minute existence. Even as that poor little existence shoots out
its fibres to meet those rays which have travelled such great lengths, so
a spirit in the spheres feels the quickening, effulgent rays thrown out
by the brain of some prophet or poet existing millions and billions and
trillions of miles away on some distant spirit planet, and his thought
expands and enlarges beneath the warming action of that far-off brain,
until it assumes a shape and form which its own emulation never
prophesied."

BYRON.

_TO HIS ACCUSERS_.

I.

My soul is sick of calumny and lies:
Men gloat on evil--even woman's hand
Will dabble in the mire, nor heed the cries
Of the poor victim whom she seeks to brand
In thy sweet name, Religion, through the land!
Like the keen tempest she doth strip her prey,
Tossing him bare and wrecked upon the strand,
While vaunting her misdeeds before the day,
Bearing a monument which crumbles like the clay.

II.

My sister, have I lived to see thy name
Dishonored? Thou, who wast my pride, my stay;
Shall Jealousy and Fraud thy love defame
And I be dumb? Just Heaven, let a ray
From thy majestic light illume earth's clay,[A]
That through her I may scorch the slander vile,
And light throughout the land a torch to-day,
Which shall reveal how false and full of guile
Are they who seek thy name, Augusta, to defile.

[Footnote A: The Clairvoyant.]

III.

She who has borne my title and my name,
In deeds fraternal saw some monster crime;
To her base level sought my heart to tame,
Made mock of each aspiring thought sublime,
And sought to bury me beneath the slime
Of her imaginings. All--all are gone
Who could defend me. From the grave of time
I am unearth'd--by sland'rous miscreants torn,
And rise to feel again the ills I once have borne.

IV.

Is this a Christian deed, to flaunt a vice,
And with another's failings gild your own?
To hearken to the whisperings and device
Of old age, selfish, to suspicion grown?
To misconstrue each friendly look--each tone--
And out of natural love create vile lust?
Must brother's heart his very kin disown,
While rudest hand disturbs her mouldering dust?
Is this a Christian deed? Shall mankind call it just?

V.

But let that pass. I hear a nation's voice
Raised to defend the absent, wronged child;
My hopes and aims were high, albeit my choice
Was fixed on one who felt not for my wild