The friend of liberty an ode To GEORGE HEATHCOTE, Esq; Late Alderman of the City of London. By S. Boyce |
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 | The friend of liberty |  |
The People rend the Sky with loud Applause,
And Heav'n can hear no other Name but your's.
Dryden.
And Heav'n can hear no other Name but your's.
Dryden.
1
THE FRIEND OF LIBERTY.
I
Whilst in each Briton's glowing BreastThy Image, Heathcote! stands imprest,
For Patriot-Worth rever'd,
Indulge a Bard, unknown to Fame,
Touch'd with the gen'ral Warmth, to claim
Attention to be heard.
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II
Tho' Sorrows now the Clime o'erspread,Tho' England's darling Hope is dead,
And all Things sad appear,
Yet will the Muse her Grief suspend,
Her best-lov'd Theme to recommend,
To ev'ry British Ear.
III
When Life its vivid Force resigns,When ev'ry Faculty declines,
And Nature feels Decay,
What Joy the Moments past to read!
To trace thro' Mem'ry ev'ry Deed!
Nor wish an Act away.
IV
Thus, Heathcote! in thy God-like Mind,Thou can'st the dear Remembrance find
Of all that's just and good.
No secret Guilt affects the Soul,
No Stings of Conscience wrack the Whole,
Where Vice cou'd ne'er intrude.
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V
Happy the Man whose fated LotHas plac'd him in an humble Cot,
Far from the Nation's Helm:
But happier He, admir'd, and known,
Who makes a People's Care his own,
And aids a well-fix'd Realm.
VI
Thy Country knows thy wond'rous Worth,And Liberty, of Heav'nly Birth!
In Thee a Friend can boast;
Thou ne'er wert in the mighty Schemes
Of plotting Statesmen's idle Dreams,
Which soon as form'd, are lost.
VII
How oft the Vain, and meanly Proud,Who court the giddy factious Croud,
To Glory seem to soar;
A-while the Pageants reap Renown,
But Fortune turns, she gives a Frown,
They fall, and are no more.
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VIII
So have I seen, in search of Prey,A Bird, voracious, wing his Way,
And aim his Flight on high;
Then smoaky Fate pierce through the Gloom,
The Tyrant meet his sudden Doom,
And flutter, pant, and die.
IX
You ne'er obtain'd such vulgar Praise,Which shifts and winds a thousand Ways,
As Faction gives the Blast;
But plan'd Britannia's Wealth and Fame,
And nobly built a Patriot's Name,
Which long as Time shall last.
X
Fix'd true to good Old England's Cause,You hold her Properties and Laws,
Too dear to sink for Gain:
You never cring'd for Titles!—No.—
But yet respect who wears 'em, so
The Briton to retain.
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XI
No Private Views thy Will cou'd bind,Alike in Voice and Act inclin'd
To keep us bold and free.
Oh, would each Minion of the State
Think that the Good alone are Great!
And learn to copy Thee.
XII
Now wrapt in Solitude serene,You fly the Town, the busy Scene,
Where Noise and Folly reign:
How much we priz'd your Presence here,
How much we held your Merits dear,
A City's Thanks explain :
XIII
Thou art that Noble City's Pride,Thou wert her Guardian and her Guide,
Her Grandeur to uphold;
Long 'mong her worthiest Friends you stood,
And scorn'd the Wretch who basely wou'd
Infringe her Rights for Gold.
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XIV
The British Genius droops her Head,To find all Sense of Honour fled,
And venal Arts admir'd:
This grieves the Virtuous!—This you saw;
This 'tis not Civil Pow'r can awe,
So wisely you retir'd.
XV
Secure from ev'ry anxious Care,Thou dost each home-felt Comfort share,
And art already blest;
Reflection, sweet, of Time well spent,
Creates the Bliss we call Content,
And such informs thy Breast.
XVI
With ev'ry social Virtue grac'd,Of ev'ry moral Tie possess'd,
Oh, Heathcote! is thy Soul:
These! These will prop it from Dismay,
When Death appears in sad Array,
And round his Terrors roll.
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XVII
The Man that's led by Reason's Light,Urg'd by no vain ambitious Flight,
Whose Principles are clear,
Whose Steps have trod in Honour's Way,
By no wild Passions drawn astray,
Can have no Cause to fear.
XVIII
Then what is Death to Souls like thine?—'Tis good!—'Tis Nature's great Design,
Decreed alike for all:
Tho' dreaded by the vicious Slave,
The Wise, the Virtuous, and the Brave,
Obey, with Joy, the Call.
XIX
May Heav'n thy much-lov'd Life bestow,Whilst Happiness from Life can flow,
In Safety and in Ease!
Long may'st thou view fair Albion's Isle,
Cheer'd with th'emolumental Smile,
Of Plenty and of Peace!
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XX
Still as a Patriot's seen to shine,With Virtues parallel to thine,
While Time displays his Pow'r,
Each Briton, warm with Friendship's Flame,
Shall hail him in a Heathcote's Name,
And Thee, in him, adore.
FINIS.
| The friend of liberty | |