English poet (George Gordon), was born in London at 16 Holles Street, Cavendish Square, on the 22nd of January 1788. Romantic poet and satirist, who also was famous in his lifetime for his love affairs, and who created the concept of the 'Byronic hero' - a defiant, melancholy young man, brooding on some mysterious, unforgivable in his past. Byron's influence on European poetry, music, novel, opera, and painting has been immense, although the poet was widely condemned on moral grounds by his contemporaries. He published his first book of poetry, in 1807, at the age of nineteen, as "Hours of Idleness." It was mercilessly criticized in the Edinburgh Review, and in 1809, at age twenty one, Byron took revenge by publishing "English Bards and Scotch Reviewers", a scathing satire on the currently popular poets and critics. This made his name as a poet.

In March 1812 the long poem he had begun in Greece was released, renamed "Childe Harold's Pilgrimage". He said "I woke up one day and found myself famous". Byron's life, as well as his work, was in constant turmoil. From his scandalous affairs and troubled marriage, to his involvement with the Greek rebellion which led to his untimely death, he was a man consumed by passion.

While in Greece, he succumbed to a terrible fever. His doctors wanted to bleed him, which Byron resisted, saying "If bleeding were efficacious there would be a lot of healthy people on a battle field." Ultimately he became too weak to argue. They bled him for two days and were pleased when his veins ran clear. One of his last lucid remarks, to his valet, was : "My doctors have assassinated me". They may very well have done so. As the embodiment of Romantic rebellion many powerful people wanted Byron dead, the crowned heads of Europe, the Sultan of Turkey and the Pope. On Easter Sunday, 1824, at the age of thirty six, Byron died, during a suitably ferocious thunder storm.

"But silent let me sink to earth,
With no officious mourners near:
I would not mar one hour of mirth,
Nor startle friendship with a tear."

He did not get this wish. He was surrounded to the last by a babel of weeping servants, helpless body guards and horrified supplicants. He was immediately autopsied and the doctors found what they were looking for the brain lesions that they believed resulted from his sexual promiscuity. This provided the evidence they needed for the necessity of having bled him which probably killed him. Malaria attacks the red blood cells. His lungs were left in Greece, but contrary to his wishes, the rest of him was pickled in spirits and shipped back to England. Westminster Abbey refused to conduct his funeral because he was an unrepentant sinner. Finally, a long cortege followed his funeral carriage north to his internment next to his mother among generations of Byrons.

Byron was born with a club-foot. He was extreme sensitivity about his lameness - in his works short and stout Byron glorified proud and arrogant heroes, who bear one's misfortunes bravely and overcome hardships.