Page:The Works of Lord Byron (ed. Coleridge, Prothero) - Volume 4.djvu/305

CANTO III.] Must all the finer thoughts, the thrilling sense,

The electric blood with which their arteries run,

Their body's self turned soul with the intense

Feeling of that which is, and fancy of

That which should be, to such a recompense

Conduct? shall their bright plumage on the rough

Storm be still scattered? Yes, and it must be;

For, formed of far too penetrable stuff,

These birds of Paradise but long to flee

Back to their native mansion, soon they find

Earth's mist with their pure pinions not agree,

And die or are degraded; for the mind

Succumbs to long infection, and despair,

And vulture Passions flying close behind,

Await the moment to assail and tear;

And when, at length, the wingéd wanderers stoop,

Then is the Prey-birds' triumph, then they share

The spoil, o'erpowered at length by one fell swoop.

Yet some have been untouched who learned to bear,

Some whom no Power could ever force to droop,