Edmund Burke

John of Hazelgreen, "A Trifle to the Memory of the Right Hon. Edmund Burke" Walker's Hibernian Magazine (October 1797) 372.

These lines, Oh Burke, by modesty set forth,
Is a faint picture of thy living worth;
But now translated to an heavenly clime,
Let kindred angels paint thy worth divine.

Where is the wreath to matchless merit due?
Where is the tear of sympathetic woe?
Where is the laurel for distinguish'd worth?
Ye mourning muses call your numbers forth.
Lov'd eloquence, thy darling son is gone,
Succeeding ages will the loss bemoan,
Fair truth seraphic sat upon his tongue,
Then thousand graces on his accents hung.
The dazzling grand sublimity of thought,
In nature's varied colours finely wrought,
The speaking glance, whose silent words refin'd,
Depicts the radiant beauty of the mind.
The look expressive — whose dread force extracts
A mute attention — every eye attracts,
Harmonious speech, whose soft and feeling tone,
Gives words a melody, before unknown,
In wit unrivall'd, wisdom unexcell'd,
Unerring justice this grand truth compell'd;
(By friends enraptur'd — foes reluctant given,)
That "BURKE had every virtue under heaven."
Sept. 23d. 1797.