ing of Abel, is borne by
Lucifer through the boundless fields of the universe. Cain yet dares
to question the wisdom of the Almighty in bringing evil, sin, and
remorse into the world. A critic has remarked that "Milton wrote his
great poem to justify the ways of God to man; Byron's object seems to
be to justify the ways of man to God."

The very soul of stormy revolt breathes through both _Manfred_ and
_Cain_, but _Cain_ has more interest as a pure drama. It contains some
sweet passages and presents one lovely woman,--Adah. But Byron could
not interpret character wholly at variance with his own. He possessed
but little constructive skill, and he never overcame the difficulties
of blank verse. A drama that does not show wide sympathy with varied
types of humanity and the constructive capacity to present the
complexities of life is lacking in essential elements of greatness.

Childe Harold, The Vision of Judgment, and Don Juan.--His best works
are the later poems, which require only a slight framework or plot,
such as _Childe Harold's Pilgrimage, The Vision of Judgement,_ and
_Don Juan_.

The third and fourth cantos of _Childe Harold_, published in 1816 and
1818, respectively, are far superior to the first two. These later
cantos continue the travels of Harold, and contain some of Byron's
most splendid descriptions of nature, cities, and works of art. Rome,
Venice, the Rhine, the Alps, and the sea inspired the finest lines. He
wrote of Venice as she--

"...Sate in state, throned on her hundred isles!
* * * * *
She looks a sea Cybele, fresh from ocean,
Rising with her tiara of proud towers
At airy distance."

He calls Rome--

"The Niobe of nations! there she stands.
Childless and crownless, in her voiceless woe;
An empty urn within her wither'd hands,
Whose holy dust was scattered long ago."

The following description, from Canto III, of a wild stormy night in
the mountains is very characteristic of his nature poetry and of his
own individuality:--

"And this is in the night:--Most Glorious night!
Thou wert not sent for slumber! let me be
A sharer in thy fierce and far delight--
A portion of the tempest and of thee!
How the lit lake shines, a phosphoric sea,
And the big rain comes dancing to the earth!
And now again 'tis black,--and now, the glee
of the loud hills shakes with its mountain-mirth
As if they did rejoice o'er a young