Page:The Works of Lord Byron (ed. Coleridge, Prothero) - Volume 1.djvu/377

Rh The sixteenth story, where himself was born,

His patrimonial garret, fell to ground,

And pale Edina shuddered at the sound:

Strewed were the streets around with milk-white reams,

Flowed all the Canongate with inky streams;

This of his candour seemed the sable dew,

That of his valour showed the bloodless hue;

And all with justice deemed the two combined

The mingled emblems of his mighty mind.

But Caledonia's goddess hovered o'er

The field, and saved him from the wrath of Moore;

From either pistol snatched the vengeful lead,

And straight restored it to her favourite's head;

That head, with greater than magnetic power,

Caught it, as Danäe caught the golden shower,

And, though the thickening dross will scarce refine,

Augments its ore, and is itself a mine.

"My son," she cried, "ne'er thirst for gore again,

Resign the pistol and resume the pen;

O'er politics and poesy preside,

Boast of thy country, and Britannia's guide!

For long as Albion's heedless sons submit,

Or Scottish taste decides on English wit,

So long shall last thine unmolested reign,

Nor any dare to take thy name in vain.