LORD BYRON'S ROOM. AH! who shall say what bitter thoughts were his Within this chamber, or how oft its walls Have echoed back the sighs that heav'd his breast An exile from his land, and that fair child He yearn'd to see? How, by injustice wrung, His heart, that kindness could so swiftly move, Encased itself in coldness, or in scorn, To meet detraction, envy, jealousy, With pride that hurl'd defiance on his foes, But left him in his solitude, alive To fond regrets, and tender sympathies, With all that's noblest in the human breast, |