Such was the woman who, though parted by fate, maintained through sunshine and storm an ascendancy over the heart of Byron which neither time nor absence could impair, and which endured to the end of his earthly existence. We may well believe that those inarticulate words which the dying poet murmured to the bewildered Fletcher--those broken sentences which ended with, 'Tell her everything; you are friends with her'--may have referred, not to Lady Byron, as policy suggested, but to Mary Chaworth, with whom Fletcher had been acquainted since his youth. We have incontestable proof that, only two months before he died, Byron's thoughts were occupied with one whom he had named 'the starlight of his boyhood.' How deeply Byron thought about Mary Chaworth at the last is proved by the poem which was found among his papers at Missolonghi. In six stanzas the poet revealed the story that he would fain have hidden. A note in his handwriting states that they were addressed 'to no one in particular,' and that they were merely 'a poetical scherzo.' There is, however, no room for doubt that the poem bears a deep significance. I. 'I watched thee when the foe was at our side, Ready to strike at him--or thee and me Were safety hopeless--rather than divide Aught with one loved, save love and liberty.' We have here a glimpse of that turbulent scene when Mary's husband, in a fit of jealousy, put an end to their dangerous intimacy. II. 'I watched thee on the breakers, when the rock Received our prow, and all was storm and fear, And bade thee cling to me through every shock; This arm would be thy bark, or breast thy bier.' This brings us to that period of suspense and fear, in 1814, which preceded the birth of Medora. In a letter which Byron at that time wrote to Miss Milbanke, we find these words: 'I am at present a little feverish--I mean mentally--and, as usual, _on the brink of something or other, which will probably crush me at last, and cut our correspondence short, with everything else_.' Twelve days later (March 3, 1814), Byron tells Moore that he is 'uncomfortable,' and that he has 'no lack of argument to ponder upon of the most gloomy description.' 'Some day or other,' he writes, 'when we are _veterans_, I may tell you a tale of present and past times; and it is not from want of confidence that I do not now.... _All this would be very well if I had no heart_; but, unluckily, I have found that there is such a thing still about me, though in no very good repair, and also that it has a habit of attaching itself to _one_, whether I will or no. _Divide et impera_, I begin to think, will only do for politics.' When Moore, who was puzzled, asked Byron to explain himself more clearly, he replied: 'Guess darkly, and you will seldom err.' Thirty-four days later Medora was born, April 15, 1814. III.