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_.
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