Chapter XXXII: Appendix: VII

ATTACKS UPON BYRON IN THE NEWSPAPERS FOR FEBRUARY AND MARCH, 1814.

I. 'THE COURIER'.

(1) LORD BYRON ('The Courier', February 1, 1814).

A new Poem has just been published by the above Nobleman, and the 'Morning Chronicle' of to-day has favoured its readers with his Lordship's Dedication of it to THOMAS MOORE, Esq., in what that paper calls "an elegant eulogium." If the elegance of an eulogium consist in its extravagance, the 'Chronicle's' epithet is well chosen. But our purpose is not with the Dedication, nor the main Poem, 'The Corsair', but with one of the pieces called Poems, published at the end of the 'Corsair'. Nearly two years ago (in March, 1812), when the REGENT was attacked with a bitterness and rancour that disgusted the whole country; when attempts were made day after day to wound every feeling of the heart; there appeared in the 'Morning Chronicle' an anonymous 'Address to a Young Lady weeping', upon which we remarked at the time ('Courier of March' 7, 1812), considering it as tending to make the Princess CHARLOTTE of WALES view the PRINCE REGENT her father as an object of suspicion and disgrace. Few of our readers have forgotten the disgust which this address excited. The author of it, however, unwilling that it should sleep in the oblivion to which it had been consigned with the other trash of that day, has republished it, and, placed the first of what are called Poems at the end of this newly published work the Corsair, we find this very address:

"Weep daughter of a _royal_ line,
A Sire's disgrace, a realm's decay;"

_Lord Byron thus avows himself to be the Author._

To be sure the Prince has been extremely _disgraced_ by the policy he has adopted, and the events which that policy has produced; and the realm has experienced _great decay_, no doubt, by the occurrences in the Peninsula, the resistance of Russia, the rising in Germany, the counter-revolution in Holland, and the defeat, disgrace, and shame of BUONAPARTE. But, instead of continuing our observations, suppose we parody his Lordship's Address, and apply it to February 1814:

TO A YOUNG LADY.

February, 1814.

"View! daughter of a royal line,
A father's fame, a realm's renown:
Ah! happy that that realm is thine,
And that its father is thine own!

"View, and exulting view, thy fate,
Which dooms thee o'er these blissful Isles
To reign, (but distant be the date!)
And, like thy Sire, deserve thy People's smiles."

* * * * *

(2) 'The Courier', February 2, 1814.

Lord BYRON, as we stated yesterday, has discovered and promulgated to the world, in eight lines of choice doggrel, that the realm of England is in decay, that her Sovereign is disgraced, and that the situation of the country is one which claims the tears of all good patriots. To this very indubitable statement, the 'Morning Chronicle' of this day exhibits an admirable companion picture, a _genuine_ letter from _Paris_, of the 25th ult.

* * * * *

(3) 'The Courier', February 3, 1814.

"'The Courier' is indignant," says the 'Morning Chronicle', "at the
discovery now made by Lord BYRON, that he was the author of 'the
Verses to a Young Lady weeping,' which were inserted about a
twelvemonth ago in the 'Morning Chronicle'. The Editor thinks it
audacious in a hereditary Counsellor of the KING to admonish the 'Heir
Apparent'. It may not be 'courtly' but it is certainly 'British', and
we wish the kingdom had more such honest advisers."

The discovery of the author of the verses in question was not made by Lord BYRON. How could it be? When he sent them to the 'Chronicle, without' his name, he was just as well informed about the author as he is now that he has published them in a pamphlet, 'with' his name. The discovery was made to the public. They did not know in March, 1812, what they know in February, 1814. They did not suspect then what they now find avowed, that a Peer of the Realm was the Author of the attack upon the PRINCE; of the attempt to induce the Princess CHARLOTTE of WALES to think that her father was an object not of reverence and regard, but of disgrace.

But we "think it audacious in an hereditary Counsellor of the KING to admonish the Heir Apparent." No! we do not think it audacious: it is constitutional and proper. But are anonymous attacks the constitutional duty of a Peer of the Realm? Is that the mode in which he should admonish the Heir Apparent? If Lord BYRON had desired to admonish the PRINCE, his course was open, plain, and known--he could have demanded an audience of the PRINCE; or, he could have given his admonition in Parliament. But to level such an attack--What!--"Kill men i' the dark!" This, however, is called by the 'Chronicle' "certainly 'British'," though it might not be 'courtly', and a strong wish is expressed that "the country had many more such honest advisers" or admonishers. --Admonishers indeed! A pretty definition of admonition this, which consists not in giving advice, but in imputing blame, not in openly proffering counsel, but in secretly pointing censure.

* * * * *

(4) BYRONIANA NO. I ('The Courier', February 5, 1814).

The Lord BYRON has assumed such a poetico-political and such a politico-poetical air and authority, that in our double capacity of men of letters and politicians, he forces himself upon our recollection. We say 'recollection' for reasons which will bye and by, be obvious to our readers, and will lead them to wonder why this young Lord, whose greatest talent it is to forget, and whose best praise it would be to be forgotten, should be such an enthusiastic admirer of Mr. SAM ROGERS'S 'Pleasures of Memory'.

The most virulent satirists have ever been the most nauseous panegyrists, and they are for the most part as offensive by the praise as by the abuse which they scatter.

His Lordship does not degenerate from the character of those worthy persons, his poetical ancestors:

"The mob of Gentlemen who wrote with ease"

who of all authors dealt the most largely in the alternation of flattery and filth. He is the severest satirical and the civilest dedicator of our day; and what completes his reputation for candour, good feeling, and honesty, is that the persons whom he most reviles, and to whom he most fulsomely dedicates, are identically the same.

We shall indulge our readers with a few instances:--the most obvious case, because the most recent, is that of Mr. THOMAS MOORE, to whom he has dedicated, as we have already stated, his last pamphlet; but as we wish to proceed orderly, we shall postpone this and revert to some instances prior in order of time; we shall afterwards show that his Lordship strictly adheres to HORACE'S rule, in maintaining to the end the ill character in which he appeared at the outset. His Lordship's first dedication was to his guardian and relative, the Earl of CARLISLE. So late as the year 1808, we find that Lord BYRON was that noble Lord's "most affectionate kinsman, etc., etc."

Hear how dutifully and affectionately this ingenuous young man celebrates, in a few months after (1809), the praises of his friend:

"No Muse will cheer with renovating smile,
The _paralytic puling_ of CARLISLE;
What heterogeneous honours deck the Peer,
Lord, rhymester, petit-maitre, pamphleteer!
So _dull_ in youth, so _drivelling_ in age,
_His_ scenes alone had damn'd our sinking stage.
But Managers, for once, cried 'hold, enough,'
Nor drugg'd their audience with the tragic stuff.
Yet at their judgment let his Lordship laugh,
And case his volumes in _congenial calf_:
Yes! doff that covering where Morocco shines,
And hang a calf-skin on those recreant lines."

And in explanation of this affectionate effusion, our lordly dedicator subjoins a note to inform us that Lord CARLISLE'S works are splendidly bound, but that "the rest is all but leather and prunella," and a little after, in a very laborious note, in which he endeavours to defend his consistency, he out-Herods Herod, or to speak more forcibly, out-Byrons Byron, in the virulence of his invective against "his guardian and relative, to whom he dedicated his volume of puerile poems." Lord CARLISLE has, it seems, if we are to believe his word, for a series of years, beguiled "the public with reams of most orthodox, imperial _nonsense_," and Lord BYRON concludes by asking,

"What can ennoble knaves, or _fools_, or cowards?
Alas! not all the blood of all the Howards."

"So says POPE," adds Lord BYRON. But POPE does not say so; the words "_knaves and fools_," are not in POPE, but interpolated by Lord BYRON, in favour of his "guardian and relative." Now, all this might have slept in oblivion with Lord CARLISLE'S Dramas, and Lord BYRON'S Poems; but if this young Gentleman chooses to erect himself into a spokesman of the public opinion, it becomes worth while to consider to what notice he is entitled; when he affects a tone of criticism and an air of candour, he obliges us to enquire whether he has any just pretensions to either, and when he arrogates the high functions of public praise and public censure, we may fairly inquire what the praise or censure of such a being is worth:

"Thus bad begins, but worse remains behind."

* * * * *

(5) BYRONIANA NO. 2 ('The Courier', February 8, 1814).

"_Crede Byron_" is Lord Byron's armorial motto; 'Trust Byron' is the translation in the Red-book. We cannot but admire the ingenuity with which his Lordship has converted the good faith of his ancestors into a sarcasm on his own duplicity.

"Could nothing but your chief reproach,
Serve for a motto on your coach?"

Poor Lord Carlisle; he, no doubt, _trusted_ in his affectionate ward and kinsman, and we have seen how the affectionate ward and kinsman acknowledged, like _Macbeth_, "_the double trust_" only to abuse it. We shall now show how much another Noble Peer, Lord Holland, has to trust to from his _ingenuous_ dedicator.

Some time last year Lord Byron published a Poem, called _The Bride of Abydos_, which was inscribed to Lord Holland, "_with every sentiment of regard and respect by his gratefully obliged and sincere friend_, BYRON." "_Grateful and sincere!_" Alas! alas; 'tis not even so good as what Shakespeare, in contempt, calls "the sincerity of a cold heart." "_Regard and respect!"_ Hear with what regard, and how much respect, he treats this identical Lord Holland. In a tirade against literary assassins (a class of men which Lord Byron may well feel entitled to describe), we have these lines addressed to the Chief of the Critical Banditti:

"Known be thy name, unbounded be thy sway,
Thy _Holland's_ banquets shall each toil repay,
While grateful Britain yields the praise she owes,
_To Hollands hirelings_, and to _learnings foes!_"

By which it appears, that

"--These wolves that still in darkness prowl;
This coward brood, which mangle, as their prey,
By hellish instinct, all that cross their way;"

are hired by Lord Holland, and it follows, very naturally, that the "_hirelings_" of Lord Holland must be the "_foes of learning_."

This seems sufficiently caustic; but hear, how our dedicator proceeds:

"Illustrious Holland! hard would be his lot,
His hirelings mention'd, and himself forgot!
Blest be the banquets spread at Holland House,
Where Scotchmen feed, and Critics may carouse!
Long, long, beneath that hospitable roof
Shall _Grub-street_ dine, while duns are kept aloof,
And _grateful_ to the founder of the feast
Declare the Landlord can _translate_, at least!"

Lord Byron has, it seems, very accurate notions of _gratitude_, and the word "_grateful_" in these lines, and in his dedication of 'The Bride of Abydos', has a delightful similarity of meaning. His Lordship is pleased to add, in an explanatory note to this passage, that Lord Holland's life of Lopez de Vega, and his translated specimens of that author, are much "BEPRAISED _by these disinterested guests_." Lord Byron well knows that _bepraise_ and _bespatter_ are almost synonimous. There was but one point on which he could have any hope of touching Lord Holland more nearly; and of course he avails himself, in the most gentlemanly and generous manner, of the golden opportunity.

When his club of literary assassins is assembled at Lord Holland's table, Lord Byron informs us

"That lest when heated with the unusual grape,
Some _glowing_ thoughts should to the press escape,
And tinge with red the _female_ reader's cheek,
My LADY skims the _cream_ of each critique;
Breathes o'er each page _her purity_ of soul,
Reforms each error, and refines the whole."

Our readers will, no doubt, duly appreciate the manliness and generosity of these lines; but, to encrease their admiration, we beg to remind them that the next time Lord Byron addresses Lord Holland, it is to dedicate to him, in all friendship, _sincerity_, and gratitude, the story of a young, a pure, an amiable, and an affectionate bride!

The verses were bad enough, but what shall be said, after _such_ verses, of the insult of _such_ a dedication!

We forbear to extract any further specimens of this peculiar vein of Lord Byron's satire; our "gorge rises at it," and we regret to have been obliged to say so much. And yet Lord Byron is, "with all regard and _respect_, Lord Holland's sincere and grateful friend!" It reminds us of the _respect_ which Lear's daughters shewed their father, and which the poor old king felt to be "worse than murder."

Some of our readers may perhaps observe that, personally, Lord Holland was not so ill-treated as Lord Carlisle; but let it be recollected, that Lord Holland is only an acquaintance, while Lord Carlisle was "guardian and relation," and had therefore _peculiar_ claims to the ingratitude of a mind like Lord Byron's.

_Trust Byron_, indeed! "him," as Hamlet says

"_Him_, I would trust as I would _adders_ fang'd."

* * * * *

(6) BYRONIANA No. 3 ('The Courier', February 12, 1814). "Crede Byron"--"Trust Byron."

We have seen Lord Byron's past and present opinions of two Noble Persons whom he has honoured with his satire, and vilified by his dedications; let us now compare the evidence which he has given at different and yet not distant times, on the merits of his third _Dedicatee_, Mr. Thomas Moore. To him Lord Byron has inscribed his last poem as a person "of unshaken _public principle_, and the most undoubted and various talents; as the firmest of Irish _patriots_, and the first of Irish bards."

Before we proceed to give Lord Byron's own judgment of this "firmest of patriots," and this "best of poets," we must be allowed to say, that though we consider Mr. Moore as a very good writer of songs, we should very much complain of the poetical supremacy assigned to him, if Lord Byron had not qualified it by calling him the first only of _Irish_ poets, and, as we suppose his Lordship must mean, of _Irish_ poets of the _present_ day. The title may be, for aught we know to the contrary, perfectly appropriate; but we cannot conceive how Mr. Moore comes by the high-sounding name of "_patriot_;" what pretence there is for such an appellation; by what effort of intellect or of courage he has placed his name above those idols of Irish worship, Messrs. Scully, Connell, and Dromgoole. Mr. Moore has written words to Irish tunes; so did Burns for _his_ national airs; but who ever called Burns the "firmest of patriots" on the score of his contributions to the _Scots Magazine_?

Mr. Moore, we are aware, has been accused of tuning his harpsichord to the key-note of a faction, and of substituting, wherever he could, a party spirit for the spirit of poetry: this, in the opinion of most persons, would derogate even from his _poetical_ character, but we hope that Lord Byron stands alone in considering that such a prostitution of the muse entitles him to the name of patriot. Mr. Moore, it seems, is an Irishman, and, we believe, a Roman Catholic; he appears to be, at least in his poetry, no great friend to the connexion of Ireland with England. One or two of his ditties are quoted in Ireland as _laments_ upon certain worthy persons whose lives were terminated by the hand of the law, in some of the unfortunate disturbances which have afflicted that country; and one of his most admired songs begins with a stanza, which we hope the Attorney-General will pardon us for quoting:

"Let Erin remember the days of old,
Ere her _faithless sons betrayed her_,
When Malachy wore the collar of gold,
Which he won from her proud Invader;
When her Kings, with standard of green unfurl'd,
Led the Red Branch Knights to danger,
Ere, the emerald gem of the western world,
_Was set in the crown of a Stranger_."

This will pretty well satisfy an English reader, that, if it be any ingredient of patriotism to promote the affectionate connexion of the English isles under the constitutional settlement made at the revolution and at the union; and if the foregoing verses speak Mr. Moore's sentiments, he has the same claims to the name of "_patriot_" that Lord Byron has to the title of "trustworthy;" but if these and similar verses do not speak Mr. Moore's political sentiments, then undoubtedly he has never written, or at least published any thing relating to public affairs; and Lord Byron has no kind of pretence for talking of the political character and public principles of an humble individual who is only known as the translator of Anacreon, and the writer, composer, and singer of certain songs, which songs do not (_ex-hypothesi_) speak the sentiments even of the writer himself.

But, hold--we had forgot one circumstance: Mr. Moore has been said to be one of the authors of certain verses on the highest characters of the State, which appeared from time to time in the 'Morning Chronicle', and which were afterwards collected into a little volume; this may, probably, be in Lord Byron's opinion, a clear title to the name of _patriot_, in which case, his Lordship has also his claim to the same honour; and, indeed that sagacious and loyal person, the Editor of the 'Morning Chronicle', seems to be of this notion; for when some one ventured to express some, we think not unnatural, indignation at Lord Byron's having been the author of some impudent doggrels, of the same vein, which appeared anonymously in that paper reflecting on his Royal Highness the Prince Regent, and her Royal Highness his daughter, the Editor before-mentioned exclaimed--"What! and is not a Peer, an hereditary councillor of the Crown, to be permitted to give his constitutional advice?!!!"

If writing such vile and anonymous stuff as one sometimes reads in the 'Morning Chronicle' be the duty of a good subject, or the privilege of a Peer of Parliament, then indeed we have nothing to object to Mr. Moore's title of Patriot, or Lord Byron's open, honourable, manly, and constitutional method of advising the Crown.

To return, however, to our main object, Lord Byron's _consistency, truth_, and trustworthiness.

His Lordship is pleased to call Mr. Moore not only Patriot and Poet, but he acquaints us also, that "he is the delight alike of his readers and his friends; the poet of all circles, and the idol of his own."

Let us now turn to Lord Byron's thrice-recorded opinion of "_this Poet of all Circles_." We shall quote from a Poem which was republished, improved, amended, and reconsidered, not more than _three_ years ago; since which time Mr. Moore has published no Poem whatsoever; therefore, Lord Byron's former and his present opinions are founded upon the same data, and if they do not agree, it really is no fault of Mr. Moore's, who has published nothing to alter them.

"Now look around and turn each _trifling_ page,
Survey the _precious_ works that please the age,
While Little's lyrics shine in hot-pressed twelves."

Here, by no great length of induction, we find Little's, _i.e._ Mr. Thomas Moore's lyrics, are _trifling, "precious_ works," his Lordship ironically adds, that "please times from which," as his Lordship says, "taste and reason are passed away!"

Bye and by his Lordship delivers a still more plain opinion on Mr. Moore's fitness to be the "_Poet of ALL circles_."

"Who in soft guise, surrounded by a quire
Of virgins _melting_, not to _Vesta's_ fire,
With sparkling eyes, and cheek by _passion_ flush'd,
Strikes his wild lyre, while listening dames are hush'd?
'Tis Little, young Catullus of his day,
As sweet, but as immoral, in his lay;
Griev'd to condemn, the Muse must yet be just,
Nor spare melodious _advocates of lust!_"

"_O calum et terra!_" as _Lingo_ says. What! this purest of Patriots is _immoral?_ What! "the Poet of _all_ circles" is "the advocate of lust"? Monstrous! But who can doubt Byron? And his Lordship, in a subsequent passage, does not hesitate to speak still more plainly, and to declare, in plain round terms (we shudder while we copy) that Moore, the Poet, the Patriot "Moore, is lewd"!!!

After this, we humbly apprehend that if we were to "trust Byron," Mr. Moore, however he may be the idol of his own circle, would find some little difficulty in obtaining admittance into any other.

Lord Byron having thus disposed, as far as depended upon him, of the moral character of the first of Patriots and Poets, takes an early opportunity of doing justice to the personal honour of this dear "friend;" one, as his Lordship expresses it, of "the magnificent and fiery spirited" sons of Erin.

"In 1806," says Lord Byron, "Messrs. Jeffery and Moore met at Chalk Farm--the duel was prevented by the interference of the Magistracy, and on examination, the balls of the pistols, _like the courage of the combatants_, were found to have _evaporated!_"

"Magnificent and fiery spirit," with a vengeance!

We are far from thinking of Mr. Moore as Lord Byron either did or does; not so degradingly as his Lordship did in 1810; not so extravagantly as he does in 1813. But we think that Mr. Moore has grave reason of complaint, and almost just cause, to exert "his fiery spirit" against Lord Byron, who has the effrontery to drag him twice before the public, and overwhelm him, one day with odium, and another with ridicule.

We regret that Lord Byron, by obliging us to examine the value of his censures, has forced us to contrast his past with his present judgments, and to bring again before the public the objects of his lampoons and his flatteries. We have, however, much less remorse in quoting his satire than his dedications; for, by this time, we believe, the whole world is inclined to admit that his Lordship can pay no compliment so valuable as his censure, nor offer any insult so intolerable as his praise.

* * * * *

(7) BYRONIANA No. 4 ('The Courier', February 17, 1814).

"'Don Pedro.' What offence have these men done?

"'Dogberry.' Many, Sir; they have committed false reports; moreover
they have spoken untruths; secondarily, they are
slanders; sixthly and lastly, they have belied a Lady;
thirdly, they have verified unjust things, and, to
conclude, they are lying knaves."

'Much Ado about Nothing.'

We have already seen how scurvily Lord Byron has treated _three_ of the four persons to whom he has successively dedicated his Poems; but for the fourth he reserved a species of contumely, which we are confident our readers will think more degrading than all the rest. _He has uniformly praised him! and him alone!!!_--The exalted rank, the gentle manners, the polished taste of his guardian and relation, Lord Carlisle; the considerations due to Lord Holland, from his family, his personal character, and his love of letters; the amiability of Mr. Moore's society, the sweetness of his versification, and the vivacity of his imagination;--all these could not save their possessors from the _brutality_ of Lord Byron's personal satire.

It was, then, for a person only, who should have _none_ of these titles to his envy that his Lordship could be expected to reserve the fullness and steadiness of his friendship; and if we had any respect or regard for that small poet and very disagreeable person, Mr. Sam Rogers, we should heartily pity him for being "_damned_" to such "_fame_" as Lord Byron's uninterrupted praise can give.

But Mr. Sam Rogers has another cause of complaint against Lord Byron, and which he is of a taste to resent more. His Lordship has not deigned to call _him_ "the firmest of patriots," though we have heard that his claims to that title are not much inferior to Mr. Moore's. Mr. Sam Rogers is reported to have clubb'd with the Irish Anacreon in that scurrilous collection of verses, which we have before mentioned, and which were published under the title of the _Twopenny Post-bag_, and the assumed name of "Thomas Brown." The rumour may be unfounded; if it be, Messrs. Rogers and Moore will easily forgive us for saying that, much as we are astonished at the effrontery with which Lord Byron has acknowledged his lampoon, we infinitely prefer it to the cowardly prudence of the author or authors of the _Twopenny Post-bag_ lurking behind a fictitious name, and "devising impossible slanders," which he or they have not the spirit to avow.

But, to return to the more immediate subject of our lucubrations: It seems almost like a fatality, that Lord Byron has hardly ever praised any thing that he has not at some other period censured, or censured any thing that he has not, by and bye, praised or _practised_.

It does not often happen that booksellers are assailed for their too great liberality to authors; yet, in Lord Byron's satire, while Mr. Scott is abused, his publisher, Mr. Murray, is sneered at, in the following lines:

"And think'st them, Scott, by vain conceit perchance,
On public taste to foist thy stale romance;
Though _Murray_ with his Miller may combine,
_To yield thy Muse just_ HALF-A-CROWN A LINE?
No! when the sons of song descend to trade,
Their bays are sear, their former _laurels fade_.
Let such forego the poet's sacred name,
Who _rack_ their _brains_ for _lucre_, not for fame:
Low may they sink to _merited contempt_,
And _scorn_ remunerate the _mean_ attempt."

Now, is it not almost incredible that this very Murray (the only remaining one of the booksellers whom his Lordship had attacked; Miller has left the trade)--is it not, we say, almost incredible that this very Murray should have been soon after selected, by this very Lord Byron, to be his own publisher? But what will our readers say, when we assure them, that not only was Murray so selected, but that this magnanimous young Lord has actually _sold_ his works to this same Murray? and, what is a yet more singular circumstance, has received and pocketted, for one of his own "stale romances," a sum amounting, not to "_half-a-crown_," but to _a whole crown, a line!!!_

This fact, monstrous as it seems in the author of the foregoing lines, is, we have the fullest reason to believe, accurately true. And the "_faded laurel_," "_the brains rac'd for lucre_," "_the merited contempt_," "_the scorn_," and the "_meanness_," which this impudent young man dared to attribute to Mr. Scott, appear to have been a mere anticipation of his own future proceedings; and thus,

"--Even-handed Justice
Commends the ingredients of his _poison'd_ chalice
To his own lips."

How he now likes the taste of it we do not know; about as much, we suspect, as the "incestuous, murderous, damned Dane" did, when _Hamlet_ obliged him to "_drink off the potion_" which he had treacherously drugged for the destruction of others.

* * * * *

(8) BYRONIANA No. 5 ('The Courier', February 19, 1814).

"He professes no keeping oaths; in breaking them he is stronger than
Hercules. He will lie, sir, with such volubility, that you would think
truth were a fool."

'All's Well that ends Well'.

We have, we should hope, sufficiently exposed the audacious levity and waywardness of Lord Byron's mind, and yet there are a few touches which we think will give a finish to the portrait, and add, if it be at all wanting, to the strength of the resemblance.

* * * * *

It must be amusing to those who know anything of Lord Byron in the circles of London, to find him magnanimously defying in very stout heroics,

"--all the din of _Melbourne_ House
And _Lambes'_ resentment--"

and adding that he is "_unscared_" even by "_Holland's spouse_."

* * * * *

To those who may be in the habit of hearing his Lordship's political descants, the following extract will appear equally curious:

"Mr. Brougham, in No. 25 of the 'Edinburgh Review', throughout the
article concerning Don Pedro Cevallos, has displayed more politics
than policy; many of the worthy burgesses of Edinburgh being so
_incensed at the_ INFAMOUS _principles it evinces_, as to have
withdrawn their subscriptions;" and in the text of this poem, to which
the foregoing is a note, he advises the Editor of the Review to

"Beware, lest _blundering Brougham_ destroy the sale;
Turn beef to bannacks, cauliflower to kail."

Those who have attended to his Lordship's progress as an author, and observed that he has published _four_ poems, in little more than two years, will start at the following lines:

"--Oh cease thy song!
A bard may chaunt too often and too long;
As thou art strong in verse, in mercy spare;
A FOURTH, alas, were more than we could bear."

And as the scene of each of these _four_ Poems is laid in the Levant, it is curious to recollect, that when his Lordship informed the world that he was about to visit "Afric's coast," and "Calpe's height," and "Stamboul's minarets," and "Beauty's native clime," he enters into a voluntary and solemn engagement with the public,

"That should he back return, no letter'd rage
Shall drag _his_ common-place book on the stage;
Of Dardan tours let Dilettanti tell,
He'll leave topography to classic Cell,
And, _quite content_, no more shall interpose,
To _stun_ mankind with _poetry or prose_."

And yet we have already had, growing out of this "Tour," four volumes of _poetry_, enriched with copious notes in _prose_, selected from his "_common-place book_." The whole interspersed every here and there with the most convincing proofs that instead of being "_quite content_," his Lordship has returned, as he went out, the most discontented and peevish thing that breathes.

But the passage of all others which gives us the most delight is that in which his Lordship attacks his critics, and declares that

"Our men in buckram shall have blows enough,
And feel they _too_ are penetrable stuff."

and adds,

"--I have--
Learn'd to deride the Critic's stern decree,
And _break him on the wheel he meant for me_."

We should now, with all humility, ask his Lordship whether _he_ yet feels that "he _too_ is penetrable stuff;" and we should further wish to know how he likes being "_broken on the wheel he meant for others?_"

When his Lordship shall have sufficiently pondered on those questions, we may perhaps venture to propound one or two more.

* * * * *

(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 friendship 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 cum optaverit emptum
Intactum Pallanta, et cum 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 sunshine 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, entitled "_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 butter.

"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, entitled "_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 illustrious 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 accumulated, in the short space 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 embarrassments 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 fashion for our young Gentlemen to become Poets, and a very innocent amusement 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_."

"Unblest by nature in thy mien,
Pity might still have play'd her part,
For oft compassion has been seen,
To soften into love the heart.

But when thy gloomy lines we read,
And see display'd without controul,
Th' ungentle thought, the Atheist creed,
And all the rancour of the soul.

When bold and shameless ev'ry tie,
That GOD has twin'd around the heart,
Thy malice teaches to defy,
And act on earth a Demon's part.

Oh! then from misanthropic pride
We shrink--but pity too the fate
Of youth and talents misapplied,
Which, _if admired_, [1] we still must hate."

[Footnote 1: We say, _if admired_, as there is a great variety of opinions respecting Lord Byron's Poems. Some certainly extol them much, but most of the best judges place his Lordship rather low in the list of our minor Poets.]

* * * * *

(5) LINES ('Morning Post', February 11, 1814).

Suggested by perusing Lord Byron's small Poem, at the end of his "_Corsair_" addressed to a Lady weeping, beginning:

"_Weep, Daughter of a Royal Line_."

"To LORD BYRON.

"Were he the man thy verse would paint,
'_A Sire's disgrace, a realm's decay_;'
Art thou the meek, the pious saint,
That _prates_ of feeling night and day?

"Stern as the Pirate's [1] heart is thine,
Without one ray to cheer its gloom;
And shall that Daughter once repine,
Because thy rude, unhallow'd line,
Would on her virtuous cause presume?

"Hide, BYRON! in the shades of night--
Hide in thy own congenial cell
The mind that would a fiend affright,
_And shock the dunnest realms of hell!_

"No; she will never weep the tears
Which thou would'st Virtue's deign to call;
Nor will they, in remoter years,
Molest her Father's heart at all.

"Dark-vision'd man! thy moody vein
Tends only to thy mental pain,
And cloud the talents Heav'n had meant
To prove the source of true content;
Much better were it for thy soul,
Both here and in the realms of bliss,
To check the glooms that now controul
Those talents, which might still repay
The wrongs of many a luckless day,
In such a _cheerless_[2] clime as this.

"But never strive to lure the heart
From _one_ to which 'tis ever nearest,
Lest from its duty it depart,
And shun the Pow'r which should be dearest:
For heav'n may sting thy heart in turn,
And rob thee of thy sweetest treasure
But, BYRON! thou hast yet to learn,
_That Virtue is the source of pleasure!_"

TYRTAEUS.

G--n-street, Feb. 9, 1814.

[Footnote 1: 'The Corsair'.]

[Footnote 2: In allusion to the general melancholy character of his Lordship's poetical doctrines.]

* * * * *

(6) To LORD BYRON ('Morning Post', February 15, 1814).

Occasioned by reading his Poem, at the end of 'The Corsair', beginning:

"_Weep, Daughter of a Royal Line_."

Shame on the verse that dares intrude
On Virtue's uncorrupted way--
That smiles upon Ingratitude,
And charms us only to betray!

For this does BYRON'S muse employ
The calm unbroken hours of night?
And wou'd she basely thus destroy
The source of all that's just-upright?

Traitor to every moral law!
Think what thy own cold heart wou'd feel,
If some insidious mind should draw
Thy daughter [1] from her filial zeal.

And dost thou bid the offspring shun
Its father's fond, incessant care?
Why, every sister, sire, and son,
Must loathe thee as the poison'd air!

BYRON! thy dark, unhallow'd mind,
Stor'd as it is with Atheist writ,
Will surely, never, never find,
One convert to admire its wit!

Thou art a planet boding woe,
Attractive for thy novel mien--
A calm, but yet a deadly foe,
Most baneful when thou'rt most serene!

Tho' fortune on thy course may shine,
Strive not to lead the mind astray,
Nor let one impious verse of thine,
The unsuspecting heart betray!

But rather let thy talents aim
To lead incautious youth aright;
Thus shall thy works acquire that fame,
Which ought to be thy chief delight.

"The verse, however smooth it flow,
Must be abhorr'd, abjur'd, despis'd,
When Virtue feels a secret blow,
And order finds her course surpris'd."

HORATIO.

Fitzroy-square, Feb. 13.

[Footnote 1: Supposing LORD BYRON to have a daughter.]

* * * * *

(7) To LORD BYRON ('Morning Post', February 16, 1814).

"Bard of the pallid front, and curling hair,
To London taste, and northern critics dear,
Friend of the dog, companion of the bear,
APOLLO drest in trimmest Turkish gear.

"'Tis thine to eulogize the fell Corsair,
Scorning all laws that God or man can frame;
And yet so form'd to please the gentle fair,
That reading misses wish their Loves the same.

"Thou prov'st that laws are made to aid the strong,
That murderers and thieves alone are brave,
That all religion is an idle song,
Which troubles life, and leaves us at the grave.

"That men and dogs have equal claims on Heav'n,
Though dogs but bark, and men more wisely prate,
That to thyself one friend alone was giv'n,
That Friend a Dog, now snatch'd away by Fate.

"And last can tell how daughters best may shew
Their love and duty to their fathers dear,
By reckoning up what stream of filial woe
Will give to every crime a cleansing tear.

"Long may'st thou please this wonder-seeking age,
By MURRAY purchas'd, and by MOORE admir'd;
May fashion never quit thy classic page,
Nor e'er be with thy Turkomania tir'd."

UNUS MULTORUM.

* * * * *

(8) VERSES ADDRESSED TO LORD BYRON ('Morning Post', February 16, 1814).

"Lord _Byron_! Lord _Byron_!
Your heart's made of iron,
As hard and unfeeling as cold.
Half human, half bird,
From _Virgil_ we've heard,
Were form'd the fam'd harpies of old.

"Like those monsters you chatter,
Friends and foes you bespatter,
And dirty, like them, what you eat:
The _Hollands_, your muse
Does most grossly abuse,
Tho' you feed on their wine and their meat.

"Your friend, little _Moore_,
You have dirtied before,
But you know that in safety you write:
You've declared in your lines,
That revenge he declines,
For the poor little man will not fight.

"At _Carlisle_ you sneer,
That worthy old Peer,
Though united by every tie;
But you act as you preach,
And do what you teach,
And your _God_ and your duty defy.

"As long as your aim
Was alone to defame,
The nearest relation you own;
At your malice he smil'd,
But he won't see defil'd,
By your harpy bespatt'rings, the Throne."

* * * * *

(9) PATRONAGE EXTRAORDINARY ('Morning Post', February 17, 1814).

"Procul este profani--!"

"A friendship subsisted, no friendship was closer,
'Twixt the heir of a Peer and the son of a Grocer;
'Tis _true_, though so wide was their difference of station,
For, we _always_ find _truth_ in a _long dedication_.
Atheistical doctrines in verse we are told,
The former sold _wholesale_, was daring and bold;
While the latter (whatever _he_ offer'd for sale)
Like papa, he disposed of--of course by _retail!_
First--_scraps_ of _indecency_, next _disaffection_,
Disguised by the knave from his fear of detection;
To court _party favour_, then, sonnets he wrote;
Set political squibs to the harpsichord's note.
One, as _patron_ was chosen by his brother Poet,
The Peer, to be sure, from his rank we may know it;
Not the low and indecent composer of jigs--
Yes! yes! 'twas the son of the seller of Figs!!
Did the Peer then possess _no respectable friend_
To add weight to his name, and his works recommend?!
Atheistical writings we well may believe,
None of _worth_ from the Author would deign to receive;
So--to cover the faults of his friend he essays,
By _daubing_ him _thickly all over with praise_.
But, _parents_, attend! if your _daughters_ you _love_,
The works of _these serpents_ take _care_ to remove:
Their _infernal attacks_ from your _mansions_ repel,
Where _filial affection_ and _modesty_ dwell."

VERAX.

* * * * *

(10) LORD BYRON ('Morning Post', February 18, 1814).

If it was the object of Lord BYRON to stamp his character, and to bring his name forward by a single act of his life into general notoriety, it must be confessed that he has completely succeeded. We do not recollect any former instance in which a Peer has stood forth as the libeller of his Sovereign. If he disapproves the measures of his Ministers, the House of Parliament, in which he has an hereditary right to sit, is the place where his opinions may with propriety be uttered. If he thinks he can avert any danger to his country by a personal conference with his Sovereign, he has a right to demand it. The Peers are the natural advisers of the Crown, but the Constitution which has granted them such extraordinary privileges, makes it doubly criminal in them to attack the authority from which it is derived, and to insult the power which it is their peculiar province to uphold and protect. What then must we think of the foolish vanity, or the bad taste of a titled Poet, who is the first to proclaim himself the Author of a Libel, because he is fearful it will not be sufficiently read without his avowal. We perfectly remember having read the verses in question a year ago; but we could not then suppose them the offspring of patrician bile, nor should we now believe it without the Author's special authority. It seems by some late quotations from his Lordship's works, which have been rescued from that oblivion to which they were hastening with a rapid step, by one of our co-equals, that this peerless Peer has already gone through a complete course of private ingratitude. The inimitable Hogarth has traced the gradual workings of an unfeeling heart in his progress of cruelty. He has shewn, that malevolence is progressive in its operation, and that a man who begins life by impaling flies, will find a delight in torturing his fellow creatures before he closes it. We have heard that even at school these poetical propensities were strongly manifested in Lord BYRON, and that he began his satirical career against those persons to whom the formation of his mind was entrusted. From his schoolmaster he turned the oestrum of his opening genius to his guardian and uncle, the Earl of CARLISLE. We cannot believe that the Noble Person's conduct has in this instance been a perfect contrast to the general tenor of his life. We have heard, that during his guardianship he tripled the amount of his nephew's fortune. If the Earl of CARLISLE was satisfied with his own 'conscia mens recti', if he wanted no thanks, he must at least have been much surprised to find such attentions and services rewarded with a libel, in which not only his literary accomplishments, but his bodily infirmities, were made the subject of public ridicule. The Noble Earl was certainly at liberty to treat such personal attacks with the contempt which they deserve, but since his Sovereign is become the object of a vile and unprovoked libel, he will no doubt draw the attention of his Peers to a new case of outrage to good order and government, which has been unfortunately furnished by his own nephew.

* * * * *

III. THE SUN.

(1) LORD BYRON AND THE 'MORNING CHRONICLE'

('The Sun', February 4, 1814).

That poetical Peer, Lord BYRON, knowing full well that anything insulting to his Prince or injurious to his country would be most thankfully received and published by the 'Morning Chronicle', did in March, 1812, send the following loyal and patriotic lines to that loyal and patriotic Paper, in which of course they appeared:

"To A LADY WEEPING.

"Weep, daughter of a Royal line,
_A Sire's disgrace, a realm's decay:_
Ah! happy! if each tear of thine
Could wash a father's _fault_ away!

"Weep--for thy tears are Virtue's tears--
Auspicious to these suffering isles:
And be each drop, in future years,
Repaid thee by thy people's smiles!"

These lines the 'Morning Chronicle', in the following paragraph of yesterday, informs us were aimed at the PRINCE REGENT, and addressed to the Princess CHARLOTTE:

"'The Courier' is indignant at the discovery now made by Lord BYRON,
that he was the author of 'the Verses to a Young Lady weeping,' which
were inserted about a twelvemonth ago in 'the Morning Chronicle'. The
Editor thinks it audacious in a hereditary Counsellor of the King to
admonish the 'Heir Apparent'. It may not be 'courtly', but it is
certainly 'British', and we wish the kingdom had more such honest
advisers."

No wonder the 'Courier', and every loyal man, should be indignant at the discovery (made by the republication of these worthless lines, in the Noble Lord's new Volume) that this gross insult came from the pen of "a hereditary Counsellor of the KING! "No wonder every good subject should execrate this novel and disagreeable mode of "'admonishing' the Heir Apparent," which is further from being British than it is from being Courtly; for, from Courtier baseness may be expected, but from a Briton no such infamous dereliction of his duty as is involved in a malignant, 'anonymous' attack by a Peer of the Realm upon the person exercising the Sovereign Authority of his Country. But the assertions of Lord BYRON are as false as they are audacious. What was the "Sire's Disgrace" to be thus bewept? He preferred the independence of the Crown to the arrogant dictation of a haughty Aristocracy, who desired to hold him in Leading-strings. It was then, amid a "Realm's (fancied) decay," because this Faction were not admitted to supreme power, that his Royal Highness's early friends drunk his health in contemptuous silence, while their more vulgar partizans "at the lower end of the Hall" hissed and hooted the royal name. But mark the reverse since March, 1812, a reverse which it might have been thought would have induced the Noble Lord, from prudent motives, to have withheld this ill-timed publication! How is his Royal Highness's health toasted 'now'? With universal shouts and acclamations. Treason itself dare not interpose a single discordant sound save in its own private orgies! Where is 'now' the realm's decay? oh short-sighted prognosticators of the prophecies! look around, and dread the fate of the speakers of falsehood among the Jews of old, who were stoned to death by the people! The wide world furnishes the answer to your selfish croakings, and tells Lord BYRON that he is destitute of at least one of the qualities of an inspired Bard.

Perhaps we might add another, viz. honesty in acknowledging his plagiarisms, one of which (as we have already said more than his silly verse above quoted deserves, except from the rank of its author) we shall take the liberty of stating to the Public.

The 'Bride of Abydos' begins, something in the stile of an old ballad, thus:

"Know ye the land where the cypress and myrtle
Are emblems of deeds that are done in their clime,
Where the rage of the vulture--the love of the turtle--
Now melt into sorrow--now madden to crime?--
Know ye the land of the cedar and vine?
Where the flowers ever blossom, the beams ever shine,
Where the light wings of Zephyr, oppress'd with perfume,
Wax faint o'er the gardens of Gul in her bloom;
Where the citron and olive are fairest of fruit,
And the voice of the nightingale never is mute;
Where the tints of the earth, and the hues of the sky,
In colour though varied, in beauty may vie,
And the purple of Ocean is deepest in dye."

The whole of which passage we take to be a paraphrase, and a bad paraphrase too, of a song of the German of Goethe, of which the following translation was published at Berlin in 1798:

"Know'st thou the land, where citrons scent the gale,
Where glows the orange in the golden vale,
Where softer breezes fan the azure skies,
Where myrtles spring and prouder laurels rise?
"Know'st them the pile, the colonnade sustains,
Its splendid chambers and its rich domains,
Where breathing statues stand in bright array,
And seem, 'What ails thee, hapless maid?' to say?

"Know'st thou the mount, where clouds obscure the day;
Where scarce the mule can trace his misty way;
Where lurks the dragon and her scaly brood;
And broken rocks oppose the headlong flood?"

* * * * *

(2) EPIGRAM ('The Sun', February 8, 1814).

On the Detection of Lord BYRON'S Plagiarism, in 'The Sun' of Friday last.

"That BYRON _borrows verses_ is well known,
But his _misanthropy_ is all his own."

* * * * *

(3) LORD BYRON ('The Sun', February 11, 1814).

We are informed from very good authority, that as soon as the House of
Lords meets again, a Peer of very independent principles and character
intends to give notice of a motion, occasioned by the late spontaneous
avowal of a copy of verses by Lord BYRON, addressed to the Princess
CHARLOTTE of WALES, in which he has taken the most unwarrantable
liberties with her august Father's character and conduct; this motion
being of a personal nature, it will be necessary to give the Noble
Satirist some days notice, that he may prepare himself for his defence
against a charge of so aggravated a nature, which may perhaps not be a
fit subject for a criminal prosecution, as the laws of the country,
not forseeing the probability of such a case ever occurring, under all
the present circumstances, have not made a provision against it; but
we know that each House of Parliament has a controul over its own
members, and that there are instances on the Journals of Parliament,
where an individual Peer has been suspended from all the privileges of
the high situation to which his birth entitled him, when by any
flagrant offence against good order and government, he has rendered
himself unworthy of exercising so important a trust.

'Morning Post'.

* * * * *

(4) PARODY ('The Sun', February 16, 1814).

"'WEEP, DAUGHTER OF A ROYAL LINE!'

"MOURN, dabbler in dull party rhyme,
Thy mind's disease, thy name's disgrace.
Ah, lucky! if the hand of Time
Should all thy Muse's crimes efface!

"MOURN--for thy lays are Rancour's lays--
Disgraceful to a Briton born;
And hence each theme of factious praise
Consigns thee to thy Country's scorn."