He becomes immortal in the language of a people whom he would contemn.[A] Does he accept with ingratitude the fame he loves more than life?
[Footnote A: I shall preserve a manuscript note of Lord BYRON on this passage; not without a hope that we shall never receive from him the genius of Italian poetry, otherwise than in the language of his "_father land_"; an expressive term, which I adopted from the Dutch language some years past, and which I have seen since sanctioned by the pens of Lord Byron and of Mr.Southey.
His lordship has here observed, "It is not my fault that I am obliged to write in English.

If I understood my present language equally well, I would write in it; but this will require ten years at least to form a style: no tongue so easy to acquire a little of, or so difficult to master thoroughly, as Italian." On the same page I find the following note: "What was rumoured of me in that language?
If true, I was unfit for England: if false, England was unfit for me:--'There is a world elsewhere.' I have never regretted for a moment that country, but often that I ever returned to it at all."] Such, then, is that state of irritability in which men of genius participate, whether they be inventors, men of learning, fine writers, or artists.

It is a state not friendly to equality of temper.

In the various humours incidental to it, when they are often deeply affected, the cause escapes all perception of sympathy.

The intellectual malady eludes even the tenderness of friendship.