A Picture at Newstead
WHAT made my heart, at Newstead, fullest swell? íT was not the thought of Byron, of his cry Stormily sweet, his Titan agony; It was the sight of that Lord Arundel Who struck, in heat, the child he loved so well, And the childís reason flickered, and did die. Painted (he willed it) in the gallery They hang; the picture doth the story tell. Behold the stern, mailed father, staff in hand! The little fair-haired son, with vacant gaze, Where no more lights of sense or knowledge are! Methinks the woe which made that father stand Baring his dumb remorse to future days Was woe than Byronís woe more tragic far.
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