The Works of Lord Byron: Letters and Journals
Chapter 182 : "Unblest by nature in thy mien, Pity might still have play'd her part, For o

"Unblest by nature in thy mien, Pity might still have play'd her part, For oft compa.s.sion has been seen, To soften into love the heart.

But when thy gloomy lines we read, And see display'd without controul, Th' ungentle thought, the Atheist creed, And all the rancour of the soul.

When bold and shameless ev'ry tie, That G.o.d has twin'd around the heart, Thy malice teaches to defy, And act on earth a Demon's part.

Oh! then from misanthropic pride We shrink--but pity too the fate Of youth and talents misapplied, Which, _if admired_, [1] we still must hate."

[Footnote 1: We say, _if admired_, as there is a great variety of opinions respecting Lord Byron's Poems. Some certainly extol them much, but most of the best judges place his Lords.h.i.+p rather low in the list of our minor Poets.]

(5) LINES ('Morning Post', February 11, 1814).

Suggested by perusing Lord Byron's small Poem, at the end of his "_Corsair_" addressed to a Lady weeping, beginning:

"_Weep, Daughter of a Royal Line_."

"To LORD BYRON.

"Were he the man thy verse would paint, '_A Sire's disgrace, a realm's decay_;'

Art thou the meek, the pious saint, That _prates_ of feeling night and day?

"Stern as the Pirate's [1] heart is thine, Without one ray to cheer its gloom; And shall that Daughter once repine, Because thy rude, unhallow'd line, Would on her virtuous cause presume?

"Hide, BYRON! in the shades of night-- Hide in thy own congenial cell The mind that would a fiend affright, _And shock the dunnest realms of h.e.l.l!_

"No; she will never weep the tears Which thou would'st Virtue's deign to call; Nor will they, in remoter years, Molest her Father's heart at all.

"Dark-vision'd man! thy moody vein Tends only to thy mental pain, And cloud the talents Heav'n had meant To prove the source of true content; Much better were it for thy soul, Both here and in the realms of bliss, To check the glooms that now controul Those talents, which might still repay The wrongs of many a luckless day, In such a _cheerless_[2] clime as this.

"But never strive to lure the heart From _one_ to which 'tis ever nearest, Lest from its duty it depart, And shun the Pow'r which should be dearest: For heav'n may sting thy heart in turn, And rob thee of thy sweetest treasure But, BYRON! thou hast yet to learn, _That Virtue is the source of pleasure!_"

TYRTaeUS.

G--n-street, Feb. 9, 1814.

[Footnote 1: 'The Corsair'.]

[Footnote 2: In allusion to the general melancholy character of his Lords.h.i.+p's poetical doctrines.]

(6) To LORD BYRON ('Morning Post', February 15, 1814).

Occasioned by reading his Poem, at the end of 'The Corsair', beginning:

"_Weep, Daughter of a Royal Line_."

Shame on the verse that dares intrude On Virtue's uncorrupted way-- That smiles upon Ingrat.i.tude, And charms us only to betray!

For this does BYRON'S muse employ The calm unbroken hours of night?

And wou'd she basely thus destroy The source of all that's just-upright?

Traitor to every moral law!

Think what thy own cold heart wou'd feel, If some insidious mind should draw Thy daughter [1] from her filial zeal.

And dost thou bid the offspring shun Its father's fond, incessant care?

Why, every sister, sire, and son, Must loathe thee as the poison'd air!

BYRON! thy dark, unhallow'd mind, Stor'd as it is with Atheist writ, Will surely, never, never find, One convert to admire its wit!

Thou art a planet boding woe, Attractive for thy novel mien-- A calm, but yet a deadly foe, Most baneful when thou'rt most serene!

Tho' fortune on thy course may s.h.i.+ne, Strive not to lead the mind astray, Nor let one impious verse of thine, The unsuspecting heart betray!

But rather let thy talents aim To lead incautious youth aright; Thus shall thy works acquire that fame, Which ought to be thy chief delight.

"The verse, however smooth it flow, Must be abhorr'd, abjur'd, despis'd, When Virtue feels a secret blow, And order finds her course surpris'd."