Page:The Works of Lord Byron (ed. Coleridge, Prothero) - Volume 2.djvu/402

360 XLI.

The lightning rent from Ariosto's bustN11

The iron crown of laurel's mimicked leaves;

Nor was the ominous element unjust,

For the true laurel-wreath which Glory weavesN12

Is of the tree no bolt of thunder cleaves,

And the false semblance but disgraced his brow;

Yet still, if fondly Superstition grieves,

Know, that the lightning sanctifies belowN13

Whate'er it strikes;—yon head is doubly sacred now.