DEATH OF THE DOWAGER VISCOUNTESS CREMORNE.
On Friday, the 14th instant, died, at her house in Stanhope-street, May Fair, in the 86th year of her age, the Right Honourable Philadelphia Hannah, relict of the late Thomas Viscount Cremorne, and Baron Dartrey, of the kingdom of Ireland. Her Ladyship was the grand-daughter of William Penn, founder of Pennsylvania, in North America, and was born in its capital of Philadelphia, after which city she was named. [Morning Herald (London) - Tuesday 18 April 1826, p.3]
ORIGINAL POETRY.
VERSES.
SENT, BY AN UNKNOWN HAND,
TO THE LATE DOWAGER VISCOUNTESS CREMORNE,
on new year's day, 1826.
'Tis Eighteen Hundred Twenty-six,
And still, with joy, I see
The smile upon thy pallid cheek
Yet beam to gladden me.
Thy locks are silvered o'er with age,
And still thou art not sad;
Ah! wherefore is thy mind so free?
Thy spirit, why so glad?
'Tis, that the orphan's humble prayer
To Heaven has winged its way;
And He whom works of mercy please,
Has witnessed thine each day.
Oft have I stood beside thy couch,
My heart oppressed with love;
Yet when I fain would speak my thanks,
My lips refused to move.
But silently I'll bless thy name,
For all that thou hast given :
My fond, true, fervent gratitude,
Thou canst but know in Heaven!
[Morning Post - Tuesday 18 April 1826, p.2]
DEATH OF THE DOWAGER VISCOUNTESS CREMORNE.
On Friday, the 14th instant, died, at her house in Stanhope-street, May Fair, in the 86th year of her age, the Right Honourable Philadelphia Hannah, relict of the late Thomas Viscount Cremorne, and Baron Dartrey, of the kingdom of Ireland. Her Ladyship was the grand-daughter of William Penn, founder of Pennsylvania, in North America, and was born in its capital of Philadelphia, after which city she was named. [Morning Herald (London) - Tuesday 18 April 1826, p.3]
ORIGINAL POETRY.
VERSES.
SENT, BY AN UNKNOWN HAND,
TO THE LATE DOWAGER VISCOUNTESS CREMORNE,
on new year's day, 1826.
'Tis Eighteen Hundred Twenty-six,
And still, with joy, I see
The smile upon thy pallid cheek
Yet beam to gladden me.
Thy locks are silvered o'er with age,
And still thou art not sad;
Ah! wherefore is thy mind so free?
Thy spirit, why so glad?
'Tis, that the orphan's humble prayer
To Heaven has winged its way;
And He whom works of mercy please,
Has witnessed thine each day.
Oft have I stood beside thy couch,
My heart oppressed with love;
Yet when I fain would speak my thanks,
My lips refused to move.
But silently I'll bless thy name,
For all that thou hast given :
My fond, true, fervent gratitude,
Thou canst but know in Heaven!
[Morning Post - Tuesday 18 April 1826, p.2]
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