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Lord Byron (1788-1824) was the most popular of English poets in his day. His fame has since declined, although his fiery, impetuous nature, expressing itself in rapid verse of great rhetorical and satiric power, still reaches kindred spirits. His "Prisoner of Chillon" is often studied in the upper grades. It is full of the passion for freedom which was the dominating idea in Byron's work as it was in his life. He gave his life for this idea, striving to help the Greeks gain their independence. The poem which follows is from an early work called Hebrew Melodies. We learn from II Chronicles 32:21 that Sennacherib, King of Assyria, having invaded Judah, Hezekiah cried unto heaven, "And the Lord sent an angel, which cut off the mighty men of valor, and the leaders and captains in the camp of the King of Assyria. So he returned with shame of face to his own land." Byron's title seems to indicate that Sennacherib was himself destroyed. The fine swinging measure of the lines, and the vivid picture of the destroyed hosts in contrast to the brilliant glory of their triumphant invasion, are two of the chief elements in its appeal.

The Destruction of Sennacherib

LORD BYRON

The Assyrian came down like a wolf on the fold,
And his cohorts were gleaming in purple and gold;
And the sheen of their spears was like stars on the sea,
When the blue wave rolls nightly on deep Galilee.

Like the leaves of the forest when summer is green,
That host with their banners at sunset were seen:
Like the leaves of the forest when autumn hath blown,
The host on the morrow lay wither'd and strown.

For the Angel of Death spread his wings on the blast,
And breathed in the face of the foe as he passed;
And the eyes of the sleepers waxed deadly and chill,
And their hearts but once heaved, and for ever grew still!

And there lay the steed with his nostril all wide,
But through it there rolled not the breath of his pride:
And the foam of his gasping lay white on the turf,
And cold as the spray of the rock-beating surf.

And there lay the rider distorted and pale,
With the dew on his brow and the rust on his mail;
And the tents were all silent, the banners alone,
The lances unlifted, the trumpet unblown.

And the widows of Ashur are loud in their wail,
And the idols are broke in the temple of Baal;
And the might of the Gentile, unsmote by the sword,
Hath melted like snow in the glance of the Lord.