'When all around grew drear and dark, And Reason half withheld her ray-- And Hope but shed a dying spark Which more misled my lonely way; When Fortune changed, and Love fled far, And Hatred's shafts flew thick and fast, Thou wert the solitary star Which rose, and set not to the last. And when the cloud upon us came _Which strove to blacken o'er thy ray_-- Then purer spread its gentle flame And dashed the darkness all away. Still may thy Spirit dwell on mine, _And teach it what to brave or brook_-- There's more in one soft word of thine Than in the world's defied rebuke. * * * * * _Then let the ties of baffled love Be broken_--thine will never break; Thy heart can feel.' These ingenuous words show that Byron's affection for his sister, and his gratitude for her loyalty, were both deep and sincere. If, as Lord Lovelace asserts, Byron had been her lover, we know enough of his character to be certain that he would never have written these lines. He was not a hypocrite--far from it--and it was foreign to his naturally combative nature to attempt to conciliate public opinion. These lines were written _currente calamo_, and are only interesting to us on account of the light they cast upon the situation at the time of the separation. Evidently Byron had heard a rumour of the baseless charge that was afterwards openly made. He reminds Augusta that a cloud threatened to darken her existence, but the bright rays of her purity dispelled it. He hopes that even in absence she will guide and direct him as in the past; and he compliments her by saying that one word from her had more influence over him than the whole world's censure. Although his love-episode with Mary was over, yet so long as Augusta loves him he will still have something to live for, as she alone can feel for him and understand his position. In speaking of his sister, in the third canto of 'Childe Harold,' he says: 'For there was soft Remembrance, _and sweet Trust_ In one fond breast, to which his own would melt.' '_And he had learned to love_--I know not why, For this in such as him seems strange of mood-- _The helpless looks of blooming Infancy_, Even in its earliest nurture; what subdued, To change like this, a mind so far imbued With scorn of man, it little boots to know; But thus it was; and though in solitude Small power the nipped affections have to grow, In him this glowed when all beside had ceased to glow.'