Love will not tempt her future time, For her his wings have ceased to spread, No more he flutters round her head; Her day's Meridian now is past, The clouds of Age her Sun o'ercast; To her the strain was never sent, For feeling Souls alone 'twas meant-- The verse she seized, unask'd, unbade, And damn'd, ere yet the whole was read! Yes! for one single erring verse, Pronounced an unrelenting Curse; Yes! at a first and transient view, Condemned a heart she never knew.-- Can such a verdict then decide, Which springs from disappointed pride? Without a wondrous share of Wit, To judge is such a Matron fit? The rest of the censorious throng Who to this zealous Band belong, To her a general homage pay, And right or wrong her wish obey: Why should I point my pen of steel To break "such flies upon the wheel?" With minds to Truth and Sense unknown, Who dare not call their words their own. Rail on, Rail on, ye heartless Crew! Your Leader's grand design pursue: Secure behind her ample shield, Yours is the harvest of the field.-- My path with thorns you cannot strew, Nay more, my warmest thanks are due; When such as you revile my Name, Bright beams the rising Sun of Fame, Chasing the shades of envious night, Outshining every critic Light.-- Such, such as you will serve to show Each radiant tint with higher glow. Vain is the feeble cheerless toil, Your efforts on yourselves recoil; Then Glory still for me you raise, Yours is the Censure, mine the Praise. BYRON, December 1, 1806. [Footnote 1: From an autograph MS. at Newstead, now for the first time printed. There can be little doubt that these verses were called forth by the criticisms passed on the "Fugitive Pieces" by certain ladies of Southwell, concerning whom, Byron wrote to Mr. Pigot (Jan. 13, 1807), on sending him an early copy of the 'Poems', "That 'unlucky' poem to my poor Mary has been the cause of some animadversion from 'ladies in years'. I have not printed it in this collection in consequence of my being pronounced a most 'profligate sinner', in short a ''young Moore''" 'Life', p. 41.] SOLILOQUY OF A BARD IN THE COUNTRY. [1]