The Works of Lord Byron. Vol. 4 — Edition Insights

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Byron, George Gordon Byron, Baron, 1788-1824, Coleridge, Ernest Hartley, 1846-1920 [Editor] Project Gutenberg 2006 Not confirmed
Poetry Readers of public-domain and historical texts
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Edition facts

Words 174,474
Reading time 759 min
Text sections 35

The source record for The Works of Lord Byron. Vol. 4 — Edition Insights measures this digital text at 174,474 words, 12 hr 39 min estimated reading time, and 35 detected text sections.

The text analysis averages about 20.2 words per sentence, while the detected sections provide another way to judge how the source is divided.

Project Gutenberg metadata also associates the work with “Poetry,” connecting these edition facts with the source record’s subject description.

Byron's 1816–1821 poems, including Manfred and Beppo, with Coleridge's scholarly apparatus. The opening preface and Dante translation reveal Byron's engagement with Italian sources and editorial framing of his voice.
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eep and old, There are seven columns, massy and grey, Dim with a dull imprisoned ray, 30 A sunbeam which hath lost its way, And through the crevice and the cleft Of the thick wall is fallen and left; Creeping o'er the floor so damp, Like a marsh's meteor lamp:[7] And in each pillar there is a ring,[8] And in each ring there is a chain; That iron is a cankering thing, For in these limbs its teeth remain, With marks that will not wear away, 40 Till I have done with this new day, Which now is painful to these eyes, Which have not seen the sun so rise For years--I cannot count them o'er, I lost their long and heavy score When my last brother drooped and died, And I lay living by his side.

They chained us each to a column stone, And we were three--yet, each alone; We could not move a single pace, 50 We could not see each other's face, But with that pale and livid light That made us strangers in our sight: And thus together--yet apart, Fettered in hand, but joined in heart,[d] 'Twas still some solace in the dearth Of the pure elements of earth, To hearken to each other's speech, And each turn comforter to each With some new hope, or legend old, 60 Or song heroically bold; But even these at length grew cold. Our voices took a dreary tone, An echo of the dungeon stone, A grating sound, not full and free, As they of yore were wont to be: It might be fancy--but to me They never sounded like our own.

I was the eldest of the three, And to uphold and cheer the rest 70 I ought to do--and did my best-- And each did well in his degree. The youngest, whom my father loved, Because our mother's brow was given To him, with eyes as blue as heaven-- For him my soul was sorely moved: And truly might it be distressed To see such bird in such a nest;[9] For he was beautiful as day-- (When day was beautiful to me 80 As to young eagles, being free)-- A polar day, which will not see[10] A sunset till its summer's gone, Its sleepless summer of long light, The snow-clad offspring of the sun: And thus he was as pure and bright, And in his natural spirit gay, With tears for nought but others' ills, And then they flowed like mountain rills, Unless he could assuage the woe 90 Which he abhorred to view below.

The other was as pure of mind, But formed to combat with his kind; Strong in his frame, and of a mood Which 'gainst the world in war had stood, And perished in the foremost rank With joy:--but not in chains to pine: His spirit withered with their clank, I saw it silently decline-- And so perchance in sooth did mine: 100 But yet I forced it on to cheer Those relics of a home so dear. He was a hunter of the hills, Had followed there the deer and wolf; To him this dungeon was a gulf, And fettered feet the worst of ills.

Lake Leman lies by Chillon's walls: A thousand feet in depth below Its massy waters meet and flow; Thus much the fathom-line was sent 110 From Chillon's snow-white battlement,[11] Which round about the wave inthralls: A double dungeon wall and wave Have made--and like a living grave. Below the surface of the lake[12] The dark vault lies wherein we lay: We heard it ripple night and day; Sounding o'er our heads it knocked; And I have felt the winter's spray Wash through the bars when winds were high 120 And wanton in the happy sky; And then the very rock hath rocked, And I have felt it shake, unshocked,[13] Because I could have smiled to see The death that would have set me free.

The fourth volume of Ernest Hartley Coleridge's edition opens with a preface that catalogues Byron's output from June 1816 to October 1821: thirteen longer works, eight occasional pieces from mid-1816, and a further collection spanning 1816–1823. The editor's meticulous footnoting—distinguishing his own annotations from Byron's, and marking variant readings with lettered indices—immediately signals a scholarly rather than popular presentation. One of the volume's earliest texts is Byron's translation of Dante's Inferno, Canto V, the story of Francesca da Rimini. Here Byron renders the famous line 'Galeotto fu il libro e chi lo scrisse' as 'Accurséd was the book and he who wrote!'—a forceful choice that amplifies the original's condemnation. The translation appears alongside the Italian original, inviting comparison and underscoring Byron's dual identity as poet and translator.

Editorial Architecture and the Reader's Path

Coleridge's apparatus shapes how a first-time reader encounters Byron. The preface groups poems by chronology and type, but the footnotes—collected at each section's end and numbered consecutively—create a layered reading experience. A reader who follows the superscript keys will find not only textual variants but also contextual notes, such as Boccaccio's account of Paolo and Francesca's proxy marriage. The editor's square brackets mark his own interventions, while unbracketed notes are Byron's own. This distinction matters: Byron's voice appears both in the poems and in his own marginalia, and Coleridge's framing never obscures that. The navigational aids—page anchors, footnote links—are designed for a digital edition, but the editorial method itself belongs to the 1901 print tradition.

Byron's Dante: Translation as Self-Expression

The Francesca translation, dated March 20, 1820, is the volume's earliest dated poem. Byron does not merely render Dante's Italian; he intensifies it. Where Dante writes 'La bocca mi baciò tutto tremante,' Byron gives 'Kissed my mouth, trembling in the act all over'—the added 'all over' heightening the physical tremor. The closing line, 'And fell down even as a dead body falls,' follows Dante closely but gains weight from Byron's own preoccupation with fainting and death. The translation is preceded by a headnote that recounts the historical Francesca, citing Boccaccio's commentary. Byron thus presents the poem as both a literary exercise and a personal meditation on doomed love. Readers familiar with Byron's biography may note parallels, but the text itself does not invite such inference.

The 1816 Poems: Occasion and Voice

Among the 'Poems of July–September, 1816' are eight occasional pieces written during a period of personal upheaval. The preface tells us they were composed 'at various periods between June, 1816, and October, 1821,' but the 1816 cluster is distinct. These poems are shorter, more immediate, and often addressed to specific persons or events. The editor's arrangement places them after the longer works, creating a contrast in scale and tone. A reader moving through the volume sequentially will encounter the expansive narratives of Manfred and Beppo before arriving at these compressed lyrics. The footnotes for this section include textual variants from manuscripts, revealing Byron's revision process. For instance, a lettered footnote might show an alternative word or line, offering a glimpse of the poet's workshop.

Later Occasional Pieces and the Editor's Hand

The final collection, 'Poems 1816–1823,' spans the widest date range and includes works written up to two years before Byron's death. Coleridge's notes here are particularly dense, cross-referencing earlier editions and manuscripts. One footnote corrects a premiere date for Manfred from '1384' to '1834'—a typo in the source that the editor silently emends. Such corrections, listed in the transcriber's notes, remind the reader that this is a revised edition, not a facsimile. The volume closes with the Project Gutenberg license and foundation information, a stark shift from Byron's verse. For the first-time reader, the later poems reward attention to the footnotes: they document Byron's evolving style and his engagement with contemporary events, though the excerpts provided do not reveal which events those are.

Coleridge's edition rewards a reader who moves between poem and apparatus. The footnotes are not mere decoration; they are a parallel text that documents Byron's revisions, sources, and self-commentary. A first reading might begin with the longer works—Manfred, Beppo—then return to the occasional pieces with the notes as a guide. The volume's structure, chronological but grouped by form, invites comparison across periods. Byron's voice, whether in translation or original composition, remains the constant; the editor's task is to illuminate, not obscure, that voice.

Reading Byron’s preface, I felt that ache of a voice caught between worlds—his Italian shadows, the editor’s framing. It lingered like a half-remembered conversation. That same tender ghost haunts Adonais — Key Ideas to Explore, where mourning becomes its own quiet architecture. I keep thinking how both books hold grief without ever asking you to hurry past it.

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