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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=512827" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Sonnet XI. To Sheridan</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=512827" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">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.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><a href="http://poems.citatepedia.com/">poem</a> by <strong><a rel="author" href="http://authors.citatepedia.com/by.php?a=Samuel+Taylor+Coleridge">Samuel Taylor Coleridge</a></strong></div>

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