A somewhat un-Byronic piece, in that the typical, nay, exemplary Byron Society work invariably offers the sweetmeat of affection and esteem thickly coated with ribaldry and abuse. The following lines, from the third canto of Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage, may also be apropos:
I have not loved the world, nor the world me;
I have not flattered its rank breath, nor bow’d
To its idolatries with a patient knee …
However, we should applaud Steve’s generosity of spirit, for his ‘breath’ is surely not ‘rank’, and hope that the subject might show a reciprocally generous recognition of the Shamen’s — and others’ — singular qualities (DJ).
God knows what Steve was on when he wrote this piece, but whatever it was, I want some. As for the eulogistic tone, I refer Mr. Henrey to lines 32 & 33: ‘…Harold was a true genius / Of words, rhyme, multi-dimensional n-space, and er ...Venus!’. I don’t really want to go into details, but let us just say that if you make a man happy, then he is more likely to write nice things about you (CH).