ven in his
magnificent passages, in a glowing description of nature or of a Hindoo
woman's exquisite love, his work is frequently marred by a wretched pun, or
by some cheap buffoonery, which ruins our first splendid impression of his
poetry.

Byron's later volumes, _Manfred_ and _Cain_, the one a curious, and perhaps
unconscious, parody of _Faust_, the other of _Paradise Lost_, are his two
best known dramatic works. Aside from the question of their poetic value,
they are interesting as voicing Byron's excessive individualism and his
rebellion against society. The best known and the most readable of Byron's
works _Mazeppa, The Prisoner of Chillon_, and _Childe Harold's Pilgrimage_.
The first two cantos of _Childe Harold_ (1812) are perhaps more frequently
read than any other work of the same author, partly because of their
melodious verse, partly because of their descriptions of places along the
lines of European travel; but the last two cantos (1816-1818) written after
his exile from England, have more sincerity, and are in every way better
expressions of Byron's mature genius. Scattered through all his works one
finds magnificent descriptions of natural scenery, and exquisite lyrics of
love and despair; but they are mixed with such a deal of bombast and
rhetoric, together with much that is unwholesome, that the beginner will do
well to confine himself to a small volume of well-chosen selections.[227]

Byron is often compared with Scott, as having given to us Europe and the
Orient, just as Scott gave us Scotland and its people; but while there is a
certain resemblance in the swing and dash of the verses, the resemblance is
all on the surface, and the underlying difference between the two poets is
as great as that between Thackeray and Bulwer-Lytton. Scott knew his
country well,--its hills and valleys which are interesting as the abode of
living and lovable men and women. Byron pretended to know the secret,
unwholesome side of Europe, which generally hides itself in the dark; but
instead of giving us a variety of living men, he never gets away from his
own unbalanced and egotistical self. All his characters, in _Cain, Manfred,
The Corsair, The Giaour, Childe Harold, Don Juan_, are tiresome repetitions
of himself,--a vain, disappointed, cynical man, who finds no good in life
or love or anything. Naturally, with such a disposition, he is entirely
incapable of portraying a true woman. To nature alone, especially in her
magn