at his blaze--
A funeral pile.

The hope, the fears, the jealous care,
The exalted portion of the pain
And power of love I cannot share,
But wear the chain."

Such was the harassed state of Lord Byron's mind, at the epoch of his
life which seemed to promise a crowded abundance of exciting sensations.
He had hastened to the consecrated haunts of classic associations; he
was struggling for honour on the parent soil of glory; he was surrounded
by the stir and tumult of barbarous warfare; he had the consciousness,
that the eyes of the civilized world were fixed upon his actions; he
professed to feel the impulse of enthusiasm in behalf of liberty; and
yet there was not irritation enough in the new and busy life of a
soldier, to overcome his apathy, and restore him to happy activity. He
only sought to give away his breath on the field, and to take his rest
in a soldier's grave.

The literature of the day is essentially transient. The rapid
circulation of intelligence enriches the public mind by imparting and
diffusing every discovery; and the active spirit of man, quickened by
the easy possession of practical knowledge, rightly claims the instant
distribution of useful truth. But with this is connected a feverish
excitement for novelty. The world, in the earliest days of which
accounts have reached us, followed after the newest strains; and now
the lessons of former ages, though they have a persuasive eloquence for
the tranquil listener, are as blank and as silent as the grave to the
general ear. The voice of the past, all musical as it is with the finest
harmonies of human intelligence, is lost in the jangling din of
temporary discussions. Philosophy steals from the crowd, and hides
herself in retirement, awaiting a better day; true learning is
undervalued, and almost disappears from among men. It would seem, as
though the wise men of old frowned in anger on the turbulence of the
petty passions, and withdrew from the noisy and contentious haunts,
where wisdom has no votaries, and tranquillity no followers. In the days
of ancient liberty, the public places rung with the nervous eloquence of
sublime philosophy; and the streets of Athens offered nothing more
attractive than the keen discussions, the piercing satire, and the calm
philanthropy of Socrates. But now it is politics which rules the city
and the country; the times of deep reflection, of slowly maturing
thought, are past; an