George Gordon Noel Byron

What exile from himself can flee?
To zones, though more and more remote,
Still, still pursues, where'er read more

What exile from himself can flee?
To zones, though more and more remote,
Still, still pursues, where'er I be,
The blight of life--the demon Thought.

While Washington's a watchword, such as ne'er
Shall sink while there's an echo left to air.

While Washington's a watchword, such as ne'er
Shall sink while there's an echo left to air.

On, Amos Cottle!--Phoebus! what a name!

On, Amos Cottle!--Phoebus! what a name!

With more capacity for love than earth
Bestows on most of mortal mould and birth,
His early read more

With more capacity for love than earth
Bestows on most of mortal mould and birth,
His early dreams of good out-stripp'd the truth,
And troubled manhood follow'd baffled youth.

Fools are my theme, let satire be my song.

Fools are my theme, let satire be my song.