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But something of the vagueness and equivocation of his first fame is probably due to the different functions which he performed in the contemporary world of art. He began by writing novels. They are not much read, and indeed not imperatively worth reading, with the one exception of the crude and magnificent Cashel Byron's Profession. Mr.
I should think it would hold at least a quart, enough to overpower any living head into which this death's-head should transfer its contents; and a man must be either very drunk or very thirsty, before he would taste wine out of such a goblet. I think Byron's freak was outdone by that of a cousin of my own, who once solemnly assured me that he had a spittoon made out of the skull of his enemy.
Two generations have passed away since Byron's mortal remains were committed to the dust, and the verdict of his country has not since materially changed, admiration for his genius alone. The light of lesser stars than he shines with brighter radiance. What the enlightened verdict of mankind may be two generations hence, no living mortal can tell.
We should never forget indeed that the Church of God is not of this world but is in this world. To strip ourselves of crippling "formalism" and to bring the Church nearer the realities of the times, is, in Byron's words, making "realities real." Is it not indeed time to broaden our apostolate and give more scope to the laity?
State of Byron in Switzerland He goes to Venice The fourth Canto of "Childe Harold" Rumination on his own Condition Beppo Lament of Tasso Curious Example of Byron's metaphysical Love The situation of Lord Byron in Switzerland was comfortless.
In the same way, the later cantos of Harold are steeped in Switzerland and in Italy. Byron's genius, it is true, required a stimulus; it could not have revelled among the daisies of Chaucer, or pastured by the banks of the Doon or the Ouse, or thriven among the Lincolnshire fens.
What makes this rigor seem all the more cruel and unnatural is that vanity never gets so little quarter as from those who ought, one would think, to be on the best possible terms with her. She is never justified of her children, and, like Byron's unhappy eagle, "nurses the pinion that impels the steel" against her.
There, in a saloon where the gin was a most divine Hippocrene, and the cigars fragrant, Oliver beheld a tight little craft, and straightway ran up his flag as a salute. She was a brunette, with as pretty a form as the sun had ever kissed. Her dark, dark eyes were large, lustrous and superb. Oliver shares Lord Byron's weakness for handsome eyes. He's very fond of them.
Eve's curse on Cain, in Byron's fine drama, is mere balderdash to what followed on Dixon's part. "Dem your soul, you uncultivated savage! you force me to inform you that your helpless condition was my incentive to these well-meant efforts on your behalf as, begad! it is now the only consideration which restrains" May the holy" &c., &c.
But if it is uncertain what were Byron's emotions on visiting the prison of Tasso, there is no doubt about Lady Morgan's: she "experienced a suffocating emotion; her heart failed her on entering that cell; and she satisfied a melancholy curiosity at the cost of a most painful sensation."
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