Medora was born on or about April 15, 1814. 'Lara' was written between May 4 and 14. The opening lines, which would have set every tongue wagging, were withheld from publication until January, 1887. They were written in London early in May, and were addressed to the mother of Medora: 'When thou art gone--the loved, the lost--the one Whose smile hath gladdened, though perchance undone-- _Whose name too dearly cherished to impart_ Dies on the lip, but trembles in the heart; Whose sudden mention can almost convulse, And lightens through the ungovernable pulse-- Till the heart leaps so keenly to the word We fear that throb can hardly beat unheard--[48] Then sinks at once beneath that sickly chill That follows when we find her absent still. When thou art gone--too far again to bless-- Oh! God--how slowly comes Forgetfulness! Let none complain how faithless and how brief The brain's remembrance, or the bosom's grief, Or ere they thus forbid us to forget Let Mercy strip the memory of regret; Yet--selfish still--we would not be forgot, What lip dare say--"My Love--remember not"? Oh! best--and dearest! Thou whose thrilling name My heart adores too deeply to proclaim-- My memory, almost ceasing to repine, Would mount to Hope if once secure of thine. Meantime the tale I weave must mournful be-- As absence to the heart that lives on thee!' Lord Lovelace has told us that 'nothing is too stupid for belief.' We are disposed to agree with him, especially as he produces these lines in support of his accusation against Augusta Leigh. The absurdity of supposing that they were addressed to Byron's sister appears to us to be so evident that it seems unnecessary to waste words in disputation. There is abundant proof that during this period Mrs. Leigh and Byron were in constant correspondence, and that he visited her almost daily during her simulated confinement and convalescence. When Murray sent her some books to while away the time, Byron wrote (April 9) on her behalf to thank him. And finally, as Augusta Leigh had no intention whatever of leaving London, she could in no sense have been 'the lost one' whose prospective departure filled Byron with despair. The poet and his sister--whom he was accustomed to address as 'Goose'[49]--were then, and always, on most familiar terms. The 'mention of her name' (which was often on his lips) would certainly not have convulsed him, nor have caused his heart to beat so loudly that he feared lest others should hear it! The woman to whom those lines were addressed was Mary Chaworth, whose condition induced him, on April 18, to begin a fragment entitled 'Magdalen'--she of whom he wrote on May 4: 'I speak not--I trace not--I breathe not thy name-- There is Love in the sound--there is Guilt in the fame.'