Whether the verses I am now about to give are, in any degree, founded on fact, I have no accurate means of determining. Fond as he was of recording every particular of his youth, such an event, or rather era, as is here commemorated, would have been, of all others, the least likely to pa.s.s unmentioned by him;--and yet neither in conversation nor in any of his writings do I remember even an allusion to it.[66]

On the other hand, so entirely was all that he wrote,--making allowance for the embellishments of fancy,--the transcript of his actual life and feelings, that it is not easy to suppose a poem, so full of natural tenderness, to have been indebted for its origin to imagination alone.

"TO MY SON!

"Those flaxen locks, those eyes of blue, Bright as thy mother's in their hue; Those rosy lips, whose dimples play And smile to steal the heart away, Recall a scene of former joy, And touch thy Father's heart, my Boy!

"And thou canst lisp a father's name-- Ah, William, were thine own the same, No self-reproach--but, let me cease-- My care for thee shall purchase peace; Thy mother's shade shall smile in joy, And pardon all the past, my Boy!

"Her lowly grave the turf has prest, And thou hast known a stranger's breast.

Derision sneers upon thy birth, And yields thee scarce a name on earth; Yet shall not these one hope destroy,-- A Father's heart is thine, my Boy!

"Why, let the world unfeeling frown, Must I fond Nature's claim disown?

Ah, no--though moralists reprove, I hail thee, dearest child of love, Fair cherub, pledge of youth and joy-- A Father guards thy birth, my Boy!

"Oh, 'twill be sweet in thee to trace, Ere age has wrinkled o'er my face, Ere half my gla.s.s of life is run, At once a brother and a son; And all my wane of years employ In justice done to thee, my Boy!

"Although so young thy heedless sire, Youth will not damp parental fire; And, wert thou still less dear to me, While Helen's form revives in thee, The breast, which beat to former joy, Will ne'er desert its pledge, my Boy!

"B----, 1807."[67]

But the most remarkable of these poems is one of a date prior to any I have given, being written in December, 1806, when he was not yet nineteen years old. It contains, as will be seen, his religious creed at that period, and shows how early the struggle between natural piety and doubt began in his mind.

"THE PRAYER OF NATURE.

"Father of Light! great G.o.d of Heaven!

Hear'st thou the accents of despair?

Can guilt like man's be e'er forgiven?

Can vice atone for crimes by prayer?

Father of Light, on thee I call!

Thou see'st my soul is dark within; Thou who canst mark the sparrow's fall, Avert from me the death of sin.

No shrine I seek, to sects unknown, Oh point to me the path of truth!

Thy dread omnipotence I own, Spare, yet amend, the faults of youth.

Let bigots rear a gloomy fane, Let superst.i.tion hail the pile, Let priests, to spread their sable reign, With tales of mystic rites beguile.

Shall man confine his Maker's sway To Gothic domes of mouldering stone?

Thy temple is the face of day; Earth, ocean, heaven, thy boundless throne.

Shall man condemn his race to h.e.l.l Unless they bend in pompous form; Tell us that all, for one who fell, Must perish in the mingling storm?

Shall each pretend to reach the skies, Yet doom his brother to expire, Whose soul a different hope supplies, Or doctrines less severe inspire?

Shall these, by creeds they can't expound, Prepare a fancied bliss or woe?

Shall reptiles, grovelling on the ground, Their great Creator's purpose know?

Shall those who live for self alone, Whose years float on in daily crime-- Shall they by Faith for guilt atone, And live beyond the bounds of Time?

Father! no prophet's laws I seek,-- _Thy_ laws in Nature's works appear;-- I own myself corrupt and weak, Yet will I pray, for thou wilt hear!

Thou, who canst guide the wandering star Through trackless realms of aether's s.p.a.ce; Who calm'st the elemental war, Whose hand from pole to pole I trace: Thou, who in wisdom placed me here, Who, when thou wilt, can take me hence, Ah! whilst I tread this earthly sphere, Extend to me thy wide defence.

To Thee, my G.o.d, to Thee I call!

Whatever weal or woe betide, By thy command I rise or fall, In thy protection I confide.

If, when this dust to dust restored, My soul shall float on airy wing, How shall thy glorious name adored, Inspire her feeble voice to sing!

But, if this fleeting spirit share With clay the grave's eternal bed, While life yet throbs, I raise my prayer, Though doom'd no more to quit the dead.

To Thee I breathe my humble strain, Grateful for all thy mercies past, And hope, my G.o.d, to thee again This erring life may fly at last.

"29th Dec. 1806.

BYRON."

In another of these poems, which extends to about a hundred lines, and which he wrote under the melancholy impression that he should soon die, we find him concluding with a prayer in somewhat the same spirit.

After bidding adieu to all the favourite scenes of his youth,[68] he thus continues,--

"Forget this world, my restless sprite, Turn, turn thy thoughts to Heav'n: There must thou soon direct thy night, If errors are forgiven.

To bigots and to sects unknown.

Bow down beneath the Almighty's throne;-- To him address thy trembling prayer; He, who is merciful and just, Will not reject a child of dust, Although his meanest care.

Father of Light, to thee I call, My soul is dark within; Thou, who canst mark the sparrow fall, Avert the death of sin.

Thou, who canst guide the wandering star, Who calm'st the elemental war, Whose mantle is yon boundless sky, My thoughts, my words, my crimes forgive; And, since I soon must cease to live, Instruct me how to die.

1807."

We have seen, by a former letter, that the law proceedings for the recovery of his Rochdale property had been attended with success in some trial of the case at Lancaster. The following note to one of his Southwell friends, announcing a second triumph of the cause, shows how sanguinely and, as it turned out, erroneously, he calculated on the results.

"Feb. 9. 1807.

Dear ----,

"I have the pleasure to inform you we have gained the Rochdale cause a second time, by which I am, 60,000 plus. Yours ever,

"BYRON."

In the month of April we find him still at Southwell, and addressing to his friend, Dr. Pigot, who was at Edinburgh, the following note[69]:--

"Southwell, April, 1807.

"My dear Pigot,

"Allow me to congratulate you on the success of your first examination--'_Courage_, mon ami.' The t.i.tle of Doctor will do wonders with the damsels. I shall most probably be in Ess.e.x or London when you arrive at this d----d place, where I am detained by the publication of my rhymes.

"Adieu.--Believe me yours very truly,

"BYRON.

"P.S. Since we met, I have reduced myself by violent exercise, much physic, and hot bathing, from 14 stone 6 lb. to 12 stone 7 lb. In all I have lost 27 pounds. Bravo!--what say you?"

His movements and occupations for the remainder of this year will be best collected from a series of his own letters, which I am enabled, by the kindness of the lady to whom they were addressed, to give.

Though these letters are boyishly[70] written, and a good deal of their pleasantry is of that conventional kind which depends more upon phrase than thought, they will yet, I think, be found curious and interesting, not only as enabling us to track him through this period of his life, but as throwing light upon various little traits of character, and laying open to us the first working of his hopes and fears while waiting, in suspense, the opinions that were to decide, as he thought, his future fame. The first of the series, which is without date, appears to have been written before he had left Southwell. The other letters, it will be seen, are dated from Cambridge and from London.

LETTER 12.