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Page 28
It was ludicrous to see and hear Mrs. Davis, she thought papa an
extraordinary man before, but now, she knew not how to express her
admiration of his courage and discernment even I, fell in for a share
of her praises. "Who could," she said "have thought it!" indeed, every
one seemed surprised, and wondered they never suspected the truth, as
papa did, but I must leave all their surmises and curious remarks till
we meet, only telling you, Jenkins the wounded man lived long enough
to testify sincere repentance and poor Mary his wife, was restored to
her parents through the intercession of papa who thinks she will
now-become a respectable character. The man who was taken, was
doubtless more guilty than could be proved, however he was found
sufficiently so, to be sent to hard labour for three months in the
neighbouring Penitentiary. He proved to be the identical Jamie Reece,
who was said to have been spirited away by the ghost, but who, in
fact, joined the gang which had just lost one of their number.
An immense quantity of contraband goods were found secreted.
I must now conclude this voluminous epistle and trust we shall soon
meet, when I have a great deal more to say. And next summer you will I
hope be able to come spend a month here.
I remain, my dear Charles,
Yours sincerely,
FRED. GRAYSON.
LORD BYRON.
A man of rank and of capacious soul,
Who riches had, and fame beyond desire,
An heir to flattery, to titles born,
And reputation and luxurious life;
Yet not content with his ancestral name,
Or to be known, because his fathers were,
He, on this height hereditary, stood,
And, gazing higher, purposed in his heart
To take another step. Above him, seemed
Alone, the mount of song, the lofty seat
Of canonized bards; and thitherward,
By nature taught, and native melody,
In prime of youth, he bent his eagle eye.
No cost was spared--what books he wished, he read;
What sage to hear, he heard; what scenes to see
He saw. And first in rambling school-boy days
Britannia's mountain walks and heath girt lakes,
And story telling glens, and founts, and brooks,
And maids as dew-drops pure and fair, his soul,
With grandeur filled, and melody, and love.
Then travel came and took him where he wished;
He cities saw, and courts, and princely pomp,
And mused alone on ancient mountain brows,
And mused on battle fields, where valor fought
In other days: and mused on men, grey
With years: and drank from old and fabulous wells,
And plucked the vine that first-born prophets plucked;
And mused on famous tombs, and on the wave
Of ocean mused, and on the desert waste,
The heavens and earth of every country; saw
Where'er the old inspiring genii dwelt,
Aught that could expand, refine the soul,
Thither he went, and meditated there.
He touched his harp and nations heard, entranced,
As some vast river of unfailing source.
Rapid, exhaustless, deep, his numbers flowed
And ope'd new fountains in the human heart
Where fancy halted, weary in her flight,
In other men, _his_ fresh as morning rose,
And soared untrodden heights, and seemed at home
Where angels bashful looked. Others, though great,
Beneath their arguments seemed struggling, while
He from above descending, stopped to touch
The loftiest thought, and proudly stooped as though
It scarce deserved his verse. With nature's self
He seemed an old acquaintance, free to jest
At will, with all her glorious Majesty;
He laid his hand upon "the ocean's wave,"
And played familiar with his hoary locks;
Stood on the Alps, stood on the Apennines,
And with the thunder talked, as friend to friend,
And wove his garland of the light'ning's wing,
In sportive twist;--the light'ning's fiery wing,
Which, as the footsteps of the dreadful God,
Marching up the storm in vengeance, seemed
Then turned: and with the grasshopper, who song
His evening song beneath his feet, conversed,
Suns, moons, and stars, and clouds, his sisters were,
Rocks, mountains, meteors, seas, and winds, and storms,
His brothers; younger brothers, whom he scarce
As equals deemed. All passions of all men,
The wild, the same, the gentle, the severe;
All thoughts, all maxims, sacred and profane,
All creeds, all seasons, time, eternity:
All that was hated, and all that was dear,
All that was hoped, all that was feared by man,
He tossed about as tempest withered leaves.
Then smiling looked upon the wreck he made.
With terror now he froze the cowering blood,
And now dissolved the heart in tenderness,
Yet would not tremble, would not weep himself,
But back into his soul retired, alone.
Dark sullen, proud, gazing contemptuously
On hearts and passions prostrate at his feet,
So ocean from the plains, his waves had late
To desolation swept, retired in pride,
Exulting in the glory of his might,
And seemed to mock the ruin he had wrought,
As some fierce comet of tremendous size,
To which the stars did reverence as it passed,
So he, through learning and through fancy took
His flight sublime, and on the loftiest top
Of fame's dread mountain sat. Not soiled and worn
As if he from the earth had labored up,
But as some bird of heavenly plumage fair
He looked, which down from higher regions came,
And perched it there to see what lay beneath.
The nations gazed and wondered much and praised;
Critics before him fell in humble plight,
Confounded fell and made debasing signs
To catch his eye; and stretched, and swelled themselves
To bursting nigh, to utter bulky words
Of admiration vast: and many, too
Many, that aimed to imitate his flight,
With weaker wing, unearthly fluttering made,
And gave abundant sport to after days.
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