Life of Lord Byron Volume II Part 19

"To me, divine Apollo, grant--O!

Hermilda's first and second canto, I'm fitting up a new portmanteau;

6.

"And thus to furnish decent lining, My own and others' bays I'm twining-- So gentle T * *, throw me thine in."

[Footnote 63: The following are the lines in their present shape, and it will be seen that there is not a single alteration in which the music of the verse has not been improved as well as the thought:--

"Fair clime! where every season smiles Benignant o'er those blessed isles, Which, seen from far Colonna's height, Make glad the heart that hails the sight, And lend to loneliness delight.

There, mildly dimpling, Ocean's cheek Reflects the tints of many a peak Caught by the laughing tides that lave These Edens of the eastern wave: And if at times a transient breeze Break the blue crystal of the seas, Or sweep one blossom from the trees, How welcome is each gentle air That wakes and wafts the odours there!"

[Footnote 64: Mr. Jeffrey.]

[Footnote 65: In Dallaway's Constantinople, a book which Lord Byron is not unlikely to have consulted, I find a pa.s.sage quoted from Gillies's History of Greece, which contains, perhaps, the first seed of the thought thus expanded into full perfection by genius:--"The present state of Greece compared to the ancient is the silent obscurity of the grave contrasted with the vivid l.u.s.tre of active life."]

[Footnote 66: Among the recorded instances of such happy after-thoughts in poetry may be mentioned, as one of the most memorable, Denham's four lines, "Oh could I flow like thee," &c., which were added in the second edition of his poem.]

[Footnote 67: Letters on the Character and Poetical Genius of Lord Byron, by Sir Egerton Brydges, Bart.]

[Footnote 68: "Continuus aspectus minus verendos magnos homines facit."]

[Footnote 69: The only peculiarity that struck me on those occasions was the uneasy restlessness which he seemed to feel in wearing a hat,--an article of dress which, from his constant use of a carriage while in England, he was almost wholly unaccustomed to, and which, after that year, I do not remember to have ever seen upon him again. Abroad, he always wore a kind of foraging cap.]

[Footnote 70: He here alludes to a dinner at Mr. Rogers's, of which I have elsewhere given the following account:--

"The company consisted but of Mr. Rogers himself, Lord Byron, Mr.

Sheridan, and the writer of this Memoir. Sheridan knew the admiration his audience felt for him; the presence of the young poet, in particular, seemed to bring back his own youth and wit; and the details he gave of his early life were not less interesting and animating to himself than delightful to us. It was in the course of this evening that, describing to us the poem which Mr. Whitbread had written, and sent in, among the other addresses for the opening of Drury Lane theatre, and which, like the rest, turned chiefly on allusions to the Phoenix, he said--'But Whitbread made more of this bird than any of them:--he entered into particulars, and described its wings, beak, tail, &c.;--in short, it was a _poulterer_'s description of a Phoenix."--_Life of Sheridan_.]

On the same day I received from him the following additional sc.r.a.ps. The lines in italics are from the eulogy that provoked his waggish comments.

"TO ----

1.

"'_I lay my branch of laurel down._'

"Thou 'lay thy branch of laurel down!"

Why, what thou'st stole is not enow; And, were it lawfully thine own, Does Rogers want it most, or thou?

Keep to thyself thy wither'd bough, Or send it back to Dr. Donne-- Were justice done to both, I trow, He'd have but little, and thou--none.

2.

"'_Then thus to form Apollo's crown_.

"A crown! why, twist it how you will, Thy chaplet must be foolscap still.

When next you visit Delphi's town, Enquire amongst your fellow-lodgers, They'll tell you Phoebus gave his crown, Some years before your birth, to Rogers.

3.

"'_Let every other bring his own_.'

"When coals to Newcastle are carried, And owls sent to Athens as wonders, From his spouse when the * *'s unmarried, Or Liverpool weeps o'er his blunders; When Tories and Whigs cease to quarrel, When C * *'s wife has an heir, Then Rogers shall ask us for laurel, And thou shalt have plenty to spare."

The mention which he makes of Sheridan in the note just cited affords a fit opportunity of producing, from one of his Journals, some particulars which he has noted down respecting this extraordinary man, for whose talents he entertained the most unbounded admiration,--rating him, in natural powers, far above all his great political contemporaries.

"In society I have met Sheridan frequently: he was superb! He had a sort of liking for me, and never attacked me, at least to my face, and he did every body else--high names, and wits, and orators, some of them poets also. I have seen him cut up Whitbread, quiz Madame de Stael, annihilate Colman, and do little less by some others (whose names, as friends, I set not down) of good fame and ability.

"The last time I met him was, I think, at Sir Gilbert Heathcote's, where he was as quick as ever--no, it was not the last time; the last time was at Douglas Kinnaird's.

"I have met him in all places and parties,--at Whitehall with the Melbournes, at the Marquis of Tavistock's, at Robins's the auctioneer's, at Sir Humphrey Davy's, at Sam Rogers's,--in short, in most kinds of company, and always found him very convivial and delightful.

"I have seen Sheridan weep two or three times. It may be that he was maudlin; but this only renders it more impressive, for who would see

"From Marlborough's eyes the tears of dotage flow, And Swift expire a driveller and a show?

Once I saw him cry at Robins's the auctioneer's, after a splendid dinner, full of great names and high spirits. I had the honour of sitting next to Sheridan. The occasion of his tears was some observation or other upon the subject of the st.u.r.diness of the Whigs in resisting office and keeping to their principles: Sheridan turned round:--'Sir, it is easy for my Lord G. or Earl G. or Marquis B. or Lord H. with thousands upon thousands a year, some of it either _presently_ derived, or _inherited_ in sinecure or acquisitions from the public money, to boast of their patriotism and keep aloof from temptation; but they do not know from what temptation those have kept aloof who had equal pride, at least equal talents, and not unequal pa.s.sions, and nevertheless knew not in the course of their lives what it was to have a s.h.i.+lling of their own.' And in saying this he wept.

"I have more than once heard him say, 'that he never had a s.h.i.+lling of his own.' To be sure, he contrived to extract a good many of other people's.

"In 1815, I had occasion to visit my lawyer in Chancery Lane, he was with Sheridan. After mutual greetings, &c., Sheridan retired first.

Before recurring to my own business, I could not help enquiring _that_ of Sheridan. 'Oh,' replied the attorney, 'the usual thing! to stave off an action from his wine-merchant, my client.'--'Well,' said I, 'and what do you mean to do?'--'Nothing at all for the present,' said he: 'would you have us proceed against old Sherry? what would be the use of it?'

and here he began laughing, and going over Sheridan's good gifts of conversation.

"Now, from personal experience, I can vouch that my attorney is by no means the tenderest of men, or particularly accessible to any kind of impression out of the statute or record; and yet Sheridan, in half an hour, had found the way to soften and seduce him in such a manner, that I almost think he would have thrown his client (an honest man, with all the laws, and some justice, on his side) out of the window, had he come in at the moment.

"Such was Sheridan! he could soften an attorney! There has been nothing like it since the days of Orpheus.

"One day I saw him take up his own 'Monody on Garrick.' He lighted upon the Dedication to the Dowager Lady * *. On seeing it, he flew into a rage, and exclaimed, 'that it must be a forgery, that he had never dedicated any thing of his to such a d----d canting,' &c. &c. &c--and so went on for half an hour abusing his own dedication, or at least the object of it. If all writers were equally sincere, it would be ludicrous.

"He told me that, on the night of the grand success of his School for Scandal, he was knocked down and put into the watch-house for making a row in the street, and being found intoxicated by the watchmen.

"When dying, he was requested to undergo 'an operation.' He replied, that he had already submitted to two, which were enough for one man's lifetime. Being asked what they were, he answered, 'having his hair cut, and sitting for his picture.'

"I have met George Colman occasionally, and thought him extremely pleasant and convivial. Sheridan's humour, or rather wit, was always saturnine, and sometimes savage; he never laughed, (at least that _I_ saw, and I watched him,) but Colman did. If I had to _choose_, and could not have both at a time, I should say, 'Let me begin the evening with Sheridan, and finish it with Colman.' Sheridan for dinner, Colman for supper; Sheridan for claret or port, but Colman for every thing, from the madeira and champagne at dinner, the claret with a _layer_ of _port_ between the gla.s.ses, up to the punch of the night, and down to the grog, or gin and water, of daybreak;--all these I have threaded with both the same. Sheridan was a grenadier company of life-guards, but Colman a whole regiment--of _light infantry_, to be sure, but still a regiment."

It was at this time that Lord Byron became acquainted (and, I regret to have to add, partly through my means) with Mr. Leigh Hunt, the editor of a well-known weekly journal, the Examiner. This gentleman I had myself formed an acquaintance with in the year 1811, and, in common with a large portion of the public, entertained a sincere admiration of his talents and courage as a journalist. The interest I took in him personally had been recently much increased by the manly spirit, which he had displayed throughout a prosecution inst.i.tuted against himself and his brother, for a libel that had appeared in their paper on the Prince Regent, and in consequence of which they were both sentenced to imprisonment for two years. It will be recollected that there existed among the Whig party, at this period, a strong feeling of indignation at the late defection from themselves and their principles of the ill.u.s.trious personage who had been so long looked up to as the friend and patron of both. Being myself, at the time, warmly--perhaps intemperately--under the influence of this feeling, I regarded the fate of Mr. Hunt with more than common interest, and, immediately on my arrival in town, paid him a visit in his prison. On mentioning the circ.u.mstance, soon after, to Lord Byron, and describing my surprise at the sort of luxurious comforts with which I had found the "wit in the dungeon" surrounded,--his trellised flower-garden without, and his books, busts, pictures, and piano-forte within,--the n.o.ble poet, whose political view of the case coincided entirely with my own, expressed a strong wish to pay a similar tribute of respect to Mr. Hunt, and accordingly, a day or two after, we proceeded for that purpose to the prison. The introduction which then took place was soon followed by a request from Mr. Hunt that we would dine with him; and the n.o.ble poet having good-naturedly accepted the invitation, Horsemonger Lane gaol had, in the month of June, 1813, the honour of receiving Lord Byron, as a guest, within its walls.

On the morning of our first visit to the journalist, I received from Lord Byron the following lines written, it will be perceived, the night before:--

"May 19. 1813.

"Oh you, who in all names can tickle the town, Anacreon, Tom Little, Tom Moore, or Tom Brown,-- For hang me if I know of which you may most brag, Your Quarto two-pounds, or your Twopenny Post Bag; * * * *

But now to my letter--to yours 'tis an answer-- To-morrow be with me, as soon as you can, sir, All ready and dress'd for proceeding to spunge on (According to compact) the wit in the dungeon-- Pray Phoebus at length our political malice May not get us lodgings within the same palace!

I suppose that to-night you're engaged with some codgers, And for Sotheby's Blues have deserted Sam Rogers; And I, though with cold I have nearly my death got, Must put on my breeches, and wait on the Heathcote.

But to-morrow at four, we will both play the Scurra, And you'll be Catullus, the R----t Mamurra.