But the pure Norman was the sacred spring,
And he, Sir Denys, was in heart a king: 
Erect in person and so firm in soul,
Fortune he seem’d to govern and control: 
Generous as he who gives his all away,
Prudent as one who toils for weekly pay;
In him all merits were decreed to meet,
Sincere though cautious, frank and yet discreet,
Just all his dealings, faithful every word,
His passions’ master, and his temper’s lord.” 
   Yet more, kind dealers in decaying fame? 
His magnanimity you next proclaim;
You give him learning, join’d with sound good sense,
And match his wealth with his benevolence;
What hides the multitude of sins, you add,
Yet seem to doubt if sins he ever had. 
   Poor honest Truth! thou writ’st of living men,
And art a railer and detractor then;
They die, again to be described, and now
A foe to merit and mankind art thou! 
   Why banish Truth?  It injures not the dead,
It aids not them with flattery to be fed;
And when mankind such perfect pictures view,
They copy less, the more they think them true. 
Let us a mortal as he was behold,
And see the dross adhering to the gold;
When we the errors of the virtuous state,
Then erring men their worth may emulate. 
   View then this picture of a noble mind,
Let him be wise, magnanimous, and kind;
What was the wisdom?  Was it not the frown
That keeps all question, all inquiry down? 
His words were powerful and decisive all,
But his slow reasons came for no man’s call. 
“’Tis thus,” he cried, no doubt with kind intent,
To give results and spare all argument:  —
   “Let it be spared—­all men at least agree
Sir Denys Brand had magnanimity: 
His were no vulgar charities; none saw
Him like the Merchant to the hut withdraw;
He left to meaner minds the simple deed,
By which the houseless rest, the hungry feed
His was a public bounty vast and grand,
’Twas not in him to work with viewless hand;
He raised the Room that towers above the street,
A public room where grateful parties meet;
He first the Life-boat plann’d; to him the place
Is deep in debt—­’twas he revived the Race;
To every public act this hearty friend
Would give with freedom or with frankness lend;
His money built the Jail, nor prisoner yet
Sits at his ease, but he must feel the debt;
To these let candour add his vast display;
Around his mansion all is grand and gay,
And this is bounty with the name of pay.” 
   I grant the whole, nor from one deed retract,
But wish recorded too the private act: 
All these were great, but still our hearts approve
Those simpler tokens of the Christian love;
’Twould give me joy some gracious deed to meet
That has not call’d for glory through the street: 
Who felt for many, could not always shun,
In some soft moment, to be kind to one;
And yet they tell us, when Sir Denys died,