Accord me such a being?”
And how unmistakably does he not confess himself a stranger to it, as he continues—
“Do I err
In deeming such inhabit many a spot?
Though with them to converse can rarely be our lot.”
Frequently the circumstance of association seemed to be the channel through which the rejected grace of faith was poured upon his soul. As he enters the portals of the church of churches, the mausoleum of the prince of the apostles, his gifted light shines forth—
“But thou, of temples old or altars new,
Standest alone—with nothing like to thee—
Worthiest of God, the holy and the true.”
This last line seems to belie the opinion that Byron never saw any thing in religion but the poetry of it: it sounds like an involuntary revelation of interior conviction. Again—