Lord Byron at this time was only thirty-five years old, a period when most men begin their best work.  His constitution, it is true, was impaired, but he was still full of life and enterprise.  He could ride or swim as well as he ever could.  The call of a gallant people summoned him to arms, and of all nations he most loved the Greeks.  He was an enthusiast in their cause; he believed that the day of their deliverance was at hand.  So he made up his mind to consecrate his remaining energies to effect their independence.  He opened a correspondence with the Greek committee in London.  He selected a party, including a physician, to sail with him from Geneva.  He raised a sum of about L10,000, and on the 13th of July, 1823, embarked with his small party and eight servants, on board the “Hercules” for Greece.

After a short delay at Leghorn the poet reached Cephalonia on the 24th of July.  He was enthusiastically received by the Greeks of Argostoli, the principal port, but deemed it prudent to remain there until he could get further intelligence from Corfu and Missolonghi,—­visiting, in the interval, some of the neighboring islands consecrated by the muse of Homer.

The dissensions among the Greek leaders greatly embarrassed Byron, but did not destroy his ardor.  He saw that the people were degenerate, faithless, and stained with atrocities as disgraceful as those of the Turks themselves.  He dared not commit himself to any one of the struggling, envious parties which rallied round their respective chieftains.  He lingered for six weeks in Cephalonia without the ordinary comforts of life, yet, against all his habits, rising at an early hour and attending to business, negotiating bills, and corresponding with the government, so far as there was a recognized central power.

At last, after the fall of Corinth, taken from the Turks, and the arrival at Missolonghi of Prince Mavrocordato, the only leader of the Greeks worthy of the name of statesman, Byron sailed for that city, then invested by a Turkish fleet, and narrowly escaped capture.  Here he did all he could to produce union among the chieftains, and took into his pay five hundred Suliotes, acting as their leader.  He meditated an attack on Lepanto, which commanded the navigation of the Gulf of Corinth, and received from the government a commission for that enterprise; but dissensions among his men, and intrigues between rival generals, prevented the execution of his project.

It was in Missolonghi, Jan. 22, 1824, that, with the memorandum, “On this day I completed my thirty-sixth year,” Byron wrote his latest verses, most pathetically regretting his youth and his unfortunate life, but arousing himself to find in a noble cause a glorious death:—­

     “The fire that in my bosom preys
        Is like to some volcanic isle;
      No torch is kindled at its blaze,—­
                    A funeral pile.”

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