Lord Byron on Phoenix

“When fame's loud trump hath blown its noblest blast, Though long the sound, the echo sleeps at last; And glory, like the phoenix midst her fires, Exhales her odours, blazes, and expires.”

“First in the ranks see Joan of Arc advance, The scourge of England and the boast of France! Though burnt by wicked Bedford for a witch, Behold her statue plac'd in glory's niche; Her fetters burst, and just releas'd from prison, A virgin phoenix from her ashes risen.”