I : LX - LXIV Where the Poet's God Lives

The thing about Greek mythology is that the tales are tangible. You can trace the evidences of the places in the stories, imagine the paths of the protagonists. Even the gods, well, they are all rather human-like and imperfect. The pythoness of Delphi could very well be living in that wuthering heights, as Harold observed from a distance. It's amazing when you see something that seems to have come out of a legend right in front of you. Parnassus, home of the Muses, a place held dear to Apollo himself! Tis the Jerusalem of arts, the pilgrim's pursuit. 

Venus and Ares on top; Apollo with his lyre, Hermes on far right with his horse; nine muses dancing in the front

Actually, this has been the first time the poet mentioned the muses and the Parnassus save for the few lines in To Ianthe. Having seen so much destruction by war and human failure that has caused deaths and tragedies, we are now once again trying to focus on the unchanging wonders of the world. 

Mount Parnassus, as mentioned, is the archeological sight of the Delphic Oracle, the most famous oracles, dare I say, of all. She was said to have predicted Socrates being the most intelligent person in Greece, to which Socrates himself responded "it's because I'm most aware of my own ignorance", or something along those lines. The mountain's beauty is created by the stories and myths associated with it. Those are its essence, and reasons of existence.

A bard like Byron himself, can only go yowzah at how a place can inspire a lineage of poets, connected through generations spiritually.

Artificial Mount Parnassus by JohannesVan den Aveele

There's a sense of superiority here. A young poet on the road is calling himself more fortunate than most bards throughout the history who couldn't come close to the Mecca of art in person. Aside from the boyish exaggerations, there's real admiration towards this sacred sight before him. It's almost like religion: when you believe something fabricated and think of it so real as though it has become a part of the history, at least your version of history, then the places it involves would be also saturated with details and, let's just call it, self-fulfilling prophecies 

The muses are not here. Why yes of course they left; look at those stupid war people have been having all these years and a general lack of devotion towards art! Apollo isn't here either, yet as though you can still hear his footsteps from centuries past, his melodies still delivered by the wind.

Art. The art of poetry. It's beauty. It's fleeting beauty is like that of Daphne. Apollo's passionate pursue proved to be unfruitful. Those stories all happened around here. The seraphic young maiden who eventually got swallowed into the earth by her mother Gaia, and the birth of the first laurel tree. She would be crowned the goddess of all the poet, those apprentices of Apollo. The chase between Apollo and Daphne serves as a perfect metaphor of the relationship between a poet and his art. It's a constant struggle and the poet will forever be one step behind. Just when he thought he finally got it, his price appears to be lost forever, once again. But still he sees it right there, evergreen, resembling perfection in all perspectives.

Apollo and Daphne by Antonio del Pollaiolo, c. 1470–80 (National Gallery, London) 

The moral of Daphne's story is rather not about the chastity, but a triumph of spiritual pursuit over desire of the flesh. 

It takes a complete romantic to praise love to this extent. To Byron there's more in human love that of the ethereal mount of Apollo. The poet's love is full of passion, and insufferably realistic, as he's been notoriously depicted as someone who detest loneliness, always needing someone to be his companion. Love, to him is a habit, an attitude of life; more important than art. He's got a quote that goes like it: "To be a poet, you need to be in love, or miserable."  I do believe he's both.