Democratic Sentinel, Volume 9, Number 5, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 27 February 1885 — Byron’s Tomb. [ARTICLE]

Byron’s Tomb.

Byron, when owner of Newstead Abbey, built a tomb in which he wished to be buried, but at the time of his death the property had passed into the hands of his cXd schoolmate, Col. Wildman. As the little, square-towered stone church at HucknaU Torkard, three miles away, was the place where the poet attended church when a Aad, it seemed appropriate that here bis mortal remains should be placed. This was done Jiuly 16, 1824. When the writer of this visited the church some ten years since, he noticed a wreath of leaves upon the wall above the poet’s tomb, and recalled this note from the poem, “Burns and Byron,” by Joaquin Miller: “The day before my departure for Europe last summer, a small party sailed out of the beautiful searfront <&f Saucelito, lying an the great Bay of San Francisco, forever green its crowm of California laurel; and there the fairest hands of the youngest .city of the new world wove a wreath of bay for the tomb of Byron. I brought it over the Rocky Mountains and the seas, and placed it above the duet of the soldier poet as desired.” The humorous old sexton, in reply to a question asked concerning the history of the wneath, said: “An American poet jwho adanined Byron very much brought it from his .country, and, with permission of the rector, placed it there himself. Tl*e reetof’s daughter, who did not think highly of Lord Byron, wanted the wreath removed, and .her father said: 'lf youttake it down, you maybut the daughter did not tike ladders! Se it remains. ” The closing lines of the poem referred to are: No sign ,of cryptic stone or cross Unto the passing world has said “He died, and we deplore his loss." No sonnd of sandaled pilgrim’s tread Disturbs the pilgrim's peaceful rest, Or frets the proud, impatient breast. The bat flits through the open pane, ; The black, swift swallow g thers moss. And builds In peace above his head, I Then goes, then comes and builds again. And it is well, not otherwise Would he, the erand, sad singer, will. The serene peace of paradise He sought—'tis his—the storm is still. Secure m his eternal tun •, And blended pity and respect. He does not feel the cold neglect. And England does not tear the shame. Nottingham, 1870.