Here you will find thePoemAn Apology To The Earl Of Orreryof poet Mary Barber
Not Persia's Monarch could, unmov'd, survey Those num'rous Hosts, which Time must sweep away: He wept Misfortunes of a distant Date; I mourn the Rigour of my instant Fate: The dreaded Hour approaching fast I see, When you, alas! will all be dead to me. Then cease to wonder, if my Bosom rise, And Tears, unbidden, rush into my Eyes; 'Tis thus, and only thus, a grateful Breast Pours out those Thanks, which cannot be express'd: For, O Hibernia! when I quit thy Coast, Such Friends I leave, as few could ever boast.