The Cincinnatus of the West,
Whom envy dared not hate,
Bequeathed the name of Washington
To make man blush there was but one!

These lines are Byron’s tribute to George Washington, written in the early nineteenth century when Washington had already become an international emblem of republican virtue. Byron invokes the Roman exemplar Cincinnatus—celebrated for relinquishing power and returning to private life—to frame Washington as a modern counterpart who led in war and then voluntarily surrendered authority. The passage reflects European Romantic-era fascination with the American Revolution and with “great men” who seemed to unite military success with moral restraint. Byron’s praise also carries a comparative sting: by “bequeathing” the name of Washington, the hero sets a standard so high that later generations (in America and beyond) are made to “blush” at the rarity of such character.

Byron presents Washington as a uniquely unassailable figure: even envy cannot honestly hate him. Calling him the “Cincinnatus of the West” emphasizes civic self-denial—power used for public necessity, then relinquished. The final couplet turns admiration into moral pressure: Washington’s name becomes an inheritance that shames ordinary ambition, because it proves that greatness can coexist with humility and constitutional restraint. The hyperbole “there was but one” is not merely hero-worship; it underscores Byron’s skepticism that political life typically produces such disinterested virtue. The passage thus functions both as elegy and as implicit critique of leaders who cling to power or seek glory without public-minded discipline.