Lord Byron

Nathaniel Hazeltine Carter, in Pains of the Imagination (1824) 19-20.

Shade of departed genius! can I turn
From Greece, without a tribute to thine urn:
Byron! sad illustration of my theme!
Haunted and curst by fancy's wildering dream;
With talents, learning, fortune, honors blest,
The idol of the world, and yet its jest;
A peer, a vagrant; husband without wife;
Lord of estates, a houseless bard for life;
Pride of thy friends, and of thy native land,
A wandering exile on a foreign strand;
For greatness, usefulness, and glory born,
First winning wreaths, then trampling them in scorn;
The friend of freedom, generous, bold, and brave,
To nothing save thy wayward will a slave.
Peace to thy shade! — thy troubled dreams are o'er:
The world shall praise, condemn, admire no more.
But long thy memory shall be ador'd,
In that fair land, for which thou drew'st thy sword,
And Doric maidens, round thy Parian shrine,
Their paeans chant, and wreaths of glory twine.