Lyrics for Burke by Samuel Taylor Coleridge :
As late I lay in Slumber’s shadowy vale,
AAAAAAA&nbspWith wetted cheek and in a mourner’s guise,
AAAAAAA&nbspI saw the sainted form of Freedom rise:
She spake! not sadder moans the autumnal gale

‘Great Son of Genius! sweet to me thy name,
AAAAAAA&nbspEre in an evil hour with alter’d voice
AAAAAAA&nbspThou bad’st Oppression’s hireling crew rejoice
Blasting with wizard spell my laurell’d fame.

‘Yet never, Burke! thou drank’st Corruption’s bowl!
AAAAAAA&nbspThee stormy Pity and the cherish’d lure
AAAAAAA&nbspOf Pomp, and proud Precipitance of soul
Wilder’d with meteor fires. Ah Spirit pure!

‘That Error’s mist had left thy purgad eye:
So might I clasp thee with a Mother’s joy!’