take my chance once more with that versification, in which I have hitherto published nothing but compositions whose former circulation is part of my present and will be of my future regret. With regard to my story, and stories in general, I should have been glad to have rendered my personages more perfect and amiable, if possible, inasmuch as I have been sometimes criticised, and considered no less responsible for their deeds and qualities than if all had been personal. Be it so—if I have deviated into the gloomy vanity of " drawing from self," the pictures are probably like, since they are unfavourable; and if not, those who know me are undeceived, and those who do not, I have little interest in undeceiving. I have no particular desire that any but my acquaintance should think the author better than the beings of his imagining; but I cannot help a little surprise, and perhaps amusement, at some odd critical exceptions in the present instance, when I see several bards (far more deserving, I allow) in very reputable plight, and quite exempted from all participation in the faults of those heroes, who, nevertheless, might be found with little more morality than "The Giaour," and perhaps-but no-I must admit Childe Harold to be a very repulsive personage; and as to his identity, those who like it must give him whatever "alias" they please. If, however, it were worth while to remove the impression, it might be of some service to me, that the man who is alike the delight of his readers and his friends-the poet of all circles-and the idol of his own, permits me here and elsewhere to subscribe myself, most truly, and affectionately, his obedient servant, January 2, 1814. BYRON. «O'ER the glad waters of the dark blue sea, "Our thoughts as boundless, and our souls as free, "Far as the breeze can bear, the billows foam, Survey our empire and behold our home! "These are our realms, no limits to their sway- B 10 |