Lord Byron

Dabney Carr Terrell, "On Lord Byron" 1824; Virginia Literary Museum 1 (19 May 1830) 774-75.

Cold is the heart and mute the tongue
That keenly felt and sweetly sung;
That spirit high which us'd to soar
To its own native seats among
Angels and Gods: e'en while it wore
An earthly clog, aside hath flung
The only bar that stood between
Itself and what it should have been.
O'er brightest sun that ever rose
Darkness and storms and clouds may close,
But the intense and scorching blaze
Which could the noxious vapours raise
Can scatter them; e'en so with him
Though deadly malice could bedim
The lustre of his matchless fame,
Justice and truth their order claim,
And what say they? That Seraphs err'd
And were condemn'd but not unheard;
That men however good or great
Are not, alas! immaculate:
They bid us mourn a mind sublime
Which spurn'd the bounds of place and time;
They bid us mourn the mightiest soul
That e'er was link'd to clay's control,
Which scorn'd alike the servile crowd
And idols base to whom it bow'd:
They bid us mourn exalted worth
Which seem'd to own a heavenly birth;
For all have shar'd one common doom
And sleep interr'd in Byron's tomb.