TO THE MEMORY

OF

WILLIAM

FIFTH DUKE OF DEVONSHIRE.

Go! Noble Heir of an illustrious race—
Go! Midst thy Patriot Fathers take thy place:
Thy last; thy hallowed Place.—How long, how deep
Shall be our sorrows, who for DEVON weep!
For His, the heart that felt for human kind:
His, the unalterably gentle mind,
Whose temper, formed in nature's happiest hour,
Wrath could not ruffle, nor affliction sour.
His, the high soul, from its exalted seat,
That viewed with calm disdain the meanly great;
That saw, unmoved, the storm of party rage;
But to his bosom clasped the Patriot sage.
Deceit or guile, that bosom never knew :
True to himself; to all men He was true:
And in his lightest a his gravest hour,
His every word proclaimed truth's sovereign power,
His, was the ray of judgment, clear and bright :
Error and Falsehood sunk before its light.