Under a Bust of Lord Camelford

Farewell, accomplish'd mind, and worth rever'd!
In all " the charities of life " endear'd!
The Arts in thee have lost their zealous guide,
And Senates heard thee with a Nation's pride:
A loyal subject , but the Regal trust
With spirit claiming, and severely just:
How kind a master , let afflictions tell,
That rudely utter what they feel so well!
How generous a parent , who shall speak,
If Nature's eloquence itself is weak!
If Imogen , by love in vain caress'd,
Feeds the mute anguish in her filial breast!
And bold Arviragus , with heart sincere,
Abjures relief, nor hides the manly tear!
The Husband lives , in glowing thoughts enshrin'd,
The temple of a consecrating mind,
Whose cheering lamp forbids thee to expire,
And renovates to love the deathless fire.
But, oh! the hapless Friend whom thou hast left
A Pilgrim in the world — of thee bereft!
Above the converse of inferior souls,
He pants for thee, as Time's dull orbit rolls;
Nor liberty enjoys — though Britain 's free,
Nor life — but in the memory of thee .
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