It was some spirit, Sheridan! that breath'd <br />O'er thy young mind such wildly-various power! <br />My soul hath marked thee in her shaping hour, <br />Thy temples with Hymettian flowrets wreath'd: <br />And sweet thy voice, as when o'er Laura's bier <br />Sad music trembled thro' Vauclusa's glade; <br />Sweet, as at dawn the love-lorn Serenade <br />That wafts soft dreams to Slumber's list'ning ear. <br />Now patriot Rage and Indignation high <br />Swell the full tones! And now thine eye-beams dance <br />Meanings of Scorn and Wit's quaint revelry! <br />Writhes inly from the bosom-probing glance <br />Th' Apostate by the brainless rout adores, <br />As erst that elder Fiend beneath great Michael's sword.<br /><br />Samuel Taylor Coleridge<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/sonnet-xi-to-sheridan/
