Thewindsofheavenblew，theoceanroll’dIt’sgatheringwaves——yefeltitnot。TheblueBar’ditseternalbosom，andthedewOfsummernightscollectedstilltomakeThemorningprecious：beautywasawake！
Whywereyenotawake?ButyeweredeadTothingsyeknewnotof，——werecloselywedTomustylawslinedoutwithwretchedruleAndcompassvile：sothatyetaughtaschoolOfdoltstosmooth，inlay，andclip，andfit，Till，likethecertainwandsofJacob’swit，Theirversestallied。Easywasthetask：
AthousandhandicraftsmenworethemaskOfPoesy。Ill-fated，impiousrace！
Thatblasphem’dthebrightLyristtohisface，Anddidnotknowit，——no，theywentabout，Holdingapoor，decrepidstandardoutMark’dwithmostflimsymottoes，andinlargeThenameofoneBoileau！”
ItwastheselinesthatraisedtheireofByron，whoregardedthemasanirreverentassaultuponhisfavoritepoet，Pope。