oof from such
ties, and, instead of the softer duties and rewards of being amiable,
reserved themselves for the high, hazardous chances of being great. In
looking back through the lives of the most illustrious poets,--the class
of intellect in which the characteristic features of genius are,
perhaps, most strongly marked,--we shall find that, with scarcely one
exception, from Homer down to Lord Byron, they have been, in their
several degrees, restless and solitary spirits, with minds wrapped up,
like silk-worms, in their own tasks, either strangers, or rebels to
domestic ties, and bearing about with them a deposit for posterity in
their souls, to the jealous watching and enriching of which almost all
other thoughts and considerations have been sacrificed.

"To follow poetry as one ought (says the authority[54] I have already
quoted), one must forget father and mother and cleave to it alone." In
these few words is pointed out the sole path that leads genius to
greatness. On such terms alone are the high places of fame to be
won;--nothing less than the sacrifice of the entire man can achieve
them. However delightful, therefore, may be the spectacle of a man of
genius tamed and domesticated in society, taking docilely upon him the
yoke of the social ties, and enlightening without disturbing the sphere
in which he moves, we must nevertheless, in the midst of our admiration,
bear in mind that it is not thus smoothly or amiably immortality has
been ever struggled for, or won. The poet thus circumstanced may be
popular, may be loved; for the happiness of himself and those linked
with him he is in the right road,--but not for greatness. The marks by
which Fame has always separated her great martyrs from the rest of
mankind are not upon him, and the crown cannot be his. He may dazzle,
may captivate the circle, and even the times in which he lives, but he
is not for hereafter.

To the general description here given of that high class of human
intelligences to which he belonged, the character of Lord Byron was, in
many respects, a signal exception. Born with strong affections and
ardent passions, the world had, from first to last, too firm a hold on
his sympathies to let imagination altogether usurp the place of reality,
either in his feelings, or in the objects of them. His life, indeed, was
one continued struggle between that instinct of genius, which was for
ever drawing him back into the lonely laboratory of Self, and those