"But never strive to lure the heart
From _one_ to which 'tis ever nearest,
Lest from its duty it depart,
And shun the Pow'r which should be dearest:
For heav'n may sting thy heart in turn,
And rob thee of thy sweetest treasure
But, BYRON! thou hast yet to learn,
_That Virtue is the source of pleasure!_"
TYRTAEUS.
G--n-street, Feb. 9, 1814.
[Footnote 1: 'The Corsair'.]
[Footnote 2: In allusion to the general melancholy character of his
Lordship's poetical doctrines.]
* * * * *
(6) To LORD BYRON ('Morning Post', February 15, 1814).
Occasioned by reading his Poem, at the end of 'The Corsair', beginning:
"_Weep, Daughter of a Royal Line_."
Shame on the verse that dares intrude
On Virtue's uncorrupted way--
That smiles upon Ingratitude,
And charms us only to betray!
For this does BYRON'S muse employ
The calm unbroken hours of night?
And wou'd she basely thus destroy
The source of all that's just-upright?
Traitor to every moral law!
Think what thy own cold heart wou'd feel,
If some insidious mind should draw
Thy daughter [1] from her filial zeal.
And dost thou bid the offspring shun
Its father's fond, incessant care?
Why, every sister, sire, and son,
Must loathe thee as the poison'd air!
BYRON! thy dark, unhallow'd mind,
Stor'd as it is with Atheist writ,
Will surely, never, never find,
One convert to admire its wit!
Thou art a planet boding woe,
Attractive for thy novel mien--
A calm, but yet a deadly foe,
Most baneful when thou'rt most serene!
Tho' fortune on thy course may shine,
Strive not to lead the mind astray,
Nor let one impious verse of thine,
The unsuspecting heart betray!
But rather let thy talents aim
To lead incautious youth aright;
Thus shall thy works acquire that fame,
Which ought to be thy chief delight.
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