Page:The Works of Lord Byron (ed. Coleridge, Prothero) - Volume 2.djvu/318

282 Breathed most in ridicule,—which, as the wind,

Blew where it listed, laying all things prone,—

Now to o'erthrow a fool, and now to shake a throne.

CVII.

The other, deep and slow, exhausting thought,

And hiving wisdom with each studious year,

In meditation dwelt—with learning wrought,

And shaped his weapon with an edge severe,

Sapping a solemn creed with solemn sneer:

The lord of irony,—that master-spell,