Page:The Works of Lord Byron (ed. Coleridge, Prothero) - Volume 1.djvu/340

298 Prepare for rhyme—I'll publish, right or wrong: Fools are my theme, let Satire be my song.

Oh! Nature’s noblest gift—my grey goose-quill! Slave of my thoughts, obedient to my will, Torn from thy parent bird to form a pen, That mighty instrument of little men! The pen! foredoomed to aid the mental throes Of brains that labour, big with Verse or Prose; Though Nymphs forsake, and Critics may deride, The Lover's solace, and the Author's pride. What Wits! what Poets dost thou daily raise! How frequent is thy use, how small thy praise!