"Son of the morning, rise! approach you here!
Come--but molest not yon defenceless urn:
Look on this spot--a nation's sepulchre!
Abode of gods, whose shrines no longer burn.
Even gods must yield--religions take their turn:
'Twas Jove's--'tis Mahomet's--and other creeds
Will rise with other years, till man shall learn
Vainly his incense soars, his victim bleeds;
Poor child of Doubt and Death, whose hope is built on reeds."
How many read the above beautiful stanza from _Childe Harold_, Canto II.
Stanza 3., without asking themselves who the "Son of the morning" is.
Perhaps some of your literary correspondents and admirers of Byron may
be able to tell us. I enclose my own solution for your information.