the Author will be highly gratified and rejoice in the happy effects of his labours.
He begs most respectfully
to subscribe himself,
your Ladyship’s very obedient,
humble Servant,
PHILO.
TO THE READER.
The principal part of the following little Poem (if it deserves so high a character) was composed ten or a dozen years ago, and is extracted from a much longer Eulogy upon our Great Patriot, his Holkham, and his Agriculture; but which, for reasons not necessary to mention here, has never met the public eye; nor would what is here published, have done so now, had the Author been aware of any Competitor in the same field, who had attempted to do justice to the great and good man whose fame he aspires to sing. But now the Guardian of our County’s rights, her liberties and laws, has resigned his seat in Parliament, and after seeing the great measures for which he so long contended in the House of Commons (namely, a Reform in the Representation—a repeal of the Corporation and Test Acts—and the destruction of the rotten Boroughs;) granted to the energetic exertions of a great People, aided by the support of a Patriotic Monarch, and a wise Ministry; has retired to the Sylvan shades of his wide domain, to enjoy the well earned meed of public virtue and private spirit; the Author could no longer delay presenting this humble tribute to his fame, and he trusts it will now be deemed neither misplaced nor ill timed, and although its pretensions are so humble, yet as they are ardent and sincere, he hopes it will be received with the candour and indulgence such trifles (while they survive) are usually received, when the praise is so justly due—so dearly earned—and so seldom deserved; in which case he will be highly gratified and his labour amply rewarded.
PHILO.
North Walsham, Dec. 25th, 1832
THE TRIBUTE.
Yes—Britons boast! in these dark times to know
A man whose Virtue gilds the world below;
And, like the glory of the Northern star,
Is known, admired and gazed at from afar;
Who though he shines so high above his kind,
Is Polar light to Peasantry and Hind;
And yet his county, to her lasting shame,
No Bard has roused to eulogize his name;
To paint the Virtues in a mortal shrine,
And point the gem by its refulgent shine.
So be it mine to touch the sounding string,
The Friend; the Patriot; and the Man to sing.
O could I reach the famed Apollo’s lyre;
I’d chaunt his praises with a Poets fire;
But if unequal to such lofty flights,
My subject warms me, and my task delights;
And though unused to raise the tuneful song,
The mighty theme shall make my numbers strong;
Bright truth shall guide me, like the solar rays,
Illume my darkness and direct my praise!
Inspire each thought, and breathe in ev’ry line,
And grace my Eulogy with rays divine;
And, while I paint the scene, the fact recite,
Still burst upon me in a blaze of light.
Wake then my Muse the gen’rous trump of fame,
And let her clarion laud the Patriot’s name;
Whose glorious actions well deserve the lay,
In deathless strains his merits to pourtray;
Who, while he makes his much loved Holkham smile,
Exalts the glory of our Sea girt Isle.
What though short lived, my tribute I will bring,
And add my feather to the Eagle’s wing;
Upon his pinions striving, thus to climb,
Upborne awhile along the stream of time,
And tho’ my garland may fall off, his plumes
A grateful Muse her transient song presumes.
See the great Farmer at his rural seat,
When cares of state admit of his retreat;
Within his noble hospitable dome,
The Prince as well as Peasant finds a home;
Born for the world and for his race designed,
His Godlike bounty flows for all mankind;
Receives the Stranger, as a welcome guest,
Who while he tarries, feels no wish unbless’d;
The Patriot there with gay and cheerful heart,
Mid’ all his greatness has the happy art,
To set each timid visitor at ease,
By courteous manners ever apt to please;
Where, open as his hand, th’expanding door,
Receives the wealthy where he feeds the poor;
Where none are seen to sorrow or complain;
Within the circle of his wide domain,
Abundance reigns; and comfort sweetly flows;
And, like the shadow, follows where he goes:
No discontent is felt when he is nigh,
And anxious cares before his presence fly;
The faithful hind rejoicing in his smile,
With cheerful industry pursues his toil;
The gen’rous rustic glories in his sight,
Who makes his heavy burden weigh more light;
And feels exalted and rejoiced to find;
The best of masters of the human kind;
Proud of his kindred, then he seems to scan,
His inbred worth, and deems himself a man.