it "an after dinner's indigest"; and _Cain_ is rather
skimble-skamble stuff, though Mr. Brooke calls it "the most powerful,
the most human, the most serious thing he ever wrote, and the most
effective"--which is surely a most inept criticism. Byron rarely
succeeded as a serious poet; when he did so it was only in short
flights. He found the proper field for his genius in _Don Juan_. His
province was satire, and the _Vision of Judgment_ is at the top of
English achievement in this direction, A creative imagination he did not
possess, any more than a profound intellect; and it was the perception
of this fact which prompted his impertinent sneers at Shakespeare.
But he had imagination enough to give wings to his satire, and an
inexhaustible wit which played like lightning around the objects of his
indignation or contempt. Never did he reason like Shelley, and it is
clear that he was afraid to; he attacked in his own way what he _felt_
to be false and despicable, and the sword he wielded was ravishingly
(or terribly) brilliant, though it _never cut deep enough_. One loves
to think of him at last, however, laying down his life, as he gave his
substance, for the freedom of Greece. With all his faults, no pious or
cowardly fear of death ever haunted his mighty spirit. How gloriously he
would have died on the battle-field, fighting desperately for the cause
of the people! The last verses he ever wrote showed the troubled
stream of his life running pure at its close. Noble and sincere in its
language, it was a fitting farewell to the world; and although the poet
did not find his "soldier's grave," he died none the less for the cause
to which he had pledged his fortune and the remnant of his strength.

"Shelley did also a work of destruction," says Mr. Brooke, "though in a
very different way from Byron." We should think so indeed! The "also"
is singularly weak in this instance, for Shelley attacked the Christian
superstition directly, and _Queen Mab_ had far more readers than _Cain_,
the cheap, pirated editions being circulated extensively among the
working classes.

"He began," says Mr. Brooke, "by being an Atheist, he ended by
being what we call an Agnostic." But is this any more than a verbal
distinction? It appears to us that Shelley's principles are the same
in _Prometheus Unbound_ as in _Queen Mab_. The change is in their
presentation; the passionate vehemence of youth is succeeded by the
restrained power of manhood. It is