ENGLISH POETRY 1579-1830: SPENSER AND THE TRADITION
J. S. W., "On the Death of Lord Byron" The Kaleidoscope [Liverpool] NS 4 (25 May 1824) 396.
1808: Hewson Clarke
1808: Henry Brougham
1809: Melesina Chenevix Trench
1810: Robert Southey
1810: Rev. Francis Hodgson
1811: Rev. Francis Hodgson
1811: John Murray
1812: Henry Crabb Robinson
1812: Mary Russell Mitford
1812: Granville Penn
1812: Sarah S. Pugh
1812: B. B.
1812: George Ellis
1812: Francis Jeffrey
1812: Thomas Denman
1812: Chandos Leigh
1813: J. C. Blaby
1813: Rev. Francis Hodgson
1813: A Lady of Boston
1813: Henry Gally Knight
1814: George Daniel
1814: Thomas Barnes
1814: H. S. B.
1814: T. C. Holland
1814: B. B.
1814: Unus Multorum
1814: Tom Tit
1814: James Hogg
1815: James Hogg
1815: T. Dutton
1815: Robert Gilmour
1815: C. S.
1815: C. S.
1815: John Taylor Esq.
1815: W. J. Extempore
1815: George Ticknor
1816: John Hamilton Reynolds
1816: John Murray
1816: Melesina Chenevix Trench
1816: Leigh Hunt
1816: George Taylor
1816: Thomas Stott
1816: Sir Walter Scott
1816: Francis Jeffrey
1816: Chandos Leigh
1817: John Chalk Claris
1817: A Lady of Glasgow
1817: John Neal
1818: Sir Walter Scott
1818: John Chalk Claris
1818: P. G. Patmore
1818: Mr. Rymer
1818 ca.: Elizabeth Cobbold
1818: An Old Friend
1818: Sir Walter Scott
1818: John Wilson
1818: Chandos Leigh
1818: Rev. Barton Bouchier
1819: John Keats
1819: Rev. Lionel Thomas Berguer
1819: William Gifford
1820: Jeremiah Holmes Wiffen
1820: Charles Lamb
1820: William Wordsworth
1820: David Carey
1820: Thomas Mulock
1820: John Wilson Croker
1821: Rev. William Lisle Bowles
1821: John Scott
1821: Bryan Waller Procter
1821: W. H. S.
1821: George Milner
1822: Samuel Taylor Coleridge
1822: John Graham of Lifford
1822: James Harley
1822: Robert S. Coffin
1822: G. G-m
1823: Frances Wright
1823: J. H.
1824: Eleanor Dickinson
1824: Sir Walter Scott
1824: Richard Hatt
1824: A Harrow School-Fellow
1824: J. J. Leathwick
1824: Thomas Charleton Smith
1824: John Dodderidge Humphreys
1824: Nathaniel Hazeltine Carter
1824: Bernard M. Carter
1824: Rev. Carlos Wilcox
1824: Elizabeth Barrett Browning
1824: Dr. James McHenry
1824: T. W. R.
1824: James Gordon Brooks
1824: Charles Sprague
1824: Robert Southey
1824: Dabney Carr Terrell
1824: Thomas Haynes Bayly
1824: J. S. W.
1824: Thomas Stott
1824: Thomas Stott
1824: W. P. B.
1824: Matthew Gregory Lewis
1824: J. B.
1824: John Taylor Esq.
1824: Sarah S. Pugh
1825: William Hazlitt
1825: Rev. William Lisle Bowles
1825: Thomas Enort Smith
1825: Hugh Brown
1825: Charles Caleb Colton
1825: Sophia Hyatt
1825: Charles Symmons
1825: Elisha Tatham
1826: George Lunt
1826: Richard Ryan
1827: James Hogg
1827: C. T. R.
1827: M. A. B., aged 14
1828: Leigh Hunt
1828: Walter Savage Landor
1828: Rev. George Croly
1828: H. Cox
1829: Mary Howitt
1829: Anna Brownell Jameson
1829: Rev. Oliver William Bourne Peabody
1829: James Gordon Brooks
1830: Rev. Henry Francis Cary
1830: Felicia Hemans
1830: Rev. George Barrell Cheever
1830: John Herman Merivale
1830: C. H.
1830: Mary Shelley
1830: John Wilson Croker
1830: William Kennedy
1831: Sir Samuel Egerton Brydges
1831: John Wilson
1831: Willis Gaylord Clark
1831: Henry Gally Knight
1831: Thomas Babington Macaulay
1832: John Abraham Heraud
1832: John Taylor Esq.
1833: Alaric Alexander Watts
1833: Allan Cunningham
1837: Caroline Norton
1839: Chandos Leigh
1842: Robert Story
1843: John Holland
1846: John Dix
1851: Dr. David Macbeth Moir
1857: Samuel Griswold Goodrich
1873: Joseph Devey
1877: Bryan Waller Procter
1880: John Addington Symonds
1891: Samuel Smiles
1893: George Saintsbury
J. S. W.:
1813: Horace Smith
1824: Lord Byron
Oh if the toll of trade, the love of pelf,
Stint not each generous sympathy to self,
If bigotry, or power, or worldly art,
Freeze not the softer fountains of the heart;
If there are purer tears, and more sincere
Than those that fall but on the gilded bier,
If there are drops a nation's woes to speak,
To brighten beauty's — honour manhood's cheek;—
Now let them fall, for mute is BYRON'S lyre,
That poured th' impetuous strain with matchless fire;
Now let them flow — for Greece, in sorrow wild,
Her champion mourns; her loved, adopted child.
Oh what a noble spirit here has fled!
What mines of thought are closed — what hopes are dead!
Genius, her mantle o'er him early thrown,
On others smiled, but claimed him as her own.
And he is gone; and swallowed by the tomb
Is the large promise of his mental bloom.
His was th' adventurous song, the noble art
To rouse the dormant feelings of the heart;
And every chord, as touched with wizard wand,
Confessed the master's in the minstrel's hand.
While others sung in feeble love-sick lay,
Heaved girlish sighs, and frittered thought away;
Or sought, in adulation's servile strain,
The meed from power, they ne'er from worth could gain,—
He spurned the fawning tribe, and rushed along,
In the full reckless ride of honest song,
Resistless in its course, with generous rage,
Lashing the vices of a canting age:
Now like a torrent from its Alpine bed,
Bursting in vengeance on the tyrant's head;
Now gliding calm through life's domestic vale,
And murmuring forth some sweet pathetic tale;
And ever where it passed with gentle sweep,
Nature uprose refreshed as from a sleep;
And balmier, too, the life-begetting air,
That shook the new born flowers in thousands there.
While other bards all fluttering sought to skim,
Like summer flies, life's ocean at the brim,
'Twas his to bound on its remotest waves,
To plunge into its drearest, darkest caves;
While superstition trembled at the brink,
He bravely sprung, — for still he dared to think;
By reason's quenchless torch he strove to ken,
The dim, the fearful destinies of men.
Now burst his manly strain that spake of war,
Now chimed it softly to the gay guitar,
And now the storm he sang: the murky clouds
Embrace the giant hills like funeral shrouds;
The eye is startled at the lightning's flash,
And thunders burst, and deafening torrents dash.
'Tis Nature's voice sublime that peals abroad,
And tells of dread Eternity and God.
Along the rocky shore, the boiling wave
Springs up the cliff, a resting place to crave;
And see! the helpless ship, with fearful shock,
Is hurled against the black impending rock,
And hapless wretches vainly cling for life,
Whelmed in the ruthless, elemental strife;
One agonizing shriek — they're heard no more—
The murderous wave rolls freightless to the shore.
Spent is the tempest: now he takes his stand
On mountain's brow, surveys the placid land:
The air is calm, the waves are all asleep;
The riv'let murmurs o'er its pebbly steep;
The sun is up; and hill, and vale, and bower
Are fresh and fragrant from the summer shower:
The lake, save where by gentlest zephyr curled,
Presents beneath a quivering pendent world.
The wild bird's song is joyous, and the shore
Prolongs distinct the splash of distant oar;
Or shout of mountain traveller on his way
O'er craggy steep; or shepherd's rustic lay,
Or lover's flageolet, or the sweet swell,
By distance mellowed, of the village bell.
'Twas Byron's too, to paint the toils, the strife,
The deep afflicting tragedy of life;
By touching tale to draw the generous sigh
From virtue's breast, the tear from beauty's eye,
And oft his muse would mount th' embattled car,
And urge, in deadly fight, the bolts of war;
And oft the eastern couch luxuriant prest,
When love and rapture calmed the soul to rest.
Bright Genius gave to him the subtile art
To trace each winding In the human heart.
And well might woman weep his fate, for he
Has worshipped her in truest minstrelsy,
And robed her, in her joy, or her distress,
In garb of more than earthly loveliness.
And not alone is his the poet's fame,
For his the honoured PATRIOT'S hallowed name.
Despising wealth, save for its use to save
The wretch from want — from slavery the brave,
He heard the sighs of Greece, the fearful strife,
With ruthless foes, for liberty and life.
Beheld her valleys red with Christian gore,
And heard her children wailing on the shore.
He joyful viewed fair Freedom's flag unfurl'd,
O'er those once loveliest isles that gemmed the world,
He marked her gallant sons, though few the band,
Against outnumb'ring hosts make desperate stand;
And even at Thermopylae again,
With sword triumphant, claim the rights of men
There, their expiring country strive to save,
When every foot was on a hero's grave.
And hope was high, that, in her noble ire,
Greece would resume her glory and her fire.
He joined them as a brother, gave his aid,
His heart, his curse, his talents, and his blade.
But worn with toil to meet war's gathering storm,
The burning fever seized his manly form;
And with the mighty dead brave Byron sleeps:
While Freedom for her faithful champion weeps.
Oh, never more shall he delighted view
The verdant plain, the mountain's summit blue,
Oh, never more shall he, enraptured, gaze
Upon the glorious sun's reluming blaze.
Oh, never more with power athletic climb,
The craggy height of Appenine sublime;
That arm that dared the Hellespont to brave
No more shall buffet back the curling wave.
Oh, never more, shall he elated ride,
With soul as boundless, on the ocean wide;
Or mark the gallant ship, when, every sail
Swelled by the welcome freshness of the gale,
Exulting In her strength, the world her home,
She rushes on, and bathes her sides in foam.
Oh, never more on woman's beauty dwell,
And picture passion's calmness, or its swell;
Oh, never more shall sing of joy, of love,
The tolls of men below, their hopes above.
His harp that rang, or loud, or sweetly bland,
No more shall wake — for cold the master's hand.
And he had frailties too, the worldlings say,
Which all his virtues cannot wash away.
Ye heartless shadows, who with bitter hate
Snarl at the worth you cannot emulate;
Lynx-eyed for vices — but for virtues blind,
Your lives a constant libel on mankind!
Why, vermin, seek his glory to efface?
He robbed you not of pension or of place:—
Out, out, invidious hypocritic crew,
His fame 'twere sacrilege to read from you!
It Is enough, he owned a Power Divine;
It is enough, he knelt at Nature's shrine:
He was the friend of man, and let us trust
He mingles with the generous and the just.
Farewell, thou noble spirit! thy bright name,
Shall never perish on the rolls of fame;
And weeping Freedom o'er thy tomb shall bend,
For she has lost a never-wav'ring friend.
Yes! let a Grecian urn thy heart enfold,
'Twas warm for Greece, ere death had made it cold,
Yes! let it rest upon that classic shore,
The once fair seat of liberty and lore;
There, kindred shades of bards and heroes nigh
Shall hail thee to a purer, brighter sky.
Farewell! and, oh, forgivingly regard
This bumble tribute of a feeble bard,
Of one who can thy loss to men deplore,
Who loved thy lay, but loved thy freedom more!