It is attested, by all those who were acquainted with Mary Chaworth, that she always bore an exemplary character. It was well known that her marriage was an unhappy one, and that she had been for some time deserted by her husband. In June, 1813, when she fell under the fatal spell of Byron, then the most fascinating man in society,[38] she was living in deep dejection, parted from her lawful protector, with whom she had a serious disagreement. He had neglected her, and she well knew that she had a rival in his affections at that time. It was in these distressing circumstances that Byron, with the world at his feet, came to worship her in great humility. As he looked back upon the past, he realized that this neglected woman had always been the light of his life, the lodestar of his destiny. And now that he beheld his 'Morning Star of Annesley' shedding ineffectual rays upon the dead embers of a lost love, the old feeling returned to him with resistless force. 'We met--we gazed--I saw, and sighed; She did not speak, and yet replied; There are ten thousand tones and signs We hear and see, but none defines-- Involuntary sparks of thought, Which strike from out the heart o'erwrought, And form a strange intelligence, Alike mysterious and intense, Which link the burning chain that binds, Without their will, young hearts and minds. I saw, and sighed--in silence wept, And still reluctant distance kept, Until I was made known to her, And we might then and there confer Without suspicion--then, even then, I longed, and was resolved to speak; But on my lips they died again, The accents tremulous and weak, Until one hour... * * * * * 'I would have given My life but to have called her mine In the full view of Earth and Heaven; For I did oft and long repine That we could only meet by stealth.' In the remorseful words of Manfred, 'Her faults were mine--her virtues were her own-- I loved her, and destroyed her!... Not with my hand, but heart--which broke _her_ heart-- It gazed on mine and withered.' Without attempting to excuse Byron's conduct--indeed, that were useless--it must be remembered that he was only twenty-five years of age, and Mary was very unhappy. After all hope of meeting her again had been abandoned, the force of destiny, so to speak, had unexpectedly restored his lost Thyrza--the _Theresa_ of 'Mazeppa.' 'I loved her then, I love her still; And such as I am, love indeed In fierce extremes--in good and ill-- But still we love... Haunted to our very age With the vain shadow of the past.'