Read Ebook: The Tribute: A Panegyrical Poem by Philo

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THE TRIBUTE;

BY PHILO.

"So be it mine to touch the sounding string, The FRIEND, the PATRIOT, and the MAN to sing, 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."

NORWICH: PRINTED BY W. UPCROFT, ST. CLEMENT'S.

DEDICATION, TO THE HONORABLE THE LADY ANN COKE.

PRAISE--when it is fairly earned and justly due, is that meed which virtue delights to bestow upon merit; and, as it is highly gratifying to every worthy mind to receive, so next to those who merit it, it is to none more delightful than to those who are allied to, and love and regard the object of the Eulogy. Most grateful then must it be to the feelings of a beloved wife, to hear and even read of the honorable and praise-worthy actions of a kind and tender husband. It is indeed like the oil of gladness to the heart, which, while it softens and lubricates, rejoices and refines: while it is read it delights--inspires a desire to imitate--infuses a portion of the spirit it celebrates into the bosom of rectitude--and cherishes the noble incentive to "go and do likewise." Under this impression it is, that the Author has presumed to dedicate to your Ladyship, this humble tribute of his respect and esteem. If he must not be allowed to rank it with the brighter effusions of imagination; yet, being founded in truth, it is intrinsically superior to the flights of fancy, and he trusts when you consider the justness of the panegyric, and the sincerity which inspires it; you will look over the imperfection of the Performance, in regard to the goodness of the intention; and readily pardon the writers defects of genius in justice to the warmth of his feelings.

Should this humble attempt tend to circulate more widely the Virtues it aspires to praise, or induce some more elevated Bard to

"Touch the sounding strings, And in more fervid poeans sing his fame."

the Author will be highly gratified and rejoice in the happy effects of his labours.

TO THE READER.

The principal part of the following little Poem 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 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 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.

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.

O if the man who makes a single blade, Lift its green head above the parched glade; Where never verdure did before appear, Deserves the plaudits of the world to hear; What shall we say of him whose arts contrive, To make whole fields of smiling herbage thrive; Who turns the moor, into a fertile vale, Where flocks and herds inhale the vernal gale; Congeals the sand upon the northern breeze And decorates the waste with shrubs and trees: Such worth as this should like the sunbeams blaze, And sculptur'd marbles speak to sing his praise; Fame raise him pillars in each land and clime, And Poets praise him in the song sublime; The deathless laurel round his temples twine, And his immortal wreath untarnish'd shine.

Amid the fruitful hills and smiling vales, Each grateful Tenant, his loved Landlord hails; Whose spacious mansion tow'ring to the skies, Central we see majestically rise; Around whose bright demesnes, a happy race Of wealthy Farmers share the fertile space; And while they feel his favours grateful glow, Though from his streams their smaller streamlets flow; In chrystal currents, gliding pure and clear, Through all the country round the swains to cheer. Though his bright beams, just like the orb of day, The lesser stars eclipses with his ray; It warms, illumes, and gladdens as it shines, Each minor Planet which around him twines While as they circle near their central sun, Illumin'd by his light their course they run; Fed from his flame they own his golden rays, And glisten round him in a silver blaze.

When Heavens indulgence joineth earth to skies, In nice gradations does the chain arise; From beast to man, from man the links extend, Angels to Seraphs rise, and these ascend, In shining orders, unto us unknown, All stretching forward to the Empyrean throne; Yet never destined, in their loftiest flight, To reach the glorious source of life and light. Thus if mens acts with Heavens we may compare, NORFOLK'S GREAT COMMONER his fame would rear; Lifting the poor Plebeian from the dust, The chain extending to a place of trust; The trusty Servant to a Bailiff springs; The Bailiff sinks, a cheerful Farmer sings; The Farmer grows in wealth, wealth has no worth, Until dispers'd among the sons of earth; His Children rise with wealth, they learning gain, And knowledge still extends the golden chain; Wisdom in Virtue ends, and thus he tries To raise a lowly Peasant to the skies; Thus imitating Heaven while here below, Endeavouring so his image fair to show, In pristine beauty, bursting from the clay, As from his makers hand, he sprung to day.

For fifty years spent in politic life, When war and rapine gender'd heat and strife; No venal act of his appears to wound, His virtuous soul, or hurt his conscience sound; No VOTE of his through all that long career, Has caused the widows sigh, the orphans tear; Nor from the Peasant's industry withdrawn Those heavy taxes grieveous to be borne; Curtail'd his Country's rights, the laws denied, Unto the injured, by oppression tried; Indemnified the man who did him wrong, Or made the Oligarchal Tyrants strong; Nor when the times perplexed a starving poor, Who sue for pity and for aid implore; Their sad petitions in such deep distress, Denied the means of urging for redress; To their bewailings gave the name of riot, And crushed their rights, to keep the injured quiet. Then if the Virtues which adorn his name, Did not quite fill the trumpet of his fame; 'Twould make no faint addition to the sound, To tell the acts where he could not be found, To lend his name, his voice, his vote to raise, And cloud the Sun of England's better days; And that which courtiers boastfully have done, Should be his glory to have left undone.

Born for the good of all, his bosom glows, With softest sympathy in all its' throws; No narrow feeling e'er restrains his grace, Whose heart expansive takes in all his race; No sect or party, rank or state we find, Contract the bounty of his gen'rous mind; To human wretchedness his list'ning ear, Is ever open, and his heart sincere In gen'rous bounty, wafts the swift relief, To whom stern mis'ry overloads with grief; And if he can't restore the broken heart, His sympathizing bosom bears a part: Thus sensibility his heart to bless, In sweet o'erflowings shews its fine impress; And he who can this balmy balsam share, The better graces nurtures plump and fair: It is the soil in which the Virtues grow, To gild the fields, and paint the vales below; Sow but the seeds, the germs will quickly shoot, And grow luxuriant from the fruitful root; Mature through life, and when the Angels reap, The ripened harvest, in bright worlds will keep; For sympathizing feelings warm the breast, Of heavenly spirits and delight the blest; And when sweet sympathies the bosom move, We most resemble Heaven, for Heaven is love.

Footnotes

The Suspension of the HABEAS CORPUS ACT.

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