The Tribute: A Panegyrical Poem

by Philo

But cease fond Muse nor longer strive to paint,
His bright perfections with thy pencil faint;
Nor more attempt that conduct to relate,
Which guides the Patriot in a sinking state;
When ev’ry action of his life is lent,
To guard his Country, or to serve her meant;
Could we retrace the fifty years gone by—
But who can look at them without a sigh;
What act designed our freedom to defend,
Did not his influence and his vote befriend;
What meant to ease the burdens of the land,
Did not his instant patronage command;
The Press’ Liberty, the Jury’s right,
Supporting still, with reasons clearest light,
Sweet Peace, to keep or to restore her reign,
He deemed no effort lost, no labour vain;
For well he knew protected by her smile,
Arts, Commerce, Science, flourish in our Isle.
When looking back a century or more,
With anxious heart our errors to explore;
The faults he sees desirous to amend,
The People’s glory and his Country’s friend;
Sought every means which wisdom can suggest,
To keep the fre’est system still the best;
By rectifying ev’ry known abuse,
Which gliding time is apt to introduce,
In the best schemes devised by human skill,
And thus preserve its pristine vigour still,
Has ever been his object, hope and aim,
And from this Public Virtue springs his fame:
And yet no visionary schemer he,
Would ne’er advance beyond what he could see
His wish to mend, but fearful of mistake,
He never wish’d to change for changing sake;
But what experience shows the times require,
Limit his wish and bound his whole desire;
E’en these to gain by gentle means he tries,
By mild expedients, and by measures wise;
Not anxious grasping to get all he sees,
At one rude effort, but by slow degrees;
Nor would he e’er despise what power would grant,
Because he knows it is not all we want;
But takes with joy the good he can obtain,
And hopes in time the residue to gain;
This hope at length the grateful Patriot saw,
Half gratified—by Justice, Truth, and Law;
And though he trembled at the threatened storm,
The tempest saw repelled by mild Reform;
And what for fifty years he sought in vain,
Lives to behold in a fourth William’s reign;
And a new Charter, destined to endure,
Renders our Rights and Liberties secure:
Then, all his work complete, his duty o’er,
He quits his public toils, resolved no more,
To represent the County, or her weal;
But trust her safety to more youthful zeal;
And with a conduct every where admired,
Resigned his seat and cheerfully retired;
Grateful to find that friends and foes now own,
That he to England has his duty done.
Still like the glorious orb which gilds the day,
He warms, delights, and blesses with his ray;
Yet silent spreads his bounty as he goes,
Observed but by the favors he bestows.

* * * * *

Hail! to the man who greatly spends his days,
In deeds of glory ’bove the Muse’s praise;
With grateful raptures may his heart still glow,
And healthy roses in his face still blow;
Yet may he long survive, all Norfolk’s pride,
And ’mid the Peerage o’er her weal preside;
This is his due, and should be his reward,
Although he does not much the boon regard;
’Tis only just his Patriot brows should wear,
The dazzling coronet which decks a Peer;
For though the bauble he may wisely slight,
It sometimes dignifies, and wears so bright:
The man it graces, and exalts so high,
Among the glitt’ring stars which gild the sky;
That those who wear it as it was designed,
Are raised to Gods among the humbler kind:
Still some will think who most his merits scan,
He’d better live and die the Peoples’ Man;
And still be called, acknowledged, and believed,
The greatest Commoner who ever lived;
And that which won the plaudits of the wise,
Through life; remain his glory when he dies.
O may his vigorous frame feel no decay,
But heat receding gently wear away;
His hopes still bright’ning as he views the tomb,
While Virtue’s beams, his closing scene illume;
And, like the day star in the rubied west,
Shine fuller, lovelier, as he sinks to rest.
When rising ’mong the spheres his spirit soars,
As highest Heaven’s Empyrean he explores;
Glides ’mid the stars, surveys the milky way,
Exulting in the bright celestial day;
Then may indulgent Heaven delight his shade,
With aided ken, the curtain to pervade;
Which hides the realms ethereal from our sight,
And that bright region clouds with shades of night;
So from his glory in yon azure sky,
He still his earthly Paradise shall ’spy;
There see his Heirs adorn the name of Coke,
And all the County still to Holkham look:
Behold a race of Patriots from him rise,
In training there, to meet him in the skies:
Still join unseen among her festive guests;
And feel the rapture which delights their breasts:
Enjoy this Paradise, or Heaven at will,
The Guardian Genius of his Holkham still.

FINIS.

Printed by W. Upcroft, Magdalen Street, Norwich.

Footnotes

[16] The Suspension of the Habeas Corpus Act.