

Transcribed from the [1832] W. Upcroft edition by David Price, email
ccx074@pglaf.org





                               THE TRIBUTE;


                                    A
                            _Panegyrical Poem_
                                DEDICATED
                             TO THE HONORABLE
                            THE LADY ANN COKE,
                                    OF
                             _HOLKHAM HALL_.

                                * * * * *

                                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.”

                                                                 _Page_ 2.

                                * * * * *

                                 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 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_.




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.

   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.

                                * * * * *

   On lib’ral terms his Tenants are posses’d;
   Their contracts made, they feel themselves at rest;
   Their tenures permanent, at easy rents,
   None make a bargain which