To a Lady

Sweet are the siren songs on eastern shores,
To songs as sweet are pulled our English oars:
And farther upon ocean venture forth
The lofty sails that leave the wizard north.
Altho' by tits so dense a cloud of smoke
Puffs from his sappy and ill-season'd oak.
Yet, as the Spirit of the Dream draws nc&r,
Remembered loves make Byron's self sincere.
The puny heart within him swells to view,
The man grows loftier and the poet too.
When War sweeps nations down with iron wings,
Alcaeus never sang as Campbell sings;
And, caught by playful wit and graceful lore,
The Muse invoked by Horace bends to Moore.
Theirs, not my verses, come I to repeat,
So draw the footstool nearer to your feet.