“I leave topography to classic Gell."[101]

Among the passages added to the poem during its progress through the press were those lines denouncing the licentiousness of the Opera.  “Then let Ausonia,” &c. which the young satirist wrote one night, after returning, brimful of morality, from the Opera, and sent them early next morning to Mr. Dallas for insertion.  The just and animated tribute to Mr. Crabbe was also among the after-thoughts with which his poem was adorned; nor can we doubt that both this, and the equally merited eulogy on Mr. Rogers, were the disinterested and deliberate result of the young poet’s judgment, as he had never at that period seen either of these distinguished persons, and the opinion he then expressed of their genius remained unchanged through life.  With the author of the Pleasures of Memory he afterwards became intimate, but with him, whom he had so well designated as “Nature’s sternest painter, yet the best,” he was never lucky enough to form any acquaintance;—­though, as my venerated friend and neighbour, Mr. Crabbe himself, tells me, they were once, without being aware of it, in the same inn together for a day or two, and must have frequently met, as they went in and out of the house, during the time.

Almost every second day, while the Satire was printing, Mr. Dallas, who had undertaken to superintend it through the press, received fresh matter, for the enrichment of its pages, from the author, whose mind, once excited on any subject, knew no end to the outpourings of its wealth.  In one of his short notes to Mr. Dallas, he says, “Print soon, or I shall overflow with rhyme;” and it was, in the same manner, in all his subsequent publications,—­as long, at least, as he remained within reach of the printer,—­that he continued thus to feed the press, to the very last moment, with new and “thick-coming fancies,” which the re-perusal of what he had already written suggested to him.  It would almost seem, indeed, from the extreme facility and rapidity with which he produced some of his brightest passages during the progress of his works through the press, that there was in the very act of printing an excitement to his fancy, and that the rush of his thoughts towards this outlet gave increased life and freshness to their flow.

Among the passing events from which he now caught illustrations for his poem was the melancholy death of Lord Falkland,—­a gallant, but dissipated naval officer, with whom the habits of his town life had brought him acquainted, and who, about the beginning of March, was killed in a duel by Mr. Powell.  That this event affected Lord Byron very deeply, the few touching sentences devoted to it in his Satire prove.  “On Sunday night (he says) I beheld Lord Falkland presiding at his own table in all the honest pride of hospitality; on Wednesday morning at three o’clock I saw stretched before me all that remained of courage, feeling, and a host of passions.”