NOTES. Page 2, note 1.] Oft when oppress'd with sad foreboding gloom, Byron's Childish Recollections. "They show a tomb in the churchyard at Harrow," says Mr. Moore (Notices of the Life of Lord Byron, vol. i, p. 52), “commanding a view over Windsor, which was so well known to be his favourite resting place, that the boys called it BYRON'S TOMB; and here they say he used to sit for hours, wrapt up in thought— brooding lonelily over the first stirrings of passion and genius in his soul." Page 11, note 2.] His eager spirit gloried to unite With demons of the storm, in revelry by night. It was my good fortune a short time since to become acquainted with a lady, who, from her knowledge of lord Byron's family, informed me of several interesting particulars in his lordship's character. Had my memory enabled me to have related faithfully the narrations of one whose good sense nearly equalled her kindness, I should have gratified my readers by merely inserting the lady's remarks, without attempting any version of my own, and I feel convinced that in so doing it would have justified Mr. Moore's observation, "that there are instances where poetry must be content to yield the palm to prose." I mention this here to show that I am not unmindful of my obligations, and because I am indebted to the same lady for the following anecdote which so well illustrates Byron's deep sentiment of the sublime. When visiting Switzerland the lady alluded to happened to be rowed on the lake of Geneva, by the man who frequently attended Lord Byron in similar excursions. This man accompanied his Lordship on the night of one of the most dreadful storms that ever excited the horrors of the beholders. The following is the substance of his narration. "His Lordship," said the man, "used frequently to go on the lake in stormy weather, and liked it most when it most thundered and lightened. One night an awful storm was coming on, and Lord Byron ordered me to bring out the boat. I refused on account of the danger. He became impatient, and insisted on my obeying him immediately. I was alarmed, but was obliged to comply. When on the lake, I trembled every limb, and expected every moment that we both should be lost. It thundered louder than ever I heard it before, and the dashing of the waves and uproar was terrible. Lord Byron appeared in ecstacy. He jumped up and down, throwing about his arms like a madman. His eyes seemed on fire, and to sparkle lightning, and he looked more like a 'diable' than a man. I scarcely dare look at him, for I almost imagined he was 'un des infernaux.' He cried, 'superbe, magnifique,' and said the sight was sublime. After witnessing the storm for a considerable time, he ordered the boat back to shore, and glad indeed I was when I found myself safe on land. His Lordship upbraided me for my cowardice and fear, but I could not help it."-Even those who have but superficially perused Byron's writings, cannot fail to have noticed his enthusiastic admiration of the sublime and beautiful. In canto third of Childe Harold he exclaims Sky, mountains, river, winds, lake, lightning! ye! Things that have made me watchful,"— and it is not improbable but that it was in the night alluded to above that the thunder storm occurred, which he thus pencils with his wonted fire "The sky is changed! and such a change! Oh night, From peak to peak the rattling crags among Such description indeed fully corroborates the account given by the boatman, and bespeaks a soul, which, as Jeffrey observes in No. LXXII. of the Edinburgh Review, "like a kindled furnace throws out its intense glare and gloomy grandeur on the scene which it irradiates." Page 17, note 3.] Sir Egerton Brydges, on this part of Byron's history, observes, "Thus then was this illustrious and mighty poet driven into exile! Yes! driven! Who would live in a country in which he had been so used, even though it was the land of his nativity, the land of a thousand noble ancestors, the land of freedom, the land where his head had been crowned with laurels-but where his heart had been tortured: where all his most generous and most noble thoughts had been distorted and rendered ugly, and where his slightest errors and indiscretions had been magnified into most hideous crimes!" Page 18, note 4.] That heart must be cold indeed, that can read unmoved the parting tribute of Lord Byron to his sister, who, as Mr. Moore observes, "through all his bitter trial, had been his sole consolation ;" and still more unfeeling if with gratitude it does not acknowledge the "sanctum aliquid et providum," to have been inherent in one to whom the following lines were addressed : When all around grew crear and dark, In that deep midnight of the mud, When Fortune changed, and Love Sed far, Which rose, and set not to the last. With joy then will every Byronist reecho the sentiments of the post applied to the same lady But thou and thine shall know no blight, Whatever fate on me shall fall, For Heaven in sunshine will requite Page 23, note ".] "Though thy slumbers may be deep There are shades which will not vanish, By a power to thee unknown Thou canst never be alone; Thou art wrapt as with a shroud, Thou art gathered in a cloud, And for ever shalt thou dwell In the spirit of this spell." Manfred. Page 23, note ".] "And a magic voice and verse, Hath baptiz'd thee with a curse, And a spirit of the air Hath begirt thee with a snare; In the wind there is a voice Shall forbid thee to rejoice." Ubi supra. Page 24, note 7.] I would wish to be understood as inserting this line, not indeed as if I believed that Byron actually had no sympathy with breathing flesh, but as one of the objections of his enemies to his moral character. For any one who will minutely study Byron's exaggerated mode of expressing himself, when influenced by love or hatred, will find but little argument in a few occasional sentences to support the charge of misanthropy in the accepted meaning of the word. Now, to pass over numerous instances that might be cited both from his poetry and letters that prove directly the opposite-the friendships, loves, and open-hearted qualities of the noble poet, fully refute the aspersion; and the fact of his having drawn his latest breath while asserting the common rights of humanity, will for ever affix But that he the stigma of calumny on his inimical accusers. was "all clay again," and felt himself "degraded back to man," if ever in the midst of his enraptured visions of ideal excellence, any such perchance "crossed him in his path," I readily grant; and who I would ask can contemplate the present state of monopolizing society, and not feel an abhorrence at the derogatory reflections which it enforces? who can survey the strife of the great Babel, and not feel annoyed by the pressure of the crowd? who gaze on their occupations, and not loathe their desires? or watch their movements, and not curse the malevolent propensities, that actuate the many? Well indeed then might Byron exclaim Oh! that the desert were my dwelling place, With one fair spirit for my minister, That I might all forget the human race The insipidity of this life's earthliness must to him have been E |