His was the thunder.

The wrath.

his the avenging rod,

the delegated voice of God!

Which shook the nations through his lips-and blazed Till vanquished senates trembled as they praised.*

And here, oh! here, where yet all young and warm The gay creations of his spirit charm,

The matchless dialogue

the deathless wit,

Which knew not what it was to intermit;

The glowing portraits, fresh from life, that bring
Home to our hearts the truth from which they spring;
These wondrous beings of his Fancy, wrought

To fulness by the fiat of his thought,
Here in their first abode you still may meet,

Bright with the hues of his Promethean heat;
A halo of the light of other days,

Which still the splendor of its orb betrays.

Commons. Mr. Pitt entreated the House to adjourn, to give time for a calmer consideration of the question than could then occur after the immediate effect of the oration.. -"Before my departure from England," says Gibbon, "I was present at the august spectacle of Mr. Hastings's trial in Westminster Hall. It is not my province to absolve or condemn the governor of India; but Mr. Sheridan's eloquence demanded my applause; nor could I hear without emotion the personal compliment which he paid me in the presence of the British nation. This display of genius blazed four successive days," etc. On being asked by a brother Whig, at the conclusion of the speech, how he came to compliment Gibbon with the epithet "luminous," Sheridan answered, in a half whisper, "I said 'voluminous.'"]

*["I heard Sheridan only once, and that briefly; but I liked his voice, his manner, and his wit. He is the only one of them I ever wished to hear at greater length." — Byron's Diary, 1821.]

But should there be to whom the fatal blight
Of failing Wisdom yields a base delight,
Men who exult when minds of heavenly tone
Jar in the music which was born their own,
Still let them pause·
ah! little do they know

That what to them seemed Vice might be but Woe.
Hard is his fate on whom the public gaze
Is fixed for ever to detract or praise;
Repose denies her requiem to his name,
And Folly loves the martyrdom of Fame.
The secret enemy whose sleepless eye
Stands sentinel

The foe- the fool

accuser

--

-judge — and spy,

the jealous—and the vain, The envious who but breathe in others' pain, Behold the host! delighting to deprave, Who track the steps of Glory to the grave, Watch every fault that daring genius owes Half to the ardor which its birth bestows, Distort the truth, accumulate the lie, And pile the Pyramid of Calumny!

These are his portion but if joined to these Gaunt Poverty should league with deep Disease. If the high Spirit must forget to soar,

And stoop to strive with Misery at the door,

*

[This was not fiction. Only a few days before his death, Sheridan wrote thus to Mr. Rogers:-"I am absolutely undone and broken-hearted. They are going to put the carpets out of window, and break into Mrs. S.'s room and take me: 150%. will remove all difficulty. For God's sake let me see you!" Mr. Moore was the immediate bearer of the required sum. This was

To soothe Indignity — and face to face

-

Meet sordid Rage - and wrestle with Disgrace,
To find in Hope but the renewed caress,
The serpent-fold of further Faithlessness:
If such may be the Ills which men assail,
What marvel if at last the mightiest fail?
Breasts to whom all the strength of feeling given
Bear hearts electric-charged with fire from
Heaven,

Black with the rude collision, inly torn,

By clouds surrounded, and on whirlwinds borne, Driven o'er the lowering atmosphere that nurst Thoughts which have turned to thunder - scorch and burst.*

But far from us and from our mimic scene

Such things should be - if such have ever been;
Ours be the gentler wish, the kinder task,

To give the tribute Glory need not ask,
To mourn the vanished beam — and add our mite
Of praise in payment of a long delight.
Ye Orators! whom yet our councils yield,
Mourn for the veteran Hero of your field!

---

written on the 15th of May. On the 14th of July, Sheridan's remains were deposited in Westminster Abbey, his pallbearers being the Duke of Bedford, the Earl of Lauderdale, Earl Mulgrave, the Lord Bishop of London, Lord Holland, and Earl Spencer.] [In the original MS.

*

"Abandoned by the skies, whose beams have nurst,
Their very thunders lighten - scorch-and burst."]

The worthy rival of the wondrous Three!*
Whose words were sparks of Immortality!
Ye Bards! to whom the Drama's Muse is dear,

He was your Master- emulate him here!
Ye men of wit and social eloquence! †

He was your brother - bear his ashes hence!
While Powers of mind almost of boundless range, ‡
Complete in kind as various in their change,
While Eloquence-Wit-Poesy-and Mirth,
That humbler Harmonist of care on Earth,
Survive within our souls.

while lives our sense

Of pride in Merit's proud pre-eminence,
Long shall we seek his likeness — long in vain,
And turn to all of him which may remain,
Sighing that Nature formed but one such man,
And broke the die—in moulding Sheridan!

Fox-Pitt- Burke.

† ["In society I have met Sheridan frequently. He was superb! I have seen him cut up Whitbread, quiz Madame de Staël, annihilate Colman, and do little less by some others of good fame and ability. I have met him at all places and parties and always found him convivial and delightful."-Byron's Diary, 1821.]

["The other night we were all delivering our respective and various opinions upon Sheridan, and mine was this:-'Whatever Sheridan has done or chosen to do has been par excellence always the best of its kind. He has written the best comedy (School for Scandal), the best drama (in my mind, far beyond that St. Giles's lampoon, the Beggars' Opera), the best farce (the Critic -it is only too good for a farce), and the best address (Monologue on Garrick), and, to crown all, delivered the very best oration (the famous Begum speech) ever conceived or heard in this country.'"-- Byron's Diary, Dec. 17, 1813.]

THE DREAM.

་་

"The Dream" - called in the first draught "The Destiny' - was written at Diodati, in July, 1816, and reflects the train of thought engendered by the recent quarrel with Lady Byron. The misery of his marriage led him to revert to his early passion for Miss Chaworth, whose union had proved no happier than his own.]

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