Before this, in the Third Canto of 'Childe Harold,' he had claimed the sympathy of the world, as a loving father, deprived by a severe fate of the solace and society of his only child:—
'My daughter,—with this name my song began,—
My daughter,—with this name my song shall end,—
I see thee not and hear thee not, but none
Can be so wrapped in thee; thou art the friend
To whom the shadows of far years extend.
'To aid thy mind's developments, to watch
The dawn of little joys, to sit and see
Almost thy very growth, to view thee catch
Knowledge of objects,—wonders yet to thee,—
And print on thy soft cheek a parent's kiss,—
This it should seem was not reserved for me.
Yet this was in my nature,—as it is,
I know not what there is, yet something like to this.
'Yet though dull hate as duty should be taught,
I know that thou wilt love me; though my name
Should be shut out from thee as spell still fraught
With desolation and a broken claim,
Though the grave close between us,—'t were the same,
I know that thou wilt love me, though to drain
My blood from out thy being were an aim
And an attainment,—all will be in vain.'
To all these charges against her, sent all over the world in verses as eloquent as the English language is capable of, the wife replied nothing.
'Assailed by slander and the tongue of strife,
Her only answer was,—a blameless life.'
She had a few friends, a very few, with whom she sought solace and sympathy. One letter from her, written at this time, preserved by accident, is the only authentic record of how the matter stood with her.
We regret to say that the publication of this document was not brought forth to clear Lady Byron's name from her husband's slanders, but to shield him from the worst accusation against him, by showing that this crime was not included in the few private confidential revelations that friendship wrung from the young wife at this period.