Bp. Thomas Percy

Thomas Stott, "Elegiac Stanzas on the Death of the Right Rev. Thomas Percy, D.D. Late Bishop of Dromore" Morning Post (9 October 1811).

Thou solace in grief, from whom erst I could borrow
An opiate to lull slight sensations of pain,
Now, under the pressure of weightier sorrow,
My harp! I invoke thy assistance again.

For excellence rare from our vales has ascended,
To fill his bright sphere on Eternity's shore,
And Angels of Mercy his Spirit attended,
Preceded by blessings and prayers from the poor.

He cherish'd the germs and the blossoms of Genius—
For Genius, and Judgment, and Taste were his own—
While Virtue's choice plants in his mind bloom'd spontaneous,
And Friendship and Truth in his heart had their Throne.

As a Prelate, exemplary, dignified, zealous,
He faithfully practis'd the duties assign'd;
Of the fortune or fame of another ne'er jealous,
He enjoy'd that prime blessing — contentment of mind.

Ye vales, thro' which Lagan so long has meander'd,
Enriching you still as he glided along,
How oft have I paus'd, as I pensively wander'd,
To mark your wild graces, and paint them in song!

But ah, now no charms in your range I discover—
O'er the breast of the streamlet, the glen, and the grove,
The dark shades of sadness and solitude hover,
As mournful along your green borders I rove.

Be mute, now, my harp! — thy dull duty is ended,
Begun with reluctance, concluded with pain—
Since he, who thy humble exertions befriended,
Is gone, I'll perhaps ne'er invoke thee again.