wild and lonely flowers,
And rocks, whereby they grew, a Paradise,
Where I did lay me down within the shade
Of waving trees, and dream'd uncounted hours."

"The truth is," adds Galt, by way of conclusion, "that no poet has ever
described love better than Lord Byron in that particular _ethereal_
shade:----

"'His love was passion's essence:--as a tree
On fire by lightning, with ethereal flame
Kindled he was, and blasted; for to be
Thus, and enamor'd, were in him the same.
But his was not the love of living dame,
Nor of the dead who rise upon our dreams,
But of ideal beauty, which became
In him existence, and o'erflowing teems
Along his burning page, distemper'd though it seems.'"
"_Childe Harold_," canto iii. stanza 78.

And even if it should be denied that love, in Lord Byron's writings, as
indeed in himself, was purely metaphysical, it must, at least, be
acknowledged that it was chaste. This would be more easily recognizable
if the letters dictated by his heart, if his _love-letters,_ were known.
But since we can not open these intimate treasures of his heart to the
public, we will speak of those given us in his writings, and we will
thence draw our conclusions: firstly, in regard to the characters he
gives to all his heroines; secondly, as to the pictures he makes of love
in passages where he speaks seriously, and in his own name.

LORD BYRON'S FEMALE CHARACTERS.

What poet of energy has ever painted woman more chaste, more gentle and
sweet, than Lord Byron?

"One of the distinguishing excellences of Lord Byron," says one of his
best critics, "is that which may be found in all his productions,
whether romantic, classical, or fantastical, an intense sentiment of the
loveliness of woman, and the faculty, not only of drawing individual
forms, but likewise of infusing into the very atmosphere surrounding
them, the essence of beauty and love. A soft roseate hue, that seems to
penetrate down to the bottom of the soul, is spread over them."

More than any other genius, Lord Byron had the magic power of conjuring
up before our imagination the ideal image of his subject. He was not at
all perplexed how to clothe his ideas. That quality, so sought after by
other writers, and so necessary for hiding faults, was quite natural to
him. When he describes women, a few rapid strokes suffice to engrave an
indelible image on the mind of the reader. Let us take f