As, in far realms, where Eastern kings are laid,
In pomp of death, beneath the cypress shade,
The perfumed lamp, with unextinguish'd light,
Flames through the vault, and cheers the gloom of night;
So, EDMUND BURKE, in thy sepulchral urn,
To fancy's view, the lamp of truth shall burn;
Thither late times shall turn their reverent eyes,
Led by thy light, and by thy wisdom wise.