Page:The Works of Lord Byron (ed. Coleridge, Prothero) - Volume 1.djvu/253

Rh TO A KNOT OF UNGENEROUS CRITICS.

on, Rail on, ye heartless crew!

My strains were never meant for you;

Remorseless Rancour still reveal,

And damn the verse you cannot feel.

Invoke those kindred passions' aid,

Whose baleful stings your breasts pervade;

Crush, if you can, the hopes of youth,

Trampling regardless on the Truth:

Truth's Records you consult in vain,

She will not blast her native strain;

She will assist her votary's cause,

His will at least be her applause,

Your prayer the gentle Power will spurn;

To Fiction's motley altar turn,

Who joyful in the fond address

Her favoured worshippers will bless:

And lo! she holds a magic glass,

Where Images reflected pass,