Page:The Works of Lord Byron (ed. Coleridge, Prothero) - Volume 4.djvu/307

CANTO IV.] CANTO THE FOURTH.

are Poets who have never penned

Their inspiration, and perchance the best:

They felt, and loved, and died, but would not lend

Their thoughts to meaner beings; they compressed

The God within them, and rejoined the stars

Unlaurelled upon earth, but far more blessed

Than those who are degraded by the jars

Of Passion, and their frailties linked to fame,

Conquerors of high renown, but full of scars.

Many are Poets but without the name;

For what is Poesy but to create,

From overfeeling, Good or Ill, and aim

At an external life beyond our fate,

And be the new Prometheus of new men,

Bestowing fire from Heaven, and then, too late,

Finding the pleasure given repaid with pain,

And vultures to the heart of the bestower,

Who, having lavished his high gift in vain,