inspires him with the greater horror from the fact that the love
which she had sworn him probably inspired her with the foul act, to save
his life and restore him to liberty. He accuses himself with having been
the involuntary cause of it, and feels that his gratitude will be a
torture; his former love for Gulnare an impossibility. We find Byron's
own nature again in the ascetic rule of life to which Conrad has
subjected himself, and in his passionate and ideal tenderness for
Medora, whose love, in his eyes, surpasses all the happiness of this
world, and whose death plunges him into irretrievable despair.

In the "Siege of Corinth," Alp is the real type of the historical
Venetian renegade, who is incapable of forgiveness, and who makes use of
all his energies to gratify his revenge. But he represents Byron when he
speaks of the impressions which he felt under the starry canopy of
heaven the night before the battle, when his imagination, taking him
back to the happy, innocent days of his childhood, he contrasts them
with the present, which for him is one of remorse, and when there
glimmer still in his soul faint lights of humanity which make him turn
away from the horrible sight of dogs devouring the dead bodies of men.

Byron speaks in his own person in the introduction of the "Giaour,"
which is replete with most exquisite beauty. In it he opens to the
reader unexplored fields of delight, leads him through delicious
countries where all is joy for the senses, where all recollections are a
feast for the soul, and where his love of moral beauty is as strongly
marked in his praise of olden Greece, as is his condemnation of modern
degraded Greece. Byron speaks again in his own name when he puts
invectives in the mouth of the Mussulman fisherman, and makes him curse
so strongly the crime of the Giaour and the criminal himself, whose
despair is the expiation of his crimes and the beautiful triumph of
morality.

In the "Bride of Abydos" (where the terrible Ali again comes forward in
the shape of the old Giaffir) the amiable and unfortunate Selim and the
poet share the real sentiments of Byron. Byron is also himself when he
adorns his heroine with every grace and perfection of body and soul, and
also whenever it is necessary to idealize in order that a too rigorous
imitation of reality may not offend either the laws of art or the
feelings of the reader. As for "Don Juan," it is only fair to say that
he in a measure deserved th