Byron possessed a bottom of plain sincerity and rational sobriety, which kept him substantially straight, real, and human, and made him a genuine exponent of that universal social movement which we sum up as the Revolution. . . . Nowhere else do we see drawn in such traits that colossal figure, which has haunted Europe these four score years and more, with its newborn passion, its half-controlled will, its constant cry for a multitude of unknown blessings under the single name of Freedom. . . Though Byron have no place in our own Minster, he assuredly belongs to the band of far-shining men of whom Pericles declared the whole world to be the tomb." JOHN MORLEY. "With Byron the last rays of the artificiality which had bound European expression for a century and a half were torn off and flung to the winds. He taught roughly, melodramatically, inconsistently, but he taught a lesson of force and vitality. He was full of technical faults, drynesses, flatnesses; he lacked the power to finish; he offended by a hundred careless impertinencies; but his whole being was an altar on which the flame of personal genius flared like a conflagration."— EDMUND Gosse. "Byron's cynicism is his testimony to the truth that man must live by faith; his bitterness of spirit means that to move sanely and joyously in a moral void is impossible. At the last moment his nobler self revolted against the baseness not only around him but within him, and it was the champion of Greek liberty who fell asleep at Missolonghi. In his delirium he was mounting a breach. 'Forward, forward, courage, follow my example.' When calm returned he was heard to murmur; 'Poor Greece! . . . I have given her my time, my means, my health, - and now I give her my life! What could I do more?'"- EDWARD DOWDEN. TO IANTHE NOT in those climes where I have late been straying, Hath aught like thee in truth or fancy seemed : Nor, having seen thee, shall I vainly seek To paint those charms which varied as they beamed · To such as see thee not my words were weak; To those who gaze on thee what language could they speak? Ah! may'st thou ever be what now thou art, 15 ΙΟ Young Peri° of the West!-'tis well for me Happier, that while all younger hearts shall bleed, To those whose admiration shall succeed, But mixed with pangs to Love's even loveliest hours decreed. Oh! let that eye, which, wild as the Gazelle's, Wins as it wanders, dazzles where it dwells, Such is thy name with this my verse entwined; 20 25 30 35 Of him who hailed thee, loveliest as thou wast, My days once numbered, should this homage past 40 require ? Though more than Hope can claim, could Friendship less 45 CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE CANTO FIRST I Он, thou! in Hellas deemed of heavenly birth,° II Whilome in Albion's Isle there dwelt a youth, O And flaunting wassailers of high and low degree. 5 IO 15 III Childe Harold was he hight:°. but whence his name And lineage long, it suits me not to say; Nor all that heralds rake from coffined clay, IV Childe Harold basked him in the noontide sun,° Nor deemed before his little day was done But long ere scarce a third of his passed by, Then loathed he in his native land to dwell, Which seemed to him more lone than Eremite's sad cell. V For he through Sin's long labyrinth had run, 20 25 30 35 40 45 |