Page:The Works of Lord Byron (ed. Coleridge, Prothero) - Volume 1.djvu/394

352 Truth! rouse some genuine Bard, and guide his hand

To drive this pestilence from out the land.

E'en I—least thinking of a thoughtless throng,

Just skilled to know the right and choose the wrong,

Freed at that age when Reason's shield is lost,

To fight my course through Passion's countless host,

Whom every path of Pleasure's flow'ry way

Has lured in turn, and all have led astray—

E'en I must raise my voice, e'en I must feel

Such scenes, such men, destroy the public weal:

Altho' some kind, censorious friend will say,

"What art thou better, meddling fool, than they?"

And every Brother Rake will smile to see

That miracle, a Moralist in me.

No matter—when some Bard in virtue strong,

Gifford perchance, shall raise the chastening song,

Then sleep my pen for ever! and my voice

Be only heard to hail him, and rejoice,

Rejoice, and yield my feeble praise, though I

May feel the lash that Virtue must apply.

As for the smaller fry, who swarm in shoals

From silly up to simple ,