Poems :: :: University of Virginia Library

And is this all?—that vast and vigorous mind,
Whose views embraced the good of all mankind;
That reasoning Eloquence, whose rapid course
Bore down the Opposer with resistless force;
That Genius, from all trick and tinsel free,
Bright as the Sun, and boundless as the Sea;

That heart, with friendship, love, and feeling fraught;
That world of knowledge, and that depth of thought;
That Truth, Taste, Sense, Simplicity, and Worth.......
Oh! and are all these hid in that small heap of Earth?

Weep, Aebion, weep! thou wilt not weep alone;
The Globe's four quarters shall repeat thy moan:
For where's the clime, which hath not felt the care
Of Him, whose liberal love all Nature seemed to share?
India , whose cause He laboured to uphold,
Whose rights he pleaded, and whose wrongs He told,
Shall feel her breast with fond remembrance swell,
And mourn his loss, who mourned her woes so well.

America shall grateful weep the Sage,
Who stemmed the torrent of Oppression's rage,
Cherished her generous zeal, and joyed to see
Her injured Offspring's efforts to be free.
On Afric's burning plains her sable Sons,
While down their cheeks the stream of sorrow runs,
Shall bless the Man, who bade them dread no more
The servile chain, and scourge which streams with gore.
And (nearer home) embattled Powers, who sigh
To sheath the sword, and hoped, that rest was nigh,
Shall feel with Fox's death those hopes decrease,
And bleeding Europe mourn the Friend of Peace.

In forms of fire stamped on my heart and brain,
This day's funereal pomp shall still remain:

Still I'll repeat,—“Fate gave me once to see
Malice herself to Virtue bend the knee:
Yes! Fox was mourned, as Fox deserved to be!”—
The Sovereign's power enjoined no public show;
The pomp was public, for the grief was so!
No Courtier here displayed his gilded wand,
And mourned obsequious at his King's command:
No pensioned Hireling showed his careless face
To please his Patron, and preserve his place:
Here thronged with swelling hearts and streaming eyes
The Good, the Great, the Learned, and the Wise.
Here met to grieve firm Faith and Love sincere,
And patriot Worth sustained the kindred bier.
Here Britain sighed o'er many a rained plan,
Friends o'er the Friend, and Nature o'er the Man!

Nor did the Nobler ranks all tears engross;
A general anguish spoke a general loss.
As moved with measured pace the pomp along,
How reverent grief to statues turned the throng!
No smile of vacant pleasure shocked the eye;
No sound the ear, unless a stifled sigh.

The Mourners past, alone marked out to view
By weeds of black; the Crowd were Mourners too:
And though nor flowing scarves nor sable dress
Declared by outward signs the mind's distress,
They wore [what grief of heart more surely speaks]
Swoll'n eyes, dejected looks, and bloodless cheeks.
It seemed, as slowly swung the passing bell,
On each full heart the solemn chimings fell:
Methought, on every lip a blessing hung,
But pious awe restrained the obedient tongue.
Each limb shook agueish; scarce a cheek was dry;
And blinded by the gush of tears, each eye
Spoke in the native tongue of genuine woe,
—“We come to weep the friend; not to admire the show.”—

Hail, hallowed Towers !—Oh! spread your portals wide;
Guest more illustrious never swelled your pride!

To meet his corse, ye Kindred Shades, arise,
Shades of the Good, the Glorious, and the Wise,
For He was glorious, wise, and good, like You!
Give place, ye Kings, and pay him reverence due:
Nor plead superior power, nor loftier birth;
His deeds are greatness, and He ranks from worth.

Oh! sad strange moment! when that awful word
Soul-felt, soul-rending “Dust to Dust!” was heard,
How stood the blood congealed in every vein!
How Memory wrung the heart, and fired the brain!
Oft as these walls have heard the solemn sound,
And oft as tears have dewed that hallowed ground,
From nobler eyes a tribute more sincere
Ne'er flowed, Oh! Fox, than flowed to bathe thy bier!
There princely Devon laboured to restrain
His bursting grief, but laboured still in vain.
In sorrow dignified there Moira stood,
Moira, the brave, the generous, and the good.
There Howick's heart was torn by many a sigh,
And soft affection dimmed his burning eye,

When in the grave He saw for aye descend
His mind's best model, and his soul's best Friend.
He too, the just, the true, the pure, the kind,
The mild in manners, and the firm in mind,
[Whose heart might bleed, but not whose virtue bend;
Who left the Statesman, yet still kept the Friend,
And counting Fox's love his proudest boast,
Who, e'en when most they differed, prized him most ]
Fitzwilliam there, as swelled the requiem strain,
Wept o'er his earliest friendship's broken chain.
And there too Thou, Heir to the Patriot's flame,
Heir to his worth, his talents, and his name,
Allied by virtue as allied by blood,
Like Fox sincere, warm, candid, kind, and good,
Thou, Holland.....No! let others fill the line;
'Twould pain my heart too much to speak the pains of thine!

Nor Those alone, whom earthly grief excites,
Here hang the head.—To grace the funeral rites,
Lo! where a band of bright ethereal Powers
Sigh o'er his corse, and deck his grave with flowers.
There stand the Patriot-Virtues, loath to part
For ever from their favourite home, his heart.
There History droops absorbed in speechless grief,
Blotting with idle tears the unfinished leaf,
And trampling in the dust those useless boughs
Of Bays, she gathered to adorn his brows.
Mourning her Sons disfranchised, while her eyes
Pursue the Patriot's shade to opening skies,
Religion there in sable garments stands,
And clasps in meek despair her shackled hands. .
And there too Peace her olive loves to wave,
And strows its withered leaves on Fox's grave;
For well she knows, e'en at that last sad hour
When Nature yielded to Disease's power,

Compelled from Fame, from Life, from Love to part,
Her absence still weighed heaviest on his heart.
And Freedom there, distracted and forlorn,
With heart all bleeding, and with locks all torn,
Weeps for his loss, nor weeps his loss alone;
She feels, that Fox's fate involves her own.
E'en now She hears from Afric's shores again
The moan of sorrow and the shriek of pain,
And sees, round sable limbs that chains are wound,
Limbs, had He lived, which never had been bound.

Oh! Thou, my Friend! [a name I give to few;
A name, which forms my pride, when given to you!]
I will not tell thee, Holland,—“seek relief
From sport or study, and forget thy grief!”—

No!—still preserve it! still before thy view
Keep Thou that great good Man; His plans pursue;
Recall his thoughts, words, looks, and what He was, Be you!
Though great by talents, virtue, birth, and fame,
—“The People's Friend”—was sure his proudest name:
Still in his race that gracious name should run
From patriot Sire to still more patriot Son.
Still should his Line its public virtue prove;
Till Britain's Gratitude and Britain's Love
The Epithet and Name so well shall blend,
That who says—“Fox”—has said—“the People's Friend.”—

So burned in Vesta's shrine the sacred Fire:
Oft though it saw the Guardian-Maid expire,
From age to age still blazed the immortal Flame,
The Priestess altered, but the Fire the same.

Hastings' Trial.

The American War.

His efforts to abolish the Slave-Trade; in which He had succeeded so far as to prevent more vessels from being employed in this traffic.

Westminster Abbey.

Alluding to the difference of opinion between Lord Fitzwilliam and Mr. Fox respecting the French Revolution.

His unfinished History of James the Second.

His efforts to procure the repeal of the Test Act.

On his death-bed Mr. Fox frequently expressed his anxiety for the restoration of Peace.

Great fears were entertained, that Mr. Fox's death would occasion the continuance of the Slave-Trade; but these apprehensions fortunately proved unfounded.