Page:The Works of Lord Byron (ed. Coleridge, Prothero) - Volume 1.djvu/439

Rh Though those shall sink, which now appear to thrive,

As Custom arbitrates, whose shifting sway

Our life and language must alike obey.

The immortal wars which Gods and Angels wage,

Are they not shown in Milton's sacred page?

His strain will teach what numbers best belong

To themes celestial told in Epic song.

The slow, sad stanza will correctly paint

The Lover's anguish, or the Friend's complaint.

But which deserves the Laurel—Rhyme or Blank?

Which holds on Helicon the higher rank?

Let squabbling critics by themselves dispute

This point, as puzzling as a Chancery suit.

Satiric rhyme first sprang from selfish spleen.

You doubt—see Dryden, Pope, St. Patrick's Dean.