"He had sung against all battles, and again In their high praise and glory; he had called Reviewing, 'the ungentle craft,' and then Become as base a critic as e'er crawl'd-- Fed, paid, and pampered by the very men By whom his muse and morals had been mauled. He had written much blank verse, and blanker prose, And more of both than any body knows." BYRON, _The Vision of Judgment_. Spite of the indecencies of Byron's muse, and the orthodox character of Southey's, it must be confessed that the former is much less mischievous than the latter. Everywhere, Byron speaks out boldly his opinion of men and things. Everywhere, he hates despotism, and laughs to scorn cant and hypocrisy. If he be too free in some of his sentiments, he is equally free where he ought to be so. The world will never have to complain that the liberties of mankind have been curtailed through the inculcations of Lord Byron; or that he has endeavored to confound all just sense of morals, by heaping incense on the vilest of princes. What an impressive contrast is there between the Laureate's hymning of the bloated George IV. into Dublin, and the Irish Avater of Byron:-- "Oh, what a joy was there! In loud huzzas prolonged. Surge after surge the tide Of popular welcome rose; And in the interval alone Of that tumultuous sound of glad acclaim Could the deep cannon's voice Of duteous gratulation, though it spake In thunder, reach the ear. From every tower the merry bells rung round, Peal hurrying upon peal, Till with the still reverberating din The walls and solid pavement seem to shake, And every bosom with the tremulous air Inhaled a dizzy joy. Age, that came forth to gaze That memorable day, Felt in its quickened veins a pulse like youth; And lisping babes were taught to bless their king, And grandsires bade their children treasure up The precious sight, for it would be a tale, The which in their old age Would make their children's children gather round, Intent all ears to hear." _Southey's Ode on the King's Visit to Ireland._ Who would not have believed that this was some virtuous monarch, the father of his people? What had the Irish to bless this king for? What ears now are intent to hear of this vaunted boon of this great and good king's visit sung by this paid poet, the pious Southey? What a much more healthy though terrible truth exists in the Irish Avater, by Lord Byron!