LORD  BYRON  and  his  TIMES
Byron
Documents Biography Criticism

Recollections of the Life of Lord Byron
Specimen of Hints from Horace
INTRODUCTION & INDEXES
DOCUMENT INFORMATION
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Table of Contents
Preliminary Statement
Chapter I
Chapter II
Chapter III
Chapter IV
Chapter V
Chapter VI
Chapter VII
Chapter VIII
Chapter IX
Chapter X
Chapter XI
Chapter XII
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RECOLLECTIONS

OF THE

LIFE OF LORD BYRON,


FROM THE YEAR

1808 TO THE END OF 1814;


EXHIBITING


HIS EARLY CHARACTER AND OPINIONS, DETAILING THE PROGRESS OF HIS
LITERARY CAREER, AND INCLUDING VARIOUS UNPUBLISHED
PASSAGES OF HIS WORKS.



TAKEN FROM AUTHENTIC DOCUMENTS.
IN THE POSSESSION OF THE AUTHOR.


BY THE LATE
R. C. DALLAS, Esq.


TO WHICH IS PREFIXED


AN ACCOUNT OF THE CIRCUMSTANCES LEADING TO THE SUPPRESSION
OF LORD BYRON’S CORRESPONDENCE WITH THE AUTHOR,
AND HIS LETTERS TO HIS MOTHER, LATELY
ANNOUNCED FOR PUBLICATION.






LONDON:

PRINTED FOR CHARLES KNIGHT, PALL-MALL-EAST.

MDCCCXXIV.

“Who would not laugh, if Lawrence, hir’d to grace
His costly canvass with each flatter’d face,
Abused his art, till Nature with a blush
Saw Cits grow Centaurs underneath his brush?
LIFE OF LORD BYRON 105
Or should some limner join, for show or sale,
A maid of honour to a mermaid’s tail;
Or low D * * * (as once the world has seen)
Degrade God’s creature’s in his graphic spleen—
Not all that forced politeness which defends
Fools in their faults, could gag his grinning friends.
Believe me, Moschus, like that picture seems
The book which, sillier than a sick man’s dreams,
Displays a crowd of figures incomplete,
Poetic night-mares without head or feet.
Poets and painters, as all artists know,
May shoot a little with a lengthen’d bow;
We claim this mutual mercy for our task,
And grant in turn the pardon which we ask;
But make not monsters spring from gentle dams—
Birds breed not vipers, tigers nurse not lambs.
A laboured long exordium sometimes tends
(Like patriot speeches) but to paltry ends;
And nonsense in a lofty note goes down,
As pertness passes with a legal gown:
Thus many a bard describes in pompous strain
The clear brook babbling through the goodly plain;
The groves of Granta, and her Gothic halls,
King’s Coll.—Cam’s stream—stain’d windows, and old walls;
106 RECOLLECTIONS OF THE
Or in advent’rous numbers neatly aims
To paint a rainbow, or—the river Thames*.
You sketch a tree, and so perhaps may shine;
But daub a shipwreck like an alehouse sign:
Why place a Vase, which dwindling to a Pot,
You glide down Grub-street, fasting and forgot?
Laughed into Lethe by some quaint review,
Whose wit is never troublesome—till true.
In fine, to whatsoever you aspire,
Let it at least be simple and entire.
The greater portion of the rhyming tribe
(Give ear, my friend, for thou hast been a scribe)
Are led astray by some peculiar lure;
I labour to be brief—become obscure:
One feeds while following elegance too fast;
Another soars—inflated with bombast:
Too low a third crawls on—afraid to fly,
He spins his subject to satiety;
Absurdly varying, he at last engraves
Fish in the woods, and boars beneath the waves!
Unless your care’s exact, your judgment nice,
The flight from folly leads but into vice:
None are complete, all wanting in some part,
Like certain tailors, limited in art—

* “Where pure description holds the place of sense.”—Pope.

LIFE OF LORD BYRON 107
For coat and waistcoat Slowshears is your man;
But breeches claim another artisan*.—-
Now this to me, I own, seems much the same
As Vulcan’s feet to bear Apollo’s frame;
Or, with a fair complexion, to expose
Black eyes, black ringlets, and a bottle nose!
Dear authors! suit your topics to your strength,
And ponder well your subject and its length;
Nor lift your load until you’re quite aware
What weight your shoulders will or will not bear:
But lucid Order and Wit’s siren voice
Await the poet skilful in his choice;
With native eloquence he soars along,
Grace in his thoughts and music in his song.—
Let judgment teach him wisely to combine
With future parts the now omitted line:
This shall the author choose, or that reject
Precise in style, and cautious to select.
Nor slight applause will candid pens afford
The dext’rous coiner of a wanting word.

* Mere common mortals were commonly content with one tailor and one bill; but the more finished gentlemen found it impossible to confide their lower garments to the makers of their body-clothes. I speak of the beginning of 1809; what reform may have since taken place I neither know nor desire to know.

108 RECOLLECTIONS OF THE
Then fear not, if ’tis needful, to produce
Some term unknown, or obsolete in use:
As Pitt* has furnished us a word or two,
Which Lexicographers declined to do;
So you, indeed, with care (but be content
To take this license rarely) may invent.
New words find credit in these latter days,
Adroitly grafted on a Gallic phrase;
What Chaucer, Spenser did, we scarce refuse
To Dryden’s or to Pope’s maturer muse.
If you can add a little, say, why not,
As well as William Pitt, and Walter Scott?
Since they by force of rhyme and force of lungs,
Enriched our island’s ill-united tongues;
’Tis then—and shall be—lawful to present
Reforms in writing as in Parliament.
As forests shed their foliage by degrees,
So fade expressions, which in season please;
And we and ours, alas, are due to fate,
And works and words but dwindle to a date.
Though as a monarch nods, and commerce calls,
Impetuous rivers stagnate in canals;

* Mr. Pitt was liberal in his additions to our Parliamentary Tongue, as may be seen in many publications, particularly the Edinburgh Review.

LIFE OF LORD BYRON 109
Though swamps subdued, and marshes dried, sustain
The heavy ploughshare, and the yellow grain;
And rising ports along the busy shore,
Protect the vessel from old Ocean’s roar;
All, all must perish—but, surviving last,
The love of letters half preserves the past:—
Thus future years dead volumes shall revive,
And those shall sink which now appear to thrive*,
As custom arbitrates, whose shifting sway
Our life and language must alike obey.
The immortal wars which Gods and angels wage,
Are they not shown in Milton’s sacred page?
His strain will teach what numbers best belong
To themes celestial told in Epic song.
The slow sad stanza will correctly paint
The lover’s anguish, or the friend’s complaint;
But which deserves the laurel—rhyme—or blank?
Which holds on Helicon the higher rank?
Let squabbling critics by themselves dispute
This point, as puzzling as a chancery suit.

* Old ballads, old plays, and old women’s stories, are at present in as much request as old wine or newspapers: in fact, this is the millennium of black-letter; thanks to our Webers and Scotts!

110 RECOLLECTIONS OF THE
Satiric rhyme first sprang from selfish spleen;
You doubt—see Dryden, Pope, St. Patrick’s Dean.*
Blank verse is now with one consent allied
To tragedy, and rarely quits her side:
Though mad Almanzor rhymed in Dryden’s days,
No sing-song hero rants in modern plays;
While modest comedy her verse foregoes,
To jest and pun† in very middling prose:
Not that our Bens or Beaumonts show the worse,
Or lose one point because they wrote in verse:
But so Thalia ventures to appear—
Poor Virgin! damned some twenty times a-year.
* * * * * *
’Tis hard to venture where our betters fail,
Or lend fresh interest to a twice-told tale.
And yet, perchance, ’tis wiser to prefer
A hackneyed plot, than choose a new, and err.
Yet copy not too closely, but record
More justly thought for thought, than word for word.

* M’Flecknoe, much of the Dunciad, and all Swift’s lampooning ballads.

† With all the vulgar applause and critical abhorrence of puns, they have Aristotle on their side, who permits them to orators, and gives them consequence by a grave disquisition.

LIFE OF LORD BYRON 111
Nor trace your prototype through narrow ways,
But only follow where he merits praise.
For you, young bard, whom luckless fate may lead
To tremble on the nod of all who read,
Ere your first score of Cantos time unrolls,
Beware—for God’s sake don’t begin like Bowles*!

* About two years ago, a young man, named Townsend, was announced by Mr. Cumberland (in a Review since deceased) as being engaged in an epic poem, to be entitled “Armageddon.” The plan and specimen promise much; but I hope neither to offend Mr. T. or his friends, by recommending to his attention the lines of Horace to which these rhymes allude. If Mr. T. succeeds in his undertaking, as there is reason to hope, how much will the world be indebted to Mr. Cumberland for bringing him before the public. But till that eventful day arrives, it may be doubted whether the premature display of his plan (sublime as the ideas confessedly are) has not, by raising expectation too high, or diminishing curiosity by developing his argument, rather incurred the hazard of injuring Mr. T.’s future prospects. Mr. Cumberland (whose talents I shall not depreciate by the humble tribute of my praise) and Mr. T. must not suppose me actuated by unworthy motives in this suggestion. I wish the author all the success he can wish himself, and shall be truly happy to see epic poetry weighed up from the bathos where it lies sunken with Southey, Cottle, Cowley, (Mrs.

112 RECOLLECTIONS OF THE
“Awake a louder and a loftier strain”—
And pray—what follows from his boiling brain?
He sinks to Southey’s level in a trice,
Whose Epic mountains never fail in mice.
Not so of yore awoke your mighty sire
The tempered warblings of his master lyre.
Soft as the gentler breathing of the lute,
“Of man’s first disobedience and the fruit”
He speaks, but as his subject swells along,
Earth, heaven, and Hades echo with the song.

or Abraham) Ogilvie, Wilkie, Page, and all the “dull of past and present days.” Even if he is not a Milton, he may be better than a Blackmare; if not a Homer, an Antimachus. I should deem myself presumptuous, as a young man, in offering advice, were it not addressed to one still younger. Mr. T. has the greatest difficulties to encounter; but in conquering them he will find employment—in having conquered them—his reward. I know too well the “scribbler’s scoff, the critic’s contumely,” and I am afraid time will teach Mr. T. to know them better. Those who succeed and those who do not must bear this alike, and it is hard to say which have most of it. I trust that Mr. Townsend’s share will be from envy; he will soon know mankind well enough not to attribute this expression to malice.

The above note was written before the author was apprised of Mr. Cumberland’s death.

LIFE OF LORD BYRON 113
Still to the midst of things he hastens on,
As if we witnessed all already done;
Leaves on his path whatever seems too mean
To raise the subject or adorn the scene;
Gives, as each page improves upon the sight,
Not smoke from brightness, but from darkness light,
And truth and fiction with such art compounds,
We know not where to fix their several bounds.