“Touch the sounding strings, And in more fervid pœans sing his fame.”
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_.
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.
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.
