An Elegy, to the Memory of the Right Honourable the Lord Ravensworth
Who died, January 30th, 1784, Aged 76.
Liddell, farewell! to all true Britons dear,
We mourn in heart, and shed the friendly tear:
Yet not for thee our eyes in tears we steep,
Our grief is selfish—for ourselves we weep:
No loss by death the worthy can sustain,
We are the losers—and our loss thy gain.
The rich have lost, by thy lamented end,
The best of neighbours; and the poor a friend.
O Ravensworth! thy hospitable door
Receiv’d the wealthy, and reliev’d the poor.
Adorn’d with ev’ry virtue, ev’ry grace
Which nature e’er bestow’d on human race.
Through a long life, example bright thou shone!
By all belov’d:—Now each regrets thou’rt gone!
Thy suff’rings here were weigh’d; nor shall thy death
Be more than ceasing of thy mortal breath;
Thy Master calls, ripe for thy Master’s joy,
Where love and bliss, the upright mind employ.
Speak ye, who knew him best, what man can say,
That Liddell could the distant friend betray!
To friendship true, no scandal from his tongue;
To hurt a friend, or do his foe a wrong.
For truth he try’d, enquir’d, and careful sought,
Yet lov’d the man altho’ he diff’rent thought.
Who’s right! be left to that decisive day,
When truth’s bright beams shall shine without allay.
Ne’er sway’d by notions, nor to schemes confin’d,
His breast was open to the honest mind.
Whatever noble warmth could recommend,
The just, the active, and the constant friend;
Whatever great or good we can adore,
Center’d in him—in him alas! no more.
Thus love, peace, joy, with a distinguish’d grace,
Shone thro’ the features of his friendly face.
How near approaches to a life divine,
The man in whom the peaceful virtues shine?
In public charities he foremost stood,
And likewise private——always doing good.
The poor, in him, a friend was sure to find,
And to their wants, his purse he free resign’d.
Such the kind man! May we like him be wise,
Pursue his virtuous steps, and with him reach the prize.
T.R.