"Then to see
The valley of sweet waters, were to know
Earth paved like Heaven; and to seem such to me
Even now what wants thy stream?--that it should Lethe be:
* * * * * * *
But o'er the blacken'd memory's blighting dream
Thy waves would vainly roll, all sweeping as they seem."

As to being himself a witness and spectator of scenes of violence, it
was an effort which exceeded the strength, however great, of his will.
Gifted with much psychological curiosity, and holding the theory that
every thing should be seen, he was present at Rome at the execution of
three murderers, who were to be put to death, on the eve of his
departure. This spectacle agitated him to such a degree that it brought
on a fever.

In Spain he attended a bull-fight. The painful impression produced by
the barbarous sight is immortalized in verse (_vide_ "Childe Harold,"
1st canto).

But his actions, above all, testify to his humane disposition. He never
heard of the misfortune or suffering of a fellow-creature without
endeavoring to relieve it, whether in London, Venice, Ravenna, Pisa, or
Greece; he spared neither gold, time, nor labor to achieve this object.
At Pisa, hearing that a wretched man, guilty of a sacrilegious theft,
was to be condemned to cruel torture, he became ill with dread and
anxiety. He wrote to the English ambassador, and to the consuls, begging
for their interposition; neglected no chance, and did not rest until he
acquired the certainty that the penalty inflicted on the culprit would
be more humane.

In Greece, where traits of generous compassion fill the rest of his
life, Count Gamba relates that Colonel Napier, then residing in the
Island of Cephalonia, one day rode in great haste to Lord Byron, to ask
for his assistance, a number of workmen, employed in making a road,
having been buried under the crumbling side of a mountain in consequence
of an imprudent operation. Lord Byron immediately dispatched his
physician, and, although just sitting down to table, had his horses
saddled, and galloped off to the scene of the disaster, accompanied by
Count Gamba and his suite. Women and children wept and moaned, the crowd
each moment increased, lamentations were heard on all sides, but,
whether from despair or laziness, none came forward. Generous anger
overcame Lord Byron at this scene of woe and shame; he leapt from his
horse, and, grasping the necessary implements, began with his own