Page:The Works of Lord Byron (ed. Coleridge, Prothero) - Volume 4.djvu/106

73 So feels the fulness of our heart and eyes

When all of Genius which can perish dies.

A mighty Spirit is eclipsed—a Power

Hath passed from day to darkness—to whose hour

Of light no likeness is bequeathed—no name,

Focus at once of all the rays of Fame!

The flash of Wit—the bright Intelligence,

The beam of Song—the blaze of Eloquence,

Set with their Sun, but still have left behind

The enduring produce of immortal Mind;

Fruits of a genial morn, and glorious noon,

A deathless part of him who died too soon.

But small that portion of the wondrous whole,

These sparkling segments of that circling Soul,

Which all embraced, and lightened over all,

To cheer—to pierce—to please—or to appal.

From the charmed council to the festive board,

Of human feelings the unbounded lord;

In whose acclaim the loftiest voices vied,

The praised—the proud—who made his praise their pride.

When the loud cry of trampled Hindostan

Arose to Heaven in her appeal from Man,

His was the thunder—his the avenging rod,

The wrath—the delegated voice of God!

Which shook the nations through his lips, and blazed

Till vanquished senates trembled as they praised.

And here, oh! here, where yet all young and warm,

The gay creations of his spirit charm,