Page:The Works of Lord Byron (ed. Coleridge, Prothero) - Volume 4.djvu/302

264 Too oft forgets its own self-reverence,

And looks on prostitution as a duty.

He who once enters in a Tyrant's hall

As guest is slave—his thoughts become a booty,

And the first day which sees the chain enthral

A captive, sees his half of Manhood gone —

The Soul's emasculation saddens all

His spirit; thus the Bard too near the throne

Quails from his inspiration, bound to please,—

How servile is the task to please alone!

To smooth the verse to suit his Sovereign's ease

And royal leisure, nor too much prolong

Aught save his eulogy, and find, and seize,

Or force, or forge fit argument of Song!

Thus trammelled, thus condemned to Flattery's trebles,

He toils through all, still trembling to be wrong:

For fear some noble thoughts, like heavenly rebels,

Should rise up in high treason to his brain,

He sings, as the Athenian spoke, with pebbles

In's mouth, lest Truth should stammer through his strain.

But out of the long file of sonneteers

There shall be some who will not sing in vain,