From Canto III of Byron’s Don Juan:
LXXXVII. Thus sung, or would, or could, or should have sung, The modern Greek, in tolerable verse; If not like Orpheus quite, when Greece was young, Yet in these times he might have done much worse: His strain displayed some feeling — right or wrong; And feeling, in a poet, is the source Of others’ feeling; but they are such liars, And take all colours — like the hands of dyers.
LXXXVIII. But words are things, and a small drop of ink, Falling like dew, upon a thought, produces That which makes thousands, perhaps millions, think; ‘Tis strange, the shortest letter which man uses Instead of speech, may form a lasting link Of ages; to what straits old Time reduces Frail man, when paper — even a rag like this, Survives himself, his tomb, and all that’s his!
LXXXIX. And when his bones are dust, his grave a blank, His station, generation, even his nation, Become a thing, or nothing, save to rank In chronological commemoration, Some dull MS. Oblivion long has sank, Or graven stone found in a barrack’s station In digging the foundation of a closet, May turn his name up, as a rare deposit.
XC. And Glory long has made the sages smile; ‘Tis something, nothing, words, illusion, wind — Depending more upon the historian’s style Than on the name a person leaves behind: Troy owes to Homer what whist owes to Hoyle: The present century was growing blind To the great Marlborough’s skill in giving knocks, Until his late Life by Archdeacon Coxe.
XCI. Milton’s the Prince of poets — so we say; A little heavy, but no less divine: An independent being in his day — Learned, pious, temperate in love and wine; But, his life falling into Johnson’s way, We’re told this great High Priest of all the Nine Was whipped at college — a harsh sire — odd spouse, For the first Mrs. Milton left his house.
XCII. All these are, certes, entertaining facts, Like Shakespeare’s stealing deer, Lord Bacon’s bribes; Like Titus’ youth, and Cæsar’s earliest acts; Like Burns (whom Doctor Currie well describes); Like Cromwell’s pranks; — but although Truth exacts These amiable descriptions from the scribes, As most essential to their Hero’s story, They do not much contribute to his glory.
