The Works of Lord Byron: Letters and Journals Volume II Part 119

(9) From 'The Courier' (March 15, 1814).

The republication of some _Satires_, which the humour of the moment now disposes the writer to recall, was strenuously censured, the other day, in a Morning Paper. It was there said, amongst other things, that such a republication "contributes to exasperate and perpetuate the divisions of those whom _nature_ and friends.h.i.+p have joined!" This is within six weeks after the deliberate _republication_ of "Weep, daughter," etc., etc.; and thus we are informed of the exact moment at which all retort is to cease; at which misrepresentation towards the public and outrage towards the Personages much more than insulted in those lines, is to be no longer remembered. What privileges does this writer claim for his friends! They are to live in all "the swill'd insolence" of attack upon those on whose character, union, and welfare, the public prosperity mainly depends; they are to instruct the DAUGHTER to hold the FATHER disgraced, because he does not surrender the prime Offices of the State to their ambition. And if, after this, public disgust make the author feel, in the midst of the little circle of flatterers that remains to him, what an insight he has given into the guilt of satire _before_ maturity, _before_ experience, _before_ knowledge; if the original unprovoked intruder upon the peace of others be thus taught a love of privacy and a facility of retraction; if Turnus have found the time,

"magno c.u.m optaverit emptum Intactum Pallanta, et c.u.m spolia ista, diemque Oderit;"

if triumphing arrogance be changed into a sentimental humility, O! then 'Liberality' is to call out for him in the best of her hacknied tones; the contest is to cease at the instant when his humour changes from mischief to melancholy; 'affetuoso' is to be the only word; and he is to be allowed his season of sacred torpidity, till the venom, new formed in the shade, make him glisten again in the suns.h.i.+ne he envies!

II. MORNING POST.

(1) VERSES ('Morning Post', February 5, 1814).

Suggested by reading some lines of Lord Byron's at the end of his newly published work, ent.i.tled "_The Corsair_" which begin:

"_Weep, Daughter of a Royal Line._"

"'Far better be the thing that crawls, [1]

Disgustful on a dungeon's walls; Far better be the worm that creeps, In icy rings o'er him who sleeps;'"

"Far better be the reptile scorn'd, Unseen, unheeded, unadorn'd, Than him, to whom indulgent heav'n, Has talents and has genius giv'n; If stung by envy, warp'd by pride, Such gifts, alas! are misapplied; Not all by nature's bounty blest In beauty's dazzling hues are drest; But who shall play the critic's part, If for the form atones the heart?

But if the gloomiest thoughts prevail, And Atheist doctrines stain the tale; If calumny to pow'r addrest, Attempts to wound its Sovereign's breast; If impious it shall try to part, The Father from the Daughter's heart; If it shall aim to wield a brand, To fire our fair and native land; If hatred for the world and men, Shall dip in gall the ready pen:

"'Oh then far better 'tis to crawl, Harmless upon a dungeon's wall; And better far the worm that creeps, In icy rings o'er him who sleeps.'"

[Footnote 1: 'Vide' Lord Byron's works.]

(2) To LORD BYRON ('Morning Post', February 7, 1814).

"Bard of ungentle wayward mood!

'Tis said of thee, when in the lap, Thy nurse to tempt thee to thy food, Would squeeze a _lemon_ in thy pap.

"At _vinegar_ how danc'd thine eyes, Before thy tongue a want could utter, And oft the dame to stop thy cries, Strew'd _wormwood_ on thy bread and b.u.t.ter.

"And when in childhood's frolic hour, Thou'dst plait a garland for thy hair; The _nettle_ bloom'd a chosen flow'r, And native thistles flourish'd there.

"For _sugar-plum_ thou ne'er did'st pine, Thy teeth no _sweet-meat_ ever hurt-- The _sloe's juice_ was thy favourite wine, And _bitter almonds_ thy desert.

"Mustard, how strong so e'er the sort is, Can draw no moisture from thine eye; Not vinegar nor aqua-fortis Could ever set thy face awry.

"Thus train'd a Satirist--thy mind Soon caught the bitter, sharp, and sour, And all their various pow'rs combin'd, Produc'd 'Childe Harold', and the 'Giaour'."

(3) LORD BYRON ('Morning Post', February 8, 1814).

We are very much surprized, and we are not the only persons who feel disgust as well as astonishment, at the uncalled for avowal Lord Byron has made of being the Author of some insolent lines, by inserting them at the end of his new Poem, ent.i.tled "_The Corsair_." The lines we allude to begin "_Weep, Daughter of a Royal Line_." Nothing can be more repugnant to every good heart, as well as to the moral and religious feelings of a country, which we are proud to say still cherishes every right sentiment, than an attempt to lower a father in the eyes of his child. Lord Byron is a young man, and from the tenor of his writings, has, we fear, adopted principles very contrary to those of Christianity.

But as a man of honour and of _feeling_, which latter character he affects _outrageously_, he ought never to have been guilty of so unamiable and so unprovoked an attack. Should so gross an insult to her Royal Father ever meet the eyes of the ill.u.s.trious young Lady, for whose perusal it was intended, we trust her own good sense and good heart will teach her to consider it with the contempt and abhorrence it so well merits. Will she _weep for the disgrace of a Father_ who has saved Europe from bondage, and has acc.u.mulated, in the short s.p.a.ce of two years, more glory than can be found in any other period of British history? Will she "_weep for a realm's decay_," when that realm is hourly emerging under the Government of her father, from the complicated embarra.s.sments in which he found it involved? But all this is too evident to need being particularised. What seems most surprising is, that Lord Byron should chuse to avow Irish trash at a moment when every thing conspires to give it the lie. It is for the _organ of the Party_ alone, or a few insane admirers of Bonaparte and defamers of their own country and its rulers, to applaud him. We know it is now the fas.h.i.+on for our young Gentlemen to become Poets, and a very innocent amus.e.m.e.nt it is, while they confine themselves to putting their travels into verse, like _Childe Harolde_, and Lord Nugent's _Portugal_. Nor is there any harm in Turkish tales, nor wonderful ditties, of ghosts and hobgoblins. We cannot say so much for all Mr. Moore's productions, admired as he is by Lord Byron. In short, the whole galaxy of minor poets, Lords Nugent and Byron, with Messrs. Rogers, Lewis, and Moore, would do well to keep to rhyme, and not presume to meddle with politics, for which they seem mighty little qualified. We must repeat, that it is innocent to write tales and travels in verse, but calumny can never be so, whether written by poets in St. James's-street, Albany, or Grub-street.

(4) LINES ('Morning Post', February 8, 1814).

Written on reading the insolent verses published by Lord Byron at the end of his new poem, "_The Corsair_" beginning

"_Weep, Daughter of a Royal Line_."