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EFFUSION ON THE DEATH OF LORD BYRON.
'Tis said that stars have fallen, yet have left
No tell-tale blank i' th' blue sky—stars remote,
Whose light till then had never reached the eye,
Filling the gap to vision. But not so
Hast thou descended from the heaven of song—
Thou wast a star of wildest and most marked
Effulgence, and thy fall hath left a blank,
A lonely and a mournful blank, which none—
No—none shall ever fill again!
No tell-tale blank i' th' blue sky—stars remote,
Whose light till then had never reached the eye,
Filling the gap to vision. But not so
Hast thou descended from the heaven of song—
Thou wast a star of wildest and most marked
Effulgence, and thy fall hath left a blank,
A lonely and a mournful blank, which none—
No—none shall ever fill again!
O Byron!
How much of admiration and of hope,
Of worship deep from hearts thy strains have touched,
Of grief from those who watched thy wanderings
And wept them—hath been centred in that name!
How much of admiration and of hope,
Of worship deep from hearts thy strains have touched,
Of grief from those who watched thy wanderings
And wept them—hath been centred in that name!
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E'en in thy youth's first efforts might be traced
The embryo giant—this the critic saw not,
And struck and stung thee—in his turn to writhe
Within thy mighty grasp.—With what a strength
Of ray, that lightened through the gloomy clouds
Which formed his palace, rose the unsetting sun
Of thine own Harold's glories! How our hearts
Thrilled at thy young Giaour's wild and broken tale!
How bled they o'er the melancholy fates
Of the two lovers of Abydos—one
Mixing his life-blood with the dashing wave,
One dying in her terror's agony!
There was no pause to wondering—as to flash
Succeeds a brighter flash, when summer storms
Robe the dim mountains with sublimity,
So song magnificent gave place to song
Still more magnificent—until the eye,
Dazzled with splendour, scarcely deigned to look
On mightiest of contemporary bards!
And critics, who erewhile had tried to crush thee,
Joined in a vile-breath'd humming of applause—
For they had marked thy soaring flight, and felt
They now could batten on thy fame.
The embryo giant—this the critic saw not,
And struck and stung thee—in his turn to writhe
Within thy mighty grasp.—With what a strength
Of ray, that lightened through the gloomy clouds
Which formed his palace, rose the unsetting sun
Of thine own Harold's glories! How our hearts
Thrilled at thy young Giaour's wild and broken tale!
How bled they o'er the melancholy fates
Of the two lovers of Abydos—one
Mixing his life-blood with the dashing wave,
One dying in her terror's agony!
There was no pause to wondering—as to flash
Succeeds a brighter flash, when summer storms
Robe the dim mountains with sublimity,
So song magnificent gave place to song
Still more magnificent—until the eye,
Dazzled with splendour, scarcely deigned to look
On mightiest of contemporary bards!
And critics, who erewhile had tried to crush thee,
Joined in a vile-breath'd humming of applause—
For they had marked thy soaring flight, and felt
They now could batten on thy fame.
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Alas!
'Twas then that, loathing their rank praise, or wrung
In heart to find domestic bliss a dream,
Thy pen was dipped in bitterness; and scorn,
Licentiousness, and ribaldry combined
To dim—no! not thy genius—for e'en there
It shone pre-eminent, and half redeemed
The sullied page; but to disgrace thy name,
Thy morals, and thy heart! Thousands who made
Part of that world thy strains professed to hate,
Have felt an inward and a silent pang,
To think thou wast thine own worst enemy!
'Twas then that, loathing their rank praise, or wrung
In heart to find domestic bliss a dream,
Thy pen was dipped in bitterness; and scorn,
Licentiousness, and ribaldry combined
To dim—no! not thy genius—for e'en there
It shone pre-eminent, and half redeemed
The sullied page; but to disgrace thy name,
Thy morals, and thy heart! Thousands who made
Part of that world thy strains professed to hate,
Have felt an inward and a silent pang,
To think thou wast thine own worst enemy!
At length it came, the hour retributive,
When, goaded by th' accumulated wrongs
Of centuries, the long-sunk Greek resumed
His ancient spirit, and in battle-field
Met his Oppressor! Who among the first
Flew to his aid, and cheered his heart from fight
Of dubious or disastrous issue? Who
But Thou! the warm and ceaseless advocate
Of Greeks and their good cause? And what a field
There opened to thy genius! 'Twas our hope
That thou wouldst win their battles, free their clime
Of beauty from the ruthless Turk, and then
Bid thine unrivalled Lyre resound the strain
Of Greece's Independence—
When, goaded by th' accumulated wrongs
Of centuries, the long-sunk Greek resumed
His ancient spirit, and in battle-field
Met his Oppressor! Who among the first
Flew to his aid, and cheered his heart from fight
Of dubious or disastrous issue? Who
But Thou! the warm and ceaseless advocate
Of Greeks and their good cause? And what a field
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That thou wouldst win their battles, free their clime
Of beauty from the ruthless Turk, and then
Bid thine unrivalled Lyre resound the strain
Of Greece's Independence—
All is o'er!
That Lyre is shivered, and the hand that waked
Its harmony, is nerveless!
That Lyre is shivered, and the hand that waked
Its harmony, is nerveless!
Loftier harps—
Aye, loftier far than mine—shall ring thy dirge;
And I may blush to see my poor attempt
Look poorer still in the comparison;
Yet hath it soothed me, and thy vital name
May save it when less honoured lays shall perish!
Aye, loftier far than mine—shall ring thy dirge;
And I may blush to see my poor attempt
Look poorer still in the comparison;
Yet hath it soothed me, and thy vital name
May save it when less honoured lays shall perish!
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