but neither did he like loneliness, and usually, when alone, sheltered himself against memory and reflection in a book. But, with one or two whom he loved, he gave way to wild and joyous spirits, or in more serious conversation expounded his opinions with vivacity and eloquence. If an argument arose, no man ever argued better. He was clear, logical, and earnest, in supporting his own views; attentive, patient, and impartial, while listening to those on the adverse side. Had not a wall of prejudice been raised at this time between him and his countrymen, how many would have sought the acquaintance of one whom to know was to love and to revere! How many of the more enlightened of his contemporaries have since regretted that they did not seek him! how very few knew his worth while he lived! and, of those few, several were withheld by timidity or envy from declaring their sense of it. But no man was ever more enthusiastically loved—more looked up to, as one superior to his fellows in intellectual endowments and moral worth, by the few who knew him well, and had sufficient nobleness of soul to appreciate his superiority. His excellence is now acknowledged; but, even while admitted, not duly appreciated. For who, except those who were acquainted with him, can imagine his unwearied benevolence, his generosity, his systematic forbearance? And still less is his vast superiority in intellectual attainments sufficiently understood—his sagacity, his clear understanding, his learning, his prodigious memory. All these, as displayed in conversation, were known to few while he lived, and are now silent in the tomb:
Gran cagion hai di dever pianger meco;
Chè quel ben ch' era in te, perdut' hai seco.'
POEMS WRITTEN IN 1819
LINES WRITTEN DURING THE CASTLEREAGH ADMINISTRATION
[Published by Med win, The Athenæum, Dec. 8, 1832; reprinted, P. W., 1839. There is a transcript amongst the Harvard MSS., and another in the possession of Mr. C. W. Frederickson of Brooklyn. Variants from these two sources are given by Professor Woodberry, Complete P. W. of P. B. S., Centenary Edition, 1893, vol. iii, pp. 225, 226. The transcripts are referred to in our footnotes as Harvard and Fred, respectively.]
Corpses are cold in the tomb;
Stones on the pavement are dumb;
Abortions are dead in the womb,
And their mothers look pale—like the death-white[1] shore
Of Albion, free no more. 5
Her sons are as stones in the way—
They are masses of senseless clay—
They are trodden, and move not away,—
The abortion with which she travaileth
Is Liberty, smitten to death. 10
- ↑ 4 death-white Harvard, Fred.; white 1832, 1839.
