I am, myself, especially partial to flowery Victorian eulogies for fallen heroes. They are especially fun when the hero in question was, in fact, a murderous sociopath, i. e.:

THE BURIAL OF WILD BILL
(from singing of Norman Blake)

Lyrics: "Captain Jack" Crawford
Melody: Ernest V. Stoneman

Under the sod in the land of gold
We have laid the fearless Bill;
We called him wild, yet a little child
Could bend his iron will.
With a generous heart he freely gave
To the poorly-clad unshod;
Think of it, pards, of his noble traits,
While you cover him with the sod.

Under the sod in the Deadwood gulch
We have laid his last remains.
No more his manly form will hail
The Red Man on the plains.
And many a heartfelt sigh was heard
As over the sward we trod,
And many an eye was filled with tears
As we covered him with the sod.

We buried him 'neath the old pine tree
In that little world of ours;
His trusty rifle by his side,
His grave all strewn with flowers;
His manly form in sweet repose,
That lovely silken hair;
It was a sight we can't forget,
That face so bright and fair.

Under the sod in the prairie land
We have laid the good and true;
An honest heart and a noble man
Has bade his last adieu.
No more his silvery voice will ring;
His spirit has gone to God;
Around his faults let charity cling
While we cover him with the sod.

Peter.