"My dear Moore,
"I had written to you a long letter of dedication, which I suppress, because, though it contained something relating to you which every one had been glad to hear, yet there was too much about politics, and poesy, and all things whatsoever, ending with that topic on which most men are fluent, and none very amusing—one's self. It might have been re-written—but to what purpose? My praise could add nothing to your well-earned and firmly-established fame; and with my most hearty admiration of your talents, and delight in your conversation, you are already acquainted. In availing myself of your friendly permission to inscribe this poem to you, I can only wish the offering were as worthy your acceptance as your regard is dear to,
"Yours, most affectionately and faithfully,
"BYRON."
[9] He had at first, after the words "Scott alone," inserted, in a parenthesis,—"He will excuse the Mr.——'we do not say Mr. Cæsar.'"
[10] The amusing rages into which he was thrown by the printer were vented not only in these notes, but frequently on the proof-sheets themselves. Thus, a passage in the dedication having been printed "the first of her bands in estimation," he writes in the margin, "bards, not bands—was there ever such a stupid misprint?" and, in correcting a line that had been curtailed of its due number of syllables, he says, "Do not omit words—it is quite enough to alter or mis-spell them."
[11] His translation of the pretty Portuguese song, "Tu mi chamas." He was tempted to try another version of this ingenious thought, which is, perhaps, still more happy, and has never, I believe, appeared in print.
"You call me still your life—ah! change the word—
Life is as transient as th' inconstant's sigh;
Say rather I'm your soul, more just that name,
For, like the soul, my love can never die."
[12] It will be recollected that he had announced The Corsair as "the last production with which he should trespass on public patience for some years."
[13] Reprinting the "Hours of Idleness."