BYRON.
His faults were great, his virtues less,
His mind a burning lamp of heaven;
His talents were bestowed to bless,
But were as vainly lost as given.
His mind a burning lamp of heaven;
His talents were bestowed to bless,
But were as vainly lost as given.
His was a harp of heavenly sound,
The numbers wild, and bold, and clear;
But ah! some demon, hovering round,
Tuned its sweet chords to 'Sin and Fear.
The numbers wild, and bold, and clear;
But ah! some demon, hovering round,
Tuned its sweet chords to 'Sin and Fear.
His was a mind of giant mould,
Which grasped at all beneath the skies;
And his a heart, so icy cold,
That virtue in its recess dies.
Which grasped at all beneath the skies;
And his a heart, so icy cold,
That virtue in its recess dies.
1823.
