At the one weakness! 'Twas a fervid child,

That song of his; no brother of the guild

Had e'er conceived its like. The rest you know,

The exaltation and the overthrow:

Our poet lost his purpose, lost his rank,

His life—to that it came. Yet envy sank

Within him, as he heard Sordello out,

And, for the first time, shouted—tried to shout

Like others, not from any zeal to show

Pleasure that way: the common sort did so.