Page:The Works of Lord Byron (ed. Coleridge, Prothero) - Volume 1.djvu/144

104 For all my humble fame, to him alone,

The praise is due, who made that fame my own.

Oh! could I soar above these feeble lays,

These young effusions of my early days,

To him my Muse her noblest strain would give,

The song might perish, but the theme might live.

Yet, why for him the needless verse essay?

His honour'd name requires no vain display: