And roared around it with a thousand tongues.
As changed the wind her organ, so she changed
Perpetually; and whom she praised to-day,
Vexing his ear with acclamations loud,
To-morrow blamed, and hissed him out of sight.
Pollok.
True fame’s a plant that seems to need
A body buried—for its seed;
And ere the churlish sucklings thrive,
The parent-stock must cease to live.