Page:The Works of Lord Byron (ed. Coleridge, Prothero) - Volume 1.djvu/399

Rh One common Lethe waits each hapless Bard,

And, peace be with you! 'tis your best reward.

Such damning fame; as Dunciads only give

Could bid your lines beyond a morning live;

But now at once your fleeting labours close,

With names of greater note in blest repose.

Far be't from me unkindly to upbraid

The lovely 's prose in masquerade,

Whose strains, the faithful echoes of her mind,

Leave wondering comprehension far behind.

Though Crusca's bards no more our journals fill,

Some stragglers skirmish round the columns still;

Last of the howling host which once was Bell's,

Matilda snivels yet, and Hafiz yells;