they bestow
Touched with a painful joy, the labouring heart
Struggles its mighty transport to impart,
Meanings crowd thick, the tongue its aid denies,
And springing tears the loss of speech supplies.
The Prs of Ireland long have been a jest,
Their own, and every other climate's pest;
But KING shall grace the coronet he wears,
And make it vie with Britain's noblest stars
And when, in time, to grace his nuptial bed,
Some chaste, illustrious charmer he shall wed:
May love, and joy, and truth, the pomp attend,
And deathless honour to his race descend.

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