the heath,
Nor wild flower bloom to paint a May day wreath;
Now cooling groves and flowery sweets are seen,
To form a landscape mid’ the varied scene;
Within whose sylvan shades we see reside,
In ease, content, and independent pride;
The Norfolk Yeomen rearing Heroes brave,
To guard Britannia while she rules the wave;
Just such a Peasantry in heart and nerve,
As England’s Genius glories to preserve.

Amid the fruitful hills and smiling vales,
Each grateful Tenant, his loved Landlord hails;
Whose spacious mansion tow’ring to the skies,
Central we see majestically rise;
Around whose bright demesnes, a happy race
Of wealthy Farmers share the fertile space;
And while they feel his favours grateful glow,
Though from his streams their smaller streamlets flow;
In chrystal currents, gliding pure and clear,
Through all the country round the swains to cheer.
Though his bright beams, just like the orb of day,
The lesser stars eclipses with his ray;
It warms, illumes, and gladdens as it shines,
Each minor Planet which around him twines
While as they circle near their central sun,
Illumin’d by his light their course they run;
Fed from his flame they own his golden rays,
And glisten round him in a silver blaze.

When Heavens indulgence joineth earth to skies,
In nice gradations does the chain arise;
From beast to man, from man the links extend,
Angels to Seraphs rise, and these ascend,
In shining orders, unto us unknown,
All stretching forward to the Empyrean throne;
Yet never destined, in their loftiest flight,
To reach the glorious source of life and light.
Thus if mens acts with Heavens we may compare,
Norfolk’s great Commoner his fame would rear;
Lifting the poor Plebeian from the dust,
The chain extending to a place of trust;
The trusty Servant to a Bailiff springs;
The Bailiff sinks, a cheerful Farmer sings;
The Farmer grows in wealth, wealth has no worth,
Until dispers’d among the sons of earth;
His Children rise with wealth, they learning gain,
And knowledge still extends the golden chain;
Wisdom in Virtue ends, and thus he tries
To raise a lowly Peasant to the skies;
Thus imitating Heaven while here below,
Endeavouring so his image fair to show,
In pristine beauty, bursting from the clay,
As from his makers hand, he sprung to day.

* * * * *

Could such a man then in the shades remain,
To cheer the heart and bless the labouring swain?
No, worth like his, which Greece or Rome might praise!
Wisdom denied this solace of his days;
And call’d him forth, to glad the noble band,
Of faithful champions for their native land;
To Britains Senate Virtue called her son,
And Liberty reviving hail’d her own.
Just at the crisis of that wasteful war,
Which misled Albion proclaim’d afar,
Across the Atlantic wave, where Slaughter stood,
And dyed the British hand with British blood;
Then as the County’s Genius look’d around,
To where her worthiest offspring might be found;
Soon Holkham’s glitt’ring turrets she discerned,
Where in her Coke the heart of Cato burned;
There like the good Cincennatus at plough,
In olden times, she ’spied her Patriot