[The Foreign Quarterly Review gives the following sketch as a "pendant to Mr. Pouqueville's picture of the poet, given in a preceding page," and requoted by us in the last No. of the MIRROR. It is from a History of Greece, by Rizo, a Wallachian sentimentalist of the first order, and in enthusiasm and exuberance of style, it will perhaps compare with any previous sketches of the late Lord Byron: but the romantic interest which Rizo has thrown about these "more last words" will doubtless render them acceptable to our readers.]

For several years a man, a poet, excited the admiration of civilized people. His sublime genius towered above the atmosphere, and penetrated, with a searching look, even into the deepest abysses of the human heart. Envy, which could not reach the poet, attacked the man, and wounded him cruelly; but, too great to defend, and too generous to revenge himself, he only sought for elevated impressions, and "vivoit de grand sensations," (which we cannot translate), capable of the most noble devotedness, and, persuaded that excellence is comprised in justice, he embraced the cause of the Greeks. Still young, Byron had traversed Greece, properly so called, and described the moral picture of its inhabitants. He quitted these countries, pitying in his verses the misery of the Greeks, blaming their lethargy, and despising their stupid submission; so difficult is it to know a nation by a rapid glance. What was the astonishment of the poet, when some years later he saw these people, whom he had thought unworthy to bear the name of Greeks, rise up with simultaneous eagerness, and declare, in the face of the world, that "they would again become a nation." Byron hesitated at first; ancient prepossessions made him attribute this rupture to a partial convulsion, the ultimate effort of a being ready to breathe the last sigh. Soon new prodigies, brilliant exploits, and heroic constancy, which sustained itself in spite of every opposition, proved to him that he had ill-judged this people, and excited him to repair his error by the sacrifice of his fortune and life; he wished to concur in the work of regeneration. From the shores of the beautiful Etruria he set sail for Greece, in the month of August, 1823. He visited at first the seven Ionian Isles, where he sojourned some time, busied in concluding the first Greek loan. The death of Marco Botzaris redoubled the enthusiasm of Byron, and perhaps determined him to prefer the town of Missolonghi, which already showed for its glory the tombs of Normann, Kyriakoulis, and Botzaris. Alas! that town was destined, four months later, to reckon another mausoleum!

Towards the month of November a Hydriote brig of war, commanded by the nephew of the brave Criézy, sailed to Cephalonia to take him on board, and bring him to Missolonghi; but the Septinsular government, not permitting ships bearing a Greek flag to come into its harbours, Byron was obliged to pass to Zante in a small vessel, and to join the Greek brig afterwards, which was waiting for him near Zante. Hardly was Byron on board when he kissed the mainmast, calling it "sacred wood." The ship's crew astonished at this whimsical behaviour, regarded him in silence; suddenly Byron turned towards the captain and the sailors, whom he embraced with tears, and said to them, "It is by this wood that you will consolidate your independence." At these words the sailors, moved with enthusiasm, regarded him with admiration. Byron soon reached Missolonghi: the members of the Administrative Council received him at the head of two thousand soldiers drawn up in order. The artillery of the place, and the discharge of musquetry announced the happy arrival of this great man. All the inhabitants ran to the shore, and welcomed him with acclamations. As soon as he had entered the town, he went to the hotel of the Administrative Council, where he was complimented by Porphyrios, Archbishop of Arta, Lepanto and Etolia, accompanied by all his clergy. The first words of Byron were, "Where is the brother of the modern Leonidas?" Constantine Botzaris, a young man, tall and well made, immediately stepped forward, and Byron thus accosted him:—"Happy mortal! Thou art the brother of a hero, whose name will never be effaced in the lapse of ages!" Then perceiving a great crowd assembled under the windows of the hotel, he advanced towards the casement, and said, "Hellenes! you see amongst you an Englishman who has never ceased to study Greece in her antiquity, and to think of her in her modern state; an Englishman who has always invoked by his vows that liberty, for which you are now making so many heroic efforts. I am grateful for the sentiments which you testify towards me; in a short time you will see me in the middle of your phalanxes, to conquer or perish with you." A month afterwards the government sent him a deputation, charged to offer him a sword and the patent of Greek citizenship; at the same time the town of Missolonghi inscribed him in its archives. For this public act they prepared a solemn ceremony for him; they fixed beforehand the day—they invited there by circular letters the inhabitants of the neighbouring districts—and more than twenty thousand persons arrived at Missolonghi. Byron in a Greek costume, preceded and followed by all the military, who loved him, proceeded to the church, where the Archbishop Porphyrios and the bishop of Rogon, Joseph, that martyr of religion and his country, received him in the vestibule of the church, clothed in their sacerdotal habits; and, after having celebrated mass, they offered him the sword and the patent of citizenship. Byron demanded that the sword should be first dedicated on the tomb of Marco Botzaris; and immediately the whole retinue, and an immense crowd, went out of the church to the tomb of that warrior, which had been ornamented with beautiful marble at the expense of the poet.

The archbishop placed the sword upon this tomb, and then Byron, to inspire the Greeks with enthusiasm, advanced with a religious silence, and stopping all on a sudden, he pronounced this discourse in the Greek tongue:—"What man reposes buried under this stone? What hollow voice issues from this tomb? What is this sepulchre, from whence will spring the happiness of Greece? But what am I saying? Is it not the tomb of Marco Botzaris, who has been dead some months, and who, with a handful of brave men, precipitated himself upon the numerous ranks of the most formidable enemies of Greece? How dare I approach the sacred place where he reposes—I, who neither possess his heroism nor his virtues? However, in touching this tomb, I hope that its emanations will always inflame my heart with patriotism." So saying, and advancing towards the sepulchre, he kissed it while shedding tears. Every spectator exclaimed, "Lord Byron for ever!" "I see," added his lordship, "the sword and the letter of citizenship, which the government offers me; from this day I am the fellow-citizen of this hero, and of all the brave people who surround me. Hellenes! I hope to live with you, to fight the enemy with you, and to die with you if it be necessary." Byron, superior to vulgar prejudice, saw in the manners of the pallikares an ingenuous simplicity, a manly frankness and rustic procedure, but full of honour; he observed in the people a docility and constancy capable of the greatest efforts, when it shall be conducted by skilful and virtuous men; he observed amongst the Greek women natural gaiety, unstudied gentleness, and religious resignation to misfortunes.

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The Mirror of Literature, Amusement, and Instruction. Volume 12, No. 336, October 18, 1828

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