Poem by James Smith

On Lord Byron

“He flatter’d in youth, he lampoon’d in his prime,”
	Quoth Memory’s bard of our poet:
But the fault was not his, – ’t was a deed done by Time, –
	My very next stanza shall show it.

Whoever has sported on Tempe’s green lawn
	Has found out the truth of the matter
’Tis plain that, by law mythologic, a Faun
	In process of time grows a Satyr.

1. On a Bad Writer

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