Page:The Works of Lord Byron (ed. Coleridge, Prothero) - Volume 1.djvu/414

372 And other Victors fill th' applauding skies;

A few brief generations fleet along,

Whose sons forget the Poet and his song:

E'en now, what once-loved Minstrels scarce may claim

The transient mention of a dubious name!

When Fame's loud trump hath blown its noblest blast,

Though long the sound, the echo sleeps at last;

And glory, like the Phœnix midst her fires,

Exhales her odours, blazes, and expires.

Shall hoary Granta call her sable sons,

Expert in science, more expert at puns?

Shall these approach the Muse? ah, no! she flies,

Even from the tempting ore of Seaton's prize;

Though Printers condescend the press to soil

With rhyme by, and epic blank by :