"April 10. 1814."I have written an Ode on the fall of Napoleon, which, if you like, I will copy out, and make you a present of. Mr. Merivale has seen part of it, and likes it. You may show it to Mr. Gifford, and print it, or not, as you please—it is of no consequence. It contains nothing inhisfavour, and no allusion whatever to our own government or the Bourbons. Yours, &c."P.S. It is in the measure of my stanzas at the end of Childe Harold, which were much liked, beginning 'And thou art dead,' &c. &c. There are ten stanzas of it—ninety lines in all."
"April 10. 1814.
"I have written an Ode on the fall of Napoleon, which, if you like, I will copy out, and make you a present of. Mr. Merivale has seen part of it, and likes it. You may show it to Mr. Gifford, and print it, or not, as you please—it is of no consequence. It contains nothing inhisfavour, and no allusion whatever to our own government or the Bourbons. Yours, &c.
"P.S. It is in the measure of my stanzas at the end of Childe Harold, which were much liked, beginning 'And thou art dead,' &c. &c. There are ten stanzas of it—ninety lines in all."
TO MR. MURRAY.
"April 11. 1814."I enclose you a letteretfrom Mrs. Leigh."It will be bestnotto put my name to ourOde;but you maysayas openly as you like that it is mine, and I can inscribe it to Mr. Hobhouse, from theauthor, which will mark it sufficiently. After the resolution of not publishing, though it is a thing of little length and less consequence, it will be better altogether that it is anonymous; but we will incorporate it in the firsttomeof ours that you find time or the wish to publish. Yours alway, B."P.S. I hope you got a note of alterations, sent this matin?"P.S. Oh my books! my books! will you never find my books?"Alter 'potentspell' to 'quickeningspell:' the first (as Polonius says) 'is a vile phrase,' and means nothing, besides being common-place andRosa-Matilda-ish."
"April 11. 1814.
"I enclose you a letteretfrom Mrs. Leigh.
"It will be bestnotto put my name to ourOde;but you maysayas openly as you like that it is mine, and I can inscribe it to Mr. Hobhouse, from theauthor, which will mark it sufficiently. After the resolution of not publishing, though it is a thing of little length and less consequence, it will be better altogether that it is anonymous; but we will incorporate it in the firsttomeof ours that you find time or the wish to publish. Yours alway, B.
"P.S. I hope you got a note of alterations, sent this matin?
"P.S. Oh my books! my books! will you never find my books?
"Alter 'potentspell' to 'quickeningspell:' the first (as Polonius says) 'is a vile phrase,' and means nothing, besides being common-place andRosa-Matilda-ish."
TO MR. MURRAY.
"April 12. 1814."I send you a few notes and trifling alterations, and an additional motto from Gibbon, which you will findsingularly appropriate. A 'Good-natured Friend' tells me there is a most scurrilous attack onusin the Anti-jacobin Review, which you havenotsent. Send it, as I am in that state of languor which will derive benefit from getting into a passion. Ever," &c.
"April 12. 1814.
"I send you a few notes and trifling alterations, and an additional motto from Gibbon, which you will findsingularly appropriate. A 'Good-natured Friend' tells me there is a most scurrilous attack onusin the Anti-jacobin Review, which you havenotsent. Send it, as I am in that state of languor which will derive benefit from getting into a passion. Ever," &c.
LETTER 175. TO MR. MOORE.
"Albany, April 20. 1814."Iamvery glad to hear that you are to be transient from Mayfield so very soon, and was taken inby the first part of your letter.[24]Indeed, for aught I know, you may be treating me, as Slipslop says, with 'ironing' even now. I shall say nothing of theshock, which had nothing ofhumeurin it; as I am apt to take even a critic, and still more a friend, at his word, and never to doubt that I have been writing cursed nonsense, if they say so. There was a mental reservation in my pact with the public[25], in behalf ofanonymes; and, even had there not, the provocation was such as to make it physically impossible to pass over this damnable epoch of triumphant tameness. 'Tis a cursed business; and, after all, I shall think higher of rhyme and reason, and very humbly of your heroic people, till—Elba becomes avolcano, and sends him out again. I can't think it all over yet."My departure for the Continent depends, in some measure, on theincontinent. I have two country invitations at home, and don't know what to say or do. In the mean time, I have bought a macaw and a parrot, and have got up my books; and I box and fence daily, and go out very little."At this present writing, Louis the Gouty is wheeling in triumph into Piccadilly, in all the pomp and rabblement of royalty. I had an offer of seats to see them pass; but, as I have seen a Sultan going to mosque, and been athisreception of an ambassador, the most Christian King 'hath no attractions for me:'—though in some coming year of the Hegira, I should not dislike to see the place where hehadreigned, shortly after the second revolution, and a happy sovereignty of two months, the last six weeks being civil war."Pray write, and deem me ever," &c.
"Albany, April 20. 1814.
"Iamvery glad to hear that you are to be transient from Mayfield so very soon, and was taken inby the first part of your letter.[24]Indeed, for aught I know, you may be treating me, as Slipslop says, with 'ironing' even now. I shall say nothing of theshock, which had nothing ofhumeurin it; as I am apt to take even a critic, and still more a friend, at his word, and never to doubt that I have been writing cursed nonsense, if they say so. There was a mental reservation in my pact with the public[25], in behalf ofanonymes; and, even had there not, the provocation was such as to make it physically impossible to pass over this damnable epoch of triumphant tameness. 'Tis a cursed business; and, after all, I shall think higher of rhyme and reason, and very humbly of your heroic people, till—Elba becomes avolcano, and sends him out again. I can't think it all over yet.
"My departure for the Continent depends, in some measure, on theincontinent. I have two country invitations at home, and don't know what to say or do. In the mean time, I have bought a macaw and a parrot, and have got up my books; and I box and fence daily, and go out very little.
"At this present writing, Louis the Gouty is wheeling in triumph into Piccadilly, in all the pomp and rabblement of royalty. I had an offer of seats to see them pass; but, as I have seen a Sultan going to mosque, and been athisreception of an ambassador, the most Christian King 'hath no attractions for me:'—though in some coming year of the Hegira, I should not dislike to see the place where hehadreigned, shortly after the second revolution, and a happy sovereignty of two months, the last six weeks being civil war.
"Pray write, and deem me ever," &c.
LETTER 176. TO MR. MURRAY.
"April 21. 1814."Many thanks with the letters which I return. You know I am a jacobin, and could not wear white, nor see the installation of Louis the Gouty."This is sad news, and very hard upon the sufferers at any, but more atsucha time—I mean the Bayonne sortie."You should urge Moore to comeout."P.S. I wantMorerito purchase for good and all. I have a Bayle, but want Moreri too."P.S. Perry hath a piece of compliment to-day; but I think thenamemight have been as well omitted. No matter; they can but throw the old story of inconsistency in my teeth—let them,—I mean, as to not publishing. However,nowI will keep my word. Nothing but the occasion, which wasphysicallyirresistible, made me swerve; and I thought ananonymewithin mypactwith the public. It is the only thing I have or shall set about."
"April 21. 1814.
"Many thanks with the letters which I return. You know I am a jacobin, and could not wear white, nor see the installation of Louis the Gouty.
"This is sad news, and very hard upon the sufferers at any, but more atsucha time—I mean the Bayonne sortie.
"You should urge Moore to comeout.
"P.S. I wantMorerito purchase for good and all. I have a Bayle, but want Moreri too.
"P.S. Perry hath a piece of compliment to-day; but I think thenamemight have been as well omitted. No matter; they can but throw the old story of inconsistency in my teeth—let them,—I mean, as to not publishing. However,nowI will keep my word. Nothing but the occasion, which wasphysicallyirresistible, made me swerve; and I thought ananonymewithin mypactwith the public. It is the only thing I have or shall set about."
LETTER 177. TO MR. MURRAY.
"April 25. 1814."Let Mr. Gifford have the letter and return it at his leisure. I would have offered it, had I thought that he liked things of the kind."Do you want the last pageimmediately! I have doubts about the lines being worth printing; at any rate, I must see them again and alter some passages, before they go forth in any shape into theoceanof circulation;—a very conceited phrase, by the by: well then—channelof publication will do."'I am not i' the vein,' or I could knock off a stanza or three for the Ode, that might answer the purpose better.[26]At all events, Imustsee the linesagainfirst, as there be two I have altered in my mind's manuscript already. Has any one seen or judged of them? that is the criterion by which I will abide—only give me afairreport, and 'nothing extenuate,' as I will in that case do something else."Ever," &c."I wantMoreri, and anAthenæus."
"April 25. 1814.
"Let Mr. Gifford have the letter and return it at his leisure. I would have offered it, had I thought that he liked things of the kind.
"Do you want the last pageimmediately! I have doubts about the lines being worth printing; at any rate, I must see them again and alter some passages, before they go forth in any shape into theoceanof circulation;—a very conceited phrase, by the by: well then—channelof publication will do.
"'I am not i' the vein,' or I could knock off a stanza or three for the Ode, that might answer the purpose better.[26]At all events, Imustsee the linesagainfirst, as there be two I have altered in my mind's manuscript already. Has any one seen or judged of them? that is the criterion by which I will abide—only give me afairreport, and 'nothing extenuate,' as I will in that case do something else.
"Ever," &c.
"I wantMoreri, and anAthenæus."
LETTER 178. TO MR. MURRAY.
"April 26. 1814."I have been thinking that it might be as well to publish no more of the Ode separately, but incorporate it with any of the other things, and include the smaller poem too (in that case)—which I must previously correct, nevertheless. I can't, for the head of me, add a line worth scribbling; my 'vein' is quite gone, and my present occupations are of the gymnastic order—boxing and fencing—and my principal conversation is with my macaw and Bayle. I want my Moreri, and I want Athenæus."P.S. I hope you sent back that poetical packet to the address which I forwarded to you on Sunday: if not, pray do; or I shall have the author screaming after his Epic."
"April 26. 1814.
"I have been thinking that it might be as well to publish no more of the Ode separately, but incorporate it with any of the other things, and include the smaller poem too (in that case)—which I must previously correct, nevertheless. I can't, for the head of me, add a line worth scribbling; my 'vein' is quite gone, and my present occupations are of the gymnastic order—boxing and fencing—and my principal conversation is with my macaw and Bayle. I want my Moreri, and I want Athenæus.
"P.S. I hope you sent back that poetical packet to the address which I forwarded to you on Sunday: if not, pray do; or I shall have the author screaming after his Epic."
LETTER 179. TO MR. MURRAY.
"April 26. 1814."I have no guess at your author,—but it is a noble poem[27], and worth a thousand odes of anybody's. I suppose I may keep this copy;—after reading it, I really regret having written my own. I say this very sincerely, albeit unused to think humbly of myself."I don't like the additional stanzas atall, and they had better be left out. The fact is, I can't do anything I am asked to do, however gladly Iwould; and at the end of a week my interest in a composition goes off. This will account to you for my doing no better for your 'Stamp Duty' postscript."The S.R. is very civil—but what do they mean by Childe Harold resembling Marmion? and the next two, Giaour and Bride,notresembling Scott? I certainly never intended to copy him; but, if there be any copyism, it must be in the two poems, where the same versification is adopted. However, they exempt The Corsair from all resemblance to any thing, though I rather wonder at his escape."If ever I did any thing original, it was in Childe Harold, whichIprefer to the other things always, after the first week. Yesterday I re-read English Bards;—bating themalice, it is thebest."Ever," &c.
"April 26. 1814.
"I have no guess at your author,—but it is a noble poem[27], and worth a thousand odes of anybody's. I suppose I may keep this copy;—after reading it, I really regret having written my own. I say this very sincerely, albeit unused to think humbly of myself.
"I don't like the additional stanzas atall, and they had better be left out. The fact is, I can't do anything I am asked to do, however gladly Iwould; and at the end of a week my interest in a composition goes off. This will account to you for my doing no better for your 'Stamp Duty' postscript.
"The S.R. is very civil—but what do they mean by Childe Harold resembling Marmion? and the next two, Giaour and Bride,notresembling Scott? I certainly never intended to copy him; but, if there be any copyism, it must be in the two poems, where the same versification is adopted. However, they exempt The Corsair from all resemblance to any thing, though I rather wonder at his escape.
"If ever I did any thing original, it was in Childe Harold, whichIprefer to the other things always, after the first week. Yesterday I re-read English Bards;—bating themalice, it is thebest.
"Ever," &c.
A resolution was, about this time, adopted by him, which, however strange and precipitate it appeared, a knowledge of the previous state of his mind may enable us to account for satisfactorily. He had now, for two years, been drawing upon the admiration of the public with a rapidity and success which seemed to defy exhaustion,—having crowded, indeed, into that brief interval the materials of a long life of fame. But admiration is a sort of impost from which most minds are but too willing to relieve themselves. The eye grows weary of looking up to the same object of wonder, and begins to exchange, at last, the delight of observing its elevation for the less generous pleasure of watching and speculating on its fall. The reputation of Lord Byron had already begun to experience some of these consequences of its own prolonged and constantly renewed splendour. Even among that host of admirers who would have been the last to find fault, there were some not unwilling to repose from praise; while they, who had been from the first reluctant eulogists, took advantage of these apparent symptoms of satiety to indulge in blame.[28]
The loud outcry raised, at the beginning of the present year, by his verses to the Princess Charlotte, had afforded a vent for much of this reserved venom; and the tone of disparagement in which some of his assailants now affected to speak of his poetry was, however absurd and contemptible in itself, precisely that sort of attack which was the most calculated to wound his, at once, proud and diffident spirit. As long as they confined themselves to blackening his moral and social character, so far from offending, their libels rather fell in with his own shadowy style of self-portraiture, and gratified the strange inverted ambition that possessed him. But the slighting opinion which they ventured to express of his genius,—seconded as it was by that inward dissatisfaction with his own powers, which they whose standard of excellence is highest are always the surest to feel,—mortified and disturbed him; and, being the first sounds of ill augury that had come across his triumphal career, startled him, as we have seen, into serious doubts of its continuance.
Had he been occupying himself, at the time, with any new task, that confidence in his own energies, which he never truly felt but while in the actual exercise of them, would have enabled him to forget these humiliations of the moment in the glow and excitement of anticipated success. But he had just pledged himself to the world to take a long farewell of poesy,—had sealed up that only fountain from which his heart ever drew refreshment or strength,—and thus was left, idly and helplessly, to brood over the daily taunts of his enemies, without thepower of avenging himself when they insulted his person, and but too much disposed to agree with them when they made light of his genius. "I am afraid, (he says, in noticing these attacks in one of his letters,) what you calltrashis plaguily to the purpose, and very good sense into the bargain; and, to tell the truth, for some little time past, I have been myself much of the same opinion."
In this sensitive state of mind,—which he but ill disguised or relieved by an exterior of gay defiance or philosophic contempt,—we can hardly feel surprised that he should have, all at once, come to the resolution, not only of persevering in his determination to write no more in future, but of purchasing back the whole of his past copyrights, and suppressing every page and line he had ever written. On his first mention of this design, Mr. Murray naturally doubted as to its seriousness; but the arrival of the following letter, enclosing a draft for the amount of the copyrights, put his intentions beyond question.
LETTER 180. TO MR. MURRAY.
"2. Albany, April 29. 1814."Dear Sir,"I enclose a draft for the money; when paid, send the copyright. I release you from the thousand pounds agreed on for The Giaour and Bride, and there's an end."If any accident occurs to me, you may do then as you please; but, with the exception of two copies of each foryourselfonly, I expect and request thatthe advertisements be withdrawn, and the remaining copies ofalldestroyed; and any expense so incurred I will be glad to defray."For all this, it might be as well to assign some reason. I have none to give, except my own caprice, and I do not consider the circumstances of consequence enough to require explanation."In course, I need hardly assure you that they never shall be published with my consent, directly, or indirectly, by any other person whatsoever,—that I am perfectly satisfied, and have every reason so to be, with your conduct in all transactions between us as publisher and author."It will give me great pleasure to preserve your acquaintance, and to consider you as my friend. Believe me very truly, and for much attention,"Your obliged and very obedient servant,"BYRON."P.S. I do not think that I have overdrawn at Hammersley's; but ifthatbe the case, I can draw for the superflux on Hoare's. The draft is 5l.short, but that I will make up. On payment—notbefore—return the copyright papers."
"2. Albany, April 29. 1814.
"Dear Sir,
"I enclose a draft for the money; when paid, send the copyright. I release you from the thousand pounds agreed on for The Giaour and Bride, and there's an end.
"If any accident occurs to me, you may do then as you please; but, with the exception of two copies of each foryourselfonly, I expect and request thatthe advertisements be withdrawn, and the remaining copies ofalldestroyed; and any expense so incurred I will be glad to defray.
"For all this, it might be as well to assign some reason. I have none to give, except my own caprice, and I do not consider the circumstances of consequence enough to require explanation.
"In course, I need hardly assure you that they never shall be published with my consent, directly, or indirectly, by any other person whatsoever,—that I am perfectly satisfied, and have every reason so to be, with your conduct in all transactions between us as publisher and author.
"It will give me great pleasure to preserve your acquaintance, and to consider you as my friend. Believe me very truly, and for much attention,
"Your obliged and very obedient servant,
"BYRON.
"P.S. I do not think that I have overdrawn at Hammersley's; but ifthatbe the case, I can draw for the superflux on Hoare's. The draft is 5l.short, but that I will make up. On payment—notbefore—return the copyright papers."
In such a conjuncture, an appeal to his good nature and considerateness was, as Mr. Murray well judged, his best resource; and the following prompt reply, will show how easily, and at once, it succeeded.
LETTER 181. TO MR. MURRAY.
"May 1. 1814."Dear Sir,"If your present note is serious, and it really would be inconvenient, there is an end of the matter; tear my draft, and go on as usual: in that case, we will recur to our former basis. ThatIwas perfectlyserious, in wishing to suppress all future publication, is true; but certainly not to interfere with the convenience of others, and more particularly your own. Some day, I will tell you the reason of this apparently strange resolution. At present, it may be enough to say that I recall it at your suggestion; and as it appears to have annoyed you, I lose no time in saying so."Yours truly,"B."
"May 1. 1814.
"Dear Sir,
"If your present note is serious, and it really would be inconvenient, there is an end of the matter; tear my draft, and go on as usual: in that case, we will recur to our former basis. ThatIwas perfectlyserious, in wishing to suppress all future publication, is true; but certainly not to interfere with the convenience of others, and more particularly your own. Some day, I will tell you the reason of this apparently strange resolution. At present, it may be enough to say that I recall it at your suggestion; and as it appears to have annoyed you, I lose no time in saying so.
"Yours truly,
"B."
During my stay in town this year, we were almost daily together; and it is in no spirit of flattery to the dead I say, that the more intimately I became acquainted with his disposition and character, the more warmly I felt disposed to take an interest in every thing that concerned him. Not that, in the opportunities thus afforded me of observing more closely his defects, I did not discover much to lament, and not a little to condemn. But there was still, in the neighbourhood of even his worst faults, some atoning good quality, which was always sure, if brought kindly and with management into play, to neutralise their ill effects. The very frankness, indeed, with which he avowed his errors seemed to imply a confidence in his own power of redeeming them,—a consciousness that he could afford to be sincere. There was also, in such entire unreserve, a pledge that nothing worse remained behind; and the same quality that laid open the blemishes of his nature gave security for its honesty. "The cleanness and purity of one's mind," says Pope, "is never better proved than in discovering its own faults, at first view; as when a stream shows the dirt at its bottom, it shows also the transparency of the water."
The theatre was, at this time, his favourite place of resort. We have seen how enthusiastically he expresses himself on the subject of Mr. Kean's acting, and it was frequently my good fortune, during this season, to share in his enjoyment of it,—the orchestra being, more than once, the place where, for a nearer view of the actor's countenance, we took our station. For Kean's benefit, on the 25th of May, a large party had been made by Lady J * *, to which we both belonged; but Lord Byron having also taken a box for the occasion, so anxious was he to enjoy the representation uninterrupted, that, by rather an unsocial arrangement, only himself and I occupied his box during the play, while every other in the house was crowded almost to suffocation; nor did we join the remainder of our friends till supper. Between the two parties, however, Mr. Kean had no reason to complain of a want of homage to his talents; as Lord J * *, on that occasion, presented him with a hundred pound share in the theatre; while Lord Byron sent him, next day,the sum of fifty guineas[29]; and, not long after, on seeing him act some of his favourite parts, made him presents of a handsome snuff-box and a costly Turkish sword.
Such effect had the passionate energy of Kean's acting on his mind, that, once, in seeing him play Sir Giles Overreach, he was so affected as to be seized with a sort of convulsive fit; and we shall find him, some years after, in Italy, when the representation of Alfieri's tragedy of Mirra had agitated him in the same violent manner, comparing the two instances as the only ones in his life when "any thing under reality" had been able to move him so powerfully.
The following are a few of the notes which I received from him during this visit to town.
TO MR. MOORE.
"May 4. 1814."Last night we supp'd at R——fe's board, &c.[30]"I wish people would not shirk theirdinners—ought it not to have been a dinner?[31]—and that d——d anchovy sandwich!"That plaguy voice of yours made me sentimental, and almost fall in love with a girl who was recommending herself, during your song, byhatingmusic. But the song is past, and my passion can wait, till thepucelleis more harmonious."Do you go to Lady Jersey's to-night? It is a large party, and you won't be bored into 'softening rocks,' and all that. Othello is to-morrow and Saturday too. Which day shall we go? when shall I see you? If you call, let it be after three, and as near four as you please."Ever," &c.
"May 4. 1814.
"Last night we supp'd at R——fe's board, &c.[30]
"I wish people would not shirk theirdinners—ought it not to have been a dinner?[31]—and that d——d anchovy sandwich!
"That plaguy voice of yours made me sentimental, and almost fall in love with a girl who was recommending herself, during your song, byhatingmusic. But the song is past, and my passion can wait, till thepucelleis more harmonious.
"Do you go to Lady Jersey's to-night? It is a large party, and you won't be bored into 'softening rocks,' and all that. Othello is to-morrow and Saturday too. Which day shall we go? when shall I see you? If you call, let it be after three, and as near four as you please.
"Ever," &c.
TO MR. MOORE.
"May 4. 1814."Dear Tom,"Thou hast asked me for a song, and I enclose you an experiment, which has cost me somethingmore than trouble, and is, therefore, less likely to be worth your taking any in your proposed setting.[32]Now, if it be so, throw it into the fire withoutphrase."Ever yours,"BYRON."I speak not, I trace not, I breathe not thy name,There is grief in the sound, there is guilt in the fame;But the tear which now burns on my cheek may impartThe deep thoughts that dwell in that silence of heart."Too brief for our passion, too long for our peaceWere those hours—can their joy or their bitterness cease?We repent—we abjure—we will break from our chain—We will part,—we will fly to—unite it again!"Oh! thine be the gladness, and mine be the guilt!Forgive me, adored one!—forsake, if thou wilt;—But the heart which is thine shall expire undebased,Andmanshall not break it—whateverthoumayst."And stern to the haughty, but humble to thee,This soul, in its bitterest blackness, shall be;And our days seem as swift, and our moments more sweet,With thee by my side, than with worlds at our feet."One sigh of thy sorrow, one look of thy love,Shall turn me or fix, shall reward or reprove;And the heartless may wonder at all I resign—Thy lip shall reply, not to them, but tomine."
"May 4. 1814.
"Dear Tom,
"Thou hast asked me for a song, and I enclose you an experiment, which has cost me somethingmore than trouble, and is, therefore, less likely to be worth your taking any in your proposed setting.[32]Now, if it be so, throw it into the fire withoutphrase.
"Ever yours,
"BYRON.
"I speak not, I trace not, I breathe not thy name,There is grief in the sound, there is guilt in the fame;But the tear which now burns on my cheek may impartThe deep thoughts that dwell in that silence of heart."Too brief for our passion, too long for our peaceWere those hours—can their joy or their bitterness cease?We repent—we abjure—we will break from our chain—We will part,—we will fly to—unite it again!"Oh! thine be the gladness, and mine be the guilt!Forgive me, adored one!—forsake, if thou wilt;—But the heart which is thine shall expire undebased,Andmanshall not break it—whateverthoumayst."And stern to the haughty, but humble to thee,This soul, in its bitterest blackness, shall be;And our days seem as swift, and our moments more sweet,With thee by my side, than with worlds at our feet."One sigh of thy sorrow, one look of thy love,Shall turn me or fix, shall reward or reprove;And the heartless may wonder at all I resign—Thy lip shall reply, not to them, but tomine."
"I speak not, I trace not, I breathe not thy name,There is grief in the sound, there is guilt in the fame;But the tear which now burns on my cheek may impartThe deep thoughts that dwell in that silence of heart.
"Too brief for our passion, too long for our peaceWere those hours—can their joy or their bitterness cease?We repent—we abjure—we will break from our chain—We will part,—we will fly to—unite it again!
"Oh! thine be the gladness, and mine be the guilt!Forgive me, adored one!—forsake, if thou wilt;—But the heart which is thine shall expire undebased,Andmanshall not break it—whateverthoumayst.
"And stern to the haughty, but humble to thee,This soul, in its bitterest blackness, shall be;And our days seem as swift, and our moments more sweet,With thee by my side, than with worlds at our feet.
"One sigh of thy sorrow, one look of thy love,Shall turn me or fix, shall reward or reprove;And the heartless may wonder at all I resign—Thy lip shall reply, not to them, but tomine."
TO MR. MOORE.
"Will you and Rogers come to my box at Covent, then? I shall be there, and none else—or I won't be there, if youtwainwould like to go without me. You will not get so good a place hustling among the publicanboxers, with damnable apprentices (six feet high) on a back row. Will you both oblige me and come,—or one—or neither—or, what you will?"P.S. An' you will, I will call for you at half-past six, or any time of your own dial."
"Will you and Rogers come to my box at Covent, then? I shall be there, and none else—or I won't be there, if youtwainwould like to go without me. You will not get so good a place hustling among the publicanboxers, with damnable apprentices (six feet high) on a back row. Will you both oblige me and come,—or one—or neither—or, what you will?
"P.S. An' you will, I will call for you at half-past six, or any time of your own dial."
TO MR. MOORE.
"I have gotten a box for Othello to-night, and send the ticket for your friends the R——fes. I seriously recommend to you to recommend to them to go for half an hour, if only to see the third act—they will not easily have another opportunity. We—at least, I—cannot be there, so there will be no one in their way. Will you give or send it to them? it will come with a better grace from you than me."I am in no good plight, but will dine at * *'s with you, if I can. There is music and Covent-g."Will you go, at all events, to my box there afterwards, to see adébutof a young 16[33]in the 'Child of Nature?'"
"I have gotten a box for Othello to-night, and send the ticket for your friends the R——fes. I seriously recommend to you to recommend to them to go for half an hour, if only to see the third act—they will not easily have another opportunity. We—at least, I—cannot be there, so there will be no one in their way. Will you give or send it to them? it will come with a better grace from you than me.
"I am in no good plight, but will dine at * *'s with you, if I can. There is music and Covent-g.
"Will you go, at all events, to my box there afterwards, to see adébutof a young 16[33]in the 'Child of Nature?'"
TO MR. MOORE.
"Sunday matin."Was not Iago perfection? particularly the last look. I wascloseto him (in the orchestra), and never saw an English countenance half so expressive."I am acquainted with noimmaterial sensuality so delightful as good acting; and, as it is fitting there should be good plays, now and then, besides Shakspeare's, I wish you or Campbell would write one:—the rest of 'us youth' have not heart enough."You were cut up in the Champion—is it not so? this day so am I—even toshockingthe editor. The critic writes well; and as, at present, poesy is not my passion predominant, and my snake of Aaron has swallowed up all the other serpents, I don't feel fractious. I send you the paper, which I mean to take in for the future. We go to M.'s together. Perhaps I shall see you before, but don't let meboreyou, now nor ever."Ever, as now, truly and affectionately," &c.
"Sunday matin.
"Was not Iago perfection? particularly the last look. I wascloseto him (in the orchestra), and never saw an English countenance half so expressive.
"I am acquainted with noimmaterial sensuality so delightful as good acting; and, as it is fitting there should be good plays, now and then, besides Shakspeare's, I wish you or Campbell would write one:—the rest of 'us youth' have not heart enough.
"You were cut up in the Champion—is it not so? this day so am I—even toshockingthe editor. The critic writes well; and as, at present, poesy is not my passion predominant, and my snake of Aaron has swallowed up all the other serpents, I don't feel fractious. I send you the paper, which I mean to take in for the future. We go to M.'s together. Perhaps I shall see you before, but don't let meboreyou, now nor ever.
"Ever, as now, truly and affectionately," &c.
TO MR. MOORE.
"May 5. 1814."Do you go to the Lady Cahir's this even? If you do—and whenever we are bound to the same follies—let us embark in the same 'Shippe of Fooles.' I have been up till five, and up at nine; and feel heavy with only winking for the last three or four nights."I lost my party and place at supper trying to keep out of the way of * * * *. I would have gone away altogether, but that would have appeared a worse affectation than t'other. You are of course engaged to dinner, or we may go quietly together to my box at Covent Garden, and afterwards to this assemblage. Why did you go away so soon?"Ever, &c."P.S.Ought notR * * * fe's supper to have been a dinner? Jackson is here, and I must fatigue myself into spirits."
"May 5. 1814.
"Do you go to the Lady Cahir's this even? If you do—and whenever we are bound to the same follies—let us embark in the same 'Shippe of Fooles.' I have been up till five, and up at nine; and feel heavy with only winking for the last three or four nights.
"I lost my party and place at supper trying to keep out of the way of * * * *. I would have gone away altogether, but that would have appeared a worse affectation than t'other. You are of course engaged to dinner, or we may go quietly together to my box at Covent Garden, and afterwards to this assemblage. Why did you go away so soon?
"Ever, &c.
"P.S.Ought notR * * * fe's supper to have been a dinner? Jackson is here, and I must fatigue myself into spirits."
TO MR. MOORE.
"May 18. 1814."Thanks—and punctuality.Whathas passed at * * * *s House? I suppose thatIam to know, and 'pars fui' of the conference. I regret that your * * * *s will detain you so late, but I suppose you will be at Lady Jersey's. I am going earlier with Hobhouse. You recollect that to-morrow we sup and see Kean."P.S.Twoto-morrow is the hour of pugilism."
"May 18. 1814.
"Thanks—and punctuality.Whathas passed at * * * *s House? I suppose thatIam to know, and 'pars fui' of the conference. I regret that your * * * *s will detain you so late, but I suppose you will be at Lady Jersey's. I am going earlier with Hobhouse. You recollect that to-morrow we sup and see Kean.
"P.S.Twoto-morrow is the hour of pugilism."
The supper, to which he here looks forward, took place at Watier's, of which club he had lately become a member; and, as it may convey some idea of his irregular mode of diet, and thus account, in part, for the frequent derangement of his health, I shall here attempt, from recollection, a description of his supper on this occasion. We were to have been joined by Lord R * *, who however did not arrive, and the party accordingly consisted but of ourselves. Havingtaken upon me to order the repast, and knowing that Lord Byron, for the last two days, had done nothing towards sustenance, beyond eating a few biscuits and (to appease appetite) chewing mastic, I desired that we should have a good supply of, at least, two kinds of fish. My companion, however, confined himself to lobsters, and of these finished two or three, to his own share,—interposing, sometimes, a small liqueur-glass of strong white brandy, sometimes a tumbler of very hot water, and then pure brandy again, to the amount of near half a dozen small glasses of the latter, without which, alternately with the hot water, he appeared to think the lobster could not be digested. After this, we had claret, of which having despatched two bottles between us, at about four o'clock in the morning we parted.
As Pope has thought his "delicious lobster-nights" worth commemorating, these particulars of one in which Lord Byron was concerned may also have some interest.
Among other nights of the same description which I had the happiness of passing with him, I remember once, in returning home from some assembly at rather a late hour, we saw lights in the windows of his old haunt Stevens's, in Bond Street, and agreed to stop there and sup. On entering, we found an old friend of his, Sir G * * W* *, who joined our party, and the lobsters and brandy and water being put in requisition, it was (as usual on such occasions) broad daylight before we separated.
LETTER 182. TO MR. MOORE.
"May 23. 1814."I must send you the Java government gazette of July 3d, 1813, just sent to me by Murray. Only think ofour(for it is you and I) setting paper warriors in array in the Indian seas. Does not this sound like fame—something almost likeposterity? It is something to have scribblers squabbling about us 5000 miles off, while we are agreeing so well at home. Bring it with you in your pocket;—it will make you laugh, as it hath me. Ever yours,"B."P.S. Oh the anecdote!"
"May 23. 1814.
"I must send you the Java government gazette of July 3d, 1813, just sent to me by Murray. Only think ofour(for it is you and I) setting paper warriors in array in the Indian seas. Does not this sound like fame—something almost likeposterity? It is something to have scribblers squabbling about us 5000 miles off, while we are agreeing so well at home. Bring it with you in your pocket;—it will make you laugh, as it hath me. Ever yours,
"B.
"P.S. Oh the anecdote!"
To the circumstance mentioned in this letter he recurs more than once in the Journals which he kept abroad; as thus, in a passage of his "Detached Thoughts,"—where it will be perceived that, by a trifling lapse of memory, he represents himself as having produced this gazette, for the first time, on our way to dinner.
"In the year 1814, as Moore and I were going to dine with Lord Grey in Portman Square, I pulled out a 'Java Gazette' (which Murray had sent to me), in which there was a controversy on our respective merits as poets. It was amusing enough that we should be proceeding peaceably to the same table while they were squabbling about us in the Indian seas (to be sure the paper was dated six months before), and filling columns with Batavian criticism. But this is fame, I presume."
The following poem, written about this time, and, apparently, for the purpose of being recited at the Caledonian Meeting, I insert principally on account of the warm feeling which it breathes towards Scotland and her sons:—
"Who hath not glow'd above the page where FameHath fix'd high Caledon's unconquer'd name;The mountain-land which spurn'd the Roman chain,And baffled back the fiery-crested Dane,Whose bright claymore and hardihood of handNo foe could tame—no tyrant could command."That race is gone—but still their children breathe,And glory crowns them with redoubled wreath:O'er Gael and Saxon mingling banners shine,And, England! add their stubborn strength to thine.The blood which flow'd with Wallace flows as free,But now 'tis only shed for fame and thee!Oh! pass not by the Northern veteran's claim,But give support—the world hath given him fame!"The humbler ranks, the lowly brave, who bledWhile cheerly following where the mighty led—Who sleep beneath the undistinguish'd sodWhere happier comrades in their triumph trod,To us bequeath—'tis all their fate allows—The sireless offspring and the lonely spouse:She on high Albyn's dusky hills may raiseThe tearful eye in melancholy gaze,Or view, while shadowy auguries discloseThe Highland seer's anticipated woes,The bleeding phantom of each martial formDim in the cloud, or darkling in the storm;While sad, she chants the solitary song,The soft lament for him who tarries long—For him, whose distant relics vainly craveThe coronach's wild requiem to the brave!"'Tis Heaven—not man—must charm away the woeWhich bursts when Nature's feelings newly flow;Yet tenderness and time may rob the tearOf half its bitterness for one so dear:A nation's gratitude perchance may spreadA thornless pillow for the widow'd head;May lighten well her heart's maternal care,And wean from penury the soldier's heir."
"Who hath not glow'd above the page where FameHath fix'd high Caledon's unconquer'd name;The mountain-land which spurn'd the Roman chain,And baffled back the fiery-crested Dane,Whose bright claymore and hardihood of handNo foe could tame—no tyrant could command.
"That race is gone—but still their children breathe,And glory crowns them with redoubled wreath:O'er Gael and Saxon mingling banners shine,And, England! add their stubborn strength to thine.The blood which flow'd with Wallace flows as free,But now 'tis only shed for fame and thee!Oh! pass not by the Northern veteran's claim,But give support—the world hath given him fame!
"The humbler ranks, the lowly brave, who bledWhile cheerly following where the mighty led—Who sleep beneath the undistinguish'd sodWhere happier comrades in their triumph trod,To us bequeath—'tis all their fate allows—The sireless offspring and the lonely spouse:She on high Albyn's dusky hills may raiseThe tearful eye in melancholy gaze,Or view, while shadowy auguries discloseThe Highland seer's anticipated woes,The bleeding phantom of each martial formDim in the cloud, or darkling in the storm;While sad, she chants the solitary song,The soft lament for him who tarries long—For him, whose distant relics vainly craveThe coronach's wild requiem to the brave!
"'Tis Heaven—not man—must charm away the woeWhich bursts when Nature's feelings newly flow;Yet tenderness and time may rob the tearOf half its bitterness for one so dear:A nation's gratitude perchance may spreadA thornless pillow for the widow'd head;May lighten well her heart's maternal care,And wean from penury the soldier's heir."
LETTER 183. TO MR. MOORE.
"May 31. 1814."As I shall probably not see you here to-day, I write to request that, if not inconvenient to yourself, you will stay in town tillSunday; if not to gratify me, yet to please a great many others, who will be very sorry to lose you. As for myself, I can only repeat that I wish you would either remain a long time with us, or not come at all; for thesesnatchesof society make the subsequent separations bitterer than ever."I believe you think that I have not been quite fair with that Alpha and Omega of beauty, &c. with whom you would willingly have united me. But if you consider what her sister said on the subject, you will less wonder that my pride should have taken the alarm; particularly as nothing but the every-day flirtation of every-day people ever occurred between your heroine and myself. Had Lady * * appeared to wish it—or even not to oppose it—I would have gone on, and very possibly married (that is,ifthe other had been equally accordant) with the same indifference which has frozen over the 'Black Sea'of almost all my passions. It is that very indifference which makes me so uncertain and apparently capricious. It is not eagerness of new pursuits, but that nothing impresses me sufficiently tofix; neither do I feel disgusted, but simply indifferent to almost all excitements. The proof of this is, that obstacles, the slightest even,stopme. This can hardly betimidity, for I have done some impudent things too, in my time; and in almost all cases, opposition is a stimulus. In mine, it is not; if a straw were in my way, I could not stoop to pick it up."I have sent this long tirade, because I would not have you suppose that I have beentriflingdesignedly with you or others. If you think so, in the name of St. Hubert (the patron of antlers and hunters) let me be married out of hand—I don't care to whom, so it amuses any body else, and don't interfere with me much in the daytime. Ever," &c.
"May 31. 1814.
"As I shall probably not see you here to-day, I write to request that, if not inconvenient to yourself, you will stay in town tillSunday; if not to gratify me, yet to please a great many others, who will be very sorry to lose you. As for myself, I can only repeat that I wish you would either remain a long time with us, or not come at all; for thesesnatchesof society make the subsequent separations bitterer than ever.
"I believe you think that I have not been quite fair with that Alpha and Omega of beauty, &c. with whom you would willingly have united me. But if you consider what her sister said on the subject, you will less wonder that my pride should have taken the alarm; particularly as nothing but the every-day flirtation of every-day people ever occurred between your heroine and myself. Had Lady * * appeared to wish it—or even not to oppose it—I would have gone on, and very possibly married (that is,ifthe other had been equally accordant) with the same indifference which has frozen over the 'Black Sea'of almost all my passions. It is that very indifference which makes me so uncertain and apparently capricious. It is not eagerness of new pursuits, but that nothing impresses me sufficiently tofix; neither do I feel disgusted, but simply indifferent to almost all excitements. The proof of this is, that obstacles, the slightest even,stopme. This can hardly betimidity, for I have done some impudent things too, in my time; and in almost all cases, opposition is a stimulus. In mine, it is not; if a straw were in my way, I could not stoop to pick it up.
"I have sent this long tirade, because I would not have you suppose that I have beentriflingdesignedly with you or others. If you think so, in the name of St. Hubert (the patron of antlers and hunters) let me be married out of hand—I don't care to whom, so it amuses any body else, and don't interfere with me much in the daytime. Ever," &c.
LETTER 184. TO MR. MOORE.
"June 14. 1814."Icouldbe very sentimental now, but I won't. The truth is, that I have been all my life trying to harden my heart, and have not yet quite succeeded—though there are great hopes—and you do not know how it sunk with your departure. What adds to my regret is having seen so little of you during your stay in this crowded desert, where one ought to be able to bear thirst like a camel,—the springs are so few, and most of them so muddy."The newspapers will tell you all that is to betold of emperors, &c.[34]They have dined, and supped, and shown their flat faces in all thoroughfares, and several saloons. Their uniforms are very becoming, but rather short in the skirts; and theirconversation is a catechism, for which and the answers I refer you to those who have heard it."I think of leaving town for Newstead soon. If so, I shall not be remote from your recess, and (unless Mrs. M. detains you at home over the caudle-cup and a new cradle,) we will meet. You shall come to me, or I to you, as you like it;—butmeetwe will. An invitation from Aston has reached me, but I do not think I shall go. I have also heard of * * *—I should like to see her again, for I have not met her for years; and though 'the light that ne'er can shine again' is set, I do not know that 'one dear smile like those of old' might not make me for a moment forget the 'dulness' of 'life's stream.'"I am going to R * *'s to-night—to one of those suppers which 'oughtto be dinners.' I have hardly seen her, and neverhim, since you set out. I told you, you were the last link of that chain. As for * *, we have not syllabled one another's names since. The post will not permit me to continue my scrawl. More anon."Ever, dear Moore, &c."P.S. Keep the Journal[35]; I care not what becomes of it; and if it has amused you I am glad that I kept it. 'Lara' is finished, and I am copying him for my third vol., now collecting;—butno separatepublication."
"June 14. 1814.
"Icouldbe very sentimental now, but I won't. The truth is, that I have been all my life trying to harden my heart, and have not yet quite succeeded—though there are great hopes—and you do not know how it sunk with your departure. What adds to my regret is having seen so little of you during your stay in this crowded desert, where one ought to be able to bear thirst like a camel,—the springs are so few, and most of them so muddy.
"The newspapers will tell you all that is to betold of emperors, &c.[34]They have dined, and supped, and shown their flat faces in all thoroughfares, and several saloons. Their uniforms are very becoming, but rather short in the skirts; and theirconversation is a catechism, for which and the answers I refer you to those who have heard it.
"I think of leaving town for Newstead soon. If so, I shall not be remote from your recess, and (unless Mrs. M. detains you at home over the caudle-cup and a new cradle,) we will meet. You shall come to me, or I to you, as you like it;—butmeetwe will. An invitation from Aston has reached me, but I do not think I shall go. I have also heard of * * *—I should like to see her again, for I have not met her for years; and though 'the light that ne'er can shine again' is set, I do not know that 'one dear smile like those of old' might not make me for a moment forget the 'dulness' of 'life's stream.'
"I am going to R * *'s to-night—to one of those suppers which 'oughtto be dinners.' I have hardly seen her, and neverhim, since you set out. I told you, you were the last link of that chain. As for * *, we have not syllabled one another's names since. The post will not permit me to continue my scrawl. More anon.
"Ever, dear Moore, &c.
"P.S. Keep the Journal[35]; I care not what becomes of it; and if it has amused you I am glad that I kept it. 'Lara' is finished, and I am copying him for my third vol., now collecting;—butno separatepublication."
TO MR. MURRAY.
"June 14. 1814."I return your packet of this morning. Have you heard that Bertrand has returned to Paris with the account of Napoleon's having lost his senses? It is areport; but, if true, I must, like Mr. Fitzgerald and Jeremiah (of lamentable memory), lay claim to prophecy; that is to say, of saying, that heoughtto go out of his senses, in the penultimate stanza of a certain Ode,—the which, having been pronouncednonsenseby several profound critics, has a still further pretension, by its unintelligibility, to inspiration. Ever," &c.
"June 14. 1814.
"I return your packet of this morning. Have you heard that Bertrand has returned to Paris with the account of Napoleon's having lost his senses? It is areport; but, if true, I must, like Mr. Fitzgerald and Jeremiah (of lamentable memory), lay claim to prophecy; that is to say, of saying, that heoughtto go out of his senses, in the penultimate stanza of a certain Ode,—the which, having been pronouncednonsenseby several profound critics, has a still further pretension, by its unintelligibility, to inspiration. Ever," &c.
LETTER 185. TO MR. ROGERS.
"June 19. 1814."I am always obliged to trouble you with my awkwardnesses, and now I have a fresh one. Mr. W.[36]called on me several times, and I have missed the honour of making his acquaintance, which I regret, but whichyou, who know my desultory and uncertain habits, will not wonder at, and will, I am sure, attribute to any thing but a wish to offend a person who has shown me much kindness, and possesses character and talents entitled to general respect. My mornings are late, and passed in fencing and boxing, and a variety of most unpoetical exercises, very wholesome, &c., but would be very disagreeable to my friends, whom I am obliged to exclude during their operation. I never go outtill the evening, and I have not been fortunate enough to meet Mr. W. at Lord Lansdowne's or Lord Jersey's, where I had hoped to pay him my respects."I would have written to him, but a few words from you will go further than all the apologetical sesquipedalities I could muster on the occasion. It is only to say that, without intending it, I contrive to behave very ill to every body, and am very sorry for it."Ever, dear R.," &c.
"June 19. 1814.
"I am always obliged to trouble you with my awkwardnesses, and now I have a fresh one. Mr. W.[36]called on me several times, and I have missed the honour of making his acquaintance, which I regret, but whichyou, who know my desultory and uncertain habits, will not wonder at, and will, I am sure, attribute to any thing but a wish to offend a person who has shown me much kindness, and possesses character and talents entitled to general respect. My mornings are late, and passed in fencing and boxing, and a variety of most unpoetical exercises, very wholesome, &c., but would be very disagreeable to my friends, whom I am obliged to exclude during their operation. I never go outtill the evening, and I have not been fortunate enough to meet Mr. W. at Lord Lansdowne's or Lord Jersey's, where I had hoped to pay him my respects.
"I would have written to him, but a few words from you will go further than all the apologetical sesquipedalities I could muster on the occasion. It is only to say that, without intending it, I contrive to behave very ill to every body, and am very sorry for it.
"Ever, dear R.," &c.
The following undated notes to Mr. Rogers must have been written about the same time:—
"Sunday."Your non-attendance at Corinne's is veryà propos, as I was on the eve of sending you an excuse. I do not feel well enough to go there this evening, and have been obliged to despatch an apology. I believe I need not add one for not accepting Mr. Sheridan's invitation on Wednesday, which I fancy both you and I understood in the same sense:—with him the saying of Mirabeau, that 'wordsarethings,' is not to be taken literally."Ever," &c.
"Sunday.
"Your non-attendance at Corinne's is veryà propos, as I was on the eve of sending you an excuse. I do not feel well enough to go there this evening, and have been obliged to despatch an apology. I believe I need not add one for not accepting Mr. Sheridan's invitation on Wednesday, which I fancy both you and I understood in the same sense:—with him the saying of Mirabeau, that 'wordsarethings,' is not to be taken literally.
"Ever," &c.
"I will call for you at a quarter beforeseven, if that will suit you. I return you Sir Proteus[37], andshall merely add in return, as Johnson said of, and to, somebody or other, 'Are we alive after all this censure?'"Believe me," &c.
"I will call for you at a quarter beforeseven, if that will suit you. I return you Sir Proteus[37], andshall merely add in return, as Johnson said of, and to, somebody or other, 'Are we alive after all this censure?'
"Believe me," &c.
"Tuesday."Sheridan was yesterday, at first, too sober to remember your invitation, but in the dregs of the third bottle he fished up his memory. The Staël out-talked Whitbread, wasironedby Sheridan, confounded Sir Humphry, and utterly perplexed your slave. The rest (great names in the red book, nevertheless,) were mere segments of the circle. Ma'mselle danced a Russ saraband with great vigour, grace, and expression."Ever," &c.
"Tuesday.
"Sheridan was yesterday, at first, too sober to remember your invitation, but in the dregs of the third bottle he fished up his memory. The Staël out-talked Whitbread, wasironedby Sheridan, confounded Sir Humphry, and utterly perplexed your slave. The rest (great names in the red book, nevertheless,) were mere segments of the circle. Ma'mselle danced a Russ saraband with great vigour, grace, and expression.
"Ever," &c.
TO MR. MURRAY.
"June 21. 1814."I suppose 'Lara' is gone to the devil,—which is no great matter, only let me know, that I may be saved the trouble of copying the rest, and put the first part into the fire. I really have no anxiety about it, and shall not be sorry to be saved the copying, which goes on very slowly, and may prove to you that you mayspeak out—or I should be less sluggish. Yours," &c.
"June 21. 1814.
"I suppose 'Lara' is gone to the devil,—which is no great matter, only let me know, that I may be saved the trouble of copying the rest, and put the first part into the fire. I really have no anxiety about it, and shall not be sorry to be saved the copying, which goes on very slowly, and may prove to you that you mayspeak out—or I should be less sluggish. Yours," &c.
LETTER 186. TO MR. ROGERS.
"June 27. 1814."You could not have made me a more acceptable present than Jacqueline,—she is all grace, and softness, and poetry; there is so much of the last, that we do not feel the want of story, which is simple, yetenough. I wonder that you do not oftener unbend to more of the same kind. I have some sympathy with thesofteraffections, though very little inmyway, and no one can depict them so truly and successfully as yourself. I have half a mind to pay you in kind, or ratherunkind, for I have just 'supped full of horror' in two cantos of darkness and dismay."Do you go to Lord Essex's to-night? if so, will you let me call for you at your own hour? I dined with Holland-house yesterday at Lord Cowper's; my Lady very gracious, which she can be more than any one when she likes. I was not sorry to see them again, for I can't forget that they have been very kind to me. Ever yours most truly,"BN."P.S. Is there any chance or possibility of making it up with Lord Carlisle, as I feel disposed to do any thing reasonable or unreasonable to effect it? I would before, but for the 'Courier,' and the possible misconstructions at such a time. Perpend, pronounce."
"June 27. 1814.
"You could not have made me a more acceptable present than Jacqueline,—she is all grace, and softness, and poetry; there is so much of the last, that we do not feel the want of story, which is simple, yetenough. I wonder that you do not oftener unbend to more of the same kind. I have some sympathy with thesofteraffections, though very little inmyway, and no one can depict them so truly and successfully as yourself. I have half a mind to pay you in kind, or ratherunkind, for I have just 'supped full of horror' in two cantos of darkness and dismay.
"Do you go to Lord Essex's to-night? if so, will you let me call for you at your own hour? I dined with Holland-house yesterday at Lord Cowper's; my Lady very gracious, which she can be more than any one when she likes. I was not sorry to see them again, for I can't forget that they have been very kind to me. Ever yours most truly,
"BN.
"P.S. Is there any chance or possibility of making it up with Lord Carlisle, as I feel disposed to do any thing reasonable or unreasonable to effect it? I would before, but for the 'Courier,' and the possible misconstructions at such a time. Perpend, pronounce."
On my return to London, for a short time, at the beginning of July, I found his poem of 'Lara,' which he had begun at the latter end of May, in the hands of the printer, and nearly ready for publication. He had, before I left town, repeated to me, as we were on our way to some evening party, the first one hundred and twenty lines of the poem, which hehad written the day before,—at the same time giving me a general sketch of the characters and the story.
His short notes to Mr. Murray, during the printing of this work, are of the same impatient and whimsical character as those, of which I have already given specimens, in my account of his preceding publications: but, as matter of more interest now presses upon us, I shall forbear from transcribing them at length. In one of them he says, "I have just corrected some of the most horrible blunders that ever crept into a proof:"—in another, "I hope the next proof will be better; this was one which would have consoled Job, if it had been of his 'enemy's book:'" —a third contains only the following words: "Dear sir, you demanded morebattle—there it is.
"Yours," &c.
The two letters that immediately follow were addressed to me, at this time, in town.
LETTER 187. TO MR. MOORE.