Page:The Works of Lord Byron (ed. Coleridge, Prothero) - Volume 1.djvu/423

Rh The time hath been, when no harsh sound would fall

From lips that now may seem imbued with gall;

Nor fools nor follies tempt me to despise

The meanest thing that crawled beneath my eyes:

But now, so callous grown, so changed since youth,

I've learned to think, and sternly speak the truth;

Learned to deride the critic's starch decree,

And break him on the wheel he meant for me;

To spurn the rod a scribbler bids me kiss,

Nor care if courts and crowds applaud or hiss:

Nay more, though all my rival rhymesters frown,

I too can hunt a Poetaster down;

And, armed in proof, the gauntlet cast at once

To Scotch marauder, and to Southern dunce.

Thus much I've dared; if my incondite lay

Hath wronged these righteous times, let others say:

This, let the world, which knows not how to spare,

Yet rarely blames unjustly, now declare.