Roll on, vain days! full reckless may ye flow, Since Time hath reft whate’er my soul enjoy’d, And with the ills of Eld mine earlier years alloy’d. - Lord Byron

I want a hero: an uncommon want,
When every year and month sends forth a new one,
Till, after cloying the gazettes with cant, The age discovers he is not the true one;

Who knows whether, when a comet shall approach this globe to destroy it, as it often has been and will be destroyed, men will not tear rocks from their foundations by means of steam, and hurl mountains, as the giants are said to have done, against the flaming mass?—and then we shall have traditions of Titans again, and of wars with Heaven.

How dull! to hear the voice of those
Whom Rank or Chance, whom Wealth or Power,
Have made, though neither friends nor foes,
Associates of the festive hour.
Give me again a faithful few,
In years and feelings still the same,
And I will fly the midnight crew,
Where boist'rous Joy is but a name.