Elizabeth Sheridan

Anonymous, "Lines on the Death of Mrs. Sheridan" Bath Journal (13 August 1792).

Sunk is that peerless Form, which once could boast
An Angel's beauty, and a Seraph's fire;
Those melting accents, now for ever lost,
That late sublimest rapture could inspire.

O LINLEY! SHERIDAN! — to thee each name,
Its brightest lustre fairest Fame shall owe;
'Midst tuneful Sisters, thy unrival'd claim,
Thy charm superior, all our hearts allow.

Nor shall thy husband's triumph dare aspire
To the unspotted laurels thou hast won;
Tho' list'ning Senates own his force and fire,
And ELOQUENCE adopt him for her Son.

His splendid talents not unclouded shine,
Incongruous manners shame the patriot cause,
While earth-born mists obscure the ray divine,
E'en GENIUS' self shall meet with cold applause.

But, oh! the rap'trous swell, th' extatic tear,
By thy celestial harmony inspir'd;
When sacred strains pour'd on the ravish'd ear,
Each melting heart with strong devotion fir'd.

To captivate the sense, thy poorest praise,
'Twas thine to lift the soul to that pure source,
Whence thy resistless beauty borrow'd rays
Which lent thy perfect note its magic Force.