In stooping, as he did, to write after established models, as well in the Satire as in his still earlier poems, he showed how little he had yet explored his own original resources, or found out those distinctive marks by which he was to be known through all times. But, bold and energetic as was his general character, he was, in a remarkable degree, diffident in his intellectual powers. The consciousness of what he could achieve was but by degrees forced upon him, and the discovery of so rich a mine of genius in his soul came with no less surprise on himself than on the world. It was from the same slowness of self-appreciation that, afterwards, in the full flow of his fame, he long doubted, as we shall see, his own aptitude for works of wit and humour,--till the happy experiment of "Beppo" at once dissipated this distrust, and opened a new region of triumph to his versatile and boundless powers. But, however far short of himself his first writings must be considered, there is in his Satire a liveliness of thought, and still more a vigour and courage, which, concurring with the justice of his cause and the sympathies of the public on his side, could not fail to attach instant celebrity to his name. Notwithstanding, too, the general boldness and recklessness of his tone, there were occasionally mingled with this defiance some allusions to his own fate and character, whose affecting earnestness seemed to answer for their truth, and which were of a nature strongly to awaken curiosity as well as interest. One or two of these passages, as illustrative of the state of his mind at this period, I shall here extract. The loose and unfenced state in which his youth was left to grow wild upon the world is thus touchingly alluded to:-- "Ev'n I, least thinking of a thoughtless throng, Just skill'd to know the right and choose the wrong, Freed at that age when Reason's shield is lost To fight my course through Passion's countless host, Whom every path of Pleasure's flowery way Has lured in turn, and all have led astray[105]-- Ev'n I must raise my voice, ev'n I must feel Such scenes, such men destroy the public weal: Although some kind, censorious friend will say, 'What art thou better, meddling fool,[106] than they?' And every brother Rake will smile to see That miracle, a Moralist, in me." But the passage in which, hastily thrown off as it is, we find the strongest traces of that wounded feeling, which bleeds, as it were, through all his subsequent writings, is the following:-- "The time hath been, when no harsh sound would fall From lips that now may seem imbued with gall, Nor fools nor follies tempt me to despise The meanest thing that crawl'd beneath my eyes. But now so callous grown, so changed from youth," &c.