Ode to the Memory of the late lamented SIR SAMUEL ROMILLY
Reading edition
Well may Britons waft the sigh, Since Romilly’s no more; Till our existance from us fly, We shall his loss deplore.
Oh! death thy keen unwelcome dart, Caus’d Briton’s tears to flow; ’Twas you compell’d him to depart, And gave the deadly blow.
His virtues we shall long retain, They are planted in each breast; Till death they will with us remain, By all he was carest.
I oft have heard his accents sweet, Flow graceful from his tongue. Applause would all his efforts greet, For music on them hung.
His reasoning powers none could excel, For truth appeared in view; As orator he spoke so well, It oft compassion drew.
The callous heart could not refrain To shed soft Pity’s tear; He spoke in such pathetic strain, As caused the falling tear.
He set the injured captive free, Oppression wou’d subdue; A zealous friend to liberty, And Briton’s knew it true.
Whene’er his duty would allow, He’d seek domestic joy; To stern afflictions forc’d to bow, And that all peace destroy.
His loss, we ever shall deplore, And may his spirit rest With virtuous souls long call’d before, And numbered with the blest.
Yet ere his spirit fled away, God summoned her above, Who passed with him each happy day, And gave him love for love.
Oh may his offspring never feel, Those pangs he did endure; No friendly aid the wound could heal, Nor medicine health procure.
May our redeemer pardon gain, For him and for us all; Soon as we cease from earthly pain, Or God our spirits call.
Walker, Printer, near the Duke’s Palace, Norwich.