Page:The Works of Lord Byron (ed. Coleridge, Prothero) - Volume 2.djvu/301

CANTO III.] The breath which made him wretched; yet he knew

How to make Madness beautiful, and cast

O'er erring deeds and thoughts, a heavenly hue

Of words, like sunbeams, dazzling as they past

The eyes, which o'er them shed tears feelingly and fast.

LXXVIII.

His love was Passion's essence—as a tree

On fire by lightning; with ethereal flame

Kindled he was, and blasted; for to be

Thus, and enamoured, were in him the same.

But his was not the love of living dame,

Nor of the dead who rise upon our dreams,

But of ideal Beauty, which became

In him existence, and o'erflowing teems

Along his burning page, distempered though it seems.

LXXIX.

This breathed itself to life in Julie, this

Invested her with all that's wild and sweet;

This hallowed, too, the memorable kissN18

Which every morn his fevered lip would greet,

From hers, who but with friendship his would meet;

But to that gentle touch, through brain and breast