Lord Byron
1788-1824
 1808 | Lord Byron, Inscription on the Monument of a Newfoundland Dog in vol. 7 of The Works of Lord Byron: with his Letters and Journal, and His Life, By Thomas Moore (London, 1833); Online at Google Books.
Inscription on the Monument of a Newfoundland Dog
WHEN some proud son of man returns to earth,
Unknown to glory, but upheld by birth,
The sculptor's art exhausts the pomp of woe,
And storied urns record who rests below;
When all is done, upon the tomb is seen,
Not what he was, but what he should have been:
But the poor dog, in life the firmest friend,
The first to welcome, foremost to defend,
Whose honest heart is still his master's own,
Who labours, fights, lives, breathes for him alone,
Unhonour'd falls, unnoticed all his worth,
Denied in heaven the soul he held on earth:
While man, vain insect! hopes to be forgiven,
And claims himself a sole exclusive heaven.
Oh man ! thou feeble tenant of an hour,
Debased by slavery, or corrupt by power,
Who knows thee well must quit thee with disgust,
Degraded mass of animated dust!
Thy love is lust, thy friendship all a cheat,
Thy smiles hypocrisy, thy words deceit!
By nature vile, ennobled but by name,
Each kindred brute might bid thee blush disgust, for shame.
Ye! who perchance behold this simple urn,
Pass on—it honours none you wish to mourn:
To mark a friend's remains these stones arise,
I never knew but one, and here he lies.
___________
Near this spot
Are deposited the Remains of one
Who possessed Beauty without Vanity,
Strength without Insolence,
And all the Virtues of Man without his Vices.
Courage without Ferocity,
This Praise, which would be unmeaning Flattery
If inscribed over human ashes,
Is but a just tribute to the Memory of
BOATSWAIN, a Dog,
Who was born at Newfoundland, May, 1803,
And died at Newstead Abbey, Nov. 18, 1808.
By the will which he executed in 1811, he directed that his won body should be buried in a vault in the garden, near his faithful dog.—E.
1821 | Lord Byron, Cain, Act 3, Scene 1 in vol 14 of The Works of Lord Byron: with his Letters and Journal, and His Life, By Thomas Moore (London, 1833); Online at Google Books.
Cain
Abel. By sacrificing
The harmless for the guilty? what atonement
Were there? why, we are innocent: what have we
Done, that we must be victims for a deed
Before our birth, or need have victims to
Atone for this mysterious, nameless sin—
If it be such a sin to seek for knowledge?
…I have no offering
Adah. The fruits of the earth, the early, beautiful,
Blossom and bud—and bloom of flowers and fruits—
These are a goodly offering to the Lord,
Given with a gentle and contrite spirit.
Cain (standing erect during his speech).
Spirit whate'er or whosoe'er thou art…
If the sweet and blooming fruits of earth,
And milder seasons, which the unstained turf
I spread them on now offers in the face
Of the broad sun which ripened them, may seem
Good to thee—inasmuch as they have not
Suffered in limb or life—and rather form
A sample of thy works, than supplication
To look on ours ! If a shrine without victim,
And altar without gore, may win thy favour,
Look on it! and for him who dresseth it,
He is—such as thou mad'st him; and seeks nothing
Which must be won by kneeling…
[…A whirlwind throws down the altar of CAIN, and scatters the fruits abroad upon the earth.]
Oh, brother, pray. Jehovah's wroth with thee.
 Cain. Why so ?
Abel. Thy fruits are scattered on the earth.
Cain. From earth they came, to earth let them return;
Their seed will bear fresh fruit there ere the summer:
Thy burnt flesh-offering prospers better: see
How Heaven licks up the flames, when thick with blood!…
I will build no more altars, Nor suffer any—
Abel. (rising). Cain ! what meanest thou ?
Cain. To cast down yon vile flatterer of the clouds,
The smoky harbinger of thy dull pray'rs—
Thine altar, with its blood of lambs and kids,
Which fed on milk, to be destroyed in blood.
Abel (opposing him).
Thou shall not:—add not impious works to impious
Words ! let that altar stand—'tis hallowed now
By the immortal pleasure of Jehovah,
In his acceptance of the victims.
Cain. His pleasure ! what was his high pleasure in
The fumes of scorching flesh and smoking blood,
To the pain of the bleating mothers, which
Still yearn for their dead offspring ? or the pangs
Of the sad ignorant victims underneath
Thy pious knife ? Give way ! this bloody record.
1823 | Lord Byron, Don Juan (London, 1823); Online at Google Books.
Don Juan
On Angling
And angling too, that solitary vice,
Whatever Izaak Walton sings or says:
The quaint, old, cruel coxcomb in his gullet
Should have a hook, and a small trout to pull it. *
* It would have taught him humanity at least. This sentimental savage, whom it is a mode to quote (amongst the novelists) to show their sympathy for innocent sports and old songs, teaches how to sew up frogs, and break their legs by way of experiment, in addition to the art of angling, the cruelest, the coldest, and the stupidest of pretended sports.… No angler can be a good man.
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