BYRON ON THE EVANESCENCE OF A POET'S FAME

Yet what avails the sanguine poet's hope

To conquer ages, and with time to cope?

New eras spread their wings, new nations rise

And other victors fill the applauding skies.

A few brief generations fleet along,

Whose sons forget the poet and his song :

E'en now, what once loved minstrels scarce may claim

The transient mention of a dubious name !

When Fame's loud trump hath blown its noblest blast,

Though long the sound, the echo sleeps at last.

And Glory, like the Phoenix midst her fires,

Exhales her odours, blazes and expires.