Page:The Works of Lord Byron (ed. Coleridge, Prothero) - Volume 1.djvu/406

364 The Spoiler swept that soaring Lyre away,

Which else had sounded an immortal lay.

Oh! what a noble heart was here undone,

When Science' self destroyed her favourite son!

Yes, she too much indulged thy fond pursuit,

She sowed the seeds, but Death has reaped the fruit.

'Twas thine own Genius gave the final blow,

And helped to plant the wound that laid thee low:

So the struck Eagle, stretched upon the plain,

No more through rolling clouds to soar again,

Viewed his own feather on the fatal dart,

And winged the shaft that quivered in his heart;

Keen were his pangs, but keener far to feel

He nursed the pinion which impelled the steel;

While the same plumage that had warmed his nest

Drank the last life-drop of his bleeding breast.

There be who say, in these enlightened days,

That splendid lies are all the poet's praise;