THE opposite engraving presents a fac-simile of Stanza XCII. of the third canto of "Childe Harold," as dashed off by Lord Byron, in June, 1816, during one of his evening excursions on the Lake of Geneva. The reader will find Sir Walter's Scott's opinion of this Stanza at p. 174. Vol. VIII. The sky is changed! - and such a change! Oh night, 3 LINES WRITTEN BENEATH A PICTURE. (1) DEAR object of defeated care! Though now of Love and thee bereft, Thine image and my tears are left. 'Tis said with Sorrow Time can cope; Athens, January, 1811.(2) (1) [These lines are copied from a leaf of the original MS. of the second canto of "Childe Harold."-E] (2) [On the departure, in July, 1810, of his friend and fellow-traveller, Mr. Hobhouse, for England, Lord Byron fixed his head-quarters at Athens, where he had taken lodgings in a Franciscan convent; making occasional excursions through Attica and the Morea, and employing himself, in the interval of his tours, in collecting materials for those notices on the state of modern Greece which are appended to the second canto of "Childe Harold." In this retreat also he wrote "Hints from Horace," "The Curse of Minerva," and "Remarks on the Romaic, or Modern Greek Language." He thus writes to his mother:-" At present, I do not care to venture a winter's voyage, even if I were otherwise tired of travelling; but I am so convinced of the advantages of looking at mankind, instead of reading about them, and the bitter effects of staying at home with all the narrow prejudices of an islander, that I think there should be a law amongst us to send our young men abroad, for a term, among the few allies our wars have left us. Here I see, and have conversed with, French, Italians, Germans, Danes, Greeks, Turks, Americans, &c. &c. &c.; and, without losing sight of my own, I can judge of the countries and manners of others. When I see the superiority of England (which, by the by, we are a good deal mistaken about in many things), I am pleased; and where I find her inferior, I am at least enlightened. Now, I might have stayed, smoked in your towns, or fogged in your country, a century, without being sure of this, and without acquiring any thing more useful or amusing at home. I keep no journal; nor have I any intention of scribbling my travels. I have done with authorship; and if, in my last production, I have convinced the critics or the world I was something more than they took me for, I am satisfied; nor will I hazard that reputation by a future |