James and Mary Ford, eds. Every Day in the Year. 1902.
July 7On the Death of Richard Brinsley Sheridan
By Lord Byron (17881824)Hath pass’d from day to darkness—to whose hour
Of light no likeness is bequeath’d—no name,
Focus at once of all the rays of Fame!
The flash of Wit—the bright Intelligence,
The beam of Song—the blaze of Eloquence,
Set with their Sun—but still have left behind
The enduring produce of immortal Mind;
Fruits of a genial morn, and glorious noon,
A deathless part of him who died too soon.
But small that portion of the wondrous whole,
These sparkling segments of that circling soul,
Which all embraced—and lighten’d over all,
To cheer—to pierce—to please—or to appall.
From the charm’d council to the festive board,
Of human feelings the unbounded lord;
In whose acclaim the loftiest voices vied,
The praised—the proud—who made his praise their pride.
When the loud cry of trampled Hindostan
Arose to Heaven in her appeal from man.
His was the thunder—his the avenging rod,
The wrath—the delegated voice of God!
Which shook the nations through his lips—and blazed
Till vanquish’d senates trembled as they praised.