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accepted, and offered money and counsel. Tired of inaction, dissatisfied with his former achievements, longing for new renown, and genuinely sympathizing with the Greeks, he threw himself into the cause with all his wonderful ardor and energy. On July 14, 1823, he sailed for Greece on the brig Hercules, which he had purchased and loaded with stores and arms. And now opens the last and by far the most creditable act in the complicated drama of the poet's life.

Byron's departure for Greece

At Cephalo

nedy and re

ligion

In August Byron reached his destination, Cephalonia, and there remained until the end of the year, awaiting instructions. With this period is connected an interesting and amusing experience that throws a peculiar side light upon certain aspects of the poet's character. Dr. Kennedy, a Scotch physician and a warm Presbyterian, was conducting a series of religious meetings at the neighboring nia; Dr. Ken- town of Argostoli. Byron, always a curious though sometimes a scoffing inquirer, had from the beginning been interested in religion. Without any really justifiable basis, he had been looked upon in England, especially since the publication of Cain, as an utter atheist. Fond of religious disputation, and arguing acutely yet goodhumoredly upon religious subjects, he invariably represented himself as a seeker after light. After attending Dr. Kennedy's meetings he grew to know and admire the sincerely good man, and there ensued between the two a series of elaborate theological discussions in which the poet seems to have had the best of it, though up to the end the good doctor was still hoping to bring his brilliant opponent to see the error of his ways. But Byron can scarcely with justice be called a scoffer at religion. His fundamental attitude toward such matters is rather that of a skeptical yet really earnest seeker after the actual truth as apart from superstition and sham.

Finally, in December, Byron went to the stronghold of Missolonghi to join the Greek leader, Prince Mavrocordatos. He brought with him four thousand pounds of his personal loan and the magic of his presence. Daring and resourceful as he was, the situation that confronted him was enough to tax even his energy, sympathy, and clear judgment. But Byron had never shown himself in his true colors until confronted with a situation that called for all the qualities of a hero. Byron as gen- Everywhere about him was discord, intrigue, mismanagement, and disorder. In all this he showed

Missolonghi;

eral and

statesman himself a general and a statesman. At his touch unity sprang from discord, and order from confusion. Ships were built, fortifications repaired, troops organized and drilled. His resourcefulness and self-command were instant and unfailing. The Greeks recognized his ability by appointing him to lead the important military expedition against the Turkish stronghold, Lepanto; but, in spite of his eagerness to be in the actual conflict, this attack never took place. For all his courage, Byron never had a chance to fight.

On January 22, 1824, in the midst of confusion and alarms, he wrote his last poem of any note, the lines on his thirty-sixth birthday. They breathe the new

His last poem(?)

and nobler spirit that was now animating his life :

The sword, the banner, and the field,
Glory and Greece, around me see!
The Spartan, borne upon his shield,
Was not more free.

Pleasure, ease, luxury, self-contentment, even poetry, had been left behind forever. The hero had replaced the man of the world; the soldier, the poet. About this time came the beginning of the end. Byron's health, undermined by wrong living and by the extremely ascetic regimen he insisted upon

following, began to give way under the strain. Missolonghi was a fever-stricken place, which his friends were continually The beginbeseeching him to leave. But he stuck to his post, ning of the end though beset by sickness and burdened with heavy cares. When preparing for the attack against Lepanto, the Suliotes, forming a contingent of the Greek troops, revolted. This threw Byron into a convulsive attack, from which he had not recovered when the mutinous soldiers actually broke into his sick room, demanding redress. His courage and control of the situation, under these terrible circumstances, is said to have been sublime.

Byron's illness and death

Byron's will conquered. He rallied in health for a time, and displayed much of his former vivacity. On March 30 he was presented with the freedom of the city of Missolonghi. But the end was not far off. On April 9 he rode out, was drenched with rain, yet insisted upon returning home in a boat. He was soon seized with a rheumatic fever, and all the efforts of his physicians proved unavailing. In his delirium he fancied himself leading the attack against Lepanto, crying, "Forwards! forwards! follow me!" We cannot fail to recall the deathbed of "the great emperor who with the great poet divided the wonder of Europe." He mentioned Lady Byron, Augusta his sister, Ada his daughter; and on April 19, with "Now I shall go to sleep," he died.

Byron's death, to the Greeks, came in the nature of a national calamity. Greece was plunged into mourning. She had lost a brilliant and heroic champion, the one man above all others on whom her hopes were fixed. "England has lost her brightest genius, Greece her noblest friend," wrote Colonel Interment at Stanhope, another distinguished worker for Grecian Hucknall freedom. The remains of the poet were sent to England and arrived there in May. Interment in Westminster

Abbey was refused, and Byron was laid to rest on July 16, 1824, beside his mother and his ancestors, in the village churchyard of Hucknall.

Byron's personality and character have furnished food for almost endless discussion. All who knew him agreed as to his wonderful personal beauty and attractiveness. Scott said he had "a countenance to dream of," and an irresistible charm of address. His head was small, and covered with light-brown curls; his complexion, colorless; his eyes, light gray; his

character

mouth, perfectly molded. Various portraits agree Personal appearance; in giving him a high forehead, regularity of features, and an expression of brilliant intelligence. His manner with his intimates was genial and delightful, though not always equable; his love of fun was almost superabundant, manifesting itself in flashes between fits of melancholy and depression. To the latter his lameness and his early environment, as well as his irregular habits, may have largely contributed. Child of his strange race as he was, Byron was also the victim of unfortunate circumstances. This should never be forgotten when we are estimating his wonderfully complex and paradoxical traits of character.

What were those traits, forming the personality that so powerfully impressed itself upon a whole continent? On the one side, absurd vanity, often displayed in many unworthy little ways; habitual arrogance and pride of rank; an uncertain temper, impulsive, even violent, running into extravagant Byron's un- fits of passion; a tendency towards self-indulgence attractive side that led him, genius and poet though he was, into criminal excesses.

On the other and better side we find dauntless physical courage, and moral courage even more splendid than the physical; a remarkable fondness for small, defenseless creatures of all kinds; a warm heart for his friends and lasting fidelity and

attachment to the few who befriended and believed in him; princely generosity of heart and purse; but, even above all His finer this, the two supreme traits that make the man's qualities poetry so great and enduring, an intense and consuming hatred of hypocrisy and sham in every phase of life, and just as sincere and ardent a love of every kind of liberty.

Underneath all this superficial contradiction lay a will of iron and a capacity for genuine self-sacrifice and heroism that rose to actual greatness when occasion demanded, as at Missolonghi. Byron was not a good man, but his character so colors and molds his poetry as to render it inevitable that we should know something of his extraordinary personality. Compound of gold and clay that he was, his often sordid and unworthy A final esti- life was fairly redeemed by his heroic death, and so we may still apply to him at least a part of Dr. Johnson's beautiful tribute to his friend Goldsmith,

mate

66

Enough of his failings; he was a very great man.”

Farewell, thou Titan fairer than the gods!

Farewell, farewell, thou swift and lovely spirit,
Thou splendid warrior with the world at odds,
Unpraised, unpraisable beyond thy merit;
Chased, like Orestes, by the furies' rods,

Like him at length thy peace dost thou inherit;
Beholding whom, men think how fairer far

Than all the steadfast stars the wandering star!

ANDREW LANG, in Letters to Dead Authors

BYRON AS A POET

For almost a century Byron's place as a poet has been the theme of constant dispute. Was he truly a great poet, or merely a retailer of cheap commonplaces clothed in pretentious rhetoric? The distinguished English critic, Professor Saintsbury, says: "Byron seems to me a poet distinctly of

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