Lines on the Death of Sheridan

By Thomas Moore (1779–1852)

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That high-gifted man,

The pride of the palace, the bower, and the hall,

The orator—dramatist—minstrel,—who ran

Through each mode of the lyre, and was master of all!

Whose mind was an essence, compounded with art

From the finest and best of all other men’s powers—

Who ruled, like a wizard the world of the heart,

And could call up its sunshine, or bring down its showers!

Whose humour, as gay as the fire-fly’s light,

Played round every subject, and shone as it played—

Whose wit, in the combat, as gentle as bright,

Ne’er carried a heart-stain away on its blade;—

Whose eloquence—brightening whatever it tried,

Whether reason or fancy, the gay or the grave—

Was as rapid, as deep, and as brilliant a tide

As ever bore Freedom aloft on its wave!

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