"There is a Thorn--it looks so old,
In truth, you'd find it hard to say
How it could ever have been young,
It looks so old and grey....
(The entire text of "The Thorn" and all of Wordsworth's poems , is at Project Bartleby ).
I have not seen the note mentioned by Byron. It is omitted in my edition of the Complete Poems (MacMillan, 1907).
...to the left, three yards beyond,
You see a little muddy pond
Of water--never dry
Though but of compass small, and bare
To thirsty suns and parching air.
Pour in sow's blood, that hath eaten
Her nine farraw; grease that's sweaten
From the murderer's gibbet throw
Into the flame.
This combination of irreverance, learning, and willingness to invoke images based on harsh reality, recurs throughout the poem.
If to her share some female errors fall,
Look on her face, and you'll forget them all.
I could brain him with his lady's fan.
'He' in this case being the Ugolino whom Byron names earlier in the stanza.
- When he had said this, with his eyes distorted,
- The wretched skull resumed he with his teeth,
- Which, as a dog's, upon the bone were strong.
Byron was no admirer of the Hanoverian dynasty, but he was wise enough to avoid the criminal offense of directly abusing the Georges. Later poets were less careful. Winthrop Mackworth Praed, disguising his target somewhat, wrote "Epitaph on the Late King of the Sandwich Isles" on the death of George IV, a man known for his drunkenness and debauchery:
George III fared even less well with posterity, as this "clerihew" shows:
Walter Savage Lander provided an historical assessment of the Hanoverian line of kings:
First note that this piece deals with the central passion of Byron's later life: the liberation of Greece from Turkey. It compares and contrasts the character of ancient Greeks with the modern and urges the latter to emulate their forbears. This is a theme that Byron treated at length in Canto II of Childe Harold.
Here are a few of the references that may be unclear:
There's something in a flying horse, There's something in a huge balloon; But through the clouds I'll never float Until I have a little Boat, Shaped like the crescent-moon.
Perhaps that blue-winged Kashmirian butterfly of book-learning, Lady Charlemont, will be there. I hope so; it is a pleasure to look upon that most beautiful of faces.
In a November entry he refers to "all the Blues, with Lady Charlemont at their head".