As to Neuha, the daughter of Ocean (in "The Island"), his last creation, she is, indeed, the daughter of Nature also, and no less admirable than her sister Haidee, but she is still more highly endowed in a moral sense:-- "The infant of an infant world, as pure From nature--lovely, warm, and premature; Dusky like night, but night with all her stars, Or cavern sparkling with its native spars; With eyes that were a language and a spell, A form like Aphrodite's in her shell, With all her loves around her on the deep, Voluptuous as the first approach of sleep; Yet full of life--for through her tropic cheek The blush would make its way, and all but speak: The sun-born blood suffused her neck, and threw O'er her clear nut-brown skin a lucid hue, Like coral reddening through the darken'd wave, Which draws the diver to the crimson cave. Such was this daughter of the southern seas, Herself a billow in her energies, To bear the bark of others' happiness. Nor feel a sorrow till their joy grew less: Her wild and warm yet faithful bosom knew No joy like what it gave; her hopes ne'er drew Aught from experience, that chill touchstone, whose Sad proof reduces all things from their hues: She fear'd no ill, because she knew it not." When, after the combat, she arrives in her bark to save Torquil, the poet exclaims: "And who the first that springing on the strand, Leap'd like a nereid from her shell to land, With dark but brilliant skin, and dewy eye Shining with love, and hope, and constancy? Neuha--the fond, the faithful, the adored-- Her heart on Torquil's like a torrent pour'd; And smiled, and wept, and near, and nearer clasp'd As if to be assured 'twas _him_ she grasp'd; Shuddered to see his yet warm wound, and then, To find it trivial, smiled and wept again. She was a warrior's daughter, and could bear Such sights, and feel, and mourn, but not despair. Her lover lived,--nor foes nor fears could blight, That full-blown moment in its all delight: Joy trickled in her tears, joy filled the sob That rock'd her heart till almost heard to throb; And paradise was breathing in the sigh Of nature's child in nature's ecstasy." "All these sweet creations realize the idea, formed from all time, of surpassing loveliness, of gentleness with passion," justly observes Monsieur Nisard--he who, in his very clever sketch of the illustrious poet, so often forms erroneous judgments of Lord Byron. For he also accepted him as he was presented--namely, as the victim of calumny and prejudice; or else he considered him after a system, examining only some _passages and one single period_ of the man's and the _poet's_ life, instead of taking the whole career and the general spirit of his writings,--a method also perceivable in his appreciation of Lord Byron's female characters.