Page:The Works of Lord Byron (ed. Coleridge, Prothero) - Volume 2.djvu/416

374 With many a sweet and solemn requiem breathed

O'er him who formed the Tuscan's siren tongue?

That music in itself, whose sounds are song,

The poetry of speech? No;—even his tomb

Uptorn, must bear the hyæna bigot's wrong,

No more amidst the meaner dead find room,

Nor claim a passing sigh, because it told for whom!

LIX.

And Santa Croce wants their mighty dust;

Yet for this want more noted, as of yore

The Cæsar's pageant, shorn of Brutus' bust,

Did but of Rome's best Son remind her more: