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THE EARLY LIFE OF 
 ROBERT SOUTHEY 
 
 1774-1803 
 
 BY 
 
 WILLIAM HALLER, 
 
 INSTRUCTOR IN ENGLISH IN COLUMBIA UNIVERSITY 
 
 Submitted in Partial Fulfilment of the Requirements 
 
 FOR the Degree of Doctor of Philosophy, in the 
 
 Faculty of Philosophy, Columbia University 
 
 COLUMBIA UNIVERSITY PRESS 
 
 1917 
 
/ 
 
 COLUMBIA UNIVERSITY STUDIES IN ENGLISH 
 AND COMPARATIVE LITERATURE 
 
 THE EARLY LIFE OF ROBERT SOUTHEY 
 1774-1803 
 
 Lv 
 
COLUMBIA UNIVERSITY PRESS 
 SALES AGENTS 
 
 New Yoek: 
 
 LEMCKE & BUECHNER 
 
 30-32 West 27th Street 
 
 London: 
 HUMPHREY MILFORD 
 
 Amen Corner, E.G. 
 
THE EARLY LIFE OF 
 ROBERT SOUTHEY 
 
 1774-1803 
 
 BY 
 
 WILLIAM HALLER 
 
 INSTRUCTOR IN ENGLISH IN COLUMBIA UNIVERSITY 
 
 Submitted in Partial Fulfilment of the Requirements 
 
 FOR THE Degree of Doctor of Philosophy, in the 
 
 Faculty of Philosophy, Columbia University 
 
 COLUMBIA UNIVERSITY PRESS 
 1917 
 

 -f 
 
 ^n-^"* 
 
 Copyright, 1917 
 By Columbia University Press 
 
 Printed from type September, 1917 
 
 Girt -, 
 
 The UnWeriitf 
 KOV 6 »^ 
 
This Monograph has been approved by the Depart- 
 ment of English and Comparative Literature in Columbia 
 University as a contribution to knowledge worthy of 
 publication, 
 
 A. H. THORNDIKE, 
 
 Executive Officer, 
 
PREFACE 
 
 There has been no adequate detailed biography of 
 Southey. Charles Cuthbert Southey, who compiled a Life 
 and Correspondence of his father, was not qualiiSed for his 
 difficult task. Selections from the poet^s pubhshed letters 
 have given the leading circumstances especially of the later 
 life, but the only approximation to a sympathetic and 
 intelligent biography has been the characteristic sketch by 
 the late Edward Dowden in the ''EngHsh Men of Letters 
 Series." At the same time, although it is long since many 
 persons have read any of Southey's writings except The 
 Three Bears, The Life of Nelson, The Battle of Blenheim^ 
 My Days Among the Dead are Past, and perhaps one or 
 two other short pieces, a curiously positive, largely dis- 
 agreeable and distorted impression of the man has persisted 
 in the popular imagination. That impression I have small 
 hope at this late day to correct, and no desire completely 
 to reverse. My purpose is merely to supply students with 
 a faithful account of the most interesting and least known 
 period in the life and work of an important English writer 
 of a momentous time in history. This book covers, there- 
 fore, only the first twenty-nine years of Southey's career — 
 his boyhood at school and university; his reactions to 
 literary and political movements in his youth; his early 
 associations with Coleridge, Lamb, Wordsworth, Humphry 
 Davy, John Rickman, William Taylor of Norwich, and 
 others; his share in a scheme of emigration to America for 
 the purpose of establishing there a communistic society or 
 ''pantisocracy"; his characteristics as a young man, poet, 
 and man of letters, together with the rise of his peculiar 
 literary and personal reputation in association with the 
 group of men who came to be known as the ''lake school"; 
 
viii PREFACE 
 
 and in conclusion his settling down in what was to be his 
 final home at Keswick. 
 
 The materials for such a study have been ample. South- 
 ey's voluminousness, indeed, has been one of the chief 
 reasons why the public has neglected without forgetting 
 him. The basis and most of the details for the narrative 
 of his life are to be found in the six volumes of letters 
 published by Cuthbert Southey, the four volumes of letters 
 published by Warter, the Reminiscences of the unreliable 
 but indispensable Cottle, the letters of Coleridge, and the 
 correspondence between Southey and William Taylor of 
 Norwich published by the latter's biographer. These 
 sources have been supplemented by information drawn from 
 the works of Southey himself, from those of his contempo- 
 raries, from the numerous books which have appeared 
 dealing with his friends and associates, from private per- 
 sons, and from unpublished letters. The mass of Southey 
 papers left by John Wood Warter is now in the possession 
 of Miss Warter, the poet's grand-daughter. They are not 
 at present accessible or available for publication. They 
 have, however, been examined in a scholarly way by the 
 Rev. Maurice H. FitzGerald, who has kindly supplied me 
 with what he beUeves to be the only important information 
 that they contain bearing upon Southey's early life. For 
 additional facts I am indebted to Mr. Ernest Hartley 
 Coleridge, and to impublished letters of Southey and 
 Coleridge in the British and the Victoria and Albert Mu- 
 seums. It should be added that little information con- 
 cerning the period of Southey's life covered in the present 
 work has been derived from sources not long accessible to 
 the public, and it does not appear likely that much more 
 waits to be unearthed. I have had access to some unpub- 
 lished letters of Southey's to which I am unable specifically 
 to refer, and many more no doubt remain undiscovered in 
 private hands, but judging from what I have so far foimd, 
 
PREFACE ix 
 
 it is probable that these date from the poet's later years 
 and that they make few references to those exciting indis- 
 cretions of his earlier life which he never came to be 
 ashamed of but which it pained him to recall. It is my 
 intention, however, to continue the study here begun, and 
 I shall be grateful to any person who will in any way 
 supplement the information I possess concerning any period 
 of Southey's life. 
 
 To the freemasonry of scholars I already owe several 
 pleasurable debts. Mr. George B. Parks, Kellogg Fellow 
 of Amherst College, ably assisted by Mr. Emery E. Neff, 
 Cutting Fellow of Columbia University, has been skilful and 
 indefatigable in examining manuscripts, writing letters, and 
 interviewing persons for me in England. The Rev. Maurice 
 H. FitzGerald and Mr. Ernest Hartley Coleridge have 
 given me most kind assistance out of their knowledge of 
 the subjects with which I have been dealing. Professors 
 Ashley H. Thorndike and Ernest H. Wright have read and 
 criticized this work while it was still in manuscript. For 
 various courtesies I am indebted to Mr. E. V. Lucas, 
 Captain Orlo Williams, the Rev. Canon H. D. Rawnsley, 
 Mrs. Elizabeth D. Dowden, Professor James McLean 
 Harper, the Rev. Walter W. Graham, the Director of the 
 Victoria and Albert Museum at South Kensington, and 
 above all to Mr. Frederic W. Erb and his assistants on the 
 staff of the Library of Columbia University. 
 
 Two persons have assisted me to whom I can make 
 no adequate acknowledgment. My wife is almost solely 
 responsible for the compilation of Appendices B and C, 
 and has given me other valuable help besides. Professor 
 William P. Trent first suggested to me that such a book 
 should be written, and in my writing of it he has given 
 abundant aid out of his mastery of biographical research. 
 
 W. H. 
 
 Columbia University 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 Introduction 1 
 
 Chapter I. 1774-1792. Boyhood 7 
 
 Chapter II. 1793-1794. Oxford — Poetry — Edith Fricker 53 
 
 Chapter III. 1794-1795. Coleridge — Pantisocracy .... 127 
 
 Chapter IV. 1796-1800. Portugal — Law and Literature 173 
 
 Chapter V. 1800-1803. Thalaba — A School of Poets . . 233 
 
 Conclusion 311 
 
 Appendix A. Works of Robert Southey 313 
 
 Appendix B. Works Referred to in the Preface and Notes 
 
 TO Joan of Arc 327 
 
 Appendix C. Works Referred to in the Notes to Thalaba 330 
 
 Index 339 
 
THE EAELY LIFE 
 OF EGBERT SOUTHEY 
 
 INTRODUCTION 
 
 "I have this conviction/^ wrote Southey, "that, die 
 when I may, my memory is one of those which will smell 
 sweet, and blossom in the dust." That the memory of 
 Southey's poetry, a century after it was written, continues 
 rather in the dust than in the bloom, — nothing in literary 
 history is more sure. The reason is not hard to find. He 
 did not lack the poetic impulse nor the vision of his poetic 
 opportunity. The religion of nature, the faith in which 
 kings were overthrown and peoples conceived in Europe and 
 America, although it provided the most vital occasion for a 
 great poem of idealism since Milton, had been as yet inade- 
 quately expressed in English poetry. This expression was 
 to be achieved lyrically by Wordsworth, but Southey, a pe- 
 culiarly sensitive and intense mind, also attempting it in all 
 the new forms of poetry with which the rising generation, 
 Wordsworth included, was experimenting, finally settled 
 down to the more ambitious purpose of embodying his faith 
 in epic. He failed in this where no one else succeeded, 
 and his failure the world has found it hard to forgive. An 
 indubitable cause for this ill-success is to be found in his in- 
 ability to achieve great style. Facility, eloquence, rhetor- 
 ical skill of many orrts, and noble self-devotion to his task, 
 — these he possessed, but not the power of harmony, the 
 crash and splendor essential for great epic verse. At his 
 
 1 
 
2 THE EARLY LIFE OF ROBERT SOUTHEY 
 
 best, it must be admitted, he does not fall far short of the 
 mark, but in such a case the proverbial miss is indeed as 
 bad as a mile. 
 
 Yet there was another cause for failure which might have 
 been sufficient in itself to frustrate any epic that attempted 
 to voice the creed of the deists. To begin with, the return- 
 to-nature movement had no traditions, no roots in the real- 
 ised past, no legends proper to itself. The revolution in 
 America and more vividly the revolution in France vitalized 
 the creed into a faith, but Napoleon and disillusionment 
 followed so hard upon hope that the idealists were unable 
 for long to find even in the present any series of momentous 
 events to sanction their ideals. The effect upon Words- 
 worth was to drive him out of the current of life into eddy- 
 ing mysticism, and to confine his strictly intellectual activity 
 chiefiy to a struggle for reform in the style and subjects of 
 poetry. The effect upon Southey was not so simple, nor 
 his effort so limited. Engaging in similar but even wider 
 experimentation in poetry, he attempted to find a great 
 story in which to embody his ideals, but sought for it, not 
 in the life of the disappointing present, nor of the con- 
 ventionally familiar past, but in the new world which travel 
 and inquiry were opening up to the imagination. The 
 error was fatal for the epic poet, because this new world 
 was too little known to be believed in as a sanction for 
 faith, and was too soon found to be a far different world 
 from the one he represented. Here the fundamental weak- 
 ness of the religion of nature betrayed its own apostles; 
 they fortified their ideals by facts which they pretended to 
 observe, but blinked. We have forgiven Wordsworth's bad 
 science; we have had no reason to forgive Southey 's bad 
 history. 
 
 Such is the underlying reason for the oblivion that has 
 fallen upon the work of a man who was one of the most con- 
 siderable figures of the day in which he lived. Other causes 
 
INTRODUCTION 3 
 
 have contributed to the gloom. The ideals of Southey's 
 faith were being defeated in his own day upon every hand. 
 It seemed to him that nature was being thwarted, men 
 were therefore being corrupted, and corruption was doing 
 and would do deadly work. First had come unnatural 
 tyranny in France, followed by equally monstrous mob- 
 rule and doubly monstrous usurpation. As for England, 
 the time was not a happy one for those who believed that 
 the industrial revolution was but increasing the corruption 
 of an already corrupted populace to which parliamentary 
 reform, catholic emancipation, and freedom of the press 
 were offering increased power. ''It cannot and it will not 
 come to good," Southey cried to Carlyle at the end of life, 
 with a passionate intensity of fear that amazed even that 
 not uncongenial soul. Yet he did not flinch in his devotion 
 to those ideals which were his only hope and upon which 
 society seemed more and more to set its back. Neither did 
 he shrink from the contemplation of danger. On the con- 
 trary, in epic and in review article, he broke lance after 
 lance in defense of his faith against old and new evils, and 
 even against old friends. Unlike Wordsworth, who dreamed 
 and prosed and was afraid, Southey fought. Unfortunately 
 for his fame, it was a losing fight, and his less simple- 
 minded opponents misunderstood him as he misunderstood 
 them, so that he, whose noble unworldliness kept him poor 
 on the side of the party in power in a day of political sine- 
 cures, saw his name become the by-word for a turncoat and 
 a truckler for pay. This might not have been sufficient in 
 itself to have affected his reputation down to the present 
 had it not been that his own pugnacious Quixotism drove 
 him into exquisitely ridiculous, not to say asinine, postures 
 which quite fairly rendered him the butt of Byron's titanic 
 sneer. We do not altogether trust Byron, to be sure, but 
 Southey's poems are many and long, and the Byron that 
 lurks in each one of us has perpetuated the sneer. 
 
4 THE EARLY LIFE OF ROBERT SOUTHEY 
 
 For those who have felt the injustice of this attitude, it 
 has been difficult to find adequate argument for change. 
 To overstate the merits of Southey's prose has not been 
 the right way of making the truth about him known. To 
 insist upon his virtues as a friend and the head of a house- 
 hold has not lessened his sins as a poet. There has re- 
 mained but to examine thoroughly his life and work, and 
 to state truthfully what is there to be found. This is a 
 task hitherto unattempted, first because the legendary 
 Southey has seemed so definite a figure that such a study 
 has appeared forbidding and unnecessary, and then because 
 the sheer labor of traversing the ramifications of the man's 
 career and of reading his voluminous writings has deterred 
 any who might not already have been intimidated by the 
 tradition that he was dull. The present work attempts a 
 beginning at the critical study of Southey, a study which, 
 to many besides the present writer, it has seemed strange 
 that no one has previously made. Yet the purpose of this 
 book is not the rehabilitation of Southey's poetry, although 
 if anything here said helps to discourage future condemna- 
 tion of an author unread, so much the better. In a form 
 of poetry in which, to succeed greatly, he had to undergo 
 comparison with Spenser and Milton, Southey came, per- 
 haps, nearer to success than any other Englishman up to 
 his time, and failed. As it is, the mass of his forgotten 
 verse contains beauties sufficient to have made the immor- 
 tality of half a dozen second-rate poets who may have 
 tempted Providence less boldly. This would have been 
 reason enough in most cases for writing a man's biography, 
 but Southey has more claims upon our interest. He was 
 one of the most active spirits in a period of English history 
 the influence of which is still alive among us. He expressed 
 its ideals in close association with Wordsworth, and a study 
 of his work throws some additional light upon that of 
 the greater poet. Of even more importance, perhaps, is the 
 
INTRODUCTION 5 
 
 fact that he entered eagerly, though half-bhndly, into the 
 great new enterprise of historical and scientific study. 
 History in many phases was his chosen field, but his avid 
 learning touched most of the spheres of knowledge then 
 attainable with something of a renaissance fervor and scope. 
 Furthermore, though he shut himself in his library in an 
 out-of-the-way corner of England, he played a vigorous 
 part in the discussion of important questions of his time, 
 made himself hated as the formidable foe of some of his 
 most famous contemporaries, and respected or loved as the 
 friend of many others. Finally, there remains as a reason 
 for this book the common humanity in the man himself. 
 A high-souled youth, passing through the yeasty yearnings 
 and awkward starts of boyhood into a manhood of self- 
 devotion to labor and to ideals that brought him poverty, 
 disappointment, and unfulfilled renown, but not defeat, — 
 the story of Southey's life has among men of letters seldom 
 been surpassed in its genuine human interest and prolonged 
 tragic intensity. 
 
CHAPTER I 
 1774-1792 
 
 BOYHOOD 
 
 In 1820 Southey began an autobiography^ in which he 
 proposed, as Coleridge did in a similar abortive attempt^ 
 and as Wordsworth did in The Prelude, to unfold ^'the 
 history of his own mind," but with characteristic sensi- 
 tiveness he found himself unable to continue the narrative 
 beyond the point at which the most troubled period of 
 his life began. In the fragment that remains, however, 
 he tells us many illuminating things about his kindred 
 and early boyhood. 
 
 Throughout his life, one of Southey's constant aspirations 
 was to establish himself and his family on a firm footing 
 
 ^ Recollections of the Early Life of Robert Southey , written by himself 
 in a series of Letters to his Friend Mr. John May. These constitute the 
 first 157 pages of Volume I of The Life and Correspondence of Robert 
 Southey edited by his son, the Rev. Charles Cuthbert Southey, 1849 (re- 
 ferred to hereafter as Life), and are the chief authority for sections i 
 and II of the present chapter. Where no other reference is given, 
 they may be taken as the source of all statements of fact. 
 
 2 Biographia Epistolaris being the Biographical Supplement of Cole- 
 ridge's Biographia Literaria with additional letters, etc., edited by A. 
 Turnbull. London, 1911, I, 5-22. (The editor has here repubhshed 
 the Supplement of Henry Nelson and Sara Coleridge, together with 
 such letters of Coleridge as have from time to time been pubhshed 
 in various other places and are no longer under copyright. Referred, 
 to as Biog. Epis.) 
 
 7 
 
8 THE EARLY LIFE OF ROBERT SOUTHEY 
 
 of gentility. Fruits of this aspiration we shall see both in 
 his early revolutionary activities and in his later devotion 
 to the established order. It is therefore interesting to note 
 that to estabhsh themselves had been the often baffled aim 
 of Southey's ancestors for several generations. On the 
 father's side they had hovered over the borders of gentility 
 for a long time without achieving any particular distinction. 
 Old aunts and uncles brought down traditions of a famous 
 soldier who fought for the parliament in the rebellion, and 
 of another who was out with Monmouth, but all else con- 
 cerning both was forgotten. Indeed, so obscure was the 
 name Southey, that the poet, who looked upon many 
 printed pages in his day, never beheld it upon any of them 
 except when applied to himself or his brothers. He did, 
 nevertheless, accept his family's claim to a coat-of-arms, 
 upon the strength of which he conjured up visions of a 
 crusading Southey; antiquarian research^ has shrewdly sur- 
 mised that these trappings had been acquired rather by an 
 ancestor of later date in the law who found it convenient 
 to borrow them from another family of similar name. Old 
 wills at the cathedral town of Wells, as far back as 1533, 
 and according to the poet, the parish register at Wellington 
 as early as 1696, show that the Southeys were a race of 
 yeomen, except for an occasional weaver, clothier, lawyer, 
 gentleman, and in one branch a few generations of noble- 
 men with the title Lord Somerville acquired through mar- 
 riage. Obscure though they were, however, the Southeys 
 were abundant in Somersetshire for over two centuries, and 
 many during that time were the Roberts, Johns, and 
 Thomases that bore the name. 
 
 Robert Southey was the name of the poet's father. He 
 had an elder brother, John, who was a surly bachelor, 
 became a rich lawyer in Taunton, and left his fortune to 
 
 1 Arthur J. Jewers, Notes and QuerieSf Series 8, Vol. V, 141, 202, 241. 
 
BOYHOOD 9 
 
 his youngest brother, Thomas, who remained merely a surly 
 bachelor, and took pains not to leave the fortune to his 
 poet-nephew. Robert Southey senior, on the other hand, 
 was apparently an amiable youth of no very forceful char- 
 acter, who had been taught to cipher and then apprenticed 
 to a kinsman, a grocer in London. Standing in the shop 
 door one day, he saw a porter carrying a hare through the 
 street, and tears came to his eyes for love of the country 
 sports of boyhood he had left behind. The kinsman died, 
 and his apprentice entered the shop of William Britton, 
 linen-draper in Wine Street, Bristol, where he stayed for 
 twelve or fourteen years. Eventually he opened a shop of 
 his own in the same street. There he prospered for a time, 
 but by and by his health failed, custom left him, and he 
 seems not to have had the ability to push his fortune. His 
 business collapsed in 1792, and shortly afterwards he died. 
 He was evidently a rather dull person of little importance 
 to his brilliant son. 
 
 The poet's maternal connections are of greater interest, 
 since they concerned themselves more actively in the affairs 
 of their kinsfolk. They were on the whole of somewhat 
 higher social rank, being the daughters and younger sons of 
 small gentry of the region. Southey's grandmother came 
 from a line of Bradfords and Crofts of Herefordshire, 
 through whom it amused^ him to reckon his descent from 
 Owen Glendower, Llewellyn, and Jorwerth, and so to claim 
 999th cousinship with his friend Wynn. This grandmother, 
 Margaret Bradford, was twice married, first to a gentleman 
 named John Tyler, by whom she had three children, the 
 most notable of whom was Elizabeth Tyler, Southey's re- 
 doubtable aunt, and then to the poet's grandfather, Edward 
 Hill, the seventh of the name in a long line of gentlemen 
 who lived upon their own lands in the vale of Ashton. He 
 
 ^ Selections from the Letters of Robert Southey, edited by his son-in-law 
 John Wood Warter 1856 (referred to as Warter), III, 516; IV, 408. 
 
10 THE EARLY LIFE OF ROBERT SOUTHEY 
 
 was a lawyer and a widower with two grown children at the 
 time of this marriage, but he was also handsome, talented, 
 convivial, and while courting the widow he made verses to 
 express his jealousy of a certain young justice poetically 
 denominated Strephon. 
 
 This almost middle-aged couple settled at Bedminster 
 near Bristol in a comfortable farmhouse with a large garden 
 where the Southey children were to spend much of their 
 childhood. The Hills were by no means wealthy, but their 
 son, Herbert, was sent to Christ Church, Oxford, took orders, 
 and when about 1774 his haK-sister ^liss Tyler, in the 
 course of her fashionable wanderings, went to Lisbon, he 
 followed and eventually became chaplain to the British 
 factory at that place after a term of service at Oporto.^ 
 His own sister was Margaret, the poet's mother. She was 
 born in 1752. Her son says of her, "Never was any human 
 being blest with a sweeter temper or a happier disposition. 
 She had an excellent understanding, and a readiness of ap- 
 prehension which I have rarely known surpassed. In 
 quickness of capacity, in the kindness of her nature, and in 
 that kind of moral magnetism which wins the affections of 
 all within its sphere, I never knew her equal." In looks 
 she was said much to resemble the beautiful Miss Tyler, 
 but her appearance was blighted in childhood by the small- 
 pox. She was educated by her father to dance and whistle. 
 Her half-brother, Edward Tyler, employed in some ware- 
 house in Bristol, brought to Bedminster a friend named 
 Robert Southey, to whom, although we may suspect that 
 Miss Tyler could scarcely have approved the match, 
 Margaret Hill was married in 1772 at the age of 
 twenty. 
 
 Robert Southey, liuen-draper, had a short time previously 
 opened a shop for himself three doors above that of his old 
 master in Wine Street in the crowded center of the town. 
 ^ Vindidae Ecclesiae Anglicanae, 4. 
 
BOYHOOD 11 
 
 A legacy of £100 from a kinsman, Cannon Southey, a 
 similar sum of his younger brother Thomas's, who seems to 
 have engaged in partnership with him for a time, a smaller 
 sum of his wife's, perhaps some savings of his own, — these 
 formed the capital of the new shop, and all began hope- 
 fully. In token of his boyish love of field-sports, the linen- 
 draper took a hare as his device. Children, nine in all, 
 came in quick succession to the Southeys. The first was a 
 son in 1773, John Cannon, who died in infancy. The 
 second, born August 12, 1774, was Robert Southey. Three 
 more boys survived childhood : Thomas, who became a cap- 
 tain in the navy; Henry Herbert, who became a highly 
 respected physician in London; and Edward, black sheep 
 and rolling stone, first in the army, then in the navy, and 
 then as an actor in provincial theaters. 
 
 It will thus be seen that Southey's kin were not in any 
 sense distinguished people. As gentry, they were very small 
 gentry indeed, rapidly diminishing in importance to the 
 station of farmers and tradespeople. But they were emi- 
 nently respectable and of the sort who loved respectability. 
 Most important of all, there was on the mother's side a 
 touch of innate ability, to which the poet thought himself 
 indebted for his own powers, and a strong family feeling, 
 which caused his aunt and uncle to provide for the educa- 
 tion of the linen-draper's children. 
 
 II 
 
 Miss Tyler was in Portugal at the time of Southey's birth 
 in 1774, but she returned soon afterwards, rented a house 
 in Bath, and decided to take charge of her nephew's bring- 
 ing up. She was now thirty-five years old, proud, domineer- 
 ing, eccentric, with a temper rendered more detestable by a 
 consciousness of her own striking beauty. Her youth had 
 been chiefly spent with her uncle, the Rev. Herbert Brad- 
 
12 THE EARLY LIFE OF ROBERT SOUTHEY 
 
 ford, a curate in Shobden, Herefordshire. He was a man of 
 wealth and intimate with a Lord Bateman of the neighbor- 
 hood, with whose wife Miss Tyler became a great favorite. 
 Here she acquired those tastes and manners which became 
 her chief pride and comfort. After the death of her uncle's 
 wife she managed his house for him, and upon his death 
 she inherited a large part of his fortune, much of which, by 
 the time of Southey's birth, had been spent by her in fash- 
 ionable vanities at watering-places. Consequently she was 
 henceforth compelled more and more closely to retrench her 
 expenditures. Her position and character, not to say her 
 tongue and temper, gave her an easy ascendancy, not only 
 over the linen-draper's young wife, who was thirteen years 
 her junior, but also over other relatives, friends, and serv- 
 ants. The picture of her suggested by Southey's autobiog- 
 raphy and by the character of Miss Trewbody in The 
 Doctor'^ is by no means an affectionate one. 
 
 Among her other acquirements. Miss Tyler included 
 certain "blue-stocking" tastes and aspirations. She had 
 known not a few small Hterary men of the day, she had had 
 her portrait painted by Gaiusborough, and through a friend 
 at Bath, a Miss Palmer, daughter of the owner of the 
 theatres at Bath and Bristol, she was enabled to pose as 
 patroness of the drama, to dine the players, to cultivate an 
 acquaintance with such people as Colman, Sheridan, Cum- 
 berland, Holcroft, and Miss Palmer's particular friend, 
 Sophia Lee. Possibly, one suspects. Miss Tyler hoped to 
 establish a little salon in the house which she now took 
 in Bath in 1774. It stood in the center of a walled garden, 
 looking out upon other gardens, the river, and Claverton 
 Hni. The parlor door, upon whose stone steps her small 
 nephew often sat, was bowered with jessamine. The in- 
 terior, especially the parlor, was fitted up by Miss Tyler 
 at a greater expense than she could afford, and Southey 
 1 Doctor, 157-160. 
 
BOYHOOD 13 
 
 gives a curious catalogue of her treasures: a Turkey carpet; 
 a cabinet of ivory, ebony, and tortoise shell that had come 
 down from the great Duke of Marlborough; the portrait 
 of Miss Tyler by Gainsborough with a curtain to preserve 
 it from flies and the sun; a mezzotint of Pope's Eloisa sup- 
 posed to resemble Miss Tyler, as well as two similar prints 
 from Angelica Kauffman; and finally a great picture of 
 Pombal, the first portrait of an illustrious man with which 
 Southey became familiar. 
 
 By the time that her nephew was old enough to observe 
 his elders. Miss Tyler's ruling passion appears to have be- 
 come hatred of dirt. She commonly wore a ragged bed- 
 gown in order to keep her better clothes clean. Her 
 splendid parlor was never opened except for company and 
 dusting; she lived in a kitchen with rough stone floors and 
 a skylight, and she put her servants into a dark basement. 
 If anyone crossed the hearth while her breakfast was pre- 
 paring, the tea-kettle had to be re-filled. One whom she 
 disliked was ipso facto unclean, and a cup out of which such 
 a person had drunk had to be buried in the garden for six 
 weeks before it could be used again. All this was, of 
 course, vexatious to her servants, whom she intrusted with 
 her confidences and treated now with overindulgence, now 
 with paroxysms of rage. She would send them constantly 
 to the playhouse, but she never forgave them if they mar- 
 ried. Somewhat similar were her relations with her friend, 
 Miss Palmer, and with Southey's mother. 
 
 "The authority which Miss Tyler had first exerted as an elder 
 sister she never relaxed. My mother was one of the few persons 
 (for a few such there are) who think too humbly of themselves. 
 Her only fault (I verily beHeve she had no other), was that of yield- 
 ing submissively to this imperious sister, to the sacrifice of her 
 own inclination and judgment and sense of what was right. She 
 had grown up in awe and admiration of her, as one who moved in 
 a superior rank, and who, with the advantage of a fine form and 
 
14 THE EARLY LIFE OF ROBERT SOUTHEY 
 
 beautiful person, possessed that also of a superior and cultivated 
 understanding: withal, she loved her with a true sisterly affection 
 which nothing could diminish, clearly as she saw her faults, and 
 severely as at last she suffered by them. But never did I know one 
 person so entirely subjected by another, and never have I regretted 
 anything more deeply than that subjection, which most certainly 
 in its consequences shortened her life." 
 
 Under such a person's care most of Southey's childhood 
 between the years of two and six were passed, except for 
 occasional visits to his home or to his grandmother's house 
 at Bedminster. Miss Tyler had bought a copy of Emile to 
 guide her in the education of the boy, but although in some 
 respects she allowed him great freedom, it cannot be said 
 that she followed Rousseau very closely. 
 
 "I had many indulgences, but more privations;" he writes, ''and 
 those of an injurious kind; want of playmates, want of exercise, 
 never being allowed to do anything in which by possibility I might 
 dirt myself; late hours in company . . .; late hours of rising, 
 which were less painful perhaps, but in other respects worse. My 
 aunt chose that I should sleep with her, and this subjected me to 
 a double evil. She used to have her bed warmed, and during the 
 months that this practice was in season I was always put into 
 Molly's bed first, for fear of an accident from the warming pan, 
 and removed when my aunt went to bed, so that I was regularly 
 wakened out of a sound sleep. This, however, was not half so bad 
 as being obUged to lie till nine, and not unfrequently until ten in 
 the morning, and not daring to make the slightest movement which 
 could disturb her during the hours that I lay awake, and longing 
 to be set free. These were, indeed, early and severe lessons of 
 patience. My poor little wits were upon the alert at those tedious 
 hours of compulsory idleness, fancying figures and combinations of 
 form in the curtains, wondering at the motes in the slant sunbeam, 
 and watching the light from the crevices of the window-shutters, 
 till it served me at last by its progressive motion to measure the 
 lapse of time. Thoroughly injudicious as my education under 
 Miss Tyler was, no part of it was so irksome as this." 
 
BOYHOOD 15 
 
 Such a training would have been bad for any boy, but 
 there were two reasons why its effects in Southey's case 
 were not as injurious as they might have been. The first 
 was his own innate sweetness and sanity, which are shown 
 by the fact that neither the child nor the man writing in 
 later years betrayed any bitterness toward Miss Tyler in 
 spite of unmitigated disapproval of her. The other thing 
 that made Southey's childhood not unhappy was his own 
 resourceful imagination. At the dame's school to which he 
 was sent to learn his letters and to be out of the way, he 
 found playmates with whom he could concoct such grand 
 schemes as running away to an island where there should 
 be mountains of gingerbread and candy. Then there was a 
 sham castle in a grove of firs on the crest of Claverton Hill 
 within view of his aunt's garden, and a summer-house at 
 Beechen Cliffs, and the grave of a man who had been killed 
 in a duel, — these were goals of childish adventure. A 
 friend of Miss Tyler had married the son of Francis New- 
 berry, the publisher of the delectable Goody Twoshoes series, 
 and for his first reading she presented the boy with twenty 
 volumes of these books as soon as he could tell his letters. 
 From them, Southey gravely surmises, he received the bent 
 toward literature which determined his course in life. The 
 most important influence of all, however, was the theater, 
 to which the child was nightly carried by Miss Tyler and 
 her friend, Miss Palmer, even before he could read or know 
 what it was all about, and for occupation that should keep 
 him out of the dirt his aunt would give him old play-bills 
 upon which to prick letters with a pin-point. Naturally 
 the theater came to be the most exciting joy of his child- 
 hood, though he felt at a later time that the walk home in 
 the moonlight along the terrace of the South Parade did 
 him more good.^ He saw Mrs. Siddons in all her roles. 
 
 1 Unpublished manuscript letter of Oct. 26, 1812, to Walter Savage 
 Landor in the Forster Library, South Kensington Museum. 
 
16 THE EARLY LIFE OF ROBERT SOUTHEY 
 
 He saw Shakespeare acted before he could read, and he had 
 been through Beaumont and Fletcher by the time he had 
 reached the age of eight. His future love of romance was 
 shown in the fact that his early favorites were As You Like 
 It and Cymbeline. 
 
 When he came to be six years old and tall for his age, 
 Miss Tyler was compelled to submit to the substitution of 
 coat, waist-coat, and trousers for the fantastic nankeen tunic 
 with green fringe in which she had attired him, and he was 
 sent to Mr. Foot's school, the best in Bristol, where he 
 continued for a year. The boys seem to have been handled 
 with great severity at this place, and young Robert was 
 frightened out of learning the grammar they attempted to 
 teach him. When the old man who kept the school died, 
 Southey senior, for some reason unknown but possibly not 
 unconnected with the fact that Miss Tyler's temper had 
 finally led her into a feud with the linen-draper's surly 
 brother Thomas, suddenly assumed direction of his son's 
 education, and sent him to a school at Corston nine miles 
 from Bristol. Upon his departure the boy found his 
 mother weeping in her chamber, and this first sight of grief 
 impressed him so deeply that it is recorded in his Hymn to 
 the Penates, written in 1796. 
 
 The school at Corston, bad though it was, had a vivid 
 effect upon Southey 's imagination. In 1795, it would seem, 
 he returned to look over the place again in a romantic fit 
 of abstraction, and he composed at about the same time at 
 least two poems inspired by his experiences there. The 
 Retrospect, which gives its name to the title-page of his first 
 volume of poems, is a description of his life at Corston, and 
 the sonnet, To a Brook near the Village of Corston, is a 
 plaintive reminiscence in the manner of Bowles; both were 
 probably written at the same time in 1795. He returned 
 yet again to show the place to his son in 1836,^ and de- 
 1 Life, VI, 311-313. 
 
BOYHOOD 17 
 
 scribed it in the preface to The Retrospect in the second 
 volume of his collected poetical works. It was a little vil- 
 lage south of the Avon and four or five miles from Bath. 
 Southey's father rode out with the stage-coach that carried 
 the boy, and left him with the master and mistress of the 
 school, who gave him a smiling welcome with talk of tender 
 care and happy sports, but after his father's form had dis- 
 appeared, ''never spake so civilly again." 
 
 Thomas Flower, the master of the school, was interested 
 mainly in mathematics and astronomy, for the sake of 
 which he neglected his pupils, and left them largely to the 
 instruction of his son, whom the boys called Charley and 
 whose consequence may be judged therefrom. Writing, — 
 the flourishing ornamental penmanship of an older day, — 
 arithmetic, and spelling were the subjects taught. Southey, 
 with a few of the other scholars, was also taught Latin by a 
 Frenchman who came twice a week from Bristol, and the 
 youngster was required, either by his mates or his master, 
 to help some of the older boys at their tasks. The disci- 
 pline of the school was not severe; the boys were neglected 
 rather than abused, and although they were compelled to 
 sit sleepy and cold in a dark room on wintry Sunday even- 
 ings, there to listen to the droning of dull sermons, they 
 were given on the whole plenty of outdoor freedom for 
 play and getting dirty such as Miss Tyler's nephew had 
 never enjoyed before. 
 
 The house in which the school was kept had been the 
 mansion of some departed family. 
 
 "There were vestiges of former respectability and comfort . . . 
 walled gardens, smnmer-houses, gate-pillars surmounted with huge 
 stone balls, a paddock, a large orchard, walnut trees, yards, out- 
 houses upon an opulent scale. I felt how mournful all this was in 
 its fallen state, when the great walled garden was converted into 
 a playground for the boys, the gateways broken, the summer-houses 
 faUing into ruin, and grass growing in the interstices of the lozenged 
 
18 THE EARLY LIFE OF ROBERT SOUTHEY 
 
 pavement of the fore-court. The features within I do not so dis- 
 tinctly remember, not being so well able to understand their sym- 
 bols of better days; only I recollect a black oaken staircase from 
 the hall, and that the school-room was hung with faded tapestry, 
 behind which we used to have our hoards of crabs." 
 
 This ruined magnificence made a capital playground. 
 The boys gathered apples in the orchard; they "squailed 
 at the bannets" — that is, threw sticks for walnuts; they 
 flew kites and played at bow and arrow; they dammed the 
 brook that flowed across the barton and through the or- 
 chard; and they were not much disturbed by the demands 
 of study. At the end of a twelvemonth, however, the 
 school came to an unlucky end, for the ablutions of the boys 
 were conducted under no direction except their own in the 
 ankle-deep brook in the barton. The consequences of such 
 a system were such as to arouse the just indignation of the 
 mothers of the boys in Bristol, and so many of the pupils 
 were withdrawn that the school was ruined. Southey was 
 one of those who were summoned home. He had thick, 
 curly hair, and he was at once put through *'a three-day's 
 purgatory in brimstone." 
 
 The year of his absence had been a sad one for his 
 mother. Another child had died during the time, and while 
 she was away with Miss Tyler, seeking distraction in Lon- 
 don, the death of their mother, Mrs. Hill, recalled them to 
 Bedminster. Miss Tyler, having broken up her establish- 
 ment at Bath the year before, took up her residence in 
 1782 in her mother's house until it should be sold, and 
 to Bedminster also Southey was sent to be with his aunt. 
 His grandmother's house had already been a place of many 
 delights to the little boy, and now he was to enjoy them 
 for the last time. 
 
 One of the ever-recurring themes in Southey's poetry, 
 from the rhetorical Hymn to the Penates to some of the less 
 pretentious, but charming minor pieces, is the love of home. 
 
BOYHOOD 19 
 
 Much of the romantic yearning for escape from the world 
 of men simmered down in him to the plain love of a country- 
 house where one could settle with one's books, one's wife, 
 one's children, and the cats. This was the impulse which 
 was to give us in Southey's letters that vivid picture of 
 Greta Hall which has made it one of the classic households 
 of the world, and this impulse was fostered in the boy and 
 the man by the memory of his grandmother's house at 
 Bedminster. It was a commodious, unpretentious place in 
 a lane two or three hundred yards off the road running 
 west from Bristol across the Avon and over Redcliffe Hill. 
 It had been built about 1740 by Southey's grandfather, 
 Edward Hill. The distance from the shop in Wine Street, 
 by a path through the fields and across a drawbridge over 
 a ditch at the foot of the orchard, was just two miles. The 
 village of Bedminster was unfortunately growing poor and 
 populous owing to the near neighborhood of the coal mines; 
 otherwise Southey would certainly have bought the house 
 in later years when he was looking for an establishment of 
 his own. As it was, after it was sold, he never saw it again, 
 except for one or two fleeting glimpses and for a visit with 
 his son in 1837. 
 
 "One ascended to the front door by several semicircular steps 
 into what was called the fore court, but was in fact a flower-garden, 
 with a broad pavement from the gate to the porch. The porch 
 was in great part lined, as well as covered, with white jessamine; 
 and many a time have I sat there with my poor sisters, threading 
 the fallen blossoms upon grass stalks. It opened into a little hall, 
 paved with diamond-shaped flags. On the right hand was the par- 
 lour, which had a brown or black boarded floor, covered with a 
 Lisbon mat, and a handsome timepiece over the fireplace; on the 
 left was the best kitchen, where the family lived. . . . [It] was a 
 cheerful room, with an air of such country comfort about it, that 
 my little heart was always gladdened when I entered it during my 
 grandmother's life. It had a stone floor, which I beheve was the 
 chief distinction between a best kitchen and a parlour. The furni- 
 
20 THE EARLY LIFE OF ROBERT SOUTHEY 
 
 ture consisted of a clock, a large oval oak table with two flaps (over 
 which two or three fowling-pieces had their place), a round tea- 
 table of cherry wood, Windsor chairs of the same, and two large 
 armed ones ... in one of which my grandmother always sat. On 
 one side of the fireplace the china was displayed in a buffet — that 
 is, a cupboard with glass doors; on the other were closets for arti- 
 cles less ornamental, but more in use. The room was wainscotted 
 and ornamented with some old maps, and with a long looking glass 
 over the chimney-piece, and a tall one between the windows, both 
 in white frames. The windows opened into the fore-court, and 
 were as cheerful and fragrant in the season of flowers as roses and 
 jessamine, which grew luxuriantly without, could make them. 
 There was a passage between this apartment and the kitchen, long 
 enough to admit of a large airy pantry, and a larder on the left 
 hand, the windows of both opening into the barton, as did those of 
 the kitchen; on the right was a door into the back court. There 
 was a rack in the kitchen well fiunished with bacon, and a mistle- 
 toe bush always suspended from the middle of the ceiling." 
 
 The outer arrangements of the place were no less com- 
 fortable, and the memory of the middle-aged Southey dwelt 
 in fond detail upon things so dear to a boy's heart as grape- 
 vines, pigeon-houses, a pump, a barn-yard with great fold- 
 ing gates flanked by horse-chestnut trees, outhouses for 
 dairy and laundry, seed-rooms, a stable, hay-lofts, coal and 
 stick houses, sheds for carts and a carriage, dipt yews and 
 a mounting-block overgrown with ivy. This was not all. 
 There was also a large kitchen-garden, kept in admirable 
 order with grass walks, espaliers and flower beds. There was 
 wall fruit in abundance — green gages, cherries, peaches, nec- 
 tarines, apricots — then an orchard beyond the garden, and 
 a potato patch, with the crowning touch, for childhood's 
 delectation, of the drawbridge over the broad ditch at the 
 far end. But the flowers were the most abiding charm of 
 the place; the S3rringa, the everlasting pea, and the evening 
 primrose never ceased to remind Southey of his grand- 
 mother and Bedminster. 
 
BOYHOOD 21 
 
 The plants and insects also seem to have attracted the 
 boy, and he loved and long remembered the pictures and 
 *'fine Hes" in an "old bird and beast book."^ The grown 
 man even speculates gravely on his narrow escape from 
 becoming the historian of snails and cockchafers. Such 
 amusements as these things afforded were varied by the 
 none too successful efforts of his two odd uncles, Edward 
 and William Tyler, to interest him in the usual boyish pur- 
 suits. These men were brothers of Miss Tyler's, younger 
 than she and of far less importance in the family. Edward, 
 never educated for any particular purpose, had lived aim- 
 lessly about his mother's house for a time, had then entered 
 some trade in Bristol, and died a little later than this 
 period, a comparatively young man. William had greater 
 claims to interest. He was very fond of his nephew, to 
 whom he was an unfailing source of entertainment, and who 
 has given a delightful description of him in the character 
 of William Dove in The Doctor? "He was born with one 
 of those heads in which the thin partition that divides great 
 wits from folly is wanting." But his "was not a case of 
 fatuity. Though all was not there, there was a great deal. 
 He was what is called half-saved. Some of his faculties 
 were more than ordinarily acute, but the power of self-con- 
 duct was entirely wanting in him." . . . "Had he come 
 into the world a century sooner, he would have been taken 
 nolens volens into some Baron's household, to wear motley, 
 make sport for the guests and domestics, and live in fear 
 of the rod." As it was. Uncle William spent his days in 
 easy dependence, first on his mother and then on Miss 
 Tyler, consorting with the servants and other humble folk, 
 among whom he gathered an inexhaustible store of anec- 
 dotes, gossip, shrewd apothegms, folk and animal lore such 
 as would delight the heart of a boy. One of his accom- 
 
 1 Commonplace Book, Series IV, 193. ^ Doctor, 27-29. 
 
22 THE EARLY LIFE OF ROBERT SOUTHEY 
 
 plishments was the power of mimicking to perfection the 
 voices of animals. 
 
 "A London manager would have paid him well for performing the 
 cock in Hamlet. He could bray in octaves to a nicety, set the geese 
 gabbling by addressing them in their own tongue, and make the 
 turkey-cock spread his fan, brush his wing against the ground, and 
 angrily gob-gobble in answer to a gobble of defiance. But he 
 prided himself more upon his success with the owls, as an accom- 
 plishment of more difl&cult attainment. In this Mr. Wordsworth's 
 boy of Winander was not more perfect. Both hands were used as 
 an instrument in producing the notes; and if Pope could have 
 heard the responses which came from barn and doddered oak and 
 ivied crag, he would rather (satirist as he was) have left Ralph 
 unsatirised, than have vilified one of the wildest and sweetest of 
 nocturnal sounds." 
 
 Even more fasciaatiag to the imaginative child with his 
 awakemng appetite for romance must have been 'Hhe 
 squire's" old saws and stories. It was from him that the 
 saying came which, translated into Greek by Coleridge, 
 stands at the head of The Curse of Kehama} 
 
 "Whatever event occm-red, whatever tale was current, whatever 
 traditions were preserved, whatever superstitions were believed, 
 WiQiam knew them all; and all that his insatiable ear took in, his 
 memory hoarded. Half the proverbial sayings in Ray's volume 
 were in his head, and as many more with which Ray was unac- 
 quainted. He knew many of the stories which our children are now 
 receiving as novelties in the selections from Grimm's Kinder und 
 Haus-Mdrchen, and as many of those which are collected in the 
 Danish Folk-Sagn [sic]. And if some zealous lover of legendary 
 lore (like poor John Leyden, or like Sir Walter Scott), had fallen 
 in with him, the Shakesperian commentators might perhaps have 
 had the whole story of St. Withold; the WoK of the World's End 
 might have been identified with Fenris and found to be a relic of 
 the Scalds: and Rauf Collyer and John the Reeve might still have 
 been as well known as Adam Bell, and Clym of the Clough, and 
 William of Cloudshe." 
 
 1 " Curses are like young chicken; they always come home to roost." 
 
BOYHOOD 23 
 
 The delights of Bedminster came to an end in 1782 with 
 the death of Mrs. Hill, for the place was immediately sold. 
 At the same time Southey returned to live at his father's 
 house in Wine Street. Miss Tyler was living with her 
 friends or in lodgings at Bath, and the boy was with her 
 only for his holidays. For he was now put to school in 
 Bristol under an old Welshman named William Williams. 
 Most of the instruction under this person, as was suitable 
 for the sons of Bristol tradesmen, consisted in ciphering, 
 penmanship, and catechism. For Southey there was also 
 some meager Latin, but when he had read the Metamor- 
 phoses and Virgil's Eclogues, neither master nor usher dared 
 trust his own Latinity to carry the boy further. For the 
 same reason, probably, the lad was never taught to write 
 Latin verse, and continued through life, he says, ''as liable 
 to make a false quantity as any Scotchman." Occasional 
 English themes made up the only training in composition 
 which he received. Of more interest, it would seem, than 
 anything else in the school were the characters of the boys 
 — many of them sons of West India planters — and the 
 oddities of humanity which gathered about old Williams, 
 an oddity himself in a dirty wig which served the boys as 
 weather-vane for telling his temper. Yet on the whole 
 Southey felt in later life that the four or five years spent 
 at this school, while not unhappy, were not very profitable. 
 
 Fortunately he found plenty of intellectual food without 
 a teacher, for his life-long passion for books had already 
 appeared. Books were not plentiful, to be sure, during the 
 two years that he lived in his father's house, but such as 
 they were, he made it his business to read them. Southey 
 senior satisfied himself with Felix Farley^s Bristol Journal, 
 but in a cupboard over the desk in the back-parlor there 
 was, along with the wine-glasses, a small library. ''It con- 
 sisted of The Spectator, three or four volumes of The Oxford 
 Magazine, one of The Freeholder's, and one of The Town and 
 
24 THE EARLY LIFE OF ROBERT SOUTHEY 
 
 Country. . . . The other books were Pomfret's Poems, The 
 Death of Abel, Aaron Hill's translation of Merope, with The 
 Jealous Wife, and Edgar and Emmeline, in one volume; 
 Julius Ccesar, The Toy Shop, All for Love, and a Pamphlet 
 upon Quack Doctors of George II's days, in another; The 
 Vestal Virgins, The Duke of Lerma, and The Indian Queen, 
 in a third. To these my mother added The Guardian, and 
 the happy copy of Mrs. Rowe's Letters which introduced me 
 to Torquato Tasso." 
 
 Holidays afforded the boy richer fare. They were spent 
 with his aunt in Bath, except for a short summer visit to 
 Weymouth when Southey had his first thrilling sight of the 
 sea. Finally, some time about the beginning of 1785, Miss 
 Tyler, having "lived about among her friends as long as it 
 was convenient for them to entertain her, and longer in 
 lodgings than was convenient for herself," took a pleasant 
 house with a garden in the outskirts of Bristol. Thither 
 her nephew and her brother, William, were summoned, and 
 she resumed her usual mode of life. This was the household 
 where Southey remembers her most distinctly, shutting up 
 the rooms to keep them clean, living in rags in the kitchen, 
 scolding her friends and servants, interfering with her rela- 
 tives, nursing a profound contempt for Bristol society, and 
 showing hospitality only to a stray actor or other friend 
 from Bath. Residence with her, however, was now wel- 
 come to her nephew for sake of the additional freedom 
 which it gave as contrasted with the cramped quarters at 
 Wine Street. More books also fell in his way. He had 
 long since graduated from Goody Twoshoes; play-going, 
 which was resinned with joy upon his return from Corston 
 and whenever he was with his aunt, had introduced him, 
 as we have seen, to Shakespeare and to Beaumont and 
 Fletcher. From these he had already learned something 
 more than a boy's love for romance, and in Mrs. Rowe's 
 Letters he had found the stories of Olendo and Sophronio 
 
BOYHOOD 25 
 
 and of the Enchanted Forest from Tasso. In a circulating 
 library he soon after saw Hoole's translation of the Gerusa- 
 lemme Liherata (1763), and a friend of his aunt's, hearing 
 him speak of the book with dehght and interest above his 
 years, in the summer of 1783 gave him a copy of it. Bull's 
 circulating library in Bath at once became his Bodleian. 
 Referred by Hoole to Ariosto, he borrowed the same trans- 
 lator's version of Orlando Furioso (1783). ''I do not think,'' 
 he says, ''any accession of fortune could now give me so 
 much delight as I then derived from that vile version of 
 Hoole's." Again he found an alluring reference in the 
 notes, this time to Spenser; again he resorted to the circu- 
 lating library, and asked for The Faerie Queene. 
 
 "My friend Cruett replied that they had it, but it was written in 
 old English, and I should not be able to understand it. This did 
 not appear to me so much a necessary consequence as he supposed, 
 and I therefore requested that he would let me look at it. It was 
 the quarto edition of '17,^ in three volumes, with large prints folded 
 in the middle, equaUy worthless like all the prints of that age, 
 in design and execution. There was nothing in the language to 
 impede, for the ear set me right where the uncouth spelling . . . 
 might have puzzled the eye; and the few words which are really 
 obsolete, were sufficiently explained by the context. No young 
 lady of the present generation falls to a new novel of Sir Walter 
 Scott's with a keener relish than I did that morning to The Faery 
 Queen. ''^ ^ 
 
 Milton came into his hands about this time also. An old 
 widow, ''mad as a March hare after a religious fashion," 
 hearing that Southey was a promising boy, asked his mother 
 that he might be sent to drink tea with her some evening. 
 "Her behaviour to me was very kind; but as soon as tea 
 was over, she bade me kneel down, and down she knelt her- 
 
 1 Probably the edition of 1715, edited by John Hughes. 
 
 2 The Complete Poetical Works of Robert Southey, collected by himself y, 
 New York, 1848 7-8 (referred to as Works). 
 
26 THE EARLY LIFE OF ROBERT SOUTHEY 
 
 self, and prayed for me by the hour to my awful astonish- 
 ment. When this was done she gave me a little book called 
 Early Piety, and a coarse edition of Paradise Lost J ^ 
 
 Such a beginning in books was now rapidly supplemented, 
 especially by more romances, epics, and histories. To the 
 schoolboy reading of Virgil, Horace, and Ovid, were added 
 Mickle's Lusiad, Pope's Homer, "Arabian and mock- Arabian 
 Tales," Sidney's Arcadia, Chatterton, Gay's Pastorals, — 
 which he took seriously, — Percy's Reliques, Warton's His- 
 tory of English Poetry, Chaucer, the Bible,^ and such curious 
 things as William Chamberlayne's Pharonnida (1659), of 
 which Southey wrote an account for The Athenoeum Mag^ 
 azine in after years, as ''one of the worst specimens of 
 versification in the English language. "^ 
 
 Here was the scholar in the making, but even before this 
 the poet had been putting his dreams to paper. While still 
 unbreeched the boy had informed Miss Tyler's friend. Miss 
 Palmer, that it was the easiest thing in the world to write 
 a play, ''for you know you have only to think what you 
 would say if you were in the place of the characters, and 
 to make them say it." And very soon, as was natural, he 
 began himself the attempt to compose a drama. "The first 
 subject which I tried was the continence of Scipio, suggested 
 by a print in a pocket-book. Battles were introduced in 
 abimdance because the battle in Cymbeline was one of my 
 favorite scenes; and because Congreve's hero in The Mourn- 
 ing Bride finds the writing of his father in prison, I made 
 my prince of Numantia find pen, ink, and paper, that he 
 might write to his mistress. An act and a half of this non- 
 sense exhausted my perseverance." But the attempt did 
 not stop there altogether. He even persuaded one of his 
 schoolmates to write a tragedy, but finding it necessary to 
 supply this boy first with a story, then with characters, 
 names, and finally with dialogue itself, he gave up in des- 
 
 1 Works, 8. 2 Athenaeum Monthly Magazine 1807, I, 594. 
 
BOYHOOD 27 
 
 pair, not, however, without attempting another tragedy for 
 himself on the subject of the Trojan War. 
 
 Far more congenial forms soon attracted his attention, 
 and he turned to the composition of epic and romance. 
 Many were the heroic flights which he planned. In the 
 covers of his Phcedrus at the age of nine or ten he wrote, 
 in couplets imitating Hoole, some part of a story to be en- 
 grafted upon Ariosto, in which the Moors were to be again 
 overthrown in Arcadia by a hero of the young author's own 
 invention. Then at Miss Tyler's house he found the first 
 volume of Bysshe's Art of Poetry, and learned the rules for 
 making blank verse, which forthwith became his chosen 
 medium. The Trojan Brutus, the death of Richard III and 
 the union of the roses, the story of King Egbert, Cassibelan, 
 a continuation of The Faerie Queene and another of the 
 Metamorphoses of Ovid on the suggestion of Chatterton's 
 English Metamorphoses j these were some of his attempted 
 subjects. Less ambitious works were heroic epistles in rime 
 on topics taken from classical and historical reading, trans- 
 lations of Ovid, Virgil, and Horace, descriptive pieces on 
 morning in town and country in imitation of Cunningham, 
 and a vision of Hades. In the last-named poem there was 
 a passage perhaps ironically significant: ''It described the 
 Elysium of the Poets, and that more sacred part of it in 
 which Homer, Virgil, Tasso, Spenser, Camoens, and Milton 
 were assembled. While I was regarding them. Fame came 
 hurrying by with her arm full of laurels and asking in an 
 indignant voice if there was no poet who would deserve 
 them? Upon which I reached my hand, snatched at them, 
 and awoke." 
 
 Although Miss Tyler's tutelage gave the lad little chance 
 for play, all was not bookishness in his childhood. As he 
 grew older he found ample room for youthful exploration in 
 the country about Bath and Bristol. The former town did 
 not yet extend far beyond the Royal Crescent. Bath wick 
 
28 THE EARLY LIFE OF ROBERT SOUTHEY 
 
 Fields on the other side of the river were as yet largely 
 open coiintry, and from Bristol Southey was able to make 
 expeditions to Clifton and the wilder places on the lower 
 reaches of the Avon. Between Clifton and the sea, the 
 river passes between precipitous and rocky banks, and there, 
 says the poet, ''I first learned to scramble among rocks, 
 where ... I treasm-ed up a store of imagery and enriched 
 my mind with sights and sounds and feelings not to be ob- 
 tained anywhere but in the school of nature. These rocks 
 and woods were my best teachers."^ Other companions 
 than such as these were few. Yet though there were no 
 boys in the families of Miss Tyler's acquaintance, her house- 
 maid had a brother, a good-natured, lively lad, named 
 Shadrach Weeks, who proved an excellent playmate. 
 
 ''At this hour, if he be Uving, and were to meet me, I am sure he 
 would greet me by a hearty shake of the hand; and, be it where it 
 might, I should return the salutation. We used to work together 
 in the garden, play trap in the fields, make kites and fly them, try 
 our hands at carpentry, and, which was the greatest of all indul- 
 gences, go into the country to bring home primrose, violet, and 
 cowslip roots; and sometimes to St. Vincent's Rocks, or rather the 
 heights about a mile and a haK farther down the river, to search 
 for the bee and fly orchis. Some book had taught me that these 
 rare flowers were to be found there; and I sought for them year 
 after year with . . . persevering industry, for the unworthy pur- 
 pose of keeping them in pots at home, . . . Perhaps I have never 
 had a keener enjoyment of natural scenery than when roaming 
 about the rocks and woods on the side of the Avon with Shad and 
 our poor spaniel Phillis. Indeed, there are few scenes in the island 
 finer of their kind; and no other where merchant vessels of the 
 largest size may be seen sailing between such rocks and woods." 
 
 Shad acquired considerable skill in carpentry, and this 
 accomphshment the future author put to good use in fur- 
 
 ^ From an unpublished letter by Southey (May 27, 1819) in the 
 British Museum. 
 
BOYHOOD 29 
 
 thering his own literary interests. Before Southey left for 
 Westminster School, they set about making a puppet- 
 theatre/ a design that grew so elaborate as to provide for 
 pit, boxes, gallery, ornamental ceiling, as well as a full com- 
 plement of actors. Southey was to write plays for it, and 
 the spectator was to look through a magnifying glass behind 
 the gallery, but the optician told them that it was impos- 
 sible to construct a single magnifier that would serve their 
 purpose. In spite of this disappointment, they persisted, 
 and even after Southey was launched at school, the theatre 
 still provided amusement for holiday time. 
 
 In such occupations the boy approached the age of four- 
 teen, and the features of the mature man were becoming 
 distinguishable. From his father, he seems to have in- 
 herited none of that dull incompetence which was sapping 
 the fortunes of the linen-draper's shop, but the high spirit 
 of his mother's family was his to the full, that spirit that 
 ran to pride and ill temper in his aunt, but which led his 
 mother bravely through affliction. The loss of five chil- 
 dren, the gradual disintegration of her husband's health and 
 little business, poverty and care for remaining children, her 
 own ill- health and a domineering sister who wasted on vani- 
 ties what might really have helped those she sought to 
 govern, — the poet's mother bore her lot patiently as a 
 woman can. The spirit of her son, however, had as yet 
 undergone no trial; it was still engrossed in bookish pur- 
 suits, undisturbed by any problems of his own or others. 
 He was merely the romancer and the student, not yet the 
 moralist or the reformer. But in another year the Bastille 
 would fall and the spirit of this boy, like that of so many 
 others, would take fire. Then would appear that passion- 
 ate, outspoken hate of what he thought was evil which was 
 to be both the strength and the weakness of the grown man. 
 As yet, we know merely that his mother's eye had noticed 
 1 Life, I, 308. 
 
30 THE EARLY LIFE OF ROBERT SOUTHEY 
 
 that Robert as a child might always be expected to show 
 anger at wrongdoing by the other children. 
 
 Meanwhile some provision had to be fomid for the young- 
 ster's future, especially as it must have long since become 
 evident that his father was not going to be able to assist 
 his son materially. Consequently Robert's uncle, the Rev- 
 erend Herbert Hill, Chaplain to the British factory at Lis- 
 bon and unmarried, now came forward to take a more active 
 interest in his nephew. The plan that was naturally sug- 
 gested by the boy's bright promise and by the habits and 
 connections of the Hill family was that he should go to 
 Westminster School at his uncle's expense, thence to 
 Christ Church, Oxford. After that clerical friends were to 
 see that he obtained a fellowship which would lead in the 
 usual course of events to a college living, and thus he 
 would be settled respectably for life. Before going up to 
 Westminster, however, it was thought well to place him 
 with a handful of other boys under a clergyman named 
 Lewis to be more thoroughly prepared. In this way the 
 year 1787 was spent. The tutor's influence was small, if 
 we may believe Southey's own statement, but greater free- 
 dom gave greater time for writing poetry. "I do not 
 remember in any part of my life to have been so con- 
 scious of intellectual improvement as I was during the 
 year and a half before I was placed at Westminster." This 
 improvement came from ^* constantly exercising myself in 
 English verse." 
 
 In this, however, lay ill omen for Mr. Hill's prudent and 
 generous plan. The boy's kindred concluded from his love 
 of books that he would take kindly to the career outlined 
 for him. They could as yet see nothing in his reading that 
 would lead him elsewhere, and above all they had as yet 
 no opportunity to observe that stiff independence of char- 
 acter which would make it at all times difficult for others 
 to plan for him. 
 
BOYHOOD 31 
 
 " There were 
 Who form'd high hopes and flattering ones of thee, 
 Young Robert! for thine eye was quick to speak 
 Each opening feehng; should they not have known, 
 When the rich rainbow on the morning cloud 
 Reflects its radiant dyes, the husbandman 
 Beholds the ominous glory sad and fears 
 Impending storms ! — They augur'd happily. 
 That thou didst love each wild and wondrous tale 
 Of faery fiction, and thine infant tongue 
 Lisp'd with delight the godlike deeds of Greece 
 And rising Rome; therefore they deem'd, forsooth. 
 That thou should'st tread preferment's pleasant path. 
 Ill- judging ones! they let thy little feet 
 Stray in the pleasant paths of Poesy, 
 And when thou should'st have prest amid the crowd. 
 There didst thou love to linger out the day. 
 Loitering beneath the laurel's barren shade. 
 Spirit of Spenser! was the wanderer wrong?" ^ 
 
 III 
 
 Our knowledge 2 of the experiences of Southey's early life 
 is based almost entirely upon the fragment of an autobiog- 
 raphy written between 1820 and 1825. This narrative con- 
 tinues only through the early part of his residence at 
 Westmuister, and gives practically no account of the most 
 interesting occurrences of those years. The bookish, high- 
 
 1 On my own Miniature Picture, taken at two years of age, Poems, 1797. 
 
 2 The main source for facts concerning the first part of Southey's 
 stay at Westminster is still the autobiographical fragment printed in 
 Life. This contains nothing, however, about The Flagellant, the in- 
 formation concerning which is drawn chiefly from the statements of 
 Cuthbert Southey in Life, I, 158-170, from Southey's letters of the 
 period as published in Life and in Warter, 1, 1-20, and from allusions in 
 later letters. The records of admissions to Westminster School from 
 1788 through 1806 have disappeared. G. F. R. Barker and A. H. 
 Stenning, Westminster School Register from 1764 to 1883. 
 
32 THE EARLY LIFE OF ROBERT SOUTHEY 
 
 spirited boy was now to encounter a new kind of reading, — 
 those books which tad prepared the way for revolution, — 
 and the revolution itself was to set this ferment working 
 in his mind. Unfortunately his thoughts and feelings of 
 this time, while never looked upon by himself with shame 
 or regret, are preserved in few letters and were never 
 thought in later life worthy of that detailed presentation 
 which Wordsworth gave to his similar experience. Southey's 
 autobiography was, indeed, undertaken with some such aim, 
 but when a real beginning upon the story of these troubled, 
 yeasty times was to be made, he shrank from the task. 
 From the records that do remain, however, we can easily 
 piece together a clear story of his life at Westminster which 
 mil partly account for the kind of young man who left the 
 place and entered Oxford in the particular manner that 
 Southey did. 
 
 In February, 1788, Miss Tyler, with thirty pounds which 
 Southey's father had given her, glad of the excuse for a 
 visit to London, set out on the journey to place her nephew 
 at school. Miss Palmer was persuaded to hire a carriage 
 and convey them with her to town. In four days they 
 were settled in lodgings in Pall Mall which were too ex- 
 pensive for Miss Tyler's purse, however pleasing to her 
 pride and taste. For about six weeks the party went to 
 the theatres, visited friends, and had a gay time. The boy 
 of fourteen was bored and homesick until, on the first of 
 April, he was carried to Westminster, and entered at the 
 school. Miss Tyler, having spent all her o^n money and 
 more besides, was forced to return to Bristol before Whit- 
 suntide. 
 
 At Westminster Southey remained for four active years, 
 and although later he often spoke disparagingly of the 
 system there in vogue, his schooldays were, on the whole, 
 happy ones. Of his actual studies he tells us little, but we 
 may assume that he progressed prosperously through the 
 
BOYHOOD 33 
 
 usual course of classical reading without, however, learning 
 to write Latin verses. The life of the boys left a far more 
 vivid impression upon his mind, so vivid that in after years 
 he was constantly alluding to it and dreaming about it in 
 his sleep. The master, when he entered, was Dr. Smith, 
 shortly afterwards succeeded by Dr. Vincent. The school 
 was largely preparatory for Christ Church, and numbered 
 about three hundred boys, ''very few upon whose counte- 
 nance Nature had set her best testimonials." Most of them 
 were clay to the potter's hand, and the strongest hand 
 among them was, as usual in the public school of the day, 
 that of the bully and the brute. Southey, however, upon 
 admittance to the fourth form, was fortunately assigned to 
 a diligent and gentlemanly boy, named George Strachey, to 
 be introduced by him to the work of the form. Unluckily 
 Strachey lived at home, and Southey was quartered at a 
 boarding house kept by one ''Botch" Hayes, usher of the 
 fifth form, who was also to be his tutor. Hayes was not 
 a pleasant creature, nor very efficient, and the boy was, for 
 a time, solitary indeed. He was placed in the same room 
 with a handsome young brute of an ungovernable temper 
 and the imagination of a fiend, who attempted to hold him 
 by one leg out of the window; there was a full story to 
 fall and stone flags underneath, but the victim struggled 
 manfully enough to be rescued. The room-mate then took 
 to pouring water into his ear as he lay asleep and to flinging 
 the poker and the porter-pot at him. The youngster, no 
 weakling in spirit, demanded to be removed from his fiend. 
 This was done, but peace was not yet. The tormentor, 
 dressed up in a sheet as a ghost, one night entered the room 
 to which Southey had been transferred, and attempted to ter- 
 rify the younger boy by rolling upon him. Nothing daunted 
 by the ghostly disguise, Southey seized the bully by the 
 throat, and clung there until the resulting uproar brought 
 the usher to the scene. After that he was molested no longer. 
 
34 THE EARLY LIFE OF ROBERT SOUTHEY 
 
 Later he engaged in pranks himself, but of somewhat 
 different nature. A curly-headed boy was reported to have 
 beat upon the door of a neighboring small school-master. 
 Luckily Southey was not the only curly head in the school, 
 and consequently escaped the reproof that he had earned. 
 When he had become laureate/ writing official odes to order 
 reminded him of the verses which at school he had regu- 
 larly placed upon the tutor's table when required, and as 
 regularly abstracted for presentation again when the next 
 requirement should fall due. Then upon one occasion,^ 
 when his room-mate, Wynn, had written a theme beginning, 
 *Tride is an insurmountable obstacle," Southey may have 
 been the wag who secretly altered the words to ''I ride an 
 insurmountable obstacle." These Wynn read out before 
 Dr. Vincent, much to the amusement of the boys, and if 
 Southey was not responsible for the . incident, certainly he 
 remembered it with sufl&cient satisfaction to refer to it in 
 a letter to Wynn over twenty years later. 
 
 The most precious fruits for Southey of Westminster 
 School were the friends that he there made. Charles 
 Watkins Williams Wynn and Grosvenor Charles Bedford 
 were the most important of these, two men with whom he 
 continued upon terms of unbroken intimacy throughout the 
 rest of his life. Near the end of his days he wrote to the 
 then Dean of Westminster, ''If I were beholden to the old 
 school for nothing more than their friendship, I should have 
 reason enough to bless the day on which I entered it."^ 
 Wynn, a serious and steady youth, was the second son of a 
 Welsh baronet of some wealth, and destined to a distin- 
 guished career in Parliament. Just when, in their course at 
 school, the two boys met, does not appear, but they were 
 quartered in the same boarding-house, and towards the end 
 of the time at least shared the same room. When Wynn 
 
 1 Warier, III, 249. ' Life, VI, 279. 
 
 2 Warier, II, 322 and note. 
 
BOYHOOD 35 
 
 left in 1791, a few months before Southey, to enter Christ 
 Church, the latter became the head boy of the house.^ 
 With Bedford Southey's friendship partook less of the feel- 
 ing of deep admiration and respect, more of good comrade- 
 ship. He was a person of far different type, — a fellow 
 to go on a lark with, humorous, whimsical, companion- 
 able, but distinctly beneath Wynn and Southey in natu- 
 ral parts. It is significant that with Wynn Bedford never 
 appears to have maintained more than an old school-fellow 
 good feeling. Southey met him early at Westminster, and 
 by 1791 they had become intimate friends. Besides these, 
 there were other congenial companions. There was a cer- 
 tain Combe, whom they called az^d^ av8po3v, and who shared 
 in the process of abstracting the verses from the tutor's 
 desk. There was James Boswell, son of the immortal, 
 whom Southey chose to be his room-mate when Wynn de- 
 parted. Boswell, as one would expect, was a good-natured 
 fellow, and when Bedford's brother, already the godson and 
 namesake of Horace Walpole, was dubbed by the boys Dr. 
 Johnson, Southey compelled young Boswell to write after 
 his dictation some memoirs of this mock Johnson in mock 
 Boswell style, and circulated them in the school. Another 
 friend was Peter Elmsley, the classical scholar, who in later 
 years 2 took the trip through Wales with Southey and Wynn 
 which was to furnish the knowledge of scenery needed for 
 Modoc. One of the most congenial of all these boys, prob- 
 ably, was Thomas Philip Lamb, son of a gentleman who 
 lived at Mountsfield near Rye in Sussex. Immediately 
 after his departure from Westminster, Southey wrote some 
 of his most fulminating letters to Lamb, and spent the 
 Whitsun holidays of 1791 and 1792 ^ at Lamb's home, where 
 he became a great favorite. There were two younger 
 brothers and a sister of twelve. In 1838 Southey wrote 
 
 1 Warter, III, 303. ' Warter, IV, 543. 
 
 2 Preface to Madoc, Works, 325. 
 
36 THE EARLY LIFE OF ROBERT SOUTHEY 
 
 that he would go a long way to see Bessy Lamb. He had 
 learned to ride upon her white pony, he had played pranks 
 with her brother, and he had written many bad verses 
 there, which, he says, taught him to write better, or were 
 turned to account in Joan of Arc. 
 
 It would appear from all this that the reserve and with- 
 drawal from social intercourse, which were noted traits of 
 Southey's manhood, were chiefly acquired later. This again 
 comes out most amusingly in the account ^ of his schoolboy 
 delight in the stagecoach journeys that were no small part 
 of the joys of holidays. At such times he was much in- 
 terested in the human oddities to be met on the road. He 
 traveled by day for the greater enjoyment of the adven- 
 ture. A crimping- house keeper who, within earshot, re- 
 counted his profession to a companion, a deaf-mute who 
 taught the lad the sign- manual, a village mathematician 
 who tried to teach him how to take the altitude of a church 
 tower by the aid of a cocked hat, — these were some of the 
 queer fish that came to his boyish lure. 
 
 Holidays themselves were spent in various places. His 
 visits to his friend. Lamb, at Mountsfield have already been 
 referred to. It was doubtless upon one of these occasions 
 that he embarked twice from R-yej^ bent upon a week's 
 amusement in France, but was each time prevented by the 
 wind, a circumstance which he always regretted. Some 
 holidays probably were spent with other school friends, and 
 some at home where he could range along the cliffs above 
 the Avon^ or walk on the rocks by the sea with Wynn 
 watching the ships go out,^ or where he could write verses 
 
 1 Life, IV, 330-331. 
 
 2 A Memoir of the Life and Writings of the late William Taylor of 
 Norwich — compiled and edited by J. W. Rohberds — 1843, I, 399 (Re- 
 ferred to as Taylor). 
 
 3 On the Death of a Favorite Old Spaniel, Poems 1797, 148. See also an 
 unpublished letter of Southey's (May 27, 1819) in the British Museum. 
 
 4 Warter, I, 30. 
 
BOYHOOD 37 
 
 with a poetical comrade in a cave overlooking the river. 
 Then visits were paid to friends of his aunt/ the Misses 
 Delamare, at Cheshunt, "excellent old ladies whom it will 
 be a joy for me to meet in another world." They read the 
 poet Watts with great devotion, and looked with worship- 
 ing eyes at a summer-house in a neighboring garden where 
 Watts was said to have composed most of his works. The 
 schoolboy visitor, meanwhile, preferred to read Sidney's 
 Arcadia, which was also among their books. 
 
 Two of the determining traits of Southey's character have 
 now plainly appeared. The most conspicuous, of course, is 
 that passion for reading and that taste in books which led 
 him to pore over the Arcadia in holiday time. What fas- 
 cinated him, that is, was not the conventional reading in 
 the classics, but history, romance, and narrative poetry. 
 One of his schoolmates, apparently George Strachey, lived 
 in a house so near Dean's Yard that it was hardly con- 
 sidered out of bounds, and Southey spent many truant 
 hours reading in its pleasant, well-stocked library overlook- 
 ing the Thames. One of the books that he found there was 
 to supply him with an aspiration of no small importance. 
 This was Picard's Religious Ceremonies;^ "The book im- 
 pressed my imagination strongly; and before I left school, I 
 had formed the intention of exhibiting all the more prominent 
 and poetical forms of mythology which have at any time 
 obtained among mankind, by making each the groundwork 
 of an heroic poem."^ Such bookishness was part of a men- 
 tality conspicuously alert, active, diligent, quick to feel 
 influences and impressions from without, but not so much 
 profound as venturesome and sensitive. The boyhood 
 
 1 Warier, IV, 380. 
 
 2 Bernard Picard: Ceremonies et Coutumes Religeuses de Tous les 
 Pewples du Monde Representees par des Figures . . . avec une Explana- 
 tion Historique, et quelques Dissertations curieuses. Amsterdam, 17 28. 
 
 3 Vindidae Ecclesiae Anglicanae, 6-7. 
 
38 THE EARLY LIFE OF ROBERT SOUTHEY 
 
 writings of which he has told us are striking evidence of his 
 impulse, stronger even than in most scribbling lads, to draw 
 upon reading both for the substance and the form of his own 
 composition. Few have been quicker to attempt the imita- 
 tion of so many different authors; did he read Ariosto, 
 Spenser, Ovid, he would write new Orlandos, new Faerie 
 Queenes, new Metamorphoses. This courage in experiment- 
 ing with literary forms was later to be of help when he 
 would have to turn verses into guineas, but the very facility 
 betrayed thereby was to be of doubtful value to Southey's 
 permanent reputation. 
 
 The other trait now to be noted in the youth's character, 
 though as yet less conspicuous, must have been already just 
 as definite, and when not taken too seriously, strikingly 
 attractive. It was the fearless, outspoken devotion to what 
 he took to be his principles, and his equally outspoken 
 hatred of their opposites. He had fastened himself terrier- 
 like upon the throat of the bully, and had clung there 
 regardless of consequences. This was an episode most char- 
 acteristic of the future man. For it would not be far from 
 the truth to say that Southey went on clinging to the throat 
 of villainy all the rest of his life; he may often have been 
 mistaken about the villainy, but there can be no doubt 
 about the courage and the devotion with which he assailed it. 
 
 Both bookishness and the frequently Quixotic idealism 
 now received new fuel. The young student of history and 
 lover of Spenser found new reading, new enthusiasms, sec- 
 onded by new events in the world, which were to bring 
 ideals within his scope of action that could be fought for, 
 and he did not shrink from fighting. The story is sufi&- 
 ciently told in the words that he wrote in 1816.^ He says 
 that he left Westminster ''in a perilous state, — a heart full 
 of feeling and poetry, a head full of Rousseau and Werter 
 [sic], and . . . religious principles shaken by Gibbon." 
 1 Life, IV, 186, 320. 
 
BOYHOOD 39 
 
 When we add that Voltaire was among the authors whose 
 manner he was imitating at this time, and then recall that 
 his schooldays fell within the years 1788 to 1792, we shall 
 see that, given his temper, trouble of some sort was bound 
 to result. The sympathy with revolutionary ideas did not 
 in his case, as with Wordsworth, creep unawares upon a 
 meditative spirit only slowly awakening out of boyish in- 
 difference, but came as a gusty blast to sweep a youngster 
 off his unsteady feet. Southey was not slow to form con- 
 victions, nor having formed them, content to remain long 
 inactive with regard to them. He was always for commit- 
 ting himself at once so that the world should know how 
 Robert Southey stood, and then he was for defiantly stand- 
 ing by his guns. We shall see, moreover, that he rather 
 fell in love with a vision of liberty than was convinced of a 
 doctrine. This vision he never would surrender, and there- 
 fore he could maintain that he was conscious of no reversal 
 in having shifted from Jacobinism to Toryism. 
 
 Rousseau, Werther, Gibbon, Voltaire, acting upon such a 
 Westminster boy, led him into scrapes, for although Southey 
 notes that among the boys there was much free and easy 
 democracy, Westminster School at this time might have 
 been called both negligent and tyrannical in its discipline, 
 but scarcely liberal. We may regret that no detailed 
 account of Southey' s schoolboy exploits is available when 
 we remember the joke on young Boswell and the prank on 
 Wynn. The whole history might have made an amusing 
 story. As it is, one or two vague rumors and allusions are 
 all that we have to indicate that the final scrape which 
 earned his expulsion was probably but the last of a series. 
 The fact that Southey's political notions were not shared by 
 such friends as Wynn, Bedford, and Lamb doubtless led to 
 voluble arguments, with the result that the young radical's 
 opinions were no secret in the school when the climax of 
 his career there arrived. 
 
40 THE EARLY LIFE OF ROBERT SOUTHEY 
 
 This event was the outcome of the future laureate's first 
 appearance in print. Some Etonians, led by Canning, had 
 published a periodical called The Microcosm shortly before 
 Southey's entrance at Westminster, and some of the boys 
 of the latter school, during his first year, attempted to rival 
 the Etonians in a publication called The Trifler. To this 
 Southey sent anonymously by penny post an elegy on his 
 little sister, who had just died, signing it B. In the 
 next number he saw this notice, ''B's Elegy must undergo 
 some alterations, a liberty all our correspondents must 
 allow us to take," but this was the last ever seen of the 
 elegy. The Trifler died after forty numbers, but in his last 
 year in the school, Southey, with Wynn, Strachey, and 
 Bedford, planned another such paper to be called The 
 Flagellant.^ Wynn and Strachey departed before publica- 
 tion began, but on March 1, 1792, the first number, written 
 entirely by Bedford, appeared. Southey never forgot that 
 occasion. ^^It was Bedford's writing, but that circumstance 
 did not prevent me from feeling that I was that day borne 
 into the world as an author; and if ever my head touched 
 the stars while I walked upon earth it was then. It seemed 
 as if I had overleapt a barrier, which till then had kept me 
 from the fields of immortality, wherein my career was to 
 be run. In all London there was not so vain, so happy, so 
 elated a creature as I was that day; and, in truth, it was an 
 important day in my life. ..." 
 
 The Flagellant purported to be the organ of four West- 
 minster scholars who had retired to a ruined monastery in 
 order to lash the vices of society. Bedford, under the name 
 of Peter the Hermit, was apparently responsible for most 
 of the first four numbers, the satire of which was mild 
 enough and conventional enough to escape censure. But 
 the fifth number, written by Southey under the pseudonym 
 Gualbertus, a name ominous of Wat Tyler, was more out- 
 1 Life, IV, 318-320. Warter, III, 233. 
 
BOYHOOD 41 
 
 spoken and brought on grave consequences. The point of 
 the essay was that flogging was an invention of the devil. 
 Though the author wrote with Httle respect for dignitaries, 
 yet he Httle expected that he would give offense to anybody. 
 Nevertheless he confesses, ''I was full of Gibbon at the 
 time, and had caught something of Voltaire's manner.'' 
 Cuthbert Southey could see in what his father wrote noth- 
 ing but "a. schoolboy's imitation of a paper in the Spectator 
 or Rambler.'^ Dr. Vincent, on the other hand, saw the 
 traces of Gibbon and Voltaire, and it is not surprising that 
 his anger should have been roused. Gaulbertus began with 
 a supposed letter from a victim of the rod arguing for the 
 right of boys to think for themselves and against the as- 
 sumption by schoolmasters of the divine right to flog. 
 There followed a brief essay which purported to be a reply 
 to this complaint, and upon the authority of Seneca, the 
 fathers of the Church, and the Bible, traced the invention 
 of flogging to the heathen gods and thence to the devil. 
 In good round terms Southey then went on to condemn the 
 custom as being ''equally unprofitable and impious . . . 
 unfit to be practiced in a Christian country." As for those 
 disciplinarians who practiced flogging, they had merely 
 given their breasts as shelter for Satan. 
 
 "In this public manner, therefore, do I, Gualbertus, — issue 
 my sacred bull, hereby commanding all doctors, reverends, and 
 plain masters, to cease, without delay or repining, from the beastly 
 and idolatrous custom of flogging. 'Whoever shall be saved, above 
 all things, it is necessary that he should hold the Catholic faith. 
 Now, the Catholic is this, there be three gods, and yet but one God.* 
 Whoever denies this, cannot be orthodox, consequently cannot 
 be fit to instruct youth. Now, since there is but one God, whoso- 
 ever floggeth, that is, performeth the will of Satan, committeth an 
 abomination: to him, therefore, to all the consumers of birch, as to 
 the priests of Lucifer, ANATHEMA. ANATHEMA. GUAL- 
 BERTUS."^ 
 
 1 The Flagellant, No. V, 88-89. 
 
42 THE EARLY LIFE OF ROBERT SOUTHEY 
 
 Dr. Vincent, naturally enough, resented being called a 
 priest of the devil, and he took immediate steps to dis- 
 cipline his accuser by methods even more severe than flog- 
 ging. It is probable, moreover, that he had previously 
 been troubled by other evidences of Southey's uncomfort- 
 able temper and opinions. There had been a theme which 
 he had seen fit to return to the boy ''with a long row 
 about abusing Burke in it." There had also probably been 
 reports carried up to the doctor of a far more serious 
 incident which, though it may unjustly have been attrib- 
 uted to Southey, was certainly known by so good a hand 
 at gossip as Charles Lamb to have been connected with 
 his name. The statue erected to Major Andre in West- 
 minster Abbey had about this time been mutilated, and 
 when Lamb lost his temper with Southey in 1823, he 
 reminded the latter that rumor had attributed the act to 
 some Westminster boy, ''fired perhaps with raw notions of 
 Transatlantic Freedom," and queried whether he could not 
 himself tell something concerning the fate of Andre's nose.^ 
 Whether Lamb's intimation that Southey had been con- 
 cerned in this affair be true or not, the act had apparently 
 been charged to one of the scholars, and that Southey had 
 been engaged in some such outbreak against authority pre- 
 vious to The Flagellant is more than glanced at in a letter 
 written in 1818 to the same friend to whom the autobiog- 
 raphy was later addressed. The letter,^ which is generously 
 cut by the editor, seems to refer to the case of some young- 
 ster recently expelled from Eton. Southey writes: 
 
 "I know something of rebellions, and generally suspect that there 
 has been some fault in the master as well as in the boys, just as a 
 mutiny in a man of war affords a strong presumption of tyranny 
 
 ^ Letter of Elia to Robert Southey, London Magazine, October, 1823; 
 The Works of Charles and Mary Lamb, edited by E. V. Lucas . . . 1903 
 (referred to as Lamb, Works), 1, 226. 
 
 2 Life, IV, 318-320. 
 
BOYHOOD 43 
 
 against the captain. Without understanding the merits of the case, 
 it is easy to perceive that the boys believed their privileges were 
 invaded, and fancied that the Magna Charta of Eton was in danger 
 (the Habeas Corpus in schools is in favour of the governors — a 
 writ issued against the subject, and affecting him in tail), — took the 
 patriotic side, acting upon Whig principles. They are very good 
 principles in their time and place, and youth is a good time and 
 school a good place for them. When he grows older, he will see the 
 necessity of subordination, and learn that it is only by means of 
 order that liberty can be secured." 
 
 At this point the editorial shears have invaded the letter, 
 but it is resumed in words that seem to indicate quite 
 clearly that Dr. Vincent may have had something besides 
 the paper on flogging in mind when Southey was expelled. 
 
 '*I have a fellow-feeling for , because I was myself 
 
 expelled from Westminster, not for a rebellion (though in 
 that too I had my share), but for an act of authorship." 
 
 If Southey had had his share in a rebellion, Dr. Vincent 
 may have decided to make use of this opportunity, when 
 the author of The Flagellant was to be punished, to clear 
 off old scores with him and with insubordination in general 
 by visiting his wrath upon the culprit caught red-handed. 
 It was not the last time that the young man was to dis- 
 cover what rancors may be distilled from printer's ink. 
 Upon this occasion Dr. Vincent immediately sued the pub- 
 lisher of The Flagellant for libel; Southey was forced to 
 acknowledge himself the author of the obnoxious number, 
 and reluctantly to pen a letter of apology. The matter did 
 not rest there, but he was expelled from the school, and 
 some time in April or early May of 1792 returned to his 
 aunt's house in the College Green in Bristol. 
 
 This escapade had to be reported to his uncle, of course, 
 and then there ensued six months of waiting for the word 
 to come from Lisbon which should decide the young man's 
 future course. It had been intended that he should enter 
 
44 THE EARLY LIFE OF ROBERT SOUTHEY 
 
 Christ Church,^ where a friend of his uncle's was expected 
 to help him to obtain a studentship, but Cyril Jackson, 
 the dean, had heard of The Flagellant, and refused to 
 admit him. This was an added indignity, for Southey had 
 been imder the impression, when he had apologized to Dr. 
 Vincent, that the head master engaged never again to men- 
 tion the affair. Consequently this treacherous tyranny 
 made him bitter against his oppressors. It does seem, 
 indeed, as he wrote later, that "there were more wigs than 
 brains laid together about that poor number of The Fla- 
 gellantr^ 
 
 The months of waiting from April to November, trying 
 as they were, had no unimportant effect on the youth's 
 development. Smarting under the sense of injury, bitter 
 against tyranny, disappointed in his hopes for liberty in 
 France, overtaken by family affliction and the humiliation 
 of poverty, uncertain as to his own future, possibly already 
 in love or soon to be, and above all with a heart full of 
 poetry and feeling, a head full of Rousseau, Werther, and 
 Gibbon, he was truly in a perilous state. 
 
 The affairs of Southey senior now arrived at bankruptcy, 
 and the older man's health was so rapidly breaking that he 
 died early in the following year of 1793. In this distress 
 the son was now sent to Taunton to request financial aid 
 from his uncle, John Southey, but the humiliating errand 
 failed; possibly his aunt's long feud with Thomas Southey, 
 — who would appear to have been upon good terms with 
 his brother John, and no longer connected with the linen- 
 draper's shop, — may have had something to do with the 
 errand's failure. At any rate, it must be said to Miss 
 Tyler's credit that, as a result, she herself came to the 
 rescue at this crisis. 
 
 Another circumstance that should be mentioned at this 
 point is that, among his childhood playmates, although un- 
 1 Life, IV, 320. 2 Warier, III, 21. 
 
BOYHOOD 45 
 
 mentioned in Southey's autobiographical fragment, had 
 been the Httle girls of a family named Fricker, friends of 
 Southey's mother, living on Redcliffe Hill. More will be 
 said of these people later, but the boy's friendship with 
 them thus early begun had been continued, and was soon 
 to develop into love for Edith, who was about Southey's 
 own age. In 1792, meanwhile, the troubled lad of eighteen 
 probably went often to seek consolation under the Fricker 
 roof, and not without success. 
 
 Dr. Vincent had failed, however, to quench the rising 
 furor scribendi within him. Shortly after his departure 
 from Westminster, Southey was writing to Bedford that 
 the sooner they published a volume the better; ''The 
 Medley," ''The Hodge Podge," "The What- do-you- call- it," 
 or "Monastic Lucubrations" were some of their proposed 
 titles. They would dedicate perhaps to "Envy, Hatred, 
 and Malice," under whose sting Southey already felt him- 
 self to be smarting, or to the doctor, the devil, the king, 
 or themselves. Such planning, of course, came to nought; 
 still the youngster, cooling his heels if not his head in 
 Bristol, had somehow to fill up the time. He turned to 
 Euclid, but in spite of his good intentions, he was unable 
 to progress without a master, and was wearied, not to say 
 disgusted, by the confusion of triangles and parallelograms. 
 He laid Euclid on the shelf, therefore, in order to resume 
 "his constant study, Spenser." 
 
 Poetry and what he called philosophy, indeed, demanded 
 most of Southey's attention. Now it was, probably, that 
 he read the sonnets of Bowles, which had been published 
 three years before by a Bath bookseller. The plaintive 
 poet gave him welcome satisfaction in his own troubled 
 mood. Now it was also that he bought Dr. Sayers's Dra- 
 matic Sketches of Northern Mythology (1790, 1792), the first 
 book he had ever had money enough to order from a 
 country bookseller. He had himself already planned poems 
 
46 THE EARLY LIFE OF ROBERT SOUTHEY 
 
 on similar themes while he was still at Westminster; he 
 had, that is, his grand scheme of writing a series of epics 
 illustrating the mythologies of the world, and a discussion 
 with Wynn^ had suggested the composition of still another 
 poem on the story of the Welsh hero, Madoc. Sayers's 
 feeble attempts to put Percy's translation of Mallet's Intro- 
 duction a VHistoire de Dannemarc to poetic use, as well as 
 his novel verse-form, fired Southey's interest. Personal 
 problems pressed too closely, however, for him to attempt 
 any of his epic schemes at this time. Rather would he go 
 out to walk in the fields, alone save for his aunt's old 
 spaniel,^ there to meditate and muse sadly upon the ills of 
 life and society in the fashion of Rousseau or Werther or 
 Bowles, and the verses that he wrote are expressive of the 
 feelings thus cultivated. Among his acknowledged poems 
 we have already an ode To Horror^ dated 1791, which serves 
 to show the kind of thing he was learning to do in imita- 
 tion of Collins, possibly even of Anna Matilda, who wrote on 
 the same theme. This schoolboy performance was a poem 
 of the sort in which, it has been said, the muse goes on the 
 grand tour; she here surveys the scenes of horror which are 
 to be found upon moss-cankered seats in old sepulchres, 
 beneath the abbey's ivied wall, in Greenland, on the field of 
 battle, or on Afric's shore where the impaled negro writhes 
 round the stake. In similar fashion he now sings also in 
 praise of Contemplation^ at twilight when the shrill bat flits 
 by and the slow vapor curls along the ground, and the 
 long-shadowing smoke rises from the lone cottage. Then 
 is the tranquilizing Power of Contemplation to be met 
 
 1 Preface to Thalaha, Works, 224. 
 
 2 On the Death of a Favorite Old Spaniel, Poems, 1797. 
 
 ' Poems, 1797; Works, 27. In the collected edition of his poetical 
 works (1837) Southey himself affixed the dates of composition to most 
 of his poems. There is every reason to suppose that these dates are 
 correct. 
 
 * Poems, 1797; Works, 127, Bristol 1792. 
 
BOYHOOD 47 
 
 where the moon gleams with softer radiance over the 
 *'calmy" Ocean, or among the "pathless forest wilds" or 
 in "the scatter'd Abbey's hallowed rounds/' or in "the 
 lone romantic glen." Nursing thus the sacred woe of 
 reflection, the expelled Westminster boy muses upon the 
 day now perished when hope still wove her visions, only to 
 depart and leave him with sad reality [sic] to be his mate. 
 
 The scenery of the Avon supplied, of course, ample op- 
 portunity for such poetizing. High up on the face of the 
 rocks above the river below Clifton the youth had had the 
 joy of discovering a cave, shaded by ivy and frequented 
 by wild bees. There, with a companion whose identity is 
 not recorded, he would now sit for hours writing verses. 
 The two lads called themselves Nisus and Euryalus, and 
 the former name Southey carved upon the rock which he 
 chose for his own particular seat.^ A few years later he 
 made this place the subject of one of his inscriptions .^ 
 
 Longer tramps carried him out to the home of his fore- 
 fathers the Hills at Ashton or possibly to his old school at 
 Corston. All these occasions could serve, not merely for 
 verse- writing, but for long, soul- outpouring letters to Bed- 
 ford, and already Southey' s letters are far more expressive 
 of himself than are any of his poems. They show most 
 clearly how all the sensitive emotionalism that went with 
 his highly- strimg nature had been set a-quiver by his ro- 
 mantic reading in Rousseau, Werther, Bowles, and their 
 kind, but especially by Rousseau. Nothing shows this 
 "mimosa sensibility," as William Taylor called it,^ better 
 than his protesting to Bedford that he had nothing of the 
 kind. "I have undergone enough to break a dozen hearts; 
 
 ^ The Correspondence of Robert Southey with Caroline Bowles to which 
 are added: Correspondence with Shelley, and Southey' s Dreams. Edited, 
 with an Introduction, by Edward Dowden — 1881, 15-16. (Referred 
 to as Correspondence with Caroline Bowles.) 
 
 2 Poems, 1797; Works, 180. ^ Taylor, I, 256. 
 
48 THE EARLY LIFE OF ROBERT SOUTHEY 
 
 but mine is made of tough stuff, and the last misfortune 
 serves to blunt the edge of the next. One day it will, I 
 hope, be impenetrable." Of course toughness was precisely 
 not the quality of Southey's heart, and if he ever learned 
 to defeat pain, it was not by impenetrability but by forti- 
 tude. This innate sanity in his character was even now in 
 evidence, for he immediately began making the effort, by 
 means of what he called '^philosophy," to check the aban- 
 donment to emotion. Upon his return from the visit to 
 Ashton mentioned above, he sent a sketch of the church at 
 that place to Bedford with a long letter which displays both 
 the '' sensibility" at its height and the opening wedge of 
 that '^ philosophy" which was to control it. 
 
 ''If you are disposed at some future time to visit the 'Verdant 
 House ' of your friend when he shaU be at supper, — ' not when he 
 eats, but when he is eaten,' — you wiU find it on the other side of 
 this identical church. The very covering of the vault affords as 
 striking an emblem of mortality as would even the mouldering ten- 
 ant of the tomb. . . . My pilgrimage yesterday was merely the 
 result of a meditating moment when philosophy had flattered itself 
 into apathy. I am really astonished when I reflect upon the indif- 
 ference with which I so minutely surveyed the heaving turf, which 
 inclosed within its cold bosom ancestors upon whom fortune be- 
 stowed rather more of her smiles than she has done upon their 
 descendants, — men who, content with an independent patrimony, 
 lay hid from the world too obscure to be noticed by it, too elevated 
 to fear its insult. Those days are passed. . . . Were you to walk 
 over the viUage (Ashton) with me, you would, like me, be tempted 
 to repine that I have no earthly mansion here, — it is the most 
 enchanting spot that nature can produce. My rambles would be 
 much more frequent, were it not for certain reflections, not alto- 
 gether of a pleasant nature, which always recur. I cannot wander 
 like a stranger over lands which were once my forefathers', nor 
 pass those doors which are now no more open, without feeling emo- 
 tions altogether inconsistent with pleasure and irreconcileable with 
 the indifference of philosophy." 
 
BOYHOOD 49 
 
 Here is the welter of sentimentality, but here also is the 
 suggestion that Southey does not wish to go on fondling 
 his emotions indefinitely. The rest of the same letter gives 
 us still more of the healthy reaction toward self-control. 
 
 ''What is there, Bedford, contained in that word [philosophy] 
 of such mighty virtue? It has been sounded in the ear of common 
 sense till it is deafened and overpowered with clamour. Artifice 
 and vanity have reared up the pageant, science has adorned it, 
 and the multitude have beheld at a distance and adored; it is ap- 
 plied indiscriminately to vice and to virtue, to the exalted ideas of 
 Socrates, the metaphysical charms of Plato, the frigid maxims of 
 Aristotle, the unfeeling dictates of the Stoics, and the disciples of 
 the defamed Epicurus. Rousseau was called a philosopher whilst 
 he possessed sensibility the most poignant. Voltaire was dignified 
 with the name when he deserved the blackest stigma from every 
 man of principle. Whence all this seeming absurdity? or why 
 should reason be dazzled by the name when she cannot but perceive 
 its imbecility?" 
 
 The answer to such questions was at least partly conveyed 
 in a letter which the writer of them received at the very 
 moment that he was asking them. The long-awaited word 
 had at last arrived from Lisbon; ''It is such as I expected 
 from one who has been to me more than a parent; without 
 asperity, without reproaches." Southey, consequently, is 
 immediately more cheerful, and continues the discussion 
 of philosophy in hopefuUer vein; ''I can now tell you one 
 of the uses of philosophy; it teaches us to search for 
 applause from within, and to despise the flattery and the 
 abuse of the world alike; to attend only to an inward 
 monitor; to be superior to fortune. . . . Do give me a 
 lecture upon philosophy, and teach me how to become a 
 philosopher. The title is pretty, and surely the philosopher 
 S. would sound as well as the philosophic Hume or the 
 philosopher of Ferney." 
 
 A book which the young man was reading about this 
 
50 THE EARLY LIFE OF ROBERT SOUTHEY 
 
 time shows its influence plainly in these passages. This 
 was Ehzabeth Carter's translation of Epictetus. To go 
 about as he had done with his heart upon his sleeve was 
 patently uncomfortable, and like a sensible man, Southey 
 proposed to minimize discomfort. Epictetus especially ap- 
 pealed to him, and although it was not for some time to 
 come that he was completely emancipated from Rousseau, 
 if indeed he ever became so, yet the leaven of stoicism was 
 at work; he says that in the next few years he literally 
 wore out a copy of Mrs. Carter's book with carrying it to 
 and fro. By 1799 he could write, ''I counteracted Rous- 
 seau by dieting upon Godwin and Epictetus; they did me 
 some good, but time has done me more. I have a dislike 
 to all strong emotion, and avoid whatever could excite it."^ 
 Southey' s political feelings were merely a phase of the 
 view of life so far revealed. Nations he thought of as being 
 like individuals; both might be tyrannized over, their feel- 
 ings pained and thwarted of expression, by the rule of 
 schoolmasters, kings, and aristocrats. Political freedom 
 meant a republicanism derived from reading of ancient 
 history in the pages of Gibbon, Lucan, and Rousseau, as 
 well as in the classical texts, and vivified by the example 
 of America; it meant a people free from its tyrants, happy 
 as a schoolboy free from his Dr. Vincent. Southey's hopes 
 are for a state in France like that across the Atlantic or 
 like that in ancient Rome before the rise of a Caesar. His 
 heroes, therefore, are men like La Fayette and the milder 
 constitutionalists such as the Girondins. His real ignorance 
 of the history and causes of contemporary conditions in 
 France is only a little greater, at first, than his ignorance 
 concerning England. Even at this time, however, he was 
 aware of certain differences between the two countries, and 
 as time went on he was to feel these to the point of obses- 
 sion. Hence would arise the charge of tumcoating. Now 
 1 Taylor, I, 261; Life, IV, 186. 
 
► 
 
 BOYHOOD 51 
 
 that the Jacobins were clinching their hold upon the coun- 
 try's throat, he was already growing disgusted with the 
 French people. Having obtained freedom, they must be 
 corrupt indeed if freedom failed to bring the happiness 
 expected. Thus he writes to his friend Philip Lamb: 
 "Time has justified all your prophecies with regard to my 
 French friends. The Jacobins, the Sans Culottes, and the 
 fishwomen carry everything before them. Everything that 
 is respectable, every barrier that is sacred, is swept away by 
 the ungovernable torrent. The people have changed tyrants, 
 and, for the mild irresolute Louis, bow to the savage, the 
 unrelenting Petion." He recognizes, of course, that such 
 statements may make it appear that he has lost faith in 
 the cause of freedom. "After so open a declaration of 
 abhorrence, you may perhaps expect that all sanguine 
 dreams of romantic liberty are gone forever. It is true, I 
 have seen the difficulty of saying to the mob, Hhus far and 
 no farther. ' I have seen a structure raised by the hand of 
 wisdom, and defended by the sword of liberty, undermined 
 by innovation, hurled from its basis by faction, and in- 
 sulted by the proud abuse of despotism." In spite of all 
 this, however, he asks: "Is it less respectable for its mis- 
 fortunes?" Moreover, as proof of his faith in liberty, he 
 writes, upon inviting Bedford to witness the installation of 
 a chancellor at Oxford, "The spectacle is only inferior to a 
 coronation. ... It will be worth seeing, as perhaps corona- 
 tions, like the secular games, will soon be a tale that is told." 
 Nevertheless, he does not lack hope for England; she is 
 better, for all her sins, than France, where the people are 
 tigers and apes, and than Prussia, where they are slaves. 
 In England, at any rate, "Peg Nicholson is only in Bedlam; 
 Tom Paine is treated with lenity," although "woe be to 
 him who dares to attack the divine will of schoolmasters to 
 flog, or who presumes to think that boys should neither be 
 treated absurdly nor indecently." 
 
52 THE EARLY LIFE OF ROBERT SOUTHEY 
 
 In the midst of such fuhnmations the letter arrived from 
 Lisbon, and the handful of Flagellants was dispatched by 
 request to Mr. Hill. The young man was now ready to 
 begin his residence at Oxford, but not all his perplexities 
 had been settled by his uncle's kindness. The latter's ex- 
 pectation that Southey would take orders upon graduation 
 was not express in its terms, but was none the less under- 
 stood by his nephew, who, although he knew of no alterna- 
 tive, was not inclined to reconcile himself gracefully to the 
 prospect. He looked upon his brother Tom as more fortu- 
 nate because Tom had given up any idea of the university 
 in order to become a midshipman in the navy, "sl method 
 of education in my opinion far better." The problem of 
 finding some congenial career for himself was to grow mo- 
 mentous before long, but for the present he had to content 
 himself with protesting to his friends. ^'Is it not rather 
 disgraceful, at the moment when Europe is on fire with 
 freedom — when man and monarch are contending — to sit 
 and study Euclid or Hugo Grotius? As Pindar says, a 
 good button-maker is spoilt in making a king; what will 
 be spoilt when I am made a fellow of Balliol?" . . . ''Four 
 years hence I am to be called into orders, and during that 
 time . . . how much have I to learn! I must learn to 
 break a rebellious spirit, which neither authority nor op- 
 pression could ever bow; it would be easier to break my 
 neck. I must learn to work a problem instead of writing 
 an ode. I must learn to pay respect to men remarkable 
 only for great wigs and little wisdom." 
 
CHAPTER II 
 1793-1794 
 
 OXFORD — POETRY — EDITH FRICKER 
 
 Southey's career at Oxford ^ was not to be such as he 
 would recollect with pleasure, but the influences then work- 
 ing upon him and the steps to which he then committed 
 himseK determined his whole future. He entered Balliol 
 the boy who had been reading Rousseau and had been ex- 
 pelled from Westminster; he departed the pantisocrat and 
 a poet of the new era. Now was to develop in him a mind 
 which would display the aspirations of Englishmen of his 
 generation more profusely than the mind of any contem- 
 porary except Coleridge, though generally without under- 
 standing and almost never in enduring form. Southey 
 lacked profundity and penetration; but he had a sensitive- 
 ness which rendered him singularly quick to feel new im- 
 pulses. With this quickness he united a vehement facility 
 of expression and a diligence of application which enatjled 
 him to accomplish more in mere bulk of composition than 
 all but a very few authors in any age. These traits made 
 him an unusually copious channel of expression for the 
 mental life of his time, and these are the traits which, by 
 1795, were fixed upon him. 
 
 It was but natural, therefore, that Southey should have 
 absorbed with avidity the books which had shown the way 
 
 1 The main facts of this period of Southey's life are to be found in 
 Ufe, I, 162-209. 
 
 53 
 
54 THE EAELY LIFE OF ROBERT SOUTHEY 
 
 to ^93. Political conditions and the methods of Locke had 
 led in England to the disintegration of the old religion of 
 Protestantism. In its place had come a bloodless attempt 
 on the part of the Deists to construct by argimient a new 
 religion of nature, an equally bloodless attempt of the 
 orthodox by the same means to reconstruct conventional 
 theology, and in the Wesleyan movement a genuine resur- 
 rection of faith. In England conservatism scored a Pyrrhic 
 victory over Deism, but in France the belief in a just and 
 benevolent god of nature was informed with life as an 
 expression of the revolutionary opposition to that estab- 
 lished order which sanctioned itself by insistence upon a 
 god above and contrary to nature. To many English 
 youths the revolution in France made this new religion the 
 great reality of life even after they had ceased to believe 
 in France as its embodiment. It is important to think of 
 all this in terms of religious experience, for it was a reli- 
 gious mood in which Southey spent his life, and which he 
 sought in all his writings to express. That romantic emo- 
 tionalism, that ^'mimosa sensibility," so characteristic of the 
 time was not merely a disturbance in the spirit, super- 
 ficial or profound as the case may have been, induced by 
 Rousseau, Werther and other fashionable books as we 
 makers and readers of books are prone mistakenly to think. 
 In passionate natures it was rather symptomatic of genuine 
 needs in the human soul and of the failure of English Deism 
 and common sense theology to meet these needs by their 
 specious efforts to explain away the mysteries of life by 
 dehumanizing the imagination, or, as they said, making 
 religion reasonable. 
 
 In order, therefore, to understand the youth who went up 
 to Balliol in 1793 it is necessary to refer to the more in- 
 tangible but none the less human origins of the sensibilities 
 and ideals which he shared with all the more active spirits of 
 his generation. In the first place we must bear in mind the 
 
OXFORD — POETRY — EDITH FRICKER 55 
 
 intensity of his emotions. For all his stoicism he never 
 achieved steady self-control, as Carlyle, who saw him still 
 quivering and flushing under gray hairs, vividly testifies. 
 His feelings were always on the raw long after he had for- 
 sworn Rousseau, and would have been so had he never 
 read Rousseau. There were many influences at work 
 in England to intensify this sensitiveness. Rationalism, 
 although certain souls managed to live by it, had not stilled 
 the obstinate questionings of deep natures. On the con- 
 trary, without settling the old, it had raised new questions 
 bound to augment an already latent excitement. When 
 romanticism, therefore, challenged common sense, it was 
 not a movement of mere reaction, not merely a recrudes- 
 cence of ''enthusiasm" and ''superstition," but a consistent 
 fulfilment of rationalism itself. The age of common sense 
 grew curious about matters upon which common sense had 
 delivered a fiat of condemnation. Dr. Johnson did not 
 believe in ghosts, and he disapproved of the Scotch, but he 
 went to Cock Lane and to Scotland nevertheless. The 
 eighteenth century might sneer at "Gothic" things, but it 
 began the study of them; it prated about this best of all 
 possible worlds, but studied to improve its imperfections. 
 Thus men rediscovered two potent sources of excitement; 
 they found the joy, rendered permissible by the decay of 
 old authority, of indulging freely the impulse to theorize 
 and to dogmatize with or without knowledge, and fortu- 
 nately they found also the joy of seeking knowledge with 
 or without reference to theory and dogma. Now although 
 the man of common sense wished above all things not to 
 be disturbed, these new pursuits could not but offer dis- 
 turbing questions, prospects of dazzling hope and abundant 
 opportunities for "enthusiasm." That this should have 
 been partly the effect of irrational dreamers like Rousseau 
 has, of course, been obvious; we must not forget, however, 
 that the mind has its adventures no less thrilling than those 
 
56 THE EARLY LIFE OF ROBERT SOUTHEY 
 
 of irresponsible reverie, and Gibbon also had a share in 
 putting schoolboys into a perilous state. 
 
 Of the complex inconsistencies which resulted in individ- 
 uals from such a blending of opposing influences, Southey 
 was an excellent example. Fear of the unknown, which 
 skepticism and theology had vainly tried to argue away, 
 hunger for the knowable upon which reason feeds, both 
 feelings, so characteristic of his generation, were present in 
 him with unusual intensity. Yet he was more deeply 
 moved by religious passion for certain ideals, a passion 
 which served in the end to negative all his endeavors after 
 knowledge. Like other believers in the religion of nature, 
 he did not perceive that nature, never wholly known and 
 remaining forever to be investigated, may be affected by 
 man's ideals but has no care concerning them, that none 
 of the facts and forces of existence is either good or bad 
 save as man's thinking makes it so. Consequently Southey 
 insisted upon an a priori division of nature into the natural 
 or the good, so called because it appeared intentionally to 
 agree with his ideals, and the unnatural or the bad, so 
 called because it appeared intentionally to oppose them. 
 He failed, that is, to know nature at all, and in the scientific 
 sense of the word never grew free to investigate anything. 
 He was, to be sure, passionately afraid of the unknown, 
 but this he identified with the unnatural and wrong, and 
 although courageous enough to attempt inquiry, his fears 
 were always beyond control, he lost his temper with the 
 nature he failed to understand, believed himself righteous 
 to the extent that it was evil and himself angry, and con- 
 tinued to seek only such half-knowledge as would confirm 
 and not allay his fears. Yet so indefatigable was he in his 
 search for this knowledge, such as it was, so wide in his 
 scope, that only so fundamental a limitation could have 
 prevented him from the highest scholarly achievement. In 
 all this he was a true son of his age; times of war and 
 
OXFORD — POETRY — EDITH FRICKER 57 
 
 revolution are those in which sound learning, especially in 
 the fields that Southey chose, may be most ardently desired 
 but is seldom prosperously sought. 
 
 The experiences that prompted Southey's cravings for an 
 explanation of life to which he could give rehgious and 
 poetic faith were in essence those that all humanity shares. 
 There was first the phenomenon of death, and there was 
 also the phenomenon of evil, which could not, now that 
 nature was believed good, be assumed as the primal justi- 
 fication of death, but had to be conceived as both a corrup- 
 tion in man's nature and as the results of that corruption 
 embodied as society; evil, that is, became ''man's inhu- 
 manity to man." It was envisaged, not so much in per- 
 sonal as in political and social wrong-doing on the part of 
 the corrupt, of kings and mobs acting by tyranny or by 
 some vague cataclysm of terror. These things overspread 
 Southey's life with fear and hate, but it must be added to 
 his credit that he also possessed an unfailing curiosity con- 
 cerning mere disconnected facts of experience in all times 
 and places, even when they betrayed for him no moral 
 import whatever. It was only when he sought to explain 
 the facts he had collected that his perturbation of soul 
 became evident. 
 
 Such were Southey's dominating emotions. They were 
 expressed in the terms of his own day, but what the terms 
 were it is not difficult to discern. In the first place the 
 pain and mystery of death was a far more frequent experi- 
 ence to the men of the eighteenth century than we are 
 prone to realize in this more advanced day of medical 
 science. Southey's acquaintance, before as well as after 
 1793, with death in his own family, — and his experience 
 may be paralleled by many other cases — was such as would 
 appall any person of similar extraction and temperament, 
 to-day. He was one of nine children; five died in infancy, 
 and of these, four were a poignant part of his own boyhood 
 
58 THE EARLY LIFE OF ROBERT SOUTHEY 
 
 memories. The schoolboy elegy which has been mentioned 
 was an expression of personal grief, and he always remem- 
 bered the long dead sisters with whom in childhood he had 
 strung jessamine flowers in his grandmother's garden. In 
 his schooldays, his grandmother and, at the beginning of his 
 Oxford career, his father died, the latter under circum- 
 stances peculiarly distressing and in the prime of life. At 
 the height of the pantisocracy excitement suddenly died 
 Southey's most admired college friend, Edmund Seward. 
 The last person to bid him farewell upon his departure to 
 Portugal in 1795 was his friend and brother-in-law, Robert 
 Lovell; the first news to greet him when he returned, eager 
 to join his bride, was of Lovell's death from ''fever." The 
 widow and child, as inmates of his household for many 
 years, kept this loss alive for him. A dearly loved cousin, 
 with whom he had lived as with a sister in his mother's 
 house, was to languish and die of consumption under his 
 own roof in 1801. There too and possibly of the same 
 cause his mother was shortly after to die before her time. 
 His own first child, named Margaret like his mother and 
 cousin, died in 1803, just when the fascinations of a year- 
 old baby were beginning to unfold. All these deaths were to 
 occur before Southey was thirty, and others in circles only 
 a little less remote might be added to the fist. Later he 
 was to lose three more children, — the baby Emma; Isabel, 
 the beauty of the family; and Herbert, a son of brilliant 
 promise. Of course less sensitive natures toughened under 
 such trials; Southey endured but never ceased to wince. 
 It was with less joy than sorrow that, on the threshold of 
 his old age, he informed his friends of the approaching birth 
 of another, and, as it turned out, his last child and only 
 surviving son. ''Death," he wrote, "has so often entered 
 my doors, that he and I have long been familiar." 
 
 The passing away of nearly all these friends and kindred 
 was sudden and unaccountable. A child might be appar- 
 
OXFORD — POETRY — EDITH FRICKER 59 
 
 ently strong and well; then would come some unusual 
 brightness, tantalizing the hopes of its parents, some pre- 
 ternatural activity of eyes or limbs, and in a few hours 
 death amid the utter helplessness of all. Beyond some 
 vague notions about drugs and climate, knowledge often 
 worse than none, their ignorance was complete. How many 
 men of twenty-nine to-day with Southey's intelligence and 
 capacity for feeling have known the deaths of twelve near 
 friends and relatives, nearly all of them in youth, only one 
 in old age, and all but this one from some vague disease? 
 The fact that our little rush-hght of science has left us 
 still with many dark questions to face should not keep us 
 from realizing that it has also dispelled for us death-fears 
 without number; otherwise many of us might well have 
 paralleled the experience of Southey. Finally, we should 
 remember in all charity that it was the struggle to find 
 escape from such and so frequent trials that was the source 
 of many of the extravagances as well as of many of the 
 accomplishments of that romantic temperament of which he 
 possessed so large a share. 
 
 Religion, except in the classes appealed to by Wesley, was 
 inadequate to satisfy the emotions of this struggle. Death 
 itself, as it appeared more and more frequently the physical 
 result of unknown, unseen forces which were vaguely named 
 disease, and less and less the result of dramatic violence, no 
 longer suggested even a show of its own cause. The fading 
 of the Protestant religion from the imagination deprived 
 men of the comforting thought that there was an angry 
 God whose vengeance for sin was death. Deism, on the 
 other hand, even when made concrete by revolution, offered 
 nothing as tangible in its place, and when a man like 
 Southey ran upon the dubious regions of his faith, he had 
 to live in his helplessness by a stoic steeling of his nerves 
 and by promising himself a hereafter where the pains and 
 losses of this life were not understood but canceled. 
 
60 THE EARLY LIFE OF ROBERT SOUTHEY 
 
 Similar reasons account for Southey's fear of evil, which, 
 true to his time, he always thought of as being personified 
 in a monster of despotism, mob-violence, or conscious 
 deviltry. We must remember that besides Gibbon no man 
 in England, not even Hume or Burke, had so far attained 
 the historical point of view. Unless men could live mysti- 
 cally, therefore, like Wordsworth in his happy moments, by 
 dodging the logic of facts, they were compelled to abide, 
 in spite of their faith in the benevolence of nature, in con- 
 stant terror of some disruption of nature by evil which was 
 none the less terrible for being unnatural. Consequently 
 Southey, a far more courageous soul than Wordsworth, fac- 
 ing facts was forever fighting monsters, — afreets, and tera- 
 phim; kings sitting upon thrones of blood-cemented skulls, 
 peoples turned tiger like the French, men turned Satan like 
 Byron. Bugaboos haunted him all the days of his life, 
 but he fought them with Quixotic devotion. Li his youth 
 they were the kings and aristocrats, but quite naturally 
 they became a Jacquerie, a Napoleon, an Irish Jesuitism, 
 freedom of the press, parhamentary reform, and modern 
 industrialism. Such was the effect of the religion of nature 
 in Southey. Had his scientific understanding kept pace 
 with his thirst for information, he might have realized his 
 expectation of surpassing Gibbon even without the advan- 
 tage of Gibbon's leisure, and he would have been a happier 
 man. As it was, he studied, as I have said, only to confirm 
 his fears. 
 
 Such an impression is strikingly reenforced by the de- 
 scription of the man that grew out of such a youth. It 
 is written by one whose own dour spirit possessed many of 
 the same characteristics. ''Southey was a man towards 
 well up in the fifties;" says Carlyle, ''hair gray, not yet 
 hoary, well setting off his fine clear brown complexion; 
 head and face both smallish, as indeed the figure was while 
 seated; features finely cut; eyes, brow, mouth, good in 
 
OXFORD — POETRY — EDITH FRICKER 61 
 
 their kind — expressive all, and even vehemently so, but 
 betokening rather keenness than depth either of intellect or 
 character; a serious, human, honest, but sharp, almost 
 fierce-looking, thin man, with very much the militant in 
 his aspect — in the eyes especially was visible a mixture of 
 sorrow and anger, or of angry contempt, as if his indignant 
 fight with the world had not yet ended in victory, but also 
 never should in defeat." ^ 
 
 If the little understood phenomena of disease and social 
 maladjustment engendered emotions which no faith or 
 science was able to still, so also did the new intellectual 
 freedom of the eighteenth century. Even to young men 
 who forswore its authority, rationalism had opened new 
 vistas for exploration by the intelligence, and these new 
 vistas thrilled their souls with longing for those new voyages 
 into the unknown which were to be pushed forward by the 
 nineteenth century, and which form not the least romantic 
 chapter in the history of mankind. The whole field of 
 historical, scientific, literary, social, and political research, 
 invention, and discovery, save for a pioneer here and there, 
 lay before the young student who went up to Oxford in 
 1793, like a virgin continent in which only trails had been 
 blazed. Though he knew that death and the passions of 
 men were things to be feared, he knew also that there were 
 other things to be known without fear, and this knowledge 
 was a thing to stir passions as genuine if not as compelling 
 as those that ignorance roused. The expansive plans of a 
 Coleridge, the scope of a Goethe, even a Southey's tireless 
 activity, are proof that not since the Renaissance had such 
 a prospect and passion for learning come to man. 
 
 Southey was thoroughly awake to the existence of this 
 
 world that lay before him. Certain of his interests in it 
 
 that took permanent hold upon him will have to be discussed 
 
 in detail elsewhere; at this point it is necessary to under- 
 
 ^ Carlyle, Reminiscences, New York, 1881, 516. 
 
62 THE EARLY LIFE OF ROBERT SOUTHEY 
 
 stand how the opportunities for intellectual adventure at 
 this time added greatly to the emotional excitement and 
 intensity of a young man who was alert to them. We must 
 not forget that any youth who stood at the threshold of 
 nineteenth-century research, realizing, even though vaguely, 
 what lay in the immediate future, could not fail to be 
 moved with a deep and compelling excitement. If he were 
 a Coleridge, all his energies would be consumed in contem- 
 plation and expatiation on the prospect, his will over- 
 whelmed with the wealth of opportunity displayed to his 
 intelligence. If he were a Southey, with a passion for get- 
 ting work done, he would be fired to accomplish, even 
 though uncritically, what he saw was still undone. The 
 failures of both men to achieve any great finished work 
 differed but in complementary way. The excitement of the 
 prospect palsied Coleridge; it overstimulated Southey, and 
 eagerness to be doing rendered him too easily content with 
 the half done. Excursions which he thought momentous 
 explorations into new continents of knowledge turned out 
 to have been merely landing parties guided by false reckon- 
 ing. The important thing to be noted at present, however, 
 in order to gain a notion of the state of mind of the young 
 Oxford student, is that there was in him, even thus early, 
 an eagerness for inquiry in a great variety of fields steadily 
 centering upon certain chosen subjects without ever con- 
 fining itself to them exclusively. 
 
 The intellectual activities which Southey undertook or 
 thought of undertaking between the ages of nineteen and 
 thirty comprise most of the subjects of modern research. 
 One of the first to be noted was his interest in scientific 
 investigation, especially in its bearing upon medical knowl- 
 edge. At Oxford he was to think of entering the profes- 
 sion of medicine, giving up the idea, characteristically, 
 partly because of the inability to steel himself to the sight 
 of suffering. In 1798 he was to form a friendship with 
 
OXFORD — POETRY — EDITH FRICKER 63 
 
 Humphry Davy, then a young assistant to Beddoes at his 
 ''Pneumatic Institute" in Bristol, where they experimented 
 with gases in the hope of finding a cure for consumption. 
 In the course of this work Davy discovered nitrous oxide, 
 the dentist's laughing gas, and Southey, dyspeptic from 
 sedentary sins, allowed himself to be experimented upon. 
 At a still later time he took great interest in the work of 
 his younger brother, Henry, who became a physician, and 
 whom he urged with delightful self- consistency to devote 
 his professional energies to the discovery of the cause and 
 cure of consumption while writing a history of the crusades 
 in his leisure moments. Here was a particularly good ex- 
 ample of the way in which Southey and others of his time 
 perceived the fields of research without realizing the ex- 
 tent of the labor and the difficulties involved in reaching 
 them. 
 
 Southey's interest in scientific matters, although more 
 evidence could be cited to show its continuance, never de- 
 veloped into anything more than amateurish curiosity. 
 The subjects that most fascinated him were the history and 
 literature of the past. In such study, far more than in the 
 writing of poetry, he himself came properly to feel that 
 his true vocation lay. Here again the blending impulses of 
 reaction and progress make their presence known. Eigh- 
 teenth-century judgment had erected classical literature into 
 a canon, and in its passion for order and modernity had 
 thrust what was not classic according to the canon into an 
 outer darkness as something ''Gothic" or otherwise to be 
 contemned. Yet the fine intelligence of the eighteenth 
 century could not rest content with that, and by Southey's 
 time the impulse to investigate the non-classical was already 
 well developed. Already, too, there had been attempts to 
 utilize other mythologies and other histories and literatures 
 than those of the Greeks and Romans as material for 
 poetry. From these came inspiration to the Westminster 
 
64 THE EARLY LIFE OF ROBERT SOUTHEY 
 
 schoolboy to plan epics for all the gods not of Olympus. 
 The older literature of England and the Germanic peoples 
 attracted him, but he also planned and in some part accom- 
 plished something in Arabian, Hindu, Persian, Welsh, 
 American, and Spanish learning. Finding such study to be 
 his chosen field, he settled down to the study of Spain and 
 Portugal, and planned to write an account of the latter 
 country, a history of its explorations and colonies, as well 
 as of Portuguese and Spanish literature, and of monasti- 
 cism. These works were never accomplished, but the inde- 
 fatigable author did manage to achieve, out of all these 
 labors, some notable translations, a finely conceived epic 
 on the origin of the Spanish nation, and histories of Brazil 
 and the Peninsular War. Southey's attitude grew to be 
 that, since there was so much to be known about the his- 
 tory of the past, it was mortal sin for him not to write 
 upon it all. To his list of subjects could be added church 
 history, travel, the position of women, the manufacturing 
 system, missions, rehgious psychology, literary history and 
 biography, all that mass of learning represented by his 
 Quarterly Review articles. The Doctor, and the four tomes 
 that were printed out of his commonplace books. In our 
 day Southey, with — it is to be hoped — certain radical 
 changes in his point of view, might have become a research 
 professor of high rank, for no Ph.D. ever surpassed his 
 encyclopedic capacity for information. That he possessed 
 a true philosophic and imaginative sympathy for the times 
 and peoples about whom he knew so much is as little true 
 of him as of many in our day learned after the same fash- 
 ion. Yet this failure to illuminate as well as to inform was 
 not a failure of intention, for he made a noble effort to be 
 as true as he could within his limitations to the life and 
 spirit as well as to the facts of other times and places. It 
 was rather a failure in learning itself, for his attitude toward 
 life and his duties as chief provider for the many mouths 
 
OXFORD — POETRY — EDITH FRICKER 65 
 
 that were to be fed out of one ink-well in Greta Hall com- 
 bined to prevent Southey from becoming genuinely and 
 profoundly intelligent in any subject. 
 
 II 
 
 We must return to the youth of nineteen in whom the 
 traits that we have been discussing were already well de- 
 veloped, and were soon to be fixed. Alert, sensitive to a 
 fault, stiffly independent, full of multifarious reading, his 
 head whirling with the wine of new doctrines and the vision 
 of new fields of knowledge, his temper little willing to brook 
 the restraints of circumstance or college dignitaries, he 
 began his residence at Balliol in January, 1793, having been 
 registered in the preceding November. "Behold me, my 
 friend," he wrote at once to Bedford, ''entered under the 
 banners of science or stupidity, — which you please, — and 
 like a recruit got sober, looking to the days that are past, 
 and feeling something like regret." Balliol is said to have 
 occupied at the time an inferior reputation in the univer- 
 sity. Southey's rooms were reputed to have been situated 
 in a rambling old building called, with reason, the ''Rat 
 Castle" near the head of Balliol Grove, and were pointed 
 out as his until the building was torn down.^ The state of 
 the university was, of course, little to the taste of a young 
 stoic and democrat, although, except for a few such regu- 
 lations as that students must wear shoes and not boots 
 with the gown, he was allowed to do much as he pleased. 
 His tutor, indeed, a certain Thomas Howe, probably aware 
 of the young man's political notions, expressed similar ones 
 himself and added, "Mr. Southey, you won't learn any- 
 thing by my lectures. Sir; so, if you have any studies of 
 your own, you had better pursue them." This man was 
 
 1 Quar, Rev., v. 88, 203. 
 
66 THE EARLY LIFE OF ROBERT SOUTHEY 
 
 an exception, however, and for the most part, Oxford ap- 
 peared to exhibit only ''waste of wigs and want of wisdom." 
 
 As contrasted with Westminster, Southey found Oxford 
 a very aristocratic place. School was truly republican, and 
 social distinctions had been there unregarded. The most 
 respected boy was "the best bruiser," next came the best 
 cricketer, next the cleverest, and next the best scholar, but 
 these ranks were attainable by all regardless of worldly 
 position. At college, however, Southey discovered^ that 
 feelings of equality were to be got rid of; that old school- 
 fellows might pass him in the street as if they knew him 
 not, staring him full in the face to assure him that it was 
 not done through inadvertence; that young men with whom 
 he had eaten at the same table, studied in the same class, 
 perhaps slept in the same chamber might demand the cere- 
 mony of introduction before continuing his acquaintance. 
 The pursuits of these youths were also of the usual aristo- 
 cratic order. Fashions of dress and behavior were set by 
 those of greatest wealth or rank, and the most universal 
 interest was the sowing of wild oats. Some years later ^ 
 (1807) Southey gave his impressions of certain of the Oxford 
 undergraduates with great gusto. Such beings passed, he 
 said, for human because it pleased God to set them upon 
 two legs, to give them smooth skins and no tail, and to 
 enable them to talk without having their tongues slit. 
 They were sent to Oxford in order that they might proceed 
 through their course of shooting, horse-racing, whoring, and 
 drinking out of sight of their families and without injury to 
 their characters. Incidentally, they would come away with 
 the name of having been at the university and with a 
 qualification for undertaking the cure of souls. 
 
 It may be seen that Southey's opinion of Oxford in his 
 day was not high; swimming, according to his own asser- 
 
 1 Letters of Don Manuel Espriella, Letter XLVI. ^ Ibid. 
 
OXFORD — POETRY — EDITH FRICKER 67 
 
 tion, was the only useful thing he learned there. ''My 
 college years," he said, ''were the least beneficial and the 
 least happy in my life."^ At a later time still, the man of 
 forty-two looked back and thought that the boy of nineteen 
 had suffered grave danger at this time. It seemed to him 
 that when he left Westminster he had had nothing to disci- 
 pline his character properly except adversity. Yet his actual 
 behavior at college was both innocent and characteristic 
 enough. When the college barber waited upon him in the 
 regular course of duty to dress and powder his hair, the 
 young republican, like Wesley in 1728,^ sent the astonished 
 man packing, and insisted upon wearing his long curls in 
 their native liberty. The Edinburgh Review appropriately 
 points out that in 1793 refusal to use hair powder "was a 
 token of disaffection to Church and State." ^ Southey also 
 refused to drink more wine than suited his inclinations and 
 principles. He condemned the excesses of the undergradu- 
 ates with the stern eye of the disciple of Epictetus and 
 Rousseau. "As for me, I regard myself too much to run 
 into the vices so common and so destructive. I have 
 not yet been drimk, nor mean to be so. What use can 
 be made of a collegiate life I wish to make; but in the 
 midst of all, when I look back to Rousseau, and com- 
 pare myself either with his EmiHus or the real pupil of 
 Madame Brulenck, I feel ashamed and humbled at the 
 comparison. Never shall child of mine enter a public 
 school or a university. Perhaps I may not be able so well 
 to instruct him in logic and languages, but I can at least 
 preserve him from vice." 
 
 Academic formalism seems to have pleased Southey as 
 little as the behavior of imder graduates. Upon the instal- 
 lation of the Duke of Portland as chancellor of the uni- 
 versity the young man indulged in another bit of radical 
 
 1 Life, IV, 194. ^ Review of Life. Edin. Rev., v. 93, 376. 
 
 2 Life of Wesley, I, 60. 
 
68 THE EARLY LIFE OF ROBERT SOTJTHEY 
 
 unconventionalism. All other pens in the institution had 
 been versifying for the occasion; 
 
 ''For three whole days I heard an old Fur-gown 
 Bepraised, that made a Duke a Chancellor; 
 Bepraised in prose it was, bepraised in verse; 
 Lauded in pious Latin to the skies; 
 Kudos'd egregiously in heathen Greek; 
 In Sapphics sweetly incensed; glorified 
 In proud alcaics; in hexameters 
 Applauded to the very galleries, 
 That did applaud again, whose thunder-claps, 
 Higher and longer, with redoubled peals. 
 Rung when they heard the illustrious furbelow'd 
 Heroically in Popean rh5Tiie 
 Tee-ti-tum'd, in Miltonic blank bemouth'd; 
 Prose, verse, Greek, Latin, EngUsh, rhyme and blank, 
 Till Eulogy, with all her wealth of words, 
 Grew bankrupt, all-too-prodigal of praise, 
 And panting Panegyric toil'd in vain, 
 O'er-tasked in keeping pace with such desert." ^ 
 
 It was Southey's boast that he was not guilty of a single 
 line to that old fur-gown, but he did compose some verses 
 that he might have offered upon this occasion if praise of 
 peace and railings against war and desolation, which he 
 alleged were brought upon peoples by the great, had been 
 welcome in 1793 at a time when England under Pitt had 
 gone to war with republican France. In the circumstances 
 he could only remain in his room while the rest were in- 
 stalling the chancellor, and address his verses to the cat of 
 Rat Castle, a good democratic beast with claws and an 
 independence of character that might serve as excellent 
 example to spaniel man.^ 
 
 ^ Written the Winter after the Installation at Oxford (1793), Annual 
 Anthology, 1799; Works, 172. 
 
 2 Verses, intended to have been addressed to His Grace the Duke of 
 
OXFORD — POETRY — EDITH FRICKER 69 
 
 The social distinctions which Southey has described seem 
 really to have interfered with his happiness less than he 
 imagined. Wynn, who had preceded him at the university, 
 was at Christ Church, and their old friendship was continued. 
 In addition to this hardly a week had elapsed after his 
 arrival before there had gathered about him a little party 
 of men ''glad to form a sober society." Conspicuous among 
 them was Edmund Seward. ''I used to call him Talus for 
 his unbending morals and iron rectitude."^ With this man 
 Southey became closely intimate, and revered him all his 
 life as one who exercised over him a decisive moral influence 
 at this ''perilous time" in the development of his character. 
 "I loved him with my whole heart, and shall remember 
 him with gratitude and affection as one who was my moral 
 father, to the last moment of my life." This youth seems, 
 indeed, a little impossibly virtuous, but to Southey he was 
 admirable as a true philosopher, one whose example as a 
 stoic inspired imitation. Two years before Seward had 
 forsworn wine, butter, and sugar from a resolution to 
 abridge the luxuries of life. Now he drank only water and 
 breakfasted upon tea and dry bread. In spite of this and 
 in spite of an odd and uncommon appearance, Southey felt 
 that Seward's manners were most pleasing. His philosophy, 
 however, was his chief claim to attraction. He had begun 
 to study assiduously at the age of fourteen, and when 
 Southey asked him whether his attention did not flag over 
 Hutchinson's Moral Philosophy in Latin, adding the opinion 
 that "if our tutors would but make our studies interesting, 
 we should pursue them with pleasure," Seward replied, 
 "Certainly we should, but I feel a pleasure in studying 
 them because I know it to be my duty." This Southey 
 
 Portland, Chancellor of the University, etc. On his installation, 1793. 
 Published in Annual Anthology, 1799, and suppressed in later editions 
 of Southey's poems. 
 1 Life, IV, 320. 
 
70 THE EARLY LIFE OF ROBERT SOUTHEY 
 
 took to be true philosophy because it tended to make man 
 happy by first making him good. 
 
 There were several others in Southey's ''sober society^' 
 with whom he was also upon excellent terms, and among 
 whom he could spend his time ''alternately studying and 
 philosophizing, railing at collegiate folly, and enjoying ra- 
 tional society." Nicholas Lightfoot seems to have been his 
 nearest neighbor in Rat Castle; with him, he says nearly 
 thirty years later, he practically lived; they read together, 
 breakfasted together, passed every evening together, and 
 agreed in their views and feelings. Lightfoot became a 
 country schoolmaster, and continued Southey's lifelong and 
 admiring friend.^ Another member of this group was 
 Robert Burnett, of whom we shall hear more anon. Charles 
 Collins would have been made by Southey the occupant of 
 the chair of Plato in an ideal university. Robert Allen was 
 the one with whom Coleridge was to make a notable visit 
 a few months later. Then there was a certain Cooke 
 Rogers,^ who vigorously defended Southey against a man 
 who, from not understanding a "metaphysical conversa- 
 tion," had accused him of blasphemy and atheism. The 
 conversations of this group as a whole, however, need not 
 be supposed to have been exclusively metaphysical or even 
 rational. That lighter matters sometimes engrossed them 
 is shown when Southey writes, "The fiddle with one string 
 is gone, and its place is supplied with a harpsichord in 
 Burnett's room. Lightfoot still melodizes on the flute, and, 
 had I but a Jew's harp, the concert would be complete." 
 
 1 Correspondence with Caroline Bowles, 27. ^ Warter, II, 195. 
 
OXFORD — POETRY — EDITH FRICKER 71 
 
 III 
 
 Southey now threw himself with characteristic energy 
 into the business of reading and writing. History, phi- 
 losophy of his own particular kind, and poetry claimed his 
 attention, and in long declamatory, sophomoric letters to 
 a former schoolmate, he poured forth descriptions of his 
 pursuits and impressions of what he saw and read. As 
 for writing, we shall see presently how his pen busied itself. 
 In emulation of the philosophic Seward he made the pious 
 resolution of rising every morning at five to study, equip- 
 ping himself for the purpose with an alarm clock and 
 tinder box. He describes the scene to the appreciative 
 Bedford: "This morning was the first. I rose, called up 
 a neighbor, and read about three hundred lines of Homer, 
 when I found myself hungry; the bread and cheese were 
 called in as auxiliaries, and I made some negus: as I spiced 
 it my eye glanced over the board, and the assemblage 
 seemed so curious that I laid aside all for your letter, — a 
 lexicon, Homer, ink-stand, candles, snuffers, wine, bread 
 and cheese, nutmeg grater, and hour-glass.'^ 
 
 The long epistolary effusions also show that neither such 
 a life nor the example of Seward had as yet completely 
 effected Southey's conversion to stoicism. Far from adopt- 
 ing the tenets of any cynic or sophist, he declared that his 
 sentiments should be colored by fancy, nature, or Rousseau. 
 He would found no school of disputants or doctors; ideas 
 rose up with the scenes he viewed, some passing away with 
 the momentary glance, but some remaining engraved upon 
 his memory. "My heart," he adds, "is equally easy of 
 impression with that of Rousseau, and perhaps more tena- 
 cious of it," and he recommends Bedford to read The Man 
 of Feeling: "Few works have ever pleased me so painfully 
 or so much." But the leaven of the stoic was working, for 
 
72 THE EARLY LIFE OF ROBERT SOUTHEY 
 
 he immediately says, ''It is very strange that man should 
 be delighted with the highest pain that can be produced. I 
 even begin to think that both pain and pleasure exist only 
 in idea. But this must not be affirmed ; the first twinge of 
 the toothache, or retrospective glance, will undeceive me 
 with a vengeance." It is evident from much of this that 
 the young man's reading was now extending itself widely 
 among other philosophers, and he mentions enough con- 
 cerning not only Epictetus, but Plato, Aristotle, Epicurus, 
 Seneca, Plotinus, to show that he had formed some ac- 
 quaintance with them. How all this was to affect his 
 poetry and his plans of life \\dll appear very soon. 
 
 For poetry was by no means neglected in the midst of all 
 this active reading. In December of 1793 the poet calcu- 
 lated that he had composed up to that time about 35,000 
 lines of verse, of which 10,000 had been burnt or lost, 
 another 10,000 preserved, and 15,000 more kept but thought 
 worthless; this count excluded letters of great length writ- 
 ten in doggerel. It included notably one long narrative 
 poem, Joan of Arc, and a host of minor pieces, most of 
 them written during Southey's school and college years. 
 This activity culminated in the publication of a volume of 
 shorter poems with Robert Lovell at the beginning of 1795, 
 and of Joan of Arc at the end of the same year. Yet it is 
 noticeable that the facility shown in all this output was 
 nearly equaled by its feebleness; the interest for the 
 modern reader lies almost solely in the sensitiveness shown 
 by the young writer to all the swarming new ideas in the 
 life and literature of the time. Hardly a single poetic 
 experiment was being attempted by any versifier of the day 
 which Southey, in his exuberant youth, did not initiate, 
 or share, or join. Hardly a new view of life or a feeling 
 of the coming generation escaped some expression in his 
 copious scribbling. He made use of all the notable new 
 verse forms of the day as rapidly as they appeared; the 
 
OXFORD — POETRY — EDITH FRICKER 73 
 
 sonnet, the various ode forms including some of his own 
 invention, the elegiac quatrain, blank verse for the purpose 
 of satire, reflection, drama, and narrative. He gave ex- 
 pression to the worship of nature, the love of retirement, 
 the aspirations for freedom, the sympathy with the com- 
 mon people and the poor, the attraction toward the past 
 and the distant, — Gothic, Oriental, American. Of the ex- 
 amples set by Gray, Mason, Collins, Chatterton, Thomp- 
 son, Sayers, Cowper, Darwin, Akenside, Young, Glover, 
 Crabbe, Gay's Pastorals, the inevitable Gessner, Thomas 
 Warton, Bowles, — not one failed to be noted by him, and 
 at a later time at least, probably even at this, he took 
 cognizance of such obscurities as Hole, Polwhele, Russell, 
 Bampfylde, Dermody, Emily, Knowles, and others of the 
 same order of magnitude.^ 
 
 So abundant were the poetic influences upon Southey at 
 the very beginning of his career that it is difficult to decide 
 how they should be distinguished or in what order pre- 
 sented. Modeled upon the more conventional eighteenth- 
 century forms, undoubtedly, were many of the thousands 
 of verses that had been destroyed as well as a few that 
 have been preserved. The Retrospect , written on the occa- 
 sion of a visit to his old school at Corston, is in heroic 
 couplets and reminds one in tone and manner of Gold- 
 smith .^ Rosamund to Henry ^ plainly harks back to Eloisa, 
 and The Triumph of Woman^ to Alexander's Feast. Here 
 too might be mentioned a feeble imitation of Gray's Elegy 
 in The Miser's Mansion, but this form was dearer to 
 Southey's poetical associate, Lovell. A far more striking 
 influence, however, the importance of which he constantly 
 
 1 Life of Cowper, Chap. XII. See also Southey's review of Dr. 
 Sayers's Collective Works, Quar. Rev. Jan., 1827, v. 35. 
 
 2 Poems, 1795; Works, 154. 
 
 ^ Poems, 1795; omitted from Works. 
 4 Poems, 1797: Works, 98. 
 
74 THE EARLY LIFE OF ROBERT SOUTHEY 
 
 acknowledged in later life/ was that of William Lisle 
 Bowles. Many, without doubt, as compared with the num- 
 ber of sonnets that Southey preserved in his printed poems, 
 were those that he committed to the flames. Bowles, the 
 indigent son of a clergyman who had left a widow and 
 seven children, had, in 1789, knocked three times at the 
 door of one Cruttwell, a printer in Bath, before he could 
 gain admittance and submit for publication a sheaf of four- 
 teen sonnets. Cruttwell at first declined to accept them, 
 but finally consented to publish one hundred copies at a 
 cost of about five pounds. The young man left his manu- 
 script and went back to his unpaid bills at Oxford, little 
 expecting to hear again from his poems. They appeared 
 as Fourteen Sonnets written chiefly on Picturesque Spots dur- 
 ing a Journey,^ and in six months Bowles received a letter 
 from Cruttwell saying that an edition of five hundred could 
 be sold. This was immediately issued (1789), seven new 
 sonnets having been added by the author, and it was fol- 
 lowed in a few years by three more editions (1794, 1796, 
 1796). The wine of Bowles was thin, to be sure, but it 
 had the true Pierian flavor to young men who longed to 
 be stirred in such ways and by such causes as Bowles had 
 found. Coleridge, then a youth at Cambridge, had come 
 upon the volume (probably the second edition, 1789), had 
 written a letter of commendation to the author, and had 
 transcribed copies of the work to give away to his friends. 
 Meanwhile Southey, too, although there is no evidence of 
 the fact in his letters and although the earliest of his son- 
 nets is dated merely 1794, had undoubtedly picked up 
 Bowles's volume in Bath or Bristol, and had begun to try 
 
 ^ Works, Preface. 
 
 2 Poetical Works of W. L. Bowles, ed. by GilfiUan, Vol. I. Introduc- 
 tion by Bowles to the edition of his poems of 1837; Vol. II, Introduction 
 by the editor. Coleridge Biographia Literaria, ed. by J. Shawcross, 
 Vol. I, 8, and note. 
 
OXFORD — POETRY — EDITH FRICKER 75 
 
 the new experiment for himself. A few years later he be- 
 came entirely disgusted with the form,^ and suppressed 
 many of the specimens which had appeared in his early 
 volume. In the main he followed his model quite closely. 
 Bowles's plaintive self-pity and moralizing upon nature 
 fitted in well with his own moods. Nothing conduces more 
 to the composition of poetry of this kind than to be in love 
 and have poor prospects of marriage, to be dissatisfied with 
 the way the world is run, to be addicted to versifying, and 
 to be twenty years old; this was Southey's state when 
 Bowles fell in his way. Consequently there is preserved a 
 goodly number of sonnets which were composed by him 
 in 1794 and the years following, and published in his three 
 early volumes (1795, 1797, 1799). They doubtless repre- 
 sent some earlier attempts in the same form which had 
 been destroyed. They descant upon nature, the wickedness 
 of society, the goodness of Edith Fricker, and the longing 
 for domestic retirement far from the haunts of men. 
 Southey added other characteristic themes, — ruined castles, 
 the attractions of Chaucer, the unhappy Werther, the 
 iniquities of the slave trade. The sincerest tribute to 
 Bowles, however, was paid in 1795. Bowles writes ^ that 
 Cruttwell, the printer, reported to him that he had been 
 visited by 'Hwo young gentlemen, strangers, one a par- 
 ticularly handsome and pleasing youth, lately from West- 
 minster School, and both literary and intelligent." They 
 spoke, says Bowles, ''in high commendation of my volume, 
 and if I recollect right, expressed a desire to have some 
 poems printed in the same type and form." The ''hand- 
 some and pleasing" youth was, of course, Southey, and on 
 the strength of such a proffer, perhaps in the hope of such 
 another good stroke as he had achieved with Bowles, Crutt- 
 well accepted the poems submitted by the two young men. 
 
 1 Poems, 1797, Preface. 
 
 2 Bowles, Poetical Works. Introduction to Vol. I, as above. 
 
76 THE EARLY LIFE OF ROBERT SOUTHEY 
 
 For another poetical experiment which Southey at- 
 tempted at Oxford (1794) the model appears to have been 
 less direct than in the case of the sonnets. He had, as we 
 have seen, read Gay's Pastorals as a boy and taken them 
 seriously, and in an obscure provincial collection of poems ^ 
 he had seen a translation of one of Gessner's Idylls which 
 made, to be sure, but little impression upon him at the 
 time. 2 The effect of these slight suggestions was now to 
 afford an easy and rather amusing vehicle for some of his 
 radical vaporings in a handful of compositions called Botany 
 Bay Eclogues, written at Oxford in 1794. Four of them 
 were published in 1797^ with a motto from Bowles, and 
 a fifth saw the light only over a pseudonym in The 
 Monthly Magazine in 1798.* In these efforts the young 
 disciple of Rousseau made use of the so-called eclogue to 
 describe, in easy anapests and with satirical flings at gov- 
 ernment, how the wickedness that had been bred by society 
 in the poor creatures transported to Australia might be 
 there cured by solitude and nature. Hardly more than 
 jeux d'esprit, these little poems, if they can be called that, 
 are interesting as forerunners of later, more important 
 attempts in the eclogue vein, and because they were not 
 suffered to go unremembered by the critics of the day. 
 
 We pass for the present, however, to still more impor- 
 tant compositions which are a development of Southey's 
 schoolboy interest in literature, history, and mythology. I 
 have already described the effect upon the boy's imagina- 
 tion of the little volume of Sayers's which had been pub- 
 lished in 1792. Among the influences which blended with 
 the appeal of this book to affect one of the most important 
 phases of Southey's work, none is more notable than that 
 
 ^ Poems, chiefly by Gentlemen of Devonshire and Cornwall [ed. by 
 R. Polwhele], 2 vols., Bath, 1792, I, 85. 
 
 2 Taylor, I, 214. * Month. Mag., Jan., 1798, v. 5, 41. 
 
 3 Poems, 1797; Works, 113. 
 
OXFORD — POETRY — EDITH FRICKER 77 
 
 of the ode as it had been written in various forms and on 
 various themes during the preceding generation. Although 
 he wrote in 1799, "I never attempt the ode, it is the kind 
 of poetry I like least, — perhaps because it was the last I 
 understood,"^ and although he stated in the preface to his 
 volume of poems published in 1797, "I now think the Ode 
 the most worthless species of composition, as well as the 
 most difficult; and [shall] never again attempt it," never- 
 theless he made many experiments with the form in the 
 years 1793 and 1794, experiments which were closely con- 
 nected with his interest in the work of Sayers. 
 
 In the first place, like Sayers himself, he had been im- 
 pressed by the beauty of CoUins's Ode to Evening; '^Every- 
 one who has an ear for meter and a heart for poetry, must 
 have felt how perfectly the meter of Collins's Ode to Evening 
 is in accordance with the imagery and the feeling." ^ Youth- 
 ful admiration for this poem resulted, of course, in imita- 
 tion. To Hymen^ (composed at Oxford, 1794) is a creditable 
 attempt at the same stanza, and in such pieces as Written 
 on the First of December (1793) and Written on the First of 
 January (1794),^ as well as in many later ones, we meet 
 experiments with variations upon Collins' s model. Of 
 more far-reaching importance for the young writer was the 
 influence of the so-called Pindaric or Cowleyan ode in 
 several forms and derivatives. This was in part due to 
 the fact that Collins, Gray, Mason, and Sayers all made 
 use of the ode more or less extensively in their attempt to 
 employ the imagery and "machinery" of other literatures 
 and mythologies than the classical, especially those of the 
 northern or '^ Gothic" nations. Here was a twofold inter- 
 est, a verse form to be tried and a favorite field of inquiry 
 to be invaded at the same time. 
 
 Although Southey drew upon Gray and Collins for models 
 
 1 Taylor, I, 265. ' ^ Poems, 1795; Works, 145. 
 
 2 Works, Preface. « Poems, 1797; Works, 131. 
 
78 THE EARLY LIFE OF ROBERT SOUTHEY 
 
 in writing his odes, it was Sayers whose inspiration was 
 more direct and impelling, and may be considered first in 
 importance. His Dramatic Sketches, says Southey, was ''the 
 first book I was ever master of money enough to order at 
 a comitry bookseller's."^ Sayers ^ himself was a leisured, 
 not to say indolent, dilettante and an intimate of William 
 Taylor of Norwich, by whom he and his book were much 
 overrated. In publishing Dramatic Sketches, Sayers' s mo- 
 tive, so far as it went, was characteristic of the time. He 
 regretted in his preface that English poetry was devoid of 
 any but a few ''traces of the splendid and sublime religion 
 of our Northern Ancestors." Yet he showed little desire 
 to do more than capitahze for purposes of poetry a new 
 mythological "machinery" in the hope of affording the 
 relief of variety to the old Olympian scheme. His own 
 studies never carried him beyond what was, even in his 
 day, a superficial knowledge of "northern antiquities," and 
 he frittered away his time filing and polishing the few slight 
 pieces that he had managed to compose, in the oppor- 
 tunist's not the scholar's fashion, out of the little that he 
 knew. Taylor, his intimate friend from boyhood, and 
 largely the instigator and inspirer of his literary work, had 
 traveled in Germany and acquired the most extensive 
 knowledge of German language and literature possessed by 
 any Englishman up to that time. He undertook to teach 
 German to Sayers, and they construed together Goethe's 
 
 1 Taylor, I, 447, Jan. 23, 1803. 
 
 ^ Dramatic Sketches of Northern Mythology was published in 1790. 
 It reappeared with some additions in 1792, and again in 1803, in 1807, 
 and in the Collective Works edited with "Biographic Particulars" 
 by William Taylor in 1823. Sayers published, besides, in 1793 Dis- 
 quisitions Metaphysical and Literary containing an essay on EngKsh 
 metres, and in 1805 Miscellanies, Antiquarian and Historical contain- 
 ing a not very profound article on English medieval literature. It is 
 to be noted that Southey wrote the review of his old master's Collec- 
 tive Works for The Quarterly Review in 1827. 
 
OXFORD — POETRY — EDITH FRICKER 79 
 
 Proserpina, Voss's Luise, portions of the chorus dramas of 
 Klopstock, odes and at least one ballad of Stolberg which 
 Sayers translated under the title, Sir Egwin} Taylor also 
 reports that his friend had read the Greek tragedians with 
 "agitated feeling." This reading in German, although ''he 
 did not, however, persevere in the study of the German 
 language, . . . nor was he a warm admirer of the litera- 
 ture," probably suggested the notion of imitating the Greek 
 form of the drama in English, an idea strengthened by 
 models nearer home. ''Percy's Northern Antiquities,''^'^ says 
 Taylor, "supplied some of the costume and colouring." 
 Southey added ^ that Gray's versions of the Runic poems ^ 
 aided by Percy's translations^ "of the more celebrated re- 
 mains of the Skalds" had also "strongly impressed the 
 rising generation of poets." ^ He further added a list of 
 others who, to his knowledge, had before or after attempted 
 to make use of similar material in poetry; "Minor pieces, 
 drawn from the stores of Scandinavian antiquity, had been 
 composed by Miss Seward,^ by Mr. Polwhele, and by others 
 of the contributors to a collection of poems,^ chiefly by 
 
 1 Sayers, Collective Works, xxxviii-xxxix. 
 
 2 Ibid, xxxix; Thomas Percy, Northern Antiquities, — or a descrip- 
 tion of the manners, customs, religion, and laws of the ancient Danes. 
 . . . With a translation of the Edda and other pieces from the Islandic 
 tongue . . . Translated from Mons. Mallet's Introduction a VHistoire de 
 Dannemarc, etc. (1755-1756). With additional notes by the English 
 translator and Goranson's Latin version of the Edda. 2 vols. 1770. 
 
 3 Quar. Rev. v. 35, 204-205. 
 
 * The Fatal Sisters and The Descent of Odin, pub. 1768. 
 
 ^ Five Pieces of Runic Poetry translated from the Islandic Language, 
 1768. 
 
 ^ For the whole subject see especially F. E. Farley, Scandinavian 
 Influences in the English Romantic Movement. 
 
 ^ Anna Seward, Llangollen Vale and other Poems, 1796, containing 
 Herva at the tomb of Argantyr. 
 
 ^ Poems, chiefly by Gentlemen of Devonshire and Cornwall [edited by 
 Richard Polwhele], 1792, including The Incantation of Herva and other 
 poems on Scandinavian subjects. 
 
80 THE EARLY LIFE OF ROBERT SOUTHEY 
 
 gentlemen of Devon and Cornwall, which appeared just at 
 this time; and Mr. Hole, a little before, had founded,^ upon 
 the Runic mj^thology, a poem of more pretensions in its 
 extent and structure, than anything which had appeared 
 since the Leonidas and the Epigoniad.'" 
 
 In his use of the Greek dramatic form Sayers was not, 
 as has been suggested, dependent alone upon the example 
 of the Germans or his reading of the classics. He had also 
 in mind the work of a ''Greek school" of English poets 
 among whom he classed himself. Gray and Collins he 
 named as the founders of this school, apparently for no 
 reason save that they wrote odes upon ''Gothic" or allied 
 subjects which served as models for the choruses of Mason's 
 efforts to throw the same material into the form of the 
 Greek drama. Southey, therefore, names Mason, rather 
 than Collins, as Gray's associate in founding such a school 
 and also includes ^ Gilbert West and, "with strong shades 
 of individual difference," Akenside and Glover. The treat- 
 ment of the ode form by these men is their most interesting 
 characteristic as a "school." Sayers, in the essay on Eng- 
 lish meters in his Disquisitions, which is mainly a series of 
 citations from former writers in defense of his own use of 
 rimeless and more or less irregular verse,^ refers to the 
 experiments with similar forms by Peele in The Complaint 
 of (Enone, by Spenser as he supposed in The Mourning 
 Muse of Thestylis, and by Sidney, Milton, Watts, Collins, 
 and by Glover in the choruses of his Medea, an attempt 
 earlier than Mason's in the Greek dramatic form. The 
 "Greek school" was supposed to continue these experi- 
 ments principally in its adaptations of that type of the ode 
 which employs some kind of long and fairly complicated, 
 
 1 Richard Hole, Arthur, or the Northern Enchantment. A Poetical 
 Romance, 1789. 
 
 2 Quar. Rev., v. 35, 205. 
 
 * Saintsbury, History of English Prosody, III, 39. 
 
OXFORD — POETRY — EDITH FRICKER 81 
 
 sometimes varied, stanza or irregular verse paragraph. 
 These adaptations were several in number. There was the 
 original ''Pindarick" with its compHcated, irregular, riming 
 verse paragraphs; there was the type with varied, regular, 
 but fairly complicated riming stanzas recurring in strophic 
 balance; there was the type using throughout a single form 
 of long, complicated, riming stanza; and finally there was 
 the possibility of using any one of these forms without rime. 
 As thus developed this verse-form was to be one of the 
 many to attract Southey's imitative and experimental zeal 
 and to receive further interesting development at his hands. 
 
 Mention has already been made of the impression created 
 upon young writers by Gray's ''Runic" poems. Although 
 these pieces were simpler in form than the ones we are dis- 
 cussing, they were called odes by the author, and being 
 similar in subject-matter, were associated with The Bard 
 and The Progress of Poesy. The two latter were composed 
 in the strophic arrangement, and the same poet's Ode for 
 Music in the irregular riming stanzas, but Gray published 
 no experiments with the rimeless forms. A uniform long 
 stanza was used by Collins in his ode On the Popular Super- 
 stitions of the Highlands of Scotland, and here too were 
 famous references to ''northern antiquities." In his ode 
 To Liberty the strophic arrangement appears, but that on 
 The Passions, called an "ode for music," is in the irregular 
 stanza like Gray's later Ode for Music. Finally, in the Ode 
 to Evening, Collins achieved his great success with the rime- ' 
 less stanza. Notice should here be taken also of the 
 odes of Thomas Warton, because of the influence which 
 Southeyi acknowledges that Warton, along with Gray, 
 Mason, and, — he might have added, — Collins exercised 
 upon his own schoolboy verses. Warton's odes,^ fourteen 
 
 ^ Works, Preface. 
 
 2 A collected edition of Warton's poems appeared in 1777; there were 
 several later editions, and in 1802 Richard Mant edited his Poetical 
 Works. 
 
82 THE EARLY LIFE OF ROBERT SOUTHEY 
 
 in number not including his laureate productions, are 
 smooth and simple in form. They show no great power of 
 poetic imagination, but they refer to such matters as 
 Arthur, Hardyknute, the Faerie Queene, the crusades, and 
 ruined abbeys. It does not appear that Warton was at 
 all associated by Sayers and Southey with their ''Greek 
 School." 
 
 The most important member of the group was really 
 William Mason, Gray's somewhat insufferable friend and 
 imitator. His odes, sixteen of them published between 
 1756 and 1788, though painfully imitative of Gray and like 
 his using the strophic form except for two in the irregular 
 verse paragraphs "for music," do not deal with ''Gothic" 
 subjects at all. It was his two plays Elfrida (1752) and 
 Caradacus (1759) that ventured into this field. Both of 
 these pieces purport to deal with ancient English or British 
 history, but rely for their information mainly upon Tacitus, 
 Caesar, and other classical authorities, or possibly upon 
 Camden's Brittania and Drayton's Polyolhion. They are 
 frankly experimental, and betray a curious kind of incon- 
 sistency between critical conservatism and innovation. 
 Each professes to be a "dramatic poem, written on the 
 model of the ancient Greek tragedy," and therefore intro- 
 ducing a chorus and following the three imities, firmly 
 estabhshed, according to the author, by Aristotle. Since 
 Shakespeare had surpassed all possible competitors in native 
 genius. Mason avowedly chose to make use of art as a 
 means to outrival him. 
 
 By art Mason explains that he means the use of an 
 elaborate and ornate imagery and diction. For his subject- 
 matter he offers no apology, but he was plainly trying to 
 lay claim to the charm of novelty in using non-classical 
 material. The result of his endeavors is not very happy. 
 Of the manners and customs of the ancient Saxons or 
 Britons he was, of course, profoundly ignorant. It has 
 
OXFORD — POETRY — EDITH FRICKER 83 
 
 been pointed out that Gray^ was the first poet of the eigh- 
 teenth century who drew, not upon Gothic architecture, but 
 upon Gothic hterature for his materials, and Gray, while 
 he may not have produced the true ring of the Edda in 
 EngHsh, at least achieved a note that was striking and 
 original. Mason scarcely draws even upon Gothic archi- 
 tecture, and attains at best merely a pale resemblance in 
 plot and motivation of character to Beaumont and Fletcher. 
 His British and Saxon mythology is simply the classical 
 system done over into terms of Druid and Odin. He had 
 no notion of adapting the legends of the older literatures 
 themselves as plots, but his scheme was solely to utilize, 
 as part of that "art" by which he was to rival Shakespeare, 
 the names of the northern gods and as much as he could 
 learn without labor concerning the northern peoples. The 
 impulse to find a new mythology for poetry was stirring, 
 however, even in Mason. Yet it was long before faith 
 would be strong enough to render any mythology the poets 
 might use more than were "machinery." The situation 
 was well described by Southey in his review of Dr. Sayers 
 when he said that the gods of the Greeks and Romans 
 had grown stale, that angels and demons had proved but 
 a poor substitute, and that poets seemed well disposed to 
 transfer their devotion to the gods and heroes of Valhalla. ^ 
 The suggestions that Mason offered to Sayers, and in a 
 more general sense to Southey, are apparent. Here was 
 both the idea of writing upon "Northern Mythology" and 
 of doing so in the form of the Greek drama. For his dra- 
 matic passages Mason had used blank verse, but added 
 the slightly novel device of using odes in the manner of 
 Gray for the chorus of virgins in Elfrida and of bards and 
 
 ^ For Gray's knowledge of old Norse see Appendix by G. L. Kitt- 
 redge to the Introduction to Selections from Thomas Gray, edited by 
 W. L. Phelps. 
 
 2 Quar. Rev., v. 35, 204. 
 
84 THE EARLY LIFE OF ROBERT SOUTHEY 
 
 druids in Caradacus. These are mostly in the strophic 
 balance, with one or two exceptions in favor of the irregular 
 form '^for music." Such treatment of the chorus contained 
 the most important idea which was to be derived from 
 Mason by Sayers and Southey. 
 
 The two plays we have been discussing were presented ^ 
 at Covent Garden, Elfrida in 1772, with alterations by 
 Colman, and Caradacus in 1776. Southey says that they 
 were well received, and he remembered having as a child 
 seen Mrs. Siddons in the role of Elfrida at Bath.^ Mason's 
 chief influence, however, was upon Sayers, whom Southey 
 commends for taking such a model,^ adding that, if he had 
 been one of the mocking-birds of Parnassus, he would have 
 followed rather the example of Cowper, Darwin, or Merry, 
 'Hhen each in full sail upon the stream of celebrity, which 
 very soon floated two of them, by a short cut, into the 
 dead sea." 
 
 The purpose of Sayers which distinguished him so strik- 
 ingly from the followers of the men just named, especially 
 in the mind of a boy with such tastes as Southey's, was 
 frankly "mythological." The preface to his Dramatic Sketches 
 opens with the statement; ''Among the variety of mytho- 
 logical systems which have contributed at different periods 
 to decorate the poetry of England, it is much to be la- 
 mented that we should discover only the faintest traces of 
 the splendid and sublime religion of our Northern Ances- 
 tors." Gray he distinguishes as the only one who had 
 ''deigned to notice the sacred fables of the Goths." 
 
 "It is certain, however, that the most magnificent features of Scan- 
 dinavian superstition have hitherto been chiefly concealed in the 
 Sagas of Iceland, or have appeared only in the tragedies of Klop- 
 stock and a few other pieces, little known except among the Ger- 
 mans and Danes to whom they owe their existence. This being 
 
 1 Eng, Poets, ed. by Alexander Chalmers, v. XVIII, 309-310. 
 
 2 Quar. Rev., v. 35, 195 and note. ^ Q^^r. Rev., v. 35, 197. 
 
OXFORD — POETRY — EDITH FRICKER 85 
 
 the case, I am tempted to publish the following Sketches, with a 
 view of giving some slight idea of the neglected beauties of the 
 Gothic rehgion, and of recommending a freer introduction of its 
 imagery into the poetry of the English nation." 
 
 Sayers's only contribution, however, to the illustration of 
 *' northern antiquities," beyond what he had derived from 
 Percy, was the presentation of a small part of the informa- 
 tion to be obtained from his source. Even the form of the 
 Greek tragedy was chosen, not because of any particular 
 predilection for the form itself, but ''as affording in its 
 chorus the most favorable opportunity for the display of 
 mythological imagery." ^ 
 
 In the handling of his choruses or, as he called them, 
 odes, we find the other source of interest for Southey. 
 These did indeed use the terms of northern mythology with 
 some show of familiarity, which must have had the charm 
 of novelty, but they were chiefly notable for their metrical 
 form. Sayers used, in partial imitation of Mason, the 
 loose ode with an effort to adapt the movement of the verse 
 and the length and arrangement of the lines to the feelings 
 expressed. More than this, however, acting upon the ex- 
 ample of Klopstock and Stolberg, he abandoned the use of 
 rime entirely, ''both because," as he says, "it was less con- 
 formable to the [Greek] model imitated, and because it 
 appeared unnecessary, if not prejudicial in this species of 
 poetry." This departure of Sayers made an immediate and 
 striking impression upon Southey. Always interested in 
 versification, from his imitative youth onwards, he has 
 himself in various places pointed out the difficulties that 
 beset the composition of this type of meter.^ Irregular 
 blank verse is always liable to fall into mere prose cut up 
 upon the page into unequal lines of print, or into regular 
 
 1 Dramatic Sketches, Preface. See also Preface to Moina. 
 ^ Correspondence with Caroline Bowles, 51, 53-54, 58-59. 
 
86 THE EARLY LIFE OF ROBERT SOUTHEY 
 
 blank verse similarly abused, or it may give the impression 
 that the author has simply measured off his lines according 
 to some preconceived pattern and then forgotten to rime. 
 Southey does not fail ^ to note that Collins had been the 
 only one to succeed notably with a rimeless lyric measure 
 in English poetry; he, perhaps rashly, deemed that Milton 
 had lost his meter entirely in Samson Agonistes, and that 
 Glover, in the rimeless stanzas of the choruses to his Medea j 
 had counted his verses off on his fingers. Sayers, on the 
 contrary, had avoided all pitfalls. 
 
 *'CHe] never employed a strongly-marked measure unless it was 
 peculiarly appropriate, and then he constructed his verses so (hav- 
 ing the language at his command,) that they required no humom-ing 
 from an indulgent reader, but that in the easy and natural pro- 
 nunciation of the words, the accent should necessarily faU where 
 the harmony of the line required it. Neither did he err . . . in 
 subjecting his unrhymed lyrics to a rule of uniformity, rendering 
 the composition more difficult, and the effect less pleasing. He 
 arranged them, according to his own perception of metrical har- 
 mony, in lines of such length and cadence, as, by suiting the matter 
 and the passion, should at once satisfy the judgment and content 
 the ear." 
 
 Later criticism ^ has truthfully pointed out that, in com- 
 parison with Thalaba, Sayers's success was not as great as 
 it is here represented, but Southey was comparing the 
 author of the Dramatic Sketches with other poets whom he 
 thought to have been even less successful; therefore the 
 impression made upon him by Sayers was much enhanced, 
 and he was not slow in his Oxford days to attempt the 
 imitation of these rimeless odes. 
 
 The influence of the subject matter of the Dramatic 
 Sketches upon the youth who was planning mythological 
 
 1 Quar. Rev., v. 35, 211-213. 
 
 2 Saintsbury, History of English Prosody , III, 39-41. 
 
OXFORD — POETRY — EDITH FRICKER 87 
 
 epics must not be overshadowed by that of the meter. The 
 paucity of real knowledge betrayed by Sayers did not, of 
 course, trouble Southey at the time. It was enough to be 
 encouraged by the example of another poet who had actu- 
 ally accomplished something in a small way like that which 
 he had himself dreamt of doing. In his first edition (1790) 
 Sayers had published three pieces. The first and slightest 
 of them was a thin adaptation of the story of Balder dead, 
 derived from the version of the prose Edda as distilled 
 through Mallet and Percy from Goranson's Latin transla- 
 tion. Sayers called this poem a masque; it had no chorus, 
 and is interesting only as an attempt to present this story 
 in English verse. Moina purports to be a full drama with 
 a chorus of bards. It is the tragedy of a Celtic woman 
 who has been made the Sabine wife of Harold, a Saxon 
 warrior, and is condemned to be buried with her husband's 
 body after the alleged Saxon custom, instead of being per- 
 mitted to rejoin the Celtic lover from whom Harold had 
 taken her, and with whom she had been imable, for reasons 
 of propriety, to flee before her proper husband's death. 
 Needless to say, this plot did not come from Percy, and 
 neither did that of the other tragedy, Starno. Moina was 
 supposed to present a Saxon theme, and Starno attempted, 
 like the ''admirable tragedy of Caractacus," ^ to deal with 
 a British one. Starno is a British chieftain who has re- 
 gained his daughter from the Saxons, aided in the rescue 
 by the maiden's Saxon lover, who has fled with her to 
 British strongholds. The druids, who compose the chorus, 
 demand the lover for sacrifice to their gods, and although 
 Starno is persuaded by his daughter to deny the demand, 
 the Saxon youth refuses to accept safety on the intercession 
 of a maid, and is slain. In the second edition of his book 
 (1792) Sayers attempted another experiment in form in the 
 "monodrama", Oswald. This dealt with the same kind of 
 ^ Sayers, Collective Works, I, 99. 
 
88 THE EARLY LIFE OF ROBERT SOUTHEY 
 
 material, but can best be discussed at another point. ^ 
 These four pieces made up the Kttle book that fell in so 
 pat with Southey's youthful tastes and aspirations, and to 
 which he refers so often in later life with gratitude. 
 
 The weakness of these efforts of Sayers was not long, 
 however, in becoming at least partially apparent to their 
 admirer, for Southey wrote to William Taylor in 1803: ^ 
 *' Perhaps Dr. Sayers has not chosen his subjects well: the 
 tale of Moina would have done equally well for a Hindoo 
 or Peruvian drama." Here was exactly the trouble; Dr. 
 Sayers's purpose was to "illustrate" Gothic religion and 
 mythology, but his knowledge of the people and literature, 
 not to mention the religion and mythology, was so slight 
 that his ''subjects" are inappropriate and absurd. Southey 
 was to do better than Sayers in this respect, but not even 
 he ever escaped from the semididactic notion that he must 
 ''illustrate" without vitalizing mythology or some other 
 little known field of information. As for Sayers, the most 
 that can be said for him is that his book, to such a boy 
 as the one whose development we are tracing, was not un- 
 touched by the glamour of the past, that his wine, though 
 thin and new like that of Bowles, nevertheless smacked of 
 the muses' own hillside. 
 
 When we turn to the odes that Southey composed be- 
 tween the years 1791 and 1794, we find that the few speci- 
 mens preserved traverse in imitation much of the evolution 
 of the ode here presented. It has already been noted that 
 he had attempted several pieces after the mode of Collins's 
 Ode to Evening. Gray and Mason and Thomas Warton had 
 used also the other types for the description of nature or the 
 expression of their reflections upon life. Southey now in 
 turn put his own romantic yearnings into similar form in 
 such pieces as To Contemplation^ (1792), To a Friend^ 
 
 1 See below. -^ Poems, 1797; Works, 127. 
 
 2 Tayl(yr, I, 447, Jan. 23, 1803. * Poems, 1797; Works, 128. 
 
OXFORD — POETRY — EDITH FRICKER 89 
 
 (1793), Urban ^ (published 1795), the two poems To Lycon ^ 
 (published 1795), Written on Sunday Morning ^ (1795), and 
 possibly the obscure Mortality published only with the sig- 
 nature S. in The Monthly Magazine of July, 1796. Over 
 these somewhat vapid juvenilia we need linger only long 
 enough to note that Southey used either a fairly simple 
 stanza or, when indulging in more grandiose sentiments, 
 the loose irregular form. 
 
 More interesting, as in the end more characteristic, are 
 three odes in which, as in Gray's Progress of Poesy and 
 Collins's Ode to Liberty, the muse goes on a grand tour. 
 The first of these. To Horror (1791), has already been 
 sufficiently discussed. Romance and Hospitality (both pub- 
 lished 1795) ^ are also suggestive of The Bard, and are espe- 
 cially to be noted for the evidence they show of youthful 
 erudition in Southey's favorite fields. "Romance" is be- 
 held as a ''wildly beauteous form," "lovely in horror," taking 
 her stand on the "bicrowned hill" of Parnassus. From that 
 point she speeds to the various lands in which her sway 
 has been felt, footnotes explaining the references. These 
 include "fictions of Romance, popular in Scandinavia at an 
 early period"; Heliodorus, who "rather preferred to be 
 deprived of his see than burn his Ethiopics"; Regner Lod- 
 brog, of whom Southey had read in Percy; Arthur, Lance- 
 lot, Tristram, the paladins of France, Archbishop Turpin 
 "instead of forging the life of a saint . . . better employed 
 in falsifying the history of Charlemagne"; "Arabian fic- 
 tions ingrafted on the Gothic romance"; Godfrey, Coeur 
 de Lion, the Romance of the Rose, Spanish prose romances, 
 Cervantes, Sidney, Spenser, and lastly Rousseau, to whom 
 the grateful muse would fain "pour forth the energic thanks 
 of gratitude." Hospitality, opening with even stronger echo 
 of The Bard, pursues its subject in fashion similar to Ro- 
 
 1 Poems, 1795. ^ Poems, 1797; Works, 132. 
 
 2 Poems, 1795. -» Poems, 1795. 
 
90 THE EARLY LIFE OF ROBERT SOUTHEY 
 
 mance. ''Hospitality/' as formerly seen in the monasteries 
 destroyed by Henry VIII, in ''proud Avalon/' in the Arab's 
 tent, among the savage Indians beside the Oroonoko, is 
 contrasted with the niggardliness to be met "in fashion's 
 circle, far from nature's laws." All three of these poems are 
 in the loose form of the ode and show a palpable effort to 
 accommodate the verse to the varying emotions expressed. 
 
 The idea of using the ode for narration had, of course, 
 been represented in Dryden's Alexander's Feast, and is 
 imitated with boyish facility by Southey in The Triumph 
 of Woman (1793),^ where the subject matter is drawn from 
 the Apocrypha, and the sentiments accord with Joan of Arc. 
 Narration is also implicit in the odes of Gray and Collins 
 and especially in those of Sayers. Having read the Dra- 
 matic Sketches, Southey says that he convinced himself, 
 "when I had acquired some skill in versification, that the 
 kind of verse in which his choruses were composed was not 
 less applicable to narration than to lyrical poetry." ^ Con- 
 sequently we find the element of story more pronounced in 
 the remaining odes to be discussed. The subjects are drawn 
 either from ''northern mythology" or from biblical legend, 
 and the latter fact points to an additional source for 
 Southey's style in this vein of writing. The swinging par- 
 allel structure of Hebrew poetry, which he had seen effec- 
 tively adapted in Ossian, a book that had not failed to 
 impress him, continued, especially in connection with the 
 verse-form derived from Sayers, to be one of the charac- 
 teristics of Southey's verse narratives. 
 
 In the two poems based upon "northern mythology," 
 however, it is interesting to note that he had not yet taken 
 the full step after Sayers, but was still following Gray, 
 except that, although riming, he always used the irregular 
 rattier than the strophic form of the ode. The Race of Odin ^ 
 is again a palpable imitation of The Bard. It recounts the 
 
 1 Poems, 1797; Works, 98. ^ Works, Preface. ^ Poems, 1795. 
 
OXFORD — POETRY — EDITH FRICKER 91 
 
 fabled expulsion of Odin from the east by Pompey, and 
 prophesies the vengeance to be taken by Odin's descendants 
 in the overthrow of Rome when the world will again be free. 
 In The Death of Odin ^ the meter is mainly the vigorous 
 staccato movement of Gray's Descent of Odin; the story, 
 like the previous one, drawn from the indispensable Percy, 
 is of Odin choosing to die by his own hands in order to 
 obtain the eternal reward of the warrior. 
 
 In the three odes drawn from Hebrew sources, Sayers is 
 the model rather than Gray. The Death of Joshua,'^ which 
 never attained the honor of being printed anjrwhere save 
 in The Monthly Magazine over the signature S., is unmis- 
 takably an attempt of Southey's, though in rime, at some- 
 thing in the vein of Sayers. The Death of Moses ^ and 
 The Death of Matathias,^ however, are at last rimeless, and 
 the tone and meter of Thalaba begin to be manifest. These 
 two efforts in imitation of Sayers show a facility in the use 
 of verse already equaling, if not surpassing, their model. 
 They avoid the difficulties to which the form is liable, and 
 they show greater freedom in varying the harmony to suit 
 the changing moods of the speaker in the poem. There is 
 also present that rhetorical skill which was to become one 
 of Southey's most conspicuous merits both in verse and in 
 prose. 
 
 Among the Dramatic Sketches was one entitled Oswald 
 and called by the author "a. monodrama," "a species of 
 play, which has not yet, as far as I am able to discover, 
 been attempted by English writers." ^ Sayers's immediate 
 model was probably Goethe's Proserpina, which he had 
 construed under Taylor's tutelage, but he also states that 
 such poems were common ''both in the closet and the 
 
 1 Poems, 1795. 
 
 2 Month. Mag., Oct. 1796, v. 2, 730. 
 ' Poems, 1795. 
 
 * Dramatic Sketches; Preface to Oswald. 
 
92 THE EARLY LIFE OF ROBERT SOUTHEY 
 
 theater" among the French and ItaUans. Jean Baptiste 
 Rousseau ^ seems to have been the first to introduce the 
 Itahan ''cantata" into France in a series of poems upon 
 classical subjects, of which one, entitled Circe, became famous 
 and served to suggest the type. This was a kind of lyrical 
 dramatic monologue written to be accompanied by music 
 after the fashion of the cantata and representing Circe 
 declaiming to the sea-waves her desolation at the departure 
 of Odysseus. Circe had many imitators. Jean Jacques 
 Rousseau himself essayed a similar piece in Pygmalion,'^ for 
 which music was written by Horace Coignet and which was 
 actually presented at Lyons in 1770 and at the Comedie 
 Frangaise in 1775. With German attempts at this form, 
 however, we are more concerned. Taylor says that the 
 first of these was H. W. von Gerstenberg's Ariadne auf 
 Naxos,^ and translates it in his Historic Survey of German 
 Poetry."^ This was a close imitation of Circe, and according 
 to Taylor was declaimed in the theatre at Hamburg with 
 intervals of music. Shortly afterwards K. W. Ramler com- 
 posed several pieces of the same sort, notably Ino, eine 
 Cantate,^ and Goethe, in his Triumph der Empfindsamkeit 
 (1787), introduced the cantata or, as it seems now to have 
 been called, the monodrama, Proserpina. Both of these 
 poems were also translated by Taylor,^ and it was undoubt- 
 edly he who taught both Sayers and Southey to experiment 
 
 ^ Les (Euvres choisies du Sr. Rousseau, contenant ses Odes, Odes 
 Sacrees . . . et cantates. Rotterdam, 1719. There were many later 
 editions during the eighteenth century. 
 
 2 John Grand-Carteret, J. J. Rousseau, 353. 
 
 ^ Ariadne auf Naxos, Eine Kantate in his Vermischte Schriften von 
 ihm selhst gesammelt, 1815-1816. The date of the poem is here given 
 as 1765; Taylor gives it as 1785. 
 
 * WiUiam Taylor of Norwich, Historic Survey of German Poetry 
 Interspersed with Various Translations, 1829-1830, III, 3. 
 
 5 Oden, Zweyte Auflage, 1768. 
 
 6 Historic Survey, I, 325-328; III, 312. 
 
OXFORD — POETRY — EDITH FRICKER 93 
 
 with the same form. The odes that have just been dis- 
 cussed, especially those derived from The Bard, have all of 
 them some of the characteristics of the dramatic mono- 
 logue, and in the hands of Taylor's two pupils the mono- 
 drama was but a by-development of the ode. It was 
 always written by them in blank verse, was always con- 
 cerned, like several of Southey's odes, with the suicide of 
 some mythological or heroic personage under stress of cir- 
 cumstances of great pith and moment, and consisted of his 
 or her parting words setting forth the occasion of the agony 
 and concluding with the death stroke itself. Sayers's Os- 
 wald dealt with the theme of Odin's death, which Southey 
 also treated, possibly on this suggestion, in his ode on the 
 same subject. In his second edition Sayers added another 
 monodrama called Pandora. Southey was quick to take 
 up with the new idea. His Sappho^ was written in this 
 form in 1793, and was followed by similar pieces at various 
 later times: Orthryades^ and Aristodemus, both published 
 only over the signature S. in The Monthly Magazine for 
 August, 1796, and April, 1797, respectively. The Wife of 
 Fergus^ (1798), Ximalpoca^ (1798), Lucretia^ (1799), Frances 
 De Barry ^ (1799?), and La Caha ^ (1802). Interest in these 
 things rests solely in the additional evidence they give of 
 Southey's erudition, of his passion for experimenting with 
 new forms, and his fatal facility for touching feebly upon 
 themes and styles that were later to have golden develop- 
 ment in other hands than his. 
 
 Of the rest of Southey's minor productions during his 
 Oxford period, we have few remains, but their general 
 
 1 Poems, 1797; Works, 121. 
 
 2 The name is also spelt Othryades. 
 
 3 Annual Anthology, 1799-1800; Works, 122-123. 
 
 ^ Daniel Stuart, Letters from the Lake Poets, 444-447. 
 5 Works, 123. 
 
94 THE EARLY LIFE OF ROBERT SOUTHEY 
 
 character may be surmised. Of such jeux-d^esprit as The 
 Chapel Bell ^ (1793) there were probably not a few. More 
 important to be noted is the fact that there were two other 
 poets to whose influence upon his youthful work he makes 
 acknowledgment. These were Akenside and Cowper. 
 Southey wrote many inscriptions a few years later in imi- 
 tation of the former's poems of the same kind, and indeed 
 his For a Tablet at Godstow Nunnery ^ and his notorious For 
 the Apartment in Chepstow-Castle where Henry Marten the 
 Regicide was imprisoned Thirty Years ^ may have been com- 
 posed as early as this. Akenside's influence as a whole, 
 however, may be discussed at a later point with more 
 appropriateness. As for Cowper, his satire of corrupt so- 
 ciety, his love of nature and domestic life, his sympathy 
 for the poor, his touch of political radicalism, his religious 
 feeling if not his Calvinism, all these notes found apprecia- 
 tion in Southey. We therefore meet the blank verse of 
 The Task in the two poems already referred to upon the 
 installation of the Duke of Portland as Chancellor in 1793 
 and in not a few other pieces of later date which no doubt 
 represent a mass of similar work which had previously been 
 consigned to the flames. 
 
 We have seen indeed that all the poems so far discussed 
 as the work of Southey's Oxford period were but the win- 
 no wings out of thousands. Yet when we include Joan of 
 Arc, they probably show quite justly the tenor and forms 
 of the author's poetical activity up to the age of twenty 
 and also, in a general way, of his after life. Their worth 
 intrinsically and as expressions of his personality is inferior 
 to that of his letters. Their significance is in the evidence 
 they give of his favorite pursuits and of the intimate con- 
 nection between his versifying and all his other aspirations 
 and activities. 
 
 For the first of his epic attempts to embody in poetry 
 1 Poems, 1797; Works, 130. 2 Poems, 1797. 
 
OXFORD — POETRY — EDITH FRICKER 95 
 
 the religion of nature and revolution Southey was now in 
 several ways busily preparing. First of all he was con- 
 tinuing to read all the narrative and epic poetry he could 
 find with special attention to certain particular works 
 which were to provide him with models. Ossian was among 
 his books, and when he thought (Easter Sunday, 1793) of 
 a trip to Scotland, he wrote: ^'We will wander over the 
 hills of Morven, and mark the driving blast, perchance be- 
 strodden by the spirit of Ossian." But there were other 
 writers than MacPherson who obtained even greater in- 
 terest. The prime favorite at this time was Glover's 
 Leonidas, which Southey declares (Nov. 13, 1793) that he 
 had read perhaps more frequently than any other composi- 
 tion, not for sake of ^ thoughts that breathe and words that 
 burn," but for sake of the subject. This seemed to him 
 "certainly the noblest ever undertaken," and he cited 
 Milton, Homer, Virgil, Lucan, Statins, S. Italicus, V. Flac- 
 cus, Ariosto, Tasso, Camoens, Voltaire, "and our own 
 immortal Spenser" in comparison. 
 
 To such reading the young man now added the active 
 study of English and French history in all the works then 
 to be had. The result of his delving was soon to appear 
 in the composition of Joan of Arc. In the meantime he 
 was keenly alive to the historical associations of the neigh- 
 borhood of Oxford and other places which he visited upon 
 his vacation rambles. Scenes from the past came thronging 
 about him: he thought of Alfred marking Oxford to be a 
 seat of learning; of Latimer and Ridley^ burnt upon the 
 spot before his window where he now wished for a monu- 
 ment to religious liberty; of Godstow Nunnery, ^ which 
 roused in him such sensations as Carthage or Troy might 
 
 ^ For a Monument at Oxford opposite Balliol Gateway, composed 1797, 
 Annual Anthology, 1799; Works, 181. 
 
 2 Rosamund to Henry, Poems, 1795; For a Tablet at Godstow Nunnery, 
 Poems, 1797. 
 
96 THE EARLY LIFE OF ROBERT SOUTHEY 
 
 inspire, for was it not ''memorable in the annals of legen- 
 dary, yet romantic truth." Then in the Easter vacation of 
 1793 he walked with Seward to the latter 's home in Here- 
 fordshire, and longed for the pen of Rousseau 'Ho describe 
 the various scenes which have presented themselves to me, 
 and the various emotions occasioned by them." Wood- 
 stock they visited, Evesham Abbey where he thought of 
 Simon de Montfort and "The Blind Beggar of Bethnal 
 Green," Worcester, and an old mansion, "... mouldering 
 away, in so romantic a situation, that I soon lost myself 
 in dreams of yore, — the tapestried room — the listed fight 
 — the vassal- filled hall — the hospitable fire — the old 
 baron and his young daughter, ... a most delightful day- 
 dream. How horrid it is to wake into common life from 
 these scenes! at a moment when you are transported to 
 happier times to descend to realities!" 
 
 IV 
 
 After his Easter holiday with Seward, Southey, by the 
 help of his busy reading, managed to pass the time of his 
 next term at Oxford until spring brought the long vacation 
 of 1793. He then paid a short visit to his home,^ and went 
 again in July to visit Seward, with whom as before he spent 
 several weeks tramping about Herefordshire. Then in 
 August he went down to Surrey to visit Bedford at Brixton 
 Causeway, about four miles from London. This friend, it is 
 clear, did not share Southey's political principles, but he 
 was a sympathetic and appreciative companion, and the 
 three months which the two boys spent together were filled 
 with happiness, with hearty discussion, with still heartier 
 fun no doubt, and with poetry. For now the first draft 
 of Joan of Arc was composed. ^ The subject had been sug- 
 gested by Bedford himself a short time previously, and 
 ^ Works, Preface. ^ Works, Preface to Joan of Arc. 
 
OXFORD — POETRY — EDITH FRICKER 97 
 
 Southey, after his usual habit, had promptly sketched out 
 a plan, and had written the first three hundred lines. With 
 leisure and encouragement he now took up the poem again. 
 The home of Bedford's parents was a quiet, retired trades- 
 man's house in what were then the rural environs of Lon- 
 don. There was a garden at the rear, and at the end of 
 the garden stood four lofty linden trees under which was a 
 simimer-house with chairs and a desk. This place was 
 allotted to Southey for his work, and there, interrupted 
 occasionally by the necessity of shooting at wasps with 
 horse-pistols loaded with sand, twelve books of Joan of 
 Arc were completed in six weeks. 
 
 Joan of Arc was the fullest expression of Southey's boy- 
 hood enthusiasms. Before publication it was completely 
 revised in consultation with Coleridge, but the latter prob- 
 ably did little to alter the structure of the poem, and even 
 less to alter its ideals, though he did, doubtless, supply 
 encouragement and metaphysical arguments in their sup- 
 port which the author may not have understood and did 
 not retain. When the two men met in the spring of 1794, 
 Southey was already making "the adamantine gate of 
 democracy turn on its golden hinges to most sweet music," ^ 
 and the revision of his poem in 1795 was merely for the 
 improvement of the style and the enhancement of the 
 decorations. The first edition, therefore, may safely be 
 taken as an expression of the feelings that engrossed the 
 poet in 1793 and for several years to come. It reflects with 
 all the overemphasis of vibrant youth the author's intel- 
 lectual tastes, his temper, his literary gifts, his convictions 
 in politics and religion. He dedicated the poem to "liberty," 
 and that word recurs constantly upon his pages. What he 
 meant by it is not far to seek. Being young, he wanted to 
 be freer to live as he chose, and to marry whom and when 
 
 ^ Letters of Samuel Taylor Coleridge edited by Ernest Hartley Coleridge, 
 1895 (referred to as Coleridge, Letters), 1, 72. 
 
98 THE EARLY LIFE OF ROBERT SOUTHEY 
 
 he chose. Society, to be sure, offered him the prospect of 
 a fellowship and a college living, but these he did not want, 
 and he was made of such mettle that he would not take 
 them, especially since there was now a faith that sanctioned 
 their rejection and put the blame upon society, where it 
 seemed so justly to belong. Liberty, then, meant liberty 
 for himself, that liberty of opportunity which was ulti- 
 mately made for him, after a fashion, by Joan of Arc. It 
 meant also political liberty, the liberty of a people, thought 
 of, not so much as being made up of separate individuals 
 with separate characters and wants, but as being itself an 
 individual with wants and a character of its own. The 
 romantic revolutionist, of course, had, first and last, much 
 to say about the final obliteration of the lines of creed and 
 nationality in the freedom of democracy, but the net result 
 of such notions was to imbue any given revolutionist with 
 even stronger sense for nationality than before, especially 
 as nationality was opposed by the individualities of gov- 
 ernors or of other nations seeking to impose their imwel- 
 come will upon it. Several things contributed, in the case 
 of Southey, to feed these notions. He was, as we have 
 seen, interested as a boy in history, but like Rousseau, 
 though not so narrowly, his studies were at first almost 
 solely of Greece and Rome. And here he was particularly 
 impressed by the story of compact, unanimous Sparta 
 ranged with liberty-loving Athens against the tyrannical 
 Persia, or of republican Rome overthrown by despots, or of 
 the unfortunate Jews crushed and scattered as in the 
 pages of Josephus. We have just seen that he thought the 
 subject of Glover's Leonidas one of the finest possible for 
 an epic poem, and the notes to Joan were to contain 
 references to Thomas May's translation of Lucan's Phar- 
 salia. All the epics, in fact, which Southey read so widely 
 in his boyhood, were full of the same feeling of national 
 unity and national will or destiny. It was natural, there- 
 
OXFORD — POETRY — EDITH FRICKER 99 
 
 fore, that he should constantly have been planning poems 
 upon such themes, and that three of his most ambitious 
 efforts, Joan of Arc, Madoc, and Roderick, should all have 
 dealt with the account of a people rising as one man to 
 oppose or flee from some form of tjranny. 
 
 Lastly, and most important, since they gave the spark 
 to all this tinder, were the actual political revolution then 
 moving in the world and the opposition rising against it. 
 In the preface to the final edition of Joan (1837) Southey 
 says that the poem was written when he ''was ignorant 
 enough of history and of human nature to believe that a 
 happier order of things had commenced with the independ- 
 ence of the United States, and would be accelerated by 
 the French Revolution." In such cold accents does the 
 old laureate set down the fiery influence which set him free 
 to run the course that he did. Several years before (1824) 
 he had written^ to Miss Bowles: ''Few persons but those 
 who have lived in it can conceive or comprehend what the 
 memory of the French Revolution was, nor what a vision- 
 ary world seemed to open upon those who were just enter- 
 ing it. Old things seemed passing away, and nothing was 
 dreamt of but the regeneration of the human race." 
 
 "Bliss was it in that dawn to be alive, 
 But to be young was very heaven," 
 
 and Southey sat down on the day after his nineteenth 
 birthday to write Joan of Arc in Bedford's summer-house 
 during six weeks of the long vacation. 
 
 Joan of Arc was to give its author a reputation in Eng- 
 land which helped him greatly in his later struggles. That 
 it did so was due to the expression that the poem gave to 
 this age-old passion of the young for free room in which 
 to live, and to the passion for national liberty which had 
 made many Englishmen sympathize with the American 
 ^ Correspondence with Caroline Bowles, 52. 
 
100 THE EARLY LIFE OF ROBERT SOUTHEY 
 
 revolution, and now with the new French republic. Here 
 indeed was an epic subject ready to the young poet's hand 
 far more moving than that he had praised so highly of the 
 ancient Spartans fighting Persia. War began between 
 France and her enemies with the foolhardy attack of 
 Austria in April 1792, the republic was proclaimed on Sep- 
 tember 22, in January Southey had entered Balliol, and in 
 February the English government under Pitt ranged itself 
 among the foes of liberty. It will be remembered that the 
 idealists of England saw nothing as yet in the horrors of 
 1793 to shake their faith in the revolution, and Southey 's 
 feelings would have agreed with Wordsworth's as that poet 
 sat "with alien heart" listening to English prayers or 
 praises for victory, and ''fed on the day of vengeance yet 
 to come." It is unfortunate that the aged Wordsworth 
 edited The Prelude before its final publication; in Southey 's 
 case we have only evidence even less direct of his feelings 
 at this time, for his copious letters, which must, after his 
 fashion, have told passionately how he felt, have been 
 carefully expurgated of nearly all references to passing 
 events. The nature of his reactions, however, is abun- 
 dantly evident in Joan. 
 
 Southey notes ^ that among the chance causes for the 
 success of the poem with the public was the fact that it 
 was the first work of such pretentions published since 
 Glover's Athenaid in 1787, or rather, — so cold did that 
 fall from the press, — since the same author's Leonidas in 
 1737.2 Southey 's interest in Leonidas has already been de- 
 scribed. What Glover had done was to expand Herodotus's 
 account of the defense of Thermopylae into a blank verse 
 epic of twelve books with some sentimental additions to the 
 plot and with emphasis upon the patriotism and unbroken 
 freedom of the Greeks in contrast to the slavish hordes of 
 
 ^ Works, Preface to Joan of Arc. 
 
 2 Southey here disregards Wilkie's Epigoniad, 1757. 
 
OXFORD — POETRY — EDITH FRICKER 101 
 
 Xerxes. The work was dedicated to Lord Cobham, praised 
 by Lord Lyttleton, a little patronized by Frederick William, 
 Prince of Wales, and taken up as an expression of their 
 principles by the insurgent Whigs who opposed Walpole. 
 This gave the poem a vogue which carried it through three 
 editions in its first two years, not to mention a French 
 translation in 1738, a German one in 1766, two later edi- 
 tions in the author's life, and three more after his death. 
 There is no distinction whatever in Glover's work. If 
 Southey found it interesting chiefly for its subject matter, 
 we may truthfully say that it is interesting, if at all, only 
 for that. The characters are wooden, and the blank verse 
 is blanker prose save for an occasional declamatory rise in 
 praise of virtue or freedom. Southey wrote at a later time 
 that both Virgil and Glover were characterized by a level- 
 ness of manner, "the one never rising, and the other never 
 dismounting from his stilts." ^ It is difficult now to see 
 why such eclat should have attended such a poem, but be 
 that as it may, the work took its place in the public mind 
 as representing what a later editor called the ''zeal, or 
 rather rage, for liberty." 
 
 Southey's procedure closely followed Glover's. The latter 
 had versified Herodotus; Southey did the same for Holin- 
 shed, Hume, Rapin-Thoyras, Monstrellet, Fuller, and similar 
 sources.2 Glover represented an heroic leader at the head 
 of his people in a picturesque struggle for political liberty 
 which was, though remotely, applicable to the struggles of 
 the British politicians of his day. Southey saw in Joan a 
 similar heroic person leading her people in a similar struggle 
 but with an application to his own day even more pertinent. 
 It was the French people that she led in the struggle for 
 liberty against the English. 
 
 Of the real woman, Jeanne Dare, he was, of course, com- 
 pletely ignorant, but no less so than were his only available 
 1 Taylor, II, 95. 2 gee Appendix B. 
 
102 THE EARLY LIFE OF ROBERT SOUTHEY 
 
 sources of information.^ Caxton (1480) and the Burgundian 
 Monstrellet (1500?), while presenting the leading facts, were 
 noncommittal with regard to Joan's character, but Fabyan, 
 Hall, and Holinshed developed the notion which appeared 
 in Shakespeare that she was a witch deservedly burnt for 
 her sins. Thomas Fuller (1642) was not certain that she 
 was not a saint; Richard Baker (1643) showed her merely 
 as a charlatan. Through the eighteenth century the usual 
 notion, as given in Hume and Rapin-Thoyras, was that 
 Joan was the dupe and tool of courtiers, and Voltaire's 
 La Pucelle served to vulgarize her story in popular imagina- 
 tion. Two men, however, whose works we have no evi- 
 dence that Southey knew, suggested a new note. William 
 Guthrie, in his General History of England (1647-51), de- 
 fended Joan as a saint and martyr, and when Wesley wrote 
 a sketch of English history for his people, he copied Guth- 
 rie's remarks on Joan with an expression of his belief in 
 her ''enthusiasm." Southey's originality consisted in tak- 
 ing the legend as meagerly and on the whole meanly pre- 
 sented by his sources, and making, not a saint or martyr 
 out of her, but a heroine, a kind of female Leonidas. 
 
 Southey's interest in his heroine was, of course, as a 
 political rather than as a human figure. As De Quincey 
 pointed out,^ he shows her merely doing, never suffering. 
 He invents an infancy and childhood for her, makes her 
 share the terrible effects upon the poor country people of 
 the English invasion, and gives her a romantic education 
 with a hermit in the forest. Roused to action by visions, 
 an angel, and reports of the horrors of war perpetrated by 
 
 1 For the whole subject of the history of the Jeanne Dare legend in 
 England see Pierre Lanery D'Arc, Le lAvre d'Or de Jeanne d'Arc Bib- 
 liographie Raisonnee et Analytique des Ouvrages Relatifs d Jeanne d'Arc 
 . . . 1894; James Darmesteter, Jeanne d'Arc en Angleterre in his 
 Nouvelles Etudes Anglaises . . . 1896; and Felix Rabbe, Jeanne d'Arc 
 en Angleterre, 1891. 
 
 2 Collected Writings, edited by David Masson, V, 400. 
 
OXFORD— POETRY — EDITH FRICKER 103 
 
 her country's enemies, she resolves to save France. She 
 meets Dunois wounded, cures him, convinces him of her 
 mission, and is led by him to the king at Chinon. There 
 she convinces also the court and clergy in the traditional 
 manner, leads an army to the relief of Orleans, repulses the 
 English, defeats them at Patay, and crowns the king in 
 triumph at Rheims. There Southey's interest in Joan 
 stopped, for from that point on her story is personal rather 
 than political. The French people had conquered in the 
 fight for liberty against the English, and that was sufficient 
 for his purposes at the time. It is necessary to add, how- 
 ever, that even if he had not been so preoccupied with this 
 aspect of the story, the other was little likely to have 
 occurred to him or to anyone, even to Shakespeare. The 
 reason for this was that the marvelous detailed documents 
 relating to Joan's sufferings and displaying her most inti- 
 mate nature became generally accessible only in 1790 in 
 the work of L'Averdy,^ who made the first scholarly effort 
 to study the sources of Joan's history, and superseded all 
 other works on the subject until the monumental publica- 
 tions of Quicherat^ (1841-1849) made Joan a world-wide 
 heroine. Of the existence of L'Averdy's work, Southey was 
 informed, as he tells us in the preface to his first edition 
 (1796), but he appears never to have seen the book itself, 
 certainly never, in later editions, to have made use of it. 
 The general outline of the story, as given in the poem, 
 was thus easily applicable to the situation obtaining in 
 1793. It also offered many opportunities for pertinent and, 
 at the time, startling allusions to the ideas and affairs of 
 
 1 See Appendix B. 
 
 ^ Jules Qiiicherat, Proces de condamnation et de rShahilitation de 
 Jeanne d'Arc dite la Pucelle d'Orleans, puhlies pour la premiere fois 
 d'apres les manuscrits de la Bibliotheque royale, suivis de tous les docu- 
 ments historiques qu'on a pu reunir et accompagnes de notes et d'eclair- 
 dssements . . . Paris, 1841-1849. 
 
104 THE EARLY LIFE OF ROBERT SOUTHEY 
 
 the same momentous year. The exigencies of the narrative 
 compelled the author to represent the triumph of a king, 
 but the facts of history also permitted him to depict the 
 awakening of a people to national consciousness and the 
 resolution to throw off a tyrant Englishman; as for Charles 
 VI, he was a fit object against whom to vent republican 
 spleen, and he consequently makes a sorry figure in Southey's 
 hands. He is a king always eager to order a fast for the 
 people and a feast for the courtiers, who are said^ to be 
 '^insects," ''summer-flies," ''blood-suckers" sprung from the 
 "court dunghill," and loath to do battle against the in- 
 vaders. Joan, on the contrary, assisted by her follower 
 Conrade, a figure supplied by Southey, is the voice of the 
 people urging the king to burst his fetters and lead the 
 nation against the common foe. Charles trembles at her 
 words, but the implication is that he is incapable of becom- 
 ing the hero she intends herself to be. Thereupon her 
 satelUte Conrade calls down destruction upon the heads of 
 those mighty ones, those "prime ministers of death" (no 
 uncertain reference to the prime ministry of England at the 
 time), who send thousands to massacre merely in order to 
 rear pyramids of glory out of the bodies of the innocent. 
 
 "Oh groves and woodland shades 
 How blest indeed were you, if the iron rod 
 Should one day from Oppression's hand be wrenched 
 By everlasting Justice! come that hour 
 When in the Sun the Angel of the Lord 
 Shall stand and cry to all the fowls of Heaven, 
 'Gather ye to the supper of your God, 
 That ye may eat the flesh of mighty men. 
 Of Captains and of Kings!' Then shall be peace 
 When . . . author of aU ills that flesh endures, 
 OPPRESSION, in the bottomless abyss 
 Shall fall to rise no more!" ^ 
 
 1 Joan of Arc, 1796, Bk. IV, 88-91. ^ gt. y, 470-480. 
 
OXFORD — POETRY — EDITH FRICKER 105 
 
 In the ninth book Southey sends Joan in a dream on a 
 journey to a kind of purgatorial inferno, where she beholds, 
 chief among other marvels, the monarchs of the earth, ^Hhe 
 MURDEKERS OF MANKIND," enthroned under a black dome, 
 and ''each bearing on his brow a crown of fire.'* In this 
 gallery sit Nimrod, Alexander, Caesar "accurst liberticide," 
 Octavius, Titus ''the Conqueror of the Jews," and lastly 
 Henry V, who addresses her on the pertinent subject of 
 invading France. He confesses that he might have reigned 
 in happiness, peace, and prosperity if his appetite for glory 
 had not been tempted by the spectacle of France, torn by 
 faction and apparently an easy prey. Therefore, though 
 himself a man of temperate life, he sent forth murder and 
 rape to work for him, and persecuted those who taught new 
 doctrines which, albeit true, opposed his wishes. He can 
 now have no hope of escape from punishment until the 
 whole human race is as happy as the French were by him 
 rendered wretched, until it forms "one brotherhood, one 
 universal family of love." 
 
 Such principles could not be made the sole basis of the 
 action of the poem, but they could be enforced by many 
 such prophetic strains looking forward to the poet's own 
 day. Thus he refers to Brissot and Madame Roland as 
 martyred patriots who have sowed by toil and manured by 
 blood a mighty tree beneath which the sons of men here- 
 after will pitch their tents in amity.^ Or he alludes to the 
 Bastille as a hell-house of France before the sublime, 
 almighty people dashed the iron rod from their tyrant's 
 hand. 2 In the bolder tones of a funeral speech by Joan 
 over the dead on the field of Patay, Southey brings home 
 the application of all this to England by making his heroine 
 pray to the God of peace and love to forgive the blood- 
 guilty men who came to desolate France and compel its 
 people to bow the knee before a tyrant, and by making 
 1 Bk. Ill, 70-82. 2 Bk. IX, 28-31. 
 
106 THE EARLY LIFE OF ROBERT SOUTHEY 
 
 her prophesy that England's chiefs will drain their people's 
 blood and wealth in vain if they attempt to force by arms 
 the yoke of slavery upon France, who wall repel the mer- 
 cenary thousands sent upon her and blast the despots with 
 the thunderbolt of vengeance.^ Finally, the concluding 
 scene of the poem consists of a warning and a prophecy 
 to the king of France. Let him remember to be a friend 
 to the weak and lowly; let him not shroud himseK in his 
 robes of royalty when hunger is abroad in the land ; let him 
 protect his people; he will then be heaven's true representa- 
 tive, and never need hireling guards fleshed in slaughter to 
 fight in vain defense of a tottering, blood-cemented throne. 
 If he should fail to follow her advice, may God be merciful 
 to him when the spirits of the murdered innocent cry out 
 for justice! The poet concludes the whole work with a last 
 fling at England; the maid has redeemed her country, and 
 the hope is uttered that the arms of '^fkeedom" may 
 always meet with such success.^ 
 
 For his conception of Joan as an heroic figure in a strug- 
 gle for popular liberty, Southey was not indebted to any 
 previous treatment of the story. Chapelain's La Pucelle 
 (1656) did, indeed, attempt to treat Joan seriously, but 
 could hardly be so read. Southey knew ^ of the existence 
 of this poem from Boileau at the time of the composition 
 of his own work, but was unable to obtain a copy of it 
 until the publication of his second edition (1798). At that 
 time, with his passion for giving information, he printed 
 an analysis of Chapelain's work which, he there says, 
 ''comprises all the beauties, and most of the absurdities of 
 twelve thousand lines. I believe no person less interested 
 than myself in the story could persevere through it." As 
 for the ribald burlesque that Voltaire produced after Chape- 
 lain, Southey had now long since passed out of the mood 
 
 1 Bk. X, 115-131. 3 Joan of Arc, 1796, Preface. 
 
 2 Bk. X, 728-748. 
 
OXFORD — POETRY — EDITH FRICKER 107 
 
 in which he could take the cynic sympathetically, and he 
 wrote/ ^'I have never been guilty of reading the Pucelle 
 of Voltaire." These words were not printed, however, until 
 the second edition, for the benevolent Cottle could not 
 speak harshly even of a dead Voltaire, and altered the 
 statement in the preface of the first edition to ''The Pucelle 
 of Voltaire I have not read." Southey's uispiration and 
 model were really to be found in Leonidas, and, we should 
 add, Lucan's Pharsalia,'^ a great favorite with all the young 
 romantic revolutionists. 
 
 To these influences and to these sentiments must be 
 added others more far-reaching. Joan is the champion of 
 popular liberty only because she has grown up in the free- 
 dom of nature. For this notion, of course, Southey was 
 indebted not only to revolutionary theories sweeping in 
 upon him from all sides, but also to that ''head-full" of 
 Rousseau which he got at school. Yet references to Rous- 
 seau in his extant letters are few and, except in one or two 
 cases, never specific. It was rather the poet Akenside ^ to 
 whom he acknowledged a direct obligation for the prin- 
 ciples that had imbued his youthful mind. This almost 
 forgotten writer bears a striking relation to all the romantic 
 nature-poets which betrays much concerning the origin of 
 their ideas. Akenside attempted the impossible task, in 
 which Pope had already failed, of building poetry out of 
 the thin notions of Deism before Deism was more than the 
 a priori theology and shallow optimism of Bolingbroke 
 and Shaftesbury. The poetic problem was to provide their 
 doctrine of a vague, all-powerful, beneficent deity with 
 images as concrete as the dramatic mythology of the Chris- 
 tian trinity, saviour, devil, and judgment day. Akenside, 
 always theoretical and never apprehending religion by faith, 
 flounders badly, but strikes out the main lines that later 
 
 1 Ufe, I, 283. 2 Bk. II, 266-272. 
 
 ' WorkSf Preface. 
 
108 THE EARLY LIFE OF ROBERT SOUTHEY 
 
 poets of natural religion were to follow. Through nature 
 the deistic god makes men good, and through nature he 
 manifests himself. Akenside conveys all this by an adapta- 
 tion to his needs of the classical mythology, as in the Hymn 
 to the Naiads, or by the new mythology of personifications 
 in Pleasures of Imagination. The theme of the latter poem 
 is in crude form that theory of the poetic function later 
 elaborated by Coleridge and Wordsworth minus the notions 
 about using the language of the middle and lower classes 
 of society. The imagination, according to Akenside, is the 
 faculty by which man perceives and reveals the divine, — 
 or the good, the true, and the beautiful, — as it exists only 
 in nature. Consistently with his theories, he has much to 
 say in addition about liberty and the rights of man, but his 
 theories were never sufficiently fused within him by passion 
 to make him a poet. Deism ran off by other channels to 
 France, and there became the religion of popular revolution. 
 When it returned flaming to England, ardent spirits like 
 Southey and Coleridge, welcoming it, rejoiced to find their 
 hopes already expressed in Akenside, to whom they fre- 
 quently refer,^ and plunged at once to the enterprise so 
 coldly attempted by the older writer of representing the 
 religion of nature poetically. The artistic problem was still 
 the same, — to find an imagery that would make their 
 religion concrete, — and the same solutions were tried. For 
 Akenside's warmed-over classical mythology Southey merely 
 substituted history in Joan and nonclassical mythology in 
 later poems, and like Wordsworth, fused most, but, like 
 Wordsworth again, not all of Akenside's demi-deities of per- 
 sonification into the grand personification of Nature. If 
 Southey failed to become a great poet, it was in part due 
 
 1 The mottoes prefixed to Southey's Poems, 1797, to Coleridge's 
 Moral and Political Lecture, 1795, and to Coleridge's Religious Musings, 
 as it appeared in the 1796, 1797, and 1803 editions of the author's 
 poems, were all drawn from Akenside. 
 
OXFORD — POETRY — EDITH FRICKER 109 
 
 to the fact that revolutionary Deism lacked roots and body 
 for great epic, and found its final expression only in the 
 lyric of Wordsworth. 
 
 With Akenside as an authority, therefore, the poet makes 
 Joan owe all her power to the fact that she has been edu- 
 cated by nature to be natural, or in other words, good, and 
 that good is naturally omnipotent; consequently she has 
 but to confront the wicked, unnatural English in order to 
 drive them pell-mell into annihilation. The weakness of 
 this faith was, of course, the weakness of the poem; there 
 can be no struggle, because one party is invincible, the other 
 unhuman, and neither is interesting. In describing the 
 education of Joan, then, Southey accepts whole-heartedly 
 the theory that in the blest era of the infant world, ''ere 
 man had learnt to bow the knee to man," love and happi- 
 ness had gone hand in hand.^ Honesty then reigned; vice 
 had not yet appeared; gold, and hence avarice, had not 
 yet been discovered; the worship of justice had not yet 
 given way to the worship of wealth and power; only when 
 that occurred did oppression and poverty, parents of misery, 
 appear. Nevertheless this decay was ordained by the "All- 
 Wise" for the best, for man would thereby learn to regain 
 and keep by means of wisdom that state of bliss which he 
 had lost through ignorance. For Joan, the lucky circum- 
 stances of her education insured this happy state so far as 
 it could be attained in her own experience. Her parents 
 had been driven by the English from Harfleur, her mother 
 was dead, she was left alone as a child beside her father's 
 body in a forest, and there a holy hermit with the educa- 
 tional principles of Rousseau had found her and brought 
 her up. Her infancy was spent in the forest. The hermit 
 taught her to pray to an all-gracious God as her creator and 
 preserver, taught her also in seraphic rapture to behold God 
 in the works of nature about them. 
 1 Bk. II, 266-272. 
 
no THE EARLY LIFE OF ROBERT SOUTHEY 
 
 The faith which Joan thus learned she also learned to 
 preach, for when she is examined by the priests^ endeav- 
 oring to determine her divine inspiration, and is asked 
 whether she has duly attended divine confessional, her reply 
 is unhesitating. To be sure she admits that she knows not 
 the abstruse points of nice religion, the subtle and narrow 
 bounds of orthodoxy, but condenms all forms of devotion, 
 chaunted mass, altar and robe, wafer and cup, priest-created 
 Gods, storied panes, trophied pillars, the imaged cross. 
 These things have waked in her no artificial awe. But she 
 has beheld the eternal energy pervading the boundless 
 range of nature; morning and evening her soul has been 
 called forth to devotion by the sun and flowers. The 
 priests reply that nature is sinful, but she flouts the sug- 
 gestion. Nature cannot teach sin; nature is all benevo- 
 lence, all love, all beauty. Only if it be sin to bind the 
 wounds of the lamb and bathe them in tears, has nature 
 taught sin, for this is what nature has taught her to do. 
 Suggestions to the contrary are blasphemous. There is no 
 vice in the greenwood, no misery, no hunger, such as will 
 one day plead with damning eloquence against the rulers 
 of society. 
 
 In the second edition of the poem (1798) Southey made 
 still further use of the teachings of the romantic thinkers. 
 He there attempted to eliminate from his narrative all the 
 miraculous elements included in the earlier form. Where 
 an angel comes, therefore, in the flrst edition, to inspire 
 Joan with her lofty mission, in the later version her inspira- 
 tion more consistently rises from nature through a romantic 
 reverie or trance. There is a lonely spring called the foun- 
 tain of the fairies. It is deep in the forest, with no sound 
 except of the passing wind or murmuring stream. Here 
 Joan's soul may enjoy solitude, freedom, holy quiet, and 
 escape from human kind. While sitting in this place one 
 1 Bk. Ill, passim. 
 
OXFORD — POETRY — EDITH FRICKER 111 
 
 night she is enveloped in a storm and filled with the glory 
 of tempest, thunder and lightning, so that all thought is 
 annihilated in her, her powers suspended, and she herself 
 ''diffused into the scene." In this state it occurs to her 
 to save France. Such was the romantic machinery of the 
 natural supernatural.^ 
 
 Before leaving the discussion of Joan of Arc, it must be 
 noted that the choice of a female hero by the young poet 
 was no accident, though of feminine characteristics she dis- 
 plays none. But among Southey's sympathies for the 
 oppressed was the sympathy for the lot of woman. The 
 Inscription for a Tablet at Godstow Nunnery ^ in memory of 
 Rosamund gave some indication of this, and it is signallized 
 still more by the composition, during this very visit at 
 Brixton Causeway, of The Triumph of Woman ^ with a dedi- 
 cation to Mary WoUstonecraft which coupled her name with 
 that of Joan, Madame Roland, and Charlotte Corday. 
 The poem itself was simply a variant upon the same theme 
 and situation as the epic just composed. 
 
 The poetical qualities of Joan of Arc are easy to dis- 
 tinguish. They are a faithful reflection of the qualities of 
 Southey himself. The poem has vigor, but coupled with a 
 certain stridency, an unstoical lack of restraint. At best, 
 it has the qualities of good rhetorical declamation and clear 
 narrative, but it is too hurried, in spite of being also too 
 long, to achieve beauty of phrase or rhythm. The blank 
 verse, indeed, is scarcely distinguishable as such; it never 
 sings, yet it shows promise of developing into swift and 
 lucid prose. Contrary to expectation, the poem as a whole 
 is not dull so much as thin, and sharp with the sharpness 
 of unripe fruit. All these are qualities rising naturally from 
 the character of the young author. He was a lean, grey- 
 hound creature with hawk-like head, and the quick inten- 
 
 1 Joan of Arc, 1798, Bk. I, 127-129. 2 Poems, 1797. 
 
 3 Poems, 1797; Works, 98. The dedication is dated 1795. 
 
112 THE EARLY LIFE OF ROBERT SOUTHEY 
 
 sity of an animal highly bred for speed. His passion for 
 headlong expression and for committing himself conspicu- 
 ously, his constitutional incapacity for patience, — which is 
 a different thing from persistence or fortitude, — are all here 
 displayed. The character of Joan herself is a projection of 
 Southey. Her self-confidence, her self-assertiveness, her 
 lack of humility, her vehemence, her voluble preachiness, 
 her unrestrained impulse to be doing, — these are the traits 
 of an eager, overstimulated, unreflecting boy, and such a 
 boy Southey was when he wrote himself into his poem; 
 unreflecting, for the whirl of romantic and revolutionary 
 ideas came to him, not as things to be apprehended and 
 weighed by the intelligence, but as impulses to be caught 
 by the emotion. What Southey had as boy and man were 
 not so much opinions and judgments, as sympathies and 
 antipathies. Hence he contributed nothing to the revolu- 
 tionary notions he had received except immediate, vigorous, 
 copious expression in words and also in actions. We are 
 interested in Joan of Arc, therefore, as the first full mani- 
 festation of Southey's personality, and as a sharp delinea- 
 tion of the rising current of the age in which he lived. The 
 latter consideration gave the poem a contemporary reputa- 
 tion of an obvious nature which inevitably and rapidly 
 faded. 
 
 In October the long visit with Bedford came to an end, 
 and the author of Joan of Arc returned to his aunt's house 
 in Bristol. From that place we find him writing on the 
 26th in great perturbation over the delay of the baggage 
 containing his clothes and, far more momentous, his manu- 
 script. He did not keep the following term at Oxford, but 
 remained at home still reading and writing 'Hill my eyes 
 ache." For his failure to return to the university at this 
 time his son and biographer can assign no reason, but 
 
OXFORD — POETRY — EDITH FRICKER 113 
 
 reasons there were, weighty and not far to seek. At least 
 two circumstances might well give him pause before he 
 continued in his Oxford course. In the first place, opinions 
 such as were expressed in Joan of Arc were not expected of 
 an Oxford graduate, a fact which he well knew; ''What is 
 to become of me at ordination heaven only knows! After 
 keeping the straight path so long the Test Act will be a 
 stumbling-block to honesty." In the second place, he was 
 now busy falling in love with Edith Fricker, an occupation 
 highly incompatible with the prospects of a candidate for 
 an Oxford fellowship. It is not strange, therefore, that we 
 find the young man remaining at Bristol during the autumn 
 of 1793 in a great quandary concerning his own and the 
 world's affairs. 
 
 That his engagement to Edith Fricker was not the result 
 of worldly prudence goes without saying. Old acquaint- 
 ance, the excitement under which he was laboring, these 
 supplied occasion for the attachment, but the ardor of 
 Southey's personal devotion to the woman he afterwards 
 married was much greater, and lasted longer into the settled 
 years of wedlock, than his published letters^ indicate. 
 Nevertheless there is probably a reference to the young 
 man's state of mind at this time in a letter written years 
 afterward in 1832 touching upon Mary Colling, the maid- 
 servant, pet, and poetess of Mrs. Bray. Southey expresses 
 a fear lest ''someone with as much romance in his heart 
 and head as there was in mine when I began life as a poet 
 should fall in love with that sweet countenance of hers, and 
 this should end in a marriage." ^ 
 
 1 I am indebted to the Rev. Maurice H. FitzGerald for the infor- 
 mation that letters of Southey to his first wife, now in the possession 
 of Miss Warter but not available for publication, are those of a lover, 
 full of affectionate inquiry and regret at not hearing from her suflfi- 
 ciently often, and repeating what a difference marriage has made to 
 his whole life. 
 
 2 Correspondence with Caroline Bowles, 243. 
 
114 THE EARLY LIFE OF ROBERT SOUTHEY 
 
 End in a marriage, he was bound it should in 1793, and 
 hence more difficulties arose. Upon entering Balliol he had 
 said, ^'If I can one day have the honour of writing after 
 my name Fellow of Balliol College, that will be the extent 
 of my preferment." Such preferment, however, now that 
 he wanted a wife, became insufficient to his hopes. In his 
 Letters of Don Manuel Alvarez Espriella he gives an interest- 
 ing summing up of the practical objections to the system 
 of clerical promotion then in vogue at the university. By 
 successful study a young man might expect to obtain a 
 fellowship. After that he would become eligible in the 
 order of seniority to one of the benefices of the college, but 
 he must not in the meantime marry, on pain of losing his 
 place. If his affections were already engaged, his condition 
 seemed to Southey pitiable. He would spend his years 
 enviously waiting for his elders to die, while the woman 
 wore away her youth in dependent expectation; ''and they 
 meet at last, if they live to meet, not until the fall of the 
 leaf." 1 
 
 Southey's perplexities under the circumstances were not 
 lessened by the worldly state of the family ^ with which he 
 planned to ally himself. In social position the Frickers 
 were members of the same class of yeomen, small profes- 
 sional and trades people to which he himself belonged and 
 which was, if anjrthing, superior to that of Coleridge, but 
 they were also very poor. Stephen Fricker had begun life 
 with some means derived from inheritance and from his 
 wife, and was thus enabled to engage in business and to 
 give his children advantages of comfort and education. 
 According to Cuthbert Southey, he had at one time carried 
 on the manufacture of sugar-pans at Westbury, but the 
 
 1 Espriella, Letter XLVL 
 
 2 Byron, Works, Poetry, VI, 175 note by E. H. Coleridge; Letters, VI 
 112-113 note by R. W. Prothero : Memoir of Sara Coleridge, I, 9-12. For 
 further information concerning the Frickers I am indebted to the kind- 
 ness of Mr. E. H. Coleridge. 
 
OXFORD — POETRY — EDITH FRICKER 115 
 
 war of the American Revolution put an end to this enter- 
 prise. He became subsequently an innkeeper and a potter 
 in Bristol, but migrated to Bath, where, during the last 
 six years of his life, he owned and managed a coal-wharf. 
 He appears to have been a man of high character, but he 
 was betrayed by subordinates and died bankrupt about 
 1786. His widow and six ungrown children, unused to 
 poverty, were left penniless. What happened to them 
 during the next eight years is somewhat uncertain. They 
 returned to Bristol, and there Mrs. Fricker opened a school, 
 assisted in some way by her two younger daughters, Martha 
 and Elizabeth, then small children. Of the three older 
 girls, Mary became for a time an actress, and married 
 Robert Lovell in 1794. Edith and Sarah earned money by 
 work of some sort in the houses of friends; they may even 
 have been apprenticed to a milliner, but it would appear that 
 they were not, as Byron said, ''milliners of Bath" at the 
 time of their marriage. Each of the three possessed beauty, 
 Edith particularly being said to have had "a fine figure and 
 quietly commanding air," and for women of their time and 
 class, sufficient education and refinement to make them 
 suitable wives for the men they married. When nearly 
 ninety Mary was still keeping up her Latin by reading 
 Horace and her French by reading Madame de Stael. 
 Sarah wrote tolerable verse, though not that published as 
 hers by her husband, and she taught her daughter Italian. 
 Edith probably received the same education as her sisters, 
 but her later life gives less evidence of bookish tastes; she 
 appears, indeed, to have taken almost no share in her 
 husband's intellectual activity.^ Her character was one of 
 unstinting devotion to those she loved, fortitude in afflic- 
 
 ^ It is probably not safe to trust Coleridge's opinion upon such a 
 matter without reservation, but he was frequently just as well as keen 
 in his analysis of character. In the Forster Library in the South Ken- 
 sington Museum there is preserved a fragment of a letter, unsigned and 
 
116 THE EARLY LIFE OF ROBERT SOUTHEY 
 
 tion, and a capacity for shrewd management in household 
 affairs which she had but too abundant opportunity in 
 youth to learn and as the poet's wife to practice. Unfor- 
 tunately she also manifested a tendency to depression ^ of 
 spirits which frequently saddened her life for her, and 
 clouded her last days with melancholia. 
 
 Our impression of all the Frickers, finally, is probably to 
 be completed by the description given by Sarah's daughter, 
 Sara Coleridge, of her mother's younger sisters, Martha and 
 Ehzabeth. 
 
 "Without talent, except of an ordinary kind, without powerful con- 
 nections, by lifelong perseverance, fortitude, and determination, by 
 prudence, patience, and punctuality, they not only maintained 
 themselves, but, with a little aid from kind friends, whom their 
 merits won, they laid by a comfortable competency for their old 
 age. They asked few favours, accepted few obligations, and were 
 most scrupulous in returning such as they did accept, as soon as 
 possible. They united caution and discretion with perfect honesty 
 and truth, strict frugality and seK-control, with the disposition to 
 be kind and charitable, and even liberal, as soon as ever it was in 
 
 undated but in Coleridge's hand, dealing with marriage, "a subject so 
 full of regretful anguish to me." "[Mrs. Southey] loves her husband 
 almost too exclusively, and has a great constancy of affection, such 
 as it is. But she sjnnpathizes with nothing, she enters into none of his 
 peculiar pursuits — she only loves him; she is therefore a respectable 
 wife, but not a companion. Dreary, dreary would be the Hours 
 passed with her. Amusement, and all the detail of whatever cheers 
 or supports the spirits, must be sought elsewhere. Southey finds them 
 in unceasing authorship, never interrupted from morning to night but 
 by sleep and eating." To this may be added Shelley's statement 
 (Jan. 2, 1812) that Mrs. Southey "is very stupid; Mrs. Coleridge 
 worse. Mrs, Lovell, who was once an actress, is the best of them." 
 Letters of Percy Bysshe Shelley, edited by R. Ingpen, I, 209. 
 
 ^ UnpubHshed letters of Southey's in the possession of Miss Warter, 
 written in December 1801 and February 1802, refer to the "miserable 
 depression," "beyond anything you can imagine bad," from which 
 Edith had then recently been suffering. 
 
OXFORD — POETRY — EDITH FRICKER 117 
 
 their power. Their chief faults were pride and irritability of 
 temper." 
 
 It is plain that Southey's early intimacy with the Fricker 
 family now ripened into love for Edith. His sense of honor, 
 to be sure, kept him from plighting his troth mitil the 
 following summer,^ but Cuthbert Southey states that in 
 August, 1794, his father had been for some time engaged,^ 
 and certainly the two young people must have then long 
 known how their hearts stood. Through the Frickers 
 Southey met Robert Lovell, and as early as December, 1793, 
 wrote a letter of introduction for him to present to Bedford 
 in London. In this the poet says that Lovell's ''intended 
 bride I look upon almost as a sister, and one should know 
 one's brother-in-law." 
 
 Such were the circumstances that kept Southey at Bristol 
 and away from Oxford in the fall of 1793. He was not, he 
 thought, ambitious; all that he asked for in the letters and in 
 the sonnets and other verses upon love and Edith which he 
 wrote in great numbers during these months was that he 
 might shun the crowd and retire to the solitude of nature 
 with his wife. Yet even retirement required funds, and he 
 felt compelled to cast about for some honorable way of 
 establishing himself in a gentlemanly calling other than the 
 church. When he returned to Oxford in January, there- 
 fore, it was at first with the intention of studying medicine 
 rather than divinity. Consequently, during the next six 
 months he went through a course of anatomy, and read 
 some medical books. But his heart was in literature, and 
 his sensibilities could not endure the dissecting room; he 
 learned enough to be able to kill men correctly in Joan of 
 Arc, and to render himself miserable in after life without 
 avail when his children fell ill.^ Medicine abandoned, he 
 tried to realize something upon his hopes for part of the 
 
 1 Warter, I, 42. 2 j^ijq^ j^ 2I6. 
 
 3 Correspondence with Caroline Bowles, 101. 
 
118 THE EARLY LIFE OF ROBERT SOUTHEY 
 
 fortune of a grand-uncle upon his father's side who had 
 married an heiress of the Cannon family. This couple's son 
 had left an obscure will entailing upon the Southey line a 
 certain estate, to which the young poet expected eventually 
 to succeed, but Lord Somerville, the incumbent at this 
 time, so managed that his distant cousin ultimately fell heir 
 to nothing but a chancery suit. It was the reversion to 
 this inheritance which Southey now tried to sell. The effort 
 was vain, and he attempted, instead, through Wynn and 
 Bedford, to obtain some official position at London. In 
 this he promptly desisted when reminded that his well- 
 known political principles would not commend him to the 
 favor of government; ''My opinions are very well known. 
 I would have them so; Nature never meant me for a nega- 
 tive character; I can neither be good nor bad, happy nor 
 miserable, by halves. You know me to be neither captious 
 nor quarrelsome, yet I doubt whether the quiet harmless 
 situation I hoped for were proper for me: it certainly, by 
 imposing a prudential silence, would have sullied my in- 
 tegrity." (June 25, 1794.) Authorship was the one sure 
 possibility, but even for this some independent provision 
 was needed. The natural accompaniment of such a situa- 
 tion for a lad of nineteen was, of course, ill humor with the 
 world, and he railed at not having been trained up to be a 
 carpenter instead of being devoted to pursuits useless and 
 unimportant. ''Every day do I repine at the education 
 that taught me to handle a lexicon instead of a hammer, 
 and destined me for one of the drones of society." Suiting 
 practice to theory, Southey one night spent three hours 
 with Shad, his aunt's servant, "cleaving an immense wedge 
 of old oaken timber without axe, hatchet, or wedges; the 
 chopper was one instrument, one piece of wood wedged 
 another, and a third made the hammer. Shad liked it as 
 well as myself, so we finished the job and fatigued our- 
 selves." (Dec. 22, 1793). Nineteen years he has lived and 
 
OXFORD — POETRY — EDITH FRICKER 119 
 
 been of no service to mankind. ''Why, the clown who 
 scares crows for twopence a day is a more useful member 
 of society; he preserves the bread which I eat in idleness.'^ 
 Yet the real trouble was with the world, not with himself. 
 ''The more I see of this strange world, the more I am con- 
 vinced that society requires desperate remedies. The 
 friends I have . . . are many of them struggling with 
 obstacles, which never could happen were man what nature 
 intended him." 
 
 This dejection was not rendered less meanwhile by the 
 application of remedies to society in France, remedies grown 
 desperate indeed. Upon the execution of the French queen 
 (Oct. 16, 1793) Bedford wrote, using this bloody deed as 
 the occasion for a reproof to his friend's republicanism, and 
 the latter, though not surrendering his political faith, re- 
 plied warmly that to suppose that he felt otherwise than 
 grieved and indignant at the fate of the unfortunate queen 
 was to suppose him a brute, and to request an avowal of 
 his feelings was to imply that he had none. "You seemed 
 glad, when arguments against the system of republicanism 
 had failed, to grasp at the crimes of wretches who call 
 themselves republicans, and stir up my feelings against my 
 judgment. '^ At the same time (Oct. 30, 1793) he wrote 
 to another friend that he was sick of the world and every- 
 one in it. The execution of Brissot (October, 1793) and of 
 the other Girondists so harrowed up his feelings that he 
 could not sleep,^ and he was thereby driven to believe that 
 virtue could aspire to content, happiness being out of the 
 question, only in obscurity. Everywhere the strong tyran- 
 nized over the weak, and depravity was to be seen upon 
 all hands. The only difference between nations was that 
 in Turkey the agent of tyranny and corruption was a 
 "grand seignor," in France a revolutionary tribunal, and in 
 England a prime minister. 
 
 1 Life, VI, 356, Dec. 1837. 
 
120 THE EARLY LIFE OF ROBERT SOUTHEY 
 
 In a society so bad as this, what should a penniless young 
 philosopher-republican do who was twenty years old and 
 wanted to get married? Perhaps it was Rousseau who had 
 suggested to him that he should repine at not having been 
 reared a carpenter, and perhaps Rousseau also suggested 
 a remedy for the present situation. This was, briefly, to 
 run away from it. ''O for emancipation," Southey writes 
 (May 11, 1794) when he should have been composing a 
 college declamation, ^'from these useless forms, this useless 
 life, these haunts of intolerance, vice, and folly!" Eman- 
 cipation, moreover, was now rapidly coming to mean for 
 Southey emigration. ''It is not the sally of a momentary 
 fancy that says this; either in six months I fix myself in 
 some honest way of living, or I quit my country, my friends, 
 and every fondest hope I indulge, forever." (May, 1794.) 
 ''The visions of futurity are dark and gloomy, and the only 
 ray that enlivens the scene beams on America." (Dec. 22, 
 1793.) 
 
 This thought of fleeing to the new world had not been 
 suggested by Rousseau alone. Immediately upon his return 
 to Bristol in October, Southey had gone back to the perusal 
 of his philosophers. He refers to Plato, and recounts the 
 story of Plotinus's project for an ideal commonwealth. 
 Plotinus requested the emperor, Gallienus, to "give him a 
 ruined city of Campania, which he might rebuild and people 
 with philosophers, governed by the laws of Plato, and from 
 whom the city should be called Platonopolis. . . . The 
 design," says Southey, "would certainly have proved im- 
 practicable in that declining and degenerate age — most 
 probably in any age. . . . Yet I cannot help wishing the 
 experiment had been tried; it could not have been pro- 
 ductive of evil, and we might at this period have received 
 instruction from the history of Platonopolis. ... I could 
 rhapsodize most delightfully upon this subject; plan out 
 my city — all simplex munditiis.^' (Oct. 26, 1793.) This 
 
OXFORD — POETRY — EDITH FRICKER 121 
 
 idea became at once a favorite subject for meditation and 
 letter-writing. He began speculating as to where one might 
 locate such a city, and immediately planned for the culti- 
 vation in its shelter of learning and poetry. 
 ''If this world," he wrote to Horace Bedford, "did but contain 
 ten thousand people of both sexes, visionary as myself, how de- 
 lightful would we re-people Greece, and turn out the Moslem. 
 I would tiKn crusader and make a pilgrimage to Parnassus at the 
 head of my repubUcans (N. B. only lawful head), and there rein- 
 state the Muses in their original splendour. We would build a 
 temple to Eleutherian Jove from the quarries of Paros — replant 
 the grove of Academus; aye, and the garden of Epiciuus, where 
 yoiu brother and I would connnence teachers; yes, your brother, 
 for if he would not comb out the powder and fling away the poul- 
 tice to embark in such an expedition, he deserves to be made a 
 German elector or a West India planter. . . . Now could I lay 
 down my whole plan — build my house in the prettiest Doric 
 style — plant out the garden like Wolmer's, and imagine just such 
 a family to walk in it. ..." (Nov. 13, 1793.) 
 
 At the same time Southey came upon a suggestion which 
 made him speak in soberer terms of his dream. In the 
 new world, it might be, perhaps, no dream at all. 
 
 "It was the favourite intention of Cowley to retire with books to 
 a cottage in America, and seek that happiness in sohtude which 
 he could not find in society. My asylum there would be sought 
 for different reasons (and no prospect in life gives me half the pleas- 
 ure this visionary one affords); I should be pleased to reside in a 
 country where men's abilities would ensure respect; where society 
 was upon a proper footing, and man was considered as more valu- 
 able than money; and where I could till the earth, and provide by 
 honest industry the meat which my wife would dress with pleasing 
 care. ..." 
 
 For further encouragement and even practical suggestion, 
 the poet had not far to go. It is needless to dwell in detail 
 upon the passions and events that in 1793 were turning the 
 
122 THE EARLY LIFE OF ROBERT SOUTHEY 
 
 eyes of young men upon America, and their wits upon 
 constitution-mongering. Certain books in particular, how- 
 ever, should be mentioned for their influence upon these 
 dreams of Southey's. The register of the Bristol Library 
 Society has fortunately been unearthed ^ and preserves some 
 interesting evidence concerning the young man's reading at 
 this time. On October 28, 1793, he drew out the second 
 volume of Gillies's History of Greece, apparently the first 
 book that he borrowed from this library. A few days later 
 (November 1) he took Adam Smith's Wealth of Nations,'^ 
 on November 25 Godwin's Political Justice, on November 
 27 Gilpin's Forest Scenery, and on December 9 Political 
 Justice again. It is plain that the latter book made a great 
 impression upon him; ''I read, and all but worshipped."^ 
 There were two reasons for this interest. One was that he 
 found Godwin's subordination of emotion to logic con- 
 sistent with the stoicism by which he was himself already 
 trying to cure the effects of that painful sensibility that 
 had been encouraged in him by Rousseau. The other was 
 that Godwin held out a dazzling picture of political equality 
 in such a form as might well tempt one to experimentation. 
 Or in the words of Coleridge to Godwin himself, ''When he 
 was young [Southey] just looked enough into your books 
 to believe you taught republicanism and stoicism; ergo, 
 that he was of your opinion and you of his, and that was 
 all. Systems of philosophy were never his taste or his 
 forte." ^ The other book that probably contributed to 
 Southey's enthusiasm for a philosophical colony dealt more 
 iromediately with America itself. This was Brissot's Nou- 
 
 1 Books Read by Coleridge and Southey, James Baker in his Literary 
 and Biographical Studies, 1908, 211. 
 
 2 Thomas Poole reports (Sept. 22, 1794) that in August, 1794 Cole- 
 ridge and Southey referred to Adam Smith in expounding pantisocracy. 
 See Mrs. Sandford, Thomas Poole and his Friends, I, 97, 102. 
 
 3 Life, I, 247, October 1, 1795. 
 
 4 Biog. Epis., II, 71-72, March 29, 1811. 
 
OXFORD — POETRY — EDITH FRICKER 123 
 
 veau Voyage dans Les Etats-Unis de UAmerique Septentrio^ 
 nale published in 1791 and translated into English in 1792. 
 That Southey had read this work ^ before Brissot's execution 
 as one of the Girondins at the end of October, 1793, is almost 
 certain, though our belief must be based only on the facts 
 that, among all the revolutionary leaders, Brissot was his 
 particular hero and martyr; that the book was conspicuous 
 at the time of its publication, as is indicated by the long, 
 favorable review of it in The Monthly Review; and finally 
 that Coleridge quoted at length from it in the first of his 
 lectures at Bristol in February, 1795,^ a time when he was 
 still in close association with Southey. Brissot^ had for sev- 
 eral years been actively interested in America. He had hotly 
 
 ^ There is no definite evidence that Southey at this time read any 
 of the fairly numerous works about America that were then beginning 
 to appear, but he may have seen the following books, or more probably, 
 he may have seen them reviewed in the Monthly or other reviews. 
 
 Letters from an American Farmer; describing certain provincial situa- 
 tions, manners, and customs, not generally known; and conveying some 
 idea of the late and present interior circumstances of the British Colonies 
 in North America ... by J. Hector St. John [Crevecoeur], London, 
 1782; several later editions and translations. 
 
 A Topographical Description of the Western Territory of North America; 
 containing a Succinct Account of the Climate, Natural History, Popula- 
 tion, Agriculture, Manners and Customs ... by G. Imlay . . . 1792. 
 This book cautions settlers from going to America with romantic hopes 
 of happiness. 
 
 An account of the Progress of Population, Agriculture, Manners, 
 and Government in Pennsylvania in a letter from Benjamin Rush, M.D., 
 and Professor of Medicine in the University of Pennsylvania,^ to Thomas 
 Perdval, M.D.F.R.S., etc., 1792, 2d ed, 1793. This book gives an 
 interesting description of the best method for settling in the new 
 country. 
 
 Travels through North and South Carolina, Georgia, East and West 
 Florida . . . 1792, 2d ed., 1794, by William Bartram. 
 
 2 Coleridge, Essays on his Own Times, ed. by his daughter, Sara 
 Coleridge, 1850, I, 26-27. 
 
 3 Eloise EUery, Brissot de Warville, 1915; Julia Post Mitchell, St. 
 Jean de Crevecoeur, 1916. 
 
124 THE EARLY LIFE OF ROBERT SOUTHEY 
 
 seconded Crevecoeur's defense of the Quakers and attack 
 on negro slavery. He had subsequently joined Crevecoeur 
 and the banker Claviere in founding a ''Gallo-Americaine'* 
 society, and he had collaborated with Claviere in the pub- 
 lication of a book the purpose of which was to encourage 
 closer relations between France and the United States. ^ 
 The attitude of these men towards republican ideas was 
 romantically enthusiastic, and in 1788 Claviere, together 
 with two other men of wealth, arranged to send Brissot to 
 America to investigate the opportunities in the new country 
 for Frenchmen who might wish to invest money there, to 
 emigrate thither from France, or even to establish some- 
 where in the regions then open for new settlements a 
 Utopian colony of democratic reformers and philosophers. 
 These hopes and the accompanying theories were summed 
 up by Claviere in the letters of instruction supposedly given 
 by him to Brissot before the latter's setting out, and printed 
 as the introduction to his account of his observations in the 
 new country published on his return. Brissot landed in 
 Boston in July, 1788, with decided prepossessions. The best 
 government was, he felt sure, the least; the least govern- 
 ment was a republic; a republic was bound to succeed so 
 long as the people were virtuous; the people would remain 
 virtuous so long as they remained uncorrupted by wealth 
 and great cities. All this was confirmed in Brissot' s mind 
 by his journey through Massachusetts, Connecticut, New 
 York, Pennsylvania, Maryland, and Virginia. The Ameri- 
 cans were mainly engaged in agriculture, they were virtu- 
 ous, and they had a republic. Brissot was so enamored 
 
 1 De La France et des Etats-Unis, ou de V importance de la Revolu- 
 tion d'Amerique pour le honheur de la France, . . . par Etienne Claviere 
 et. J. P. Brissot de Warville, Londres, 1787; re-impriin^ en 1791 au 
 t. Ill du Nouveau Voyage dans Les Etats-Unis de VAmerique Sep- 
 tentrionale, fait en 1788; par J. P. Brissot (Warville) Citoyen Frangois, 
 Paris, 1791: trans, into English, London, 1792, 1794, Month. Rev., v. 
 6 n.s., 531. 
 
OXFORD — POETRY — EDITH FRICKER 125 
 
 of all this that he planned to settle with his wife in Penn- 
 sylvania, and sent for his brother-in-law to join him there, 
 but in less than a year, upon news of the calling of the 
 States General, he returned to France. Though all his 
 schemes for emigration were then submerged in the flood 
 of the revolution, the book in which he depicted them so 
 ardently probably added not a little to the confidence and 
 enthusiasm of Southey, possessed of dreams of his own only 
 a little, if at all, more impracticable. 
 
 Escape to America, therefore, as all other solutions for 
 his practical problems failed, became indeed an alternative 
 for the young man to consider, and he considered it with 
 his customary precipitancy. Yet it is refreshing to note 
 that the sanity of the man permitted him to laugh a little 
 at his own imaginings. 
 
 "Now . . . fancy only me in America;" he writes to Bedford 
 (Dec. 14, 1793), "imagine my ground uncultivated since the crea- 
 tion, and see me wielding the axe, now to cut down the tree, and 
 now the snakes that nestled in it. Then see me grubbing up the 
 roots, and building a nice snug little dairy with them: three rooms 
 in my cottage, and my only companion some poor negro whom I 
 have bought on purpose to emancipate. After a hard day's toil, 
 see me sleep upon rushes, and, in very bad weather, take out my 
 casette and write to you. ... Do not imagine I shall leave rhym- 
 ing or philosophizing, so thus your friend will realize the romance 
 of Cowley, and even outdo the seclusion of Rousseau; till at last 
 comes an ill-looking Indian with a tomahawk, and scalps me, — a 
 most melancholy proof that society is very bad, and that I shall 
 have done very little to improve it! So vanity, vanity will come 
 from my lips, and poor Southey will either be cooked for a Chero- 
 kee, or oysterized by a tiger." 
 
 In such a frame of mind he went back to Balliol to com- 
 mence ^sculapius or to find that means of honest support 
 which was to be the alternative to the church or emigration. 
 He was also to continue writing poetry, dejected odes, 
 
126 THE EARLY LIFE OF ROBERT SOUTHEY 
 
 sonnets to Edith, and inscriptions for previous martyrs to 
 the cause of liberty. Now may very well have been written 
 those lines, later made notorious. For the Apartment in 
 Chepstow-Castle where Henry Marten the Regicide was im^ 
 prisoned Thirty Years: 
 
 "Dost thou ask his crime? 
 He had rebell'd against the King, and sat 
 In judgment on him; for his ardent mind 
 Shap'd goodliest plans of happiaess on earth, 
 And peace and hberty. Wild dreams! But such 
 As PLATO lov'd; such as with holy zeal 
 Our MILTON worshipp'd. Blessed hopes! awhile 
 From man withheld, even to the latter days. 
 When CHRIST shall come and all things be fulfill'd" ^ 
 
 Southey was once more in a perilous state. Without prac- 
 tical experience in any work save writing, he was not 
 without practical sense. He was engaged to be married, 
 but with nothing to marry upon. What he wanted was a 
 means of immediately removing this difficulty. The Church 
 was impossible; nothing else in his native land seemed to 
 offer; emigration to America, an idea adorned in roseate 
 colors by "philosophy," remained to be made feasible. 
 Southey stayed in Bristol possibly until the very end of 
 March, but then back to Oxford he went, imhappy save for 
 love of Edith and of writing, eager for any course, however 
 wild, that promised to put marriage and a life of lettered 
 retirement within his reach. ^ 
 
 1 Poems, 1797. 
 
 2 Baker (see above) reports that Southey drew books regularly 
 from the Bristol Library Society up to March 31, 1794. From that 
 date his name does not appear in the register until July 8, after which 
 it frequently recurs for some time. 
 
CHAPTER III 
 1794-1795 
 
 COLERIDGE — PANTISOCRACY 
 
 The winter of 1794 passed/ and what was to become of 
 Robert Southey remained undecided. Then a young man 
 of twenty-one named Coleridge came to Oxford to visit his 
 old school-fellow, Robert Allen, now of the ''sober society." 
 Coleridge was also in an imsettled state of mind. The 
 metaphysics of the inspired charity boy had naturally led 
 to deistic religion and Foxite politics, by which he soon 
 talked himself into undergraduate notoriety at Cambridge. 
 This had culminated in championship of the Unitarian and 
 republican Frend upon the latter's expulsion from a Jesus 
 fellowship in the spring of 1793, and in the following De- 
 cember, distraught by debt and unhappy love, Coleridge 
 had run off for six months to the dragoons. When he 
 arrived in Oxford about the second week in June, he had 
 just completed the academic penance exacted for that esca- 
 pade, and was headed for a walking trip into Wales with 
 a friend. He was still talking upon his old themes, 
 and naturally Allen introduced him to Southey; just as 
 naturally an intimacy at once sprang up between them. 
 Southey immediately wrote to Bedford, ''Allen is with us 
 daily, and his friend from Cambridge, Coleridge, whose 
 poems you will oblige me by subscribing to . . . He is of 
 most uncommon merit, — of the strongest genius, the clear- 
 
 ^ The main facts of this period of Southey's life are to be found in 
 Life, I, 209-261. 
 
 127 
 
128 THE EARLY LIFE OF ROBERT SOUTHEY 
 
 est judgment, the best heart. My friend he already is, and 
 must hereafter be yours." (June 12, 1794.)^ 
 
 These two new friends soon found several things in com- 
 mon: democracy, deism, poetry, disgust with society, lack 
 of worldly prospects. Southey undoubtedly imparted his 
 dreams of a philosophic colony, and they fell to discussing 
 the principles upon which a group of men like themselves 
 might establish such a community. The relative responsi- 
 bility for the famous scheme that resulted has been some- 
 what obscured 2 by the usual tendency of a great reputation 
 like Coleridge's to absorb the exploits of lesser men, and by 
 the failure of Southey's biographers to state candidly his 
 share in the joint project. The facts are clear. Cuthbert 
 Southey says that the idea was originated by Coleridge and 
 communicated to Southey at this time. This statement is 
 incorrect, being based upon Cottle's garbled version of a 
 letter written to him by Southey in 1836. Cottle's version 
 reads, ''The scheme of Pantisocracy was introduced by them 
 p.e. Coleridge, Hucks, and Allen J talked of, by no means 
 determined on."^ Southey really wrote,^ ''The scheme was 
 talked of, but not by any means determined on." The 
 minds of the two youths were thrilling with like enthusi- 
 asms, and to seek to prove either to be the sole begetter 
 of pantisocracy would be idle. Yet from what we know of 
 the two men both before and after the event, it is easy to 
 see that Southey must have supplied the initial force, and 
 
 ^ Samuel Taylor Coleridge, A Narrative of the Events of his Life, by 
 James Dykes Campbell, 1894, 30. (Referred to as Campbell, Coleridge.) 
 
 2 It has been more correctly stated by A. TurnbuU, the editor of 
 the Biog. Epis., 1, 41-42. But see G. Mc L. Harper, William Words- 
 worth, I, 279. 
 
 3 Reminiscences of Samuel Taylor Coleridge and Robert Southey by 
 Joseph Cottle, New York, 1847 (first edition, London, 1847), 299. 
 The italics are Cottle's. (This work is referred to later as Cottle, 
 Reminiscences.) 
 
 ^ Campbell, Coleridge, 31. 
 
COLERIDGE — PANTISOCRACY 129 
 
 this is confirmed by the description in the Biographia 
 Literaria of the impression made by Southey upon Coleridge 
 at their first meeting. Coleridge states that the influence 
 of his new friend upon him was strong and sudden. This 
 effect was not upon his moral and religious principles, but 
 upon his ''sense of the duty and dignity of making . . . 
 actions accord with these principles, both in word and 
 deed." Some contribution to the principles of pantisocracy, 
 however, Southey must also have made, for we have it 
 upon Coleridge's own authority^ that from Southey he first 
 heard of Political Justice and that solely from the enthu- 
 siasm so suggested, before he had seen the book itself, he 
 had composed his sonnet to the author of that work. 
 Coleridge had run upon one of those straits in his life 
 where the will was hopelessly inadequate to effect a com- 
 promise between vague aspirations and circumstances. 
 The first positive force that would relieve the agony of 
 decision would carry him off upon a new tangent, only to 
 drop him, again despairing, when it had spent itself. So 
 Southey, with that aspiring lift of his head, determination 
 in his eye and eagle face, roused his friend's spirit with 
 high talk of new freedom and a new Utopia, and Coleridge 
 swept these suggestions upon rolling periods into a most 
 comprehensive and philosophic system. An ideal society, 
 in which the evils under which men now suffered were to 
 be eliminated, would be based, he agreed, upon the general 
 democratic principles advocated by Southey, whom he 
 denominated (July 6, 1794) a ''sturdy RepubHcan"^ who 
 "dost make the Adamantine gate of Democracy turn on its 
 golden hinges to most sweet music." In view of these 
 principles the new society was called by him "pantisoc- 
 racy." But this was not all. Property was to be acquired 
 and held in common by the members of the new republic. 
 This system was to be called "aspheterism," and would 
 1 Biog. Epis., II, 70, March 29, 1811. 2 Coleridge, Letters, I, 72. 
 
130 THE EARLY LIFE OF ROBERT SOUTHEY 
 
 abolish selfishness by abolishing its cause. With this idea 
 Coleridge was particularly enamored; Southey accepted 
 it for the time, but it was the first part of the whole scheme 
 to be repudiated by him. As for formulating a plan for 
 immediately carrying their ideas out into practice, that does 
 not appear now to have concerned them except, perhaps, 
 in the merest outlines. These were, briefly, that a com- 
 pany of young men with their wives should set up a demo- 
 cratic community in which each would share with each his 
 labor and the fruits of it, and devote his leisure, of which 
 an abundance might be expected from the absence of selfish- 
 ness, to poetry and philosophy. All other human claims 
 were to be relinquished. Here was a dream for Coleridge 
 to descant most eloquently upon, but Southey was the one 
 with the practical motive for seeing the vision realized, and 
 therefore it fell to him during the next few weeks to devise 
 ways and means. 
 
 At the end of his visit and at the beginning of the long 
 vacation of 1794, Coleridge set out for Wales on a walking 
 trip with a friend named Joseph Hucks,^ who had come 
 with him from Cambridge. Southey and George Burnett 
 accompanied them part of the way, and then turned aside 
 to walk down to their own homes in Bristol and Somerset- 
 shire. During his journey Coleridge wrote long letters^ to 
 his new friend, continuing their discussion and describing 
 some of the experiences of his trip. He preached pantisoc- 
 racy and aspheterism as he went to such effect that wild 
 Welshmen whom he met danced with enthusiasm over his 
 eloquence. ''I have positively done nothing," he says, 
 
 ^ Hucks wrote an account of this tour which I have not examined, 
 A Pedestrian Tour through North Wales in a Series of Letters, London; 
 1795. G. McL. Harper, who has seen it, reports that it contains little 
 with regard to Coleridge, though it expresses democratic and anti- 
 military sentiments, William Wordsworth, 1, 279. 
 
 2 Coleridge, Letters, I, 72-81, July 6 and July 15, 1794. 
 
COLERIDGE — PANTISOCRAC Y 131 
 
 "but dream of the system of no property every step of the 
 way since I left you." One disturbing interruption came, 
 however, and this too he confided to Southey. The chance 
 sight of Mary Evans from the window of an inn brought 
 back the agony of his disappointed passion. "Her image 
 is in the sanctuary of my heart, and never can it be torn 
 away but with the strings that grapple it to life." 
 
 Meanwhile the two other young philosophers were tramp- 
 ing southwards. With the eloquence of his friend a little 
 stilled by separation, though yet ringing in his ears, Southey 
 began to seek in pantisocracy some practicable escape from 
 the difficulties that surrounded him. Now it was, according 
 to his own testimony, that the scheme "was talked into 
 shape by Burnett and myself."^ This statement is con- 
 firmed by one written a few months after the event (Octo- 
 ber 19, 1794); "My aunt abuses poor Lovell most unmerci- 
 fully, and attributes the whole scheme to him; you know 
 it was concerted between Burnett and me." Coleridge's 
 speculative mind had enlarged upon the philosophic basis 
 of a communistic democracy in a way that had stirred 
 Southey's feelings to a high pitch of excitement, and the 
 latter's energetic wits now thought of combining pantisoc- 
 racy with his other vague notion of emigration. The pos- 
 sibility of actually carrying out their ideas in America does 
 not seem to have entered actively into the discussions of 
 the young men up to this point, for it is not mentioned in 
 Coleridge's letters from Wales; it was " aspheterism " that 
 he had been preaching on the road. We have, moreover, 
 Southey's own statement ^ that "the American plan [had] 
 not been formed till after I had left Oxford." That Burnett 
 contributed anything but sympathy and agreement is un- 
 likely. He was an unsteady soul, blown about by gusts of 
 
 ^ Letter to Cottle, March 5, 1836; Cottle, Reminiscences, 299, in 
 garbled form; Campbell, Coleridge, 31, less fully but correctly. 
 2 Feb. 11, 1810, Warter II, 194. 
 
132 THE EARLY LIFE OF ROBERT SOUTHEY 
 
 mistaken pride and back-boneless vanity, much inflated by 
 association with his two brilhant friends. It was Southey who 
 did the "shaping" on this occasion, whoever did the ''talking." 
 
 They arrived at their journey's end,^ Burnett going on a 
 little further into Somersetshire to his own home, and the 
 other taking up his quarters with his mother in Bath. 
 Mrs. Southey appears to have opened a lodging-house in 
 that place shortly after her husband's death. Miss Tyler 
 still lived in the College Green, and in Bristol too lived the 
 Frickers and Robert Lovell, now married to Edith's sister, 
 Mary. Southey, therefore, although his aunt at first knew 
 nothing of his plans, went constantly back and forth be- 
 tween the two towns during the next few months. His 
 immediate concern was to devise ways by which to further 
 the new project that promised to make marriage possible. 
 Two things were necessary: more pantisocrats and funds. 
 He set to work at once to obtain both. Edith, Lovell, and 
 Mary were immediately won over, for obvious reasons. 
 His two friends, Robert Allen and Edmund Seward were 
 impressed, if not converted; the latter soon balked, not at 
 democracy but at unitarianism. Eventually (September 20, 
 1794) some twenty- seven persons were engaged, most of 
 them, evidently, through Southey 's efforts; "Lovell, his 
 wife, brother, and two of his sisters; all the Frickers; my 
 mother, Miss Peggy, and brothers; Heath, apothecary, etc.; 
 G. Burnett, S. T. Coleridge, Robert Allen, and Robert 
 Southey." Allen was here included by oversanguine hope, 
 but there were soon to be added Thomas Southey, still but 
 a midshipman in the navy, and probably some obscurer 
 persons. Of Coleridge's converts, except for his two school- 
 fellows Favell and LeGrice, we have no such account, and 
 probably none could ever have been made. 
 
 As for obtaining money, upon this too Southey set to 
 
 ^ On July 8 Southey signalized his return by borrowing from the 
 Bristol Library Society Hartley's Observations on Man. Baker, op. cit. 
 
COLERIDGE — PANTISOCRACY 133 
 
 work. On July 20 he wrote to Bedford that he had carried 
 proposals for the publication of Joan of Arc to the printer. 
 This poem he hoped to put forth by the following Michael- 
 mas providing he could obtain the fifty subscribers that his 
 proposals were designed to win. On this account he de- 
 cided not to return to Oxford for the next term because he 
 wished to be at hand to overlook the press. ''Many of my 
 friends will blame me for so bold a step, but as many 
 encourage me; and I want to raise money enough to settle 
 myself across the Atlantic." 
 
 Meanwhile, in the end of July Coleridge arrived in Bristol, 
 the new developments in their scheme received his hearty 
 approval, and the resolution was formed to carry them out.^ 
 Coleridge had already welcomed Lovell into their fraternity, 
 and the next step was to confer with Burnett. For this 
 purpose the two brother-philosophers set off at once on 
 foot for Huntspill, Somersetshire. They were in high 
 spirits, and they put no check upon their tongues. On the 
 contrary they went through the country preaching panti- 
 socracy to such purpose that scandalous tales about them 
 lingered in the region for a generation. ^ At Stowey they 
 made the acquaintance of Thomas Poole, a man now about 
 thirty, with a steadier, as well as older, head than the 
 young enthusiasts. He was, nevertheless, interested in 
 them and their schemes. His cousin, John Poole, on the 
 other hand, was not so sympathetic. He was a yoimg 
 Oxford Don in a powdered wig, and it is to be suspected 
 that the emancipated undergraduates made him something 
 of a butt for their radical shafts. He wrote in his Latin 
 journal, at any rate, to the following effect: ''Uterque vero 
 rabie Democratica quoad Politiam; et Infidelis quoad Re- 
 Hgionem spectat, turpiter fervet. Ego maxime indignor." 
 
 ^ Cottle, Reminiscences, 299; Campbell, Coleridge, 31. 
 2 Concerning the whole episode, see Mrs. Sandford, Thomas Poole 
 and his Friends, v. I, 99-105. 
 
134 THE EARLY LIFE OF ROBERT SOUTHEY 
 
 Robespierre was the talk of the hour, and the news of his 
 death on July 28 had just reached Stowey. Although 
 Coleridge and Southey both condemned the Jacobins, here 
 was a text and an occasion not to be missed for preaching 
 democracy regardless as to whether or not the good folk 
 of Somerset understood the nice distinctions between parties. 
 Consequently the story could be heard years after that 
 Southey, being told of Robespierre's death, had exclaimed, 
 ''I had rather have heard of the death of my own father,'^ 
 and that one of the two had said, ''Robespierre was a 
 ministering angel of mercy, sent to slay thousands that he 
 might save milHons." 
 
 Thomas Poole himself was far more liberal in his temper, 
 and listened attentively to what the yotmg men had to say. 
 In a letter written about a month after this meeting 
 (September 22, 1794) he gives an account of them and 
 their scheme. He was particularly impressed by Coleridge, 
 whom he considered the principal in the undertaking, and 
 who, he says, w^as ''in Rehgion ... a Unitarian, if not a 
 Deist; in PoUticks a Democrat, to the utmost extent of 
 the word." Of Southey he says that he was a "younger 
 man, without the splendid abilities of Coldridge [sic], 
 though possessing much information, particularly meta- 
 physical, and is more violent in his principles than even 
 Coldridge himself. In Religion, shocking to say in a mere 
 Boy as he is, I fear he wavers between Deism and Atheism.'^ 
 Such was the impression made by the young pantisocrats 
 at the time when their plans were on foot. Poole also 
 gives a detailed account of their scheme, especially interest- 
 ing as the fullest statement from an outsider in any sense 
 contemporaneous. From the glowing periods of Coleridge, 
 he condensed the following points: 
 
 "Twelve gentlemen of good education and liberal principles are 
 to embark with twelve ladies in April next. P^e^'ious to their leav- 
 ing this country they are to have as much intercourse as possible. 
 
COLERIDGE — PANTISOCRACY 135 
 
 in order to ascertain each others' dispositions, and firmly to settle 
 every regulation for the government of their future conduct. Their 
 opinion was that they should fix themselves at — I do not now 
 recollect the place, but somewhere in a delightful part of the new 
 back settlements; that each man should labor two or three hours 
 a day, the produce of which labor would, they imagine, be more 
 than sufficient to support the colony. As Adam Smith ^ observes 
 that there is not above one productive man in twenty, they argue 
 that if each laboured the twentieth part of time, it would produce 
 enough to satisfy their wants. The produce of their industry is to 
 be laid up in common for the use of all; and a good library of books 
 is to be collected, and their leisure hours to be spent in study, 
 liberal discussions, and the education of their children. A system 
 for the education of their children is laid down. . . . The regula- 
 tions relating to the females strike them as the most difficult; 
 whether the marriage contract shall be dissolved if agreeable to 
 one or both parties, and many other circumstances, are not yet 
 determined. The emplojrments of the women are to be the care of 
 infant children, and other occupations suited to their strength; 
 at the same time the greatest attention is to be paid to the cultiva- 
 tion of their minds. Every one is to enjoy his own religious and 
 political opinions, provided they do not encroach on the rules pre- 
 viously made, which rules, it is unnecessary to add, must in some 
 measure be regulated by the laws of the state which includes the 
 district in which they settle. They calculate that each gentleman 
 providing 125 pounds will be suflScient to carry out the scheme 
 into execution. Finally, every individual is at liberty, whenever 
 he pleases, to withdraw from the society." ^ 
 
 Some months later Coleridge^ gave a statement of the 
 pantisocratic plans which, while less definite, confirms 
 
 1 See above. 
 
 2 Thomas Poole and his Friends, I, 96-98; see also Coleridge, The 
 Friend, Essay VI, Works, p. 203-205. 
 
 3 Biog. Epis., I, 44-45. Letter of Coleridge to Charles Heath of 
 Monmouth. The date is uncertain, but it was probably sometime 
 in the fall of 1794. Turnbull states that Charles Heath was one of the 
 pantisocrats, but it would appear that he was rather the brother of 
 one, and that Coleridge was trying to interest him in the scheme. 
 
136 THE EARLY LIFE OF ROBERT SOUTHEY 
 
 Poole's description. He was writing to a certain Charles 
 Heath, apparently the brother of ''Heath apothecary'' men- 
 tioned by Southey, and states that he and his associates 
 had formed "a small but liberalized party" for emigration 
 and the abolition of property; that they were preparing to 
 print for private circulation among their friends a state- 
 ment of their principles and of the laws which would govern 
 their community; that all the members of the company 
 were marked by moral rectitude; and that an aggregate 
 sum of £2000 would be needed if, as they hoped, twelve 
 men and their families were to embark on the venture. 
 
 Pantisocracy, as thus outlined, led to a number of things. 
 The two leaders, after their conference with Burnett, re- 
 turned to Bath, where Coleridge seems to have remained 
 for some time as Mrs. Southey's guest. ''My mother says 
 I am mad; if so, she is bit by me, for she wishes to go as 
 much as I do." Thus Southey wrote to his brother, the 
 midshipman. "Coleridge was with us nearly five weeks, 
 and made good use of his time. We preached Pantisocracy 
 and Aspheterism everywhere. These, Tom, are two new 
 words, the first signifying the equal government of all, and 
 the other the generalization of individual property; words 
 well understood in the city of Bristol. We are busy in 
 getting our plans and principles ready to distribute pri- 
 vately. . . . The thoughts of the day, and the visions of 
 the night, all centre in America. ... I hope to see you in 
 January; it will then be time for you to take leave of the 
 navy, and become acquainted with all our brethren, the 
 pantisocrats. You will have no objection to partake of a 
 wedding dinner in February. ..." 
 
 The wedding dinner here referred to may not have been 
 intended for one couple only. Southey, wishing to be mar- 
 ried, had become a pantisocrat; Coleridge, having become 
 a pantisocrat, resolved to marry. At Mrs. Southey's lodg- 
 ing house, immediately upon his return with her son from 
 
COLERIDGE — PANTISOCRACY 137 
 
 Somersetshire, he proposed marriage^ to Sarah Fricker in a 
 burst of enthusiastic consistency, and was accepted. In 
 the same spirit a Httle later George Burnett is said to have 
 made a similar offer to Martha, the fourth Miss Fricker ,2 
 and to have been shrewdly rebuffed for his pains. Southey 
 was much astonished at Coleridge's engagement. Only a 
 few weeks previously, before ever the new pantisocratic 
 couple had met, the gentleman had been confiding to him 
 his undying devotion to Mary Evans. 
 
 Funds were still as necessary as wives, however, and 
 although the young men hoped to find comrades with 
 means, they immediately set their pens to work in order to 
 earn money for themselves. Coleridge had printed pro- 
 posals and had obtained some subscribers for his Specimens 
 of Modern Latin Poets. Southey, as we know, had Joan of 
 Arc and a whole sheaf of smaller pieces in his drawer. 
 Lovell also professed to be a poet, and following perhaps 
 their principle of aspheterism, they sportively set about 
 writing a joint tragedy in three acts upon the death of 
 Robespierre. Each was to produce one act by the next 
 evening. At the appointed time, Coleridge had written 
 part of his, Southey and Lovell the whole of their assign- 
 ments. Lovell's, not being "in keeping," had to be re- 
 written by Southey, and Coleridge soon completed the first 
 act. The whole, according to Southey, ''was written as 
 fast as newspapers could be put into blank verse," and a 
 dedication to Mrs. Hannah More was concocted. Little 
 need be said of The Fall of Robespierre.^ It is wild boyish 
 rant about liberty, ''blood-cemented thrones," and the 
 "emancipated people." Robespierre was a usurping villain 
 whose fall would enable France to fulfill her hopes of free- 
 
 1 Campbell, Coleridge, 31. 
 
 2 Memoir of Sara Coleridge, I, 10-11. 
 
 ^ Coleridge, Poetical and Dramatic Works, edited by E. H. Coleridge, 
 495. 
 
138 THE EARLY LIFE OF ROBERT SOUTHEY 
 
 dom, and to withstand the despots of Europe leagued 
 against her. The most important result of the work was 
 that, when published, it called down upon Coleridge the 
 remonstrances of his clerical brother.^ 
 
 Meanwhile Southey made an independent effort to em- 
 body his principles in dramatic form. It appears that 
 Wat Tyler was also written in the summer of 1794, 'Hhe 
 work, or rather the sport, of a week."^ Coleridge avers ^ 
 that the sentiments of this play are opposite to those of 
 the other, but this is now difficult to detect. Merely 
 another crude boyish effort like Joan, Wat Tyler expresses 
 the same belief that virtue rests in the simple people, that 
 power is righteous when exerted by them in behalf of 
 liberty, but that undue violence is to be deprecated, and 
 that misery and evil proceed from rulers. Wat, the hero, 
 is but a weaker variant of Joan. Needless to say, neither 
 this work nor The Fall of Robespierre shows any power save 
 that of whirling words. 
 
 A little later in the year, after Coleridge's departure, 
 Southey and Lovell made that visit to Cruttwell, the Bath 
 printer, which has already been described, and arranged for 
 the publication of the volume of poems in the same form 
 as Bowles's sonnets. In the autumn of 1794 the book 
 appeared as Poems containing The Retrospect, Odes, Elegies, 
 and Sonnets, etc., by Robert Lovell, and Robert Southey, of 
 Balliol College, Oxford. The date on the title page was 
 1795, and the circumstances of the authors were glanced at 
 in the motto from Horace, " Minuentur atrae Carmine 
 Curae.^' At the end of the volume was printed "Proposals 
 for publishing by Subscription, joan of arc, an Epic Poem, 
 by Robert Southey, of BalUol College, Oxford. To be 
 handsomely printed in One Volume Quarto." 
 
 1 Coleridge, Letters, I, 103-106. ^ uje^ jy, 241. 
 
 3 Coleridge, Essays on his Own Times, III, 948. Coleridge here mis- 
 states the date of the composition of Wat Tyler. 
 
COLERIDGE — PANTISOCRACY 139 
 
 About the first of September Coleridge went up to 
 London; Southey remained in Bath.^ The Fall of Robes- 
 pierre went up to London too, and was submitted to the 
 pubhshers there. The trade in Bristol had been too wise 
 to accept the performance, and their brethren in London 
 were not less prudent. It remained unprinted until Cole- 
 ridge's return to Cambridge, where it appeared (1794) ^ with 
 his name alone on the title page and with a new dedication, 
 both of which changes were probably made to assist the 
 sale. 
 
 From London Coleridge sent encouraging news of panti- 
 socracy to Bristol. He met Lamb's simple-hearted George 
 Dyer, who pronounced the system impregnable and assured 
 him that Dr. Priestley, with whom Dyer professed to be 
 intimate, would certainly join them. Three years earlier 
 Priestley had settled at Northumberland in Pennsylvania 
 near the Susquehanna River,^ and that most liquidly-named 
 
 ^ Coleridge, Letters, I, 85. 
 
 2 A Bibliography . . . of Samuel Taylor Coleridge, by Thomas J. 
 Wise, 1913, 5. 
 
 ^ Cottle is the only authority for the statement that Coleridge had 
 no specific information about the Susquehanna region and was at- 
 tracted to it solely because of the beautiful sound of the word. Cottle, 
 Reminiscences, 16. 
 
 Professor Harper, in his William Wordsworth, I, 268-270, notes that 
 in The Gentleman's Magazine for June, 1795, appeared a notice con- 
 cerning the establishment of a colony of wealthy Frenchmen, former 
 members of the Constituent Assembly, at French Town near the 
 Susquehanna River. By February, 1795, the idea of attempting 
 pantisocracy on the Susquehanna had given way, in Southey's mind 
 at least, to the vague hope of attempting it on a Welsh farm. By 
 June, when the above notice appeared, the whole project was ready 
 to be abandoned as in any sense a workable proposition. Professor 
 Harper states that there can be scarcely any doubt that Coleridge 
 and Southey had their thoughts turned toward America by hearing 
 or reading some account of this French colony. This is not impossible, 
 but there can be no doubt that their thoughts were turned toward 
 America whether they came upon any such account or not. 
 
140 THE EARLY LIFE OF ROBERT SOUTHEY 
 
 place was now suggested to Coleridge as a suitable location f 
 for his own enterprise. 
 
 "Every night," he wrote, "I meet a most intelligent young man, 
 who has spent the last five years of his life in America, and is lately 
 come from thence as an agent to sell land. ... He says 2000£ 
 will do; that he doubts not we can contract for our passage under 
 400£; that we shall buy the land a great deal cheaper when we 
 arrive at America than we could do in England; 'or why,' he adds, 
 'am I sent over here?' That twelve men may easily clear 300 
 acres in four or five months; and that, for 600 dollars, a thousand 
 acres may be cleared, and houses built on them. He recommends 
 the Susquehanna, from its excessive beauty and its security from 
 hostile Indians. Every possible assistance will be given us; we 
 may get credit for the land for ten years or more, as we settle upon. 
 That hterary characters make money there: etc. etc. He never 
 s'aw a bison in his life, but has heard of them; they are quite back- 
 wards. The mosquitoes are not so bad as our gnats; and, after 
 you have been there a little while they don't trouble you much." 
 (Sept. 6, 1794.) ^ 
 
 In another letter of the same period Coleridge is even more 
 explicit: ''The minutiae of topographical information we 
 are daily endeavouring to acquire; at present our plan is, to 
 settle at a distance, but at a convenient distance, from 
 Cooper's Town on the banks of the Susquehanna."^ 
 
 1 Life, I, 218-219. 
 
 2 Biog. Epis., I, 45. In 1787 William Cooper, father of James Feni- 
 more Cooper, had founded the town of Cooperstown on Lake Otsego, 
 the head waters of the Susquehanna River, having acquired a large 
 estate in that region which he proceeded to exploit for a number of 
 years as a great real estate venture. Cooperstown, therefore, became 
 well known even among Europeans, and was visited by not a few 
 notable foreign visitors to the young American repubhc. It is possible 
 that Coleridge's "intelligent young man" may have been one of Cooper's 
 agents. See Guide in the Wilderness; or the History of the First Settle- 
 ments in the Western Counties of New York with useful instructions to 
 future settlers, by Judge Cooper of Cooperstown, Dublin, 1810. Re- 
 printed with an introduction by James Fenimore Cooper, Rochester, 
 N. Y., 1897. 
 
COLERIDGE — PANTISOCRACY 141 
 
 A little later it would appear that Coleridge had carried 
 his investigation of a possible location for pantisocracy still 
 farther, and that he had come upon a book containing some 
 definite facts that helped at least to stimulate his imagina- 
 tion. ''What think you," he writes to Southey on Oct. 21, 
 1794, "of the differences in the prices of land as stated by 
 Cowper [sic] from those given by the American agents? 
 By all means read, ponder on Cowper, and when I hear 
 your thoughts I will give you the result of my own." The 
 Cowper here referred to is certainly not William Cooper of 
 Cooperstown, but probably Thomas Cooper, a son-in-law of 
 Priestley, a friend of James Watt the inventor, and a sym- 
 pathizer with the French revolution. He had gone to 
 Paris in 1792, and upon his return to England had written 
 a reply to Burke's Reflections for which he was threatened 
 with prosecution. In August, 1793, he visited America, 
 particularly the Susquehanna region, in which his father-in- 
 law had settled, and returned to England in February, 1794. 
 He appears soon after to have published (Dublin, 1794) the 
 book to which Coleridge refers. Some Information respecting 
 America. In this he not only expresses his very decided 
 democratic principles, and announces his intention of re- 
 turning at once to America to establish his home in that 
 land of freedom, but also gives explicit directions and infor- 
 mation for any who might be inclined to follow his example. 
 He tells one how to prepare for the voyage, how to avoid 
 seasickness, and what to take by way of money, clothes, 
 and tools. He advises the valley of the Susquehanna, 
 which he describes quite fully, on the grounds of safety, 
 soil, and climate. He then gives statements concerning 
 land and commodity prices, methods of clearing and culti- 
 vating the ground, the management of farms, and a mass of 
 similar practical information. Finally he concludes his 
 book by reprinting in its entirety the constitution of the 
 United States. Here was much indeed for Coleridge and 
 
142 THE EARLY LIFE OF ROBERT SOUTHEY 
 
 Southey to ponder over. Cooper emigrated to America and 
 had there an interesting and varied career.^ His book, with 
 its idealism and its strong vein of practicality, gives one a 
 most vivid, concrete sense of the aspirations and possibili- 
 ties of achievement that were implicit in the hare-brained 
 scheme of pantisocracy. 
 
 Coleridge meanwhile (Sept. 18, 1794) was again at Cam- 
 bridge, his heart still churning with the excitements of the 
 past few months.2 ''America! Southey! Miss Fricker!" he 
 exclaimed in a letter to his friend, and went on to argue 
 that he certainly loved the young woman because he 
 thought of her incessantly with an inward melting away 
 of soul. As for pantisocracy, oh, he would have such a 
 scheme of it. ''My head, my heart, are all alive. I have 
 drawn up my arguments in battle array; they shall have 
 the tactician excellence of the mathematician with the en- 
 thusiasm of the poet. The head shall be the mass; the 
 heart the fiery spirit that fills, informs and agitates the 
 whole." He was as good as his word, and when one whom 
 he called "the most pantisocratic of aristocrats" laughed 
 at him, "Up I arose, terrible in reasoning. He fled from 
 me, because ' he could not answer for his own sanity, sitting 
 so near a madman of genius.'" 
 
 While Coleridge was thinking of arguments, more prac- 
 tical considerations were pressing upon his compatriot left 
 with the pantisocratic ladies in Bristol. Not the least of 
 
 ^ Thomas Cooper (1759-1840) practised law for a time in Pemisyl- 
 vania, became involved in 1799 in a controversy with President John 
 Adams who called him " a learned, ingenious, scientific, and talented 
 madcap," held office as land commissioner and judge, served as pro- 
 fessor of chemistry in Dickinson College, in the University of Pennsyl- 
 vania, and finally in South Carolina College, of which institution he 
 was afterwards made president. After his retirement from this posi- 
 tion, he collaborated in a revision of the statutes of South Carolina. 
 See Dictionary of National Biography. 
 
 2 Coleridge, Letters, I, 81-82. 
 
COLERIDGE — PANTISOCRACY 143 
 
 Southey's difficulties was the character of his associate, and 
 here in the first stages of their acquaintance he was to 
 suffer and show that irritation at Coleridge's procrastina- 
 tion which was to reappear constantly in their dealings. 
 Scarcely a month after the engagement to Sarah Fricker 
 we find Southey under the necessity of writing to Coleridge, 
 probably with some asperity, to remind him of his duty 
 towards his future wife, and we find Coleridge replying with 
 promises and excuses of ill-health. He had gone up to 
 London for but a few days on his way to Cambridge. He 
 was to write to Sarah under cover to Southey, to whom he 
 was to send a weekly parcel. A fortnight elapsed, and 
 Coleridge sent no word to Bristol until September 18, the 
 day after his arrival at Cambridge. On the nineteenth he 
 received a letter of remonstrance from Southey, which 
 called forth a highly philosophical flood of explanation in 
 reply. He had intended to write upon reaching Cambridge, 
 had been ill, had postponed departure from London from 
 day to day, had been compelled to write for booksellers to 
 get funds. '^ Languid, sick at heart, in the back room of 
 an inn! Lofty conjunction of circumstances for me to 
 write to Miss F."^ As for Southey, he had also written 
 angrily to Coleridge's friend, Favell, concerning the former's 
 silence, and Coleridge felt that this act had been overhasty. 
 He admitted that he had himself been a slave of impulse 
 and child of imbecility, but this had taught him charity 
 toward the failings of others. It was possible, moreover, 
 to suffer from too high a state of moral health; "virtue is 
 liable to a plethora.'^ This was Southey's trouble; sim- 
 plicity of rectitude had made him rapid in decision, and 
 having never erred, he felt more indignation at error than 
 pity for it. There was ''phlogiston" in his heart. These 
 were shrewd words, but the little tiff, so ominous of the 
 future, passed by, and pantisocracy bloomed again. 
 1 Coleridge, Letters, I, 84-86. 
 
144 THE EARLY LIFE OF ROBERT SOUTHEY 
 
 On the eighteenth of September Southey wrote, ''In March 
 we depart for America," and a month later he exclaimed, 
 ''This Pantisocratic scheme has given me new life, new 
 hope, new energy, all the faculties of my mind are dilated; 
 I am weeding out the few lurking prejudices of habit, and 
 looking forward to happiness." 
 
 Two clouds, nevertheless, still obscured the sunshine of 
 hope — money and Miss Tyler. Of the first he wrote, 
 "Money is a huge evil which we shall not long have to 
 contend with." As a means of obtaining some of this evil 
 in the interval, however, Lovell was intrusted^ with two 
 commissions while on a trip to London in October. He 
 was to examine the wills of the Cannon Southey family at 
 Doctors' Commons "to see what is to be done in the rever- 
 sion way." He was also to seek a publisher for Wat Tyler , 
 and for this work, it would appear, the author expected to 
 get ten or twenty pounds. His friend met with no en- 
 couragement on the first errand, but a bookseller accepted 
 the manuscript of the play. Lovell found London in a state 
 of political excitement. On October 6 Hardy, Holcroft, 
 and others of the "Society for Constitutional Information" 
 had been indicted for treason. Lovell at once hunted up 
 Holcroft in Newgate, introduced himself, and talked pan- 
 tisocracy. After Holcroft's release (December 1), the young 
 man wrote (December 11) from Bristol congratulating him 
 and asking for advice on behalf of the pantisocrats. Their 
 minds had, he declares, been illuminated by the writings of 
 Holcroft and Godwin, and they wished their actions to be 
 similarly guided. ^ 
 
 Southey's relations with Miss Tyler were coming in the 
 meantime to a sudden climax. She had so far been kept 
 in ignorance of all her nephew's schemes, but concealment 
 
 1 Life, IV, 252; Warter, III, 66. 
 
 2 The Life of Thomas Holcroft in The Collected Works of William 
 Hazlitt, edited by Waller and Glover, II, 278-279. 
 
COLERIDGE — PANTISOCRACY 145 
 
 was no longer possible. On October 17 the whole situation 
 was made plain to her, and her temper exploded. 
 
 "Here's a row! here's a kick-up! here's a pretty commence! we 
 have had a revolution in the College Green, and I have been turned 
 out of doors in a wet night. Lo and behold, even like mine own 
 brother, I was penniless: it was late in the evening; the wind blew 
 and the rain fell, and I had walked from Bath in the morniug. 
 Luckily my father's old great coat was at Lovell's. I clapped it on, 
 swallowed a glass of brandy, and set off; I met an old drunken 
 man three miles off, and was obliged to drag him all the way to 
 Bath, nine miles! Oh, Patience, Patience, thou hast often helped 
 poor Robert Southey, but never didst thou stand him in more need 
 than on Friday the 17th of October, 1794." ^ 
 
 His aunt was uncompromising. Southey's younger brothers 
 appear to have been quartered with her, but his mother 
 was loyal to him, and the children were shipped at once to 
 Bath. But it was not pantisocracy to which Miss Tyler 
 objected so much as the alliances that went with it. Lovell, 
 the plebeian Quaker, she abused as the author of all the 
 mischief, but nothing enraged her so much as her nephew's 
 projected marriage with Edith, the sister of Mrs. Lovell, 
 and one of the poverty-stricken Frickers. ''My aunt," the 
 young man wrote to his brother, ''has declared she will 
 never see my face again, or open a letter of my writing, — 
 so be it; I do my duty, and will continue to do it, be the 
 consequences what they may. You are unpleasantly situ- 
 ated, so is my mother, so were we all till this grand scheme 
 of Pantisocracy flashed upon our minds, and now all is 
 perfectly delightful." 
 
 With Coleridge, however, this was far from being the 
 case. At the very time ^ that Southey was coming to an 
 open break with his aunt, Coleridge's brother, George, 
 having heard what was in the wind, was sending letters of 
 
 ^ For another letter relating to the same experience see Coleridge 
 Letters, I, 107, note 2. 2 Coleridge, Letters, I, 95, 98. 
 
146 THE EARLY LIFE OF ROBERT SOUTHEY 
 
 remonstrance and anguish, suggestions that perhaps the 
 young man was deranged; "Advice offered with respect from 
 a brother; affected coldness, an assumed alienation mixed 
 with involuntary bursts of anguish and disappointed affec- 
 tion; questions concerning the mode in which I would have 
 it mentioned to my aged mother — these are the daggers 
 which are plunged into my peace." Even Mary Evans 
 wrote,^ with apologies for ''violating the rules of female 
 delicacy," and over the signature ''sister," to urge him 
 that he remain true to his friends, his country, and his God. 
 New difficulties, moreover, soon began to arise in the 
 relations between the two pantisocrats themselves. Cole- 
 ridge, with no practical responsibility except that of provid- 
 ing for himself, was captivated with the mere idea of panti- 
 socracy, and concerned^ himself with explaining it and 
 planning a great quarto book upon it. Southey, on the 
 other hand, with a host of poor relations looking to him 
 for help and with the work-a-day wish to marry, busied 
 himself with ways and means. The result was that many 
 of his arrangements, though practical enough, ran counter 
 to the theories which Coleridge was so volubly expounding. 
 Immediately after the latter's departure from Bath at the 
 end of the summer, Southey appears to have written sug- 
 gesting that his aunt's man-of-all-work, Shadrach Weeks, 
 and wife Sally, together with a Mr. and Mrs. Roberts, 
 persons of similar social rank, be included in their company. 
 Coleridge replied at once in his first letter from Cambridge 
 in a burst of democratic feeling, heavily underscoring 
 "shad goes with us. he is my brother." But Southey 
 had planned to have this brother act in the capacity of a 
 servant, and the thought grieved Coleridge intensely. He 
 would not retire from the project if this were done, but 
 "this is not our plan, nor can I defend it. . . . The leading 
 idea of pantisocracy is to make men necessarily virtuous by 
 1 Coleridge, Letters, I, 87-88. ^ /^^^ 103. 
 
COLERIDGE — PANTISOCRACY 147 
 
 removing all motives to evil — all possible temptation. '^ 
 ''Let them dine with us," Southey had written, ''and be 
 treated with as much equality as they would wish, but 
 perform that part of labour for which their education has 
 fitted them." Coleridge answered that Southey should not 
 have written that sentence. He should have bade his 
 slaves be his equals and his wife to resign the name of 
 ladyship in retaining the thing. Was every family to 
 possess one of Southey 's "Helot Egalites," or were Shad 
 and Sally and their few companions to serve all members 
 of the community? He feared that the inference to be 
 drawn from the whole discussion of this point was "that 
 the scheme of pantisocracy is impracticable, but I hope and 
 believe that it is not a necessary inference."^ 
 
 Coleridge was willing to accept Shad as a brother, but 
 he balked at accepting his future mother-in-law as a sister. 
 Southey, with an unphilosophical inability to think of 
 deserting those dependent upon him, proposed to include in 
 their venture his own mother, his two younger brothers, 
 Mrs. Fricker, and all her fry not yet provided for. One 
 night Coleridge defended his system for six hours against 
 a heterodox divine and a democratic lawyer, whom he 
 drove to admit that the system was impregnable, "suppos- 
 ing the assigned quantimi of virtue and genius in the first 
 individuals. "2 And then he came home to find Southey's 
 letter urging that they include servants, women, and chil- 
 dren. "I wish, Southey, in the stern severity of judgment, 
 that the two mothers were not to go, and that the children 
 stayed with them. . . . That Mrs. Fricker! We shall have 
 her teaching the infants Christianity, — I mean that mongrel 
 whelp that goes under its name, — teaching them in some 
 ague fit of superstition." Perhaps he had even some pass- 
 ing doubts as to Southey himself, for he asked, "Should 
 not all who mean to become members of our community 
 1 Coleridge, Letters, I, 89-90. ^ 75^-^^^ j^ 95-103. 
 
148 THE EARLY LIFE OF ROBERT SOUTHEY 
 
 be incessantly meliorating their temper and elevating their 
 understandings?" Yet he was still loyal; he would accom- 
 pany his friend even "on an imperfect system." 
 
 This loyalty was soon to be further tested. The months 
 went by, and the means for chartering a ship were still as 
 vague as ever. Coleridge, whose movements for the last 
 two months of 1794 are obscure, may have left Cambridge 
 as early as November 8;^ certainly he was in London on 
 December 11, and was discoursing poetry and necessitarian- 
 ism in the back parlor of an inn with Lamb, an old intimacy 
 with whom he had now somehow revived. He was still 
 preaching pantisocracy too, for he reports ^ discussing that 
 and other matters with Holcroft, whom he met while dining 
 with the editor and proprietor of The Morning Chronicle. 
 He found that Holcroft had misimderstood Lovell, or Lovell 
 Holcroft, and that neither understood "our system." Hol- 
 croft fiercely opposed pantisocracy on the ground that it 
 was not virtuous, but his arguments were nonentities, and 
 when he ventured to talk metaphysics and condemn Bowles, 
 Coleridge ^^did him over.^^ 
 
 Yet time was not all spent in talk. The two pantiso- 
 crats had been for some time exchanging their poetry. 
 Coleridge had been criticising the pieces that were being 
 prepared for Southey's forthcoming volume (1795), and 
 sent in return many of the things that he was in the act 
 of selling to The Morning Chronicle. Among the latter 
 were the notorious lines To a Young Ass\ 
 
 ''Innocent foal! thou poor despis'd forlorn! 
 I hail thee Brother — spite of the fool's scorn! 
 And fain would take thee with me, in the Dell 
 Of Peace and mild Equality to dwell." ^ 
 
 He also sent to Bristol many of his Sonnets on Eminent 
 Characters, among whom were included Burke, Priestley, 
 
 1 Coleridge, Letters, I, 97 n. 2 jiyid,^ j^ 114-115, December 17, 1794. 
 
 ^ Coleridge, Poetical and Dramatic Works, 74. 
 
COLERIDGE — PANTISOCRACY 149 
 
 Kosciusko, Bowles, Godwin, and Southey. Pantisocracy 
 itself came in for a sonnet expressing the poet's belief that 
 he would soon be seeking some ^'cottag'd dell" across the 
 ocean where virtue might stray with careless step and the 
 wizard passions dance a moonlight roundelay. The thought 
 brings tears of ''doubt- mingled joy" to his eyes, like theirs 
 who start 
 
 "From Precipices of distemper'd sleep." ^ 
 
 Yet such activity was not enough to mitigate delay, and 
 Southey was growing restive. About the middle of Decem- 
 ber Coleridge made a fleeting visit to Bristol, and we find 
 him writing 2 thence to Southey at Bath in aggrieved in- 
 dignation at a new suggestion, probably originating with 
 Wynn, that they try pantisocracy in Wales.^ "Remember 
 the principles and proposed consequences of pantisocracy, 
 and reflect in what degree they are attainable by Coleridge, 
 Southey, Lovell, Burnett, and Co., some five men going 
 partners together." Yet again he will be loyal at the sacri- 
 fice of principle, and consent to a Welsh compromise. He 
 will even take a reporter's place on The Telegraph, and con- 
 tribute all his surplus earnings to the common cause. 
 That Southey had grown impatient is shown by the irrita- 
 tion betrayed by Coleridge at the tone of his friend's letters. 
 ''Southey! I must tell you that you appear to me to write 
 as a man who is aweary of the world because it accords 
 not with his ideas of perfection. Your sentiments look like 
 the sickly offspring of disgusted pride." 
 
 Wales, nevertheless, seems to have been agreed upon, 
 America still being the ultimate goal; yet another difficulty 
 was to ensue. ^ Coleridge heard of the engagement of Mary 
 
 ^ Coleridge, Poetical and Dramatic Works, 68. First published in 
 Life, I, 224. 2 Coleridge, Letters, I, 114, 121. 
 
 ' Cottle, Reminiscences, 300. 
 
 ^ Coleridge, Letters, I, 122-126; Cottle, Reminiscences, 300; Camp- 
 bell, Coleridge, 38-43. 
 
150 THE EARLY LIFE OF ROBERT SOUTHEY 
 
 Evans to another man, and sent her a letter of disappointed 
 passion. Her reply (ca. Dec. 24, 1794) removed his last 
 ray of hope for winning her; nevertheless he wrote at once 
 to Southey that he loved her still, though resigned to his 
 loss. "But to marry another, O Southey," he protested, 
 "bear with my weakness." Yet he concluded with the 
 assurance, "Mark you, Southey! I will do my duty^ 
 
 It is evident that Sarah Fricker's future brother-in-law 
 had been urging her claims upon Coleridge, not altogether 
 to the latter's comfort. "My friend," he wrote to Southey, 
 "you want but one quality of mind to be a perfect char- 
 acter. Your sensibilities are tempestuous; you feel indig- 
 nation at weakness. Now Indignation is the handsome 
 brother of Anger and Hatred. His looks are 'lovely in 
 terror,' yet still remember who are his relations. I would 
 ardently that you were a necessitarian, and (believing in 
 an all-loving Omnipotence) an optimist." Finally came the 
 promise "whatever be the consequence, to be at Bath by 
 Saturday." But after such a burst of moral philosophy, 
 Coleridge's subsequent conduct must have been trying 
 indeed to Southey's patience. The letter just referred to 
 was written, probably, on December 24, 1794, and not only 
 did the writer fail to keep his promise of coming to Bath 
 on Saturday, but he sent no word of any sort, and left his 
 pantisocratic comrade and lady ignorant even of his where- 
 abouts. He had established himself at an inn in Newgate 
 Street, where he was deriving comfort for the loss of Mary 
 Evans in the company of Charles Lamb. Southey insti- 
 tuted a search for him, wrote to his school friend Favell, 
 and even thought of going to Cambridge. Favell wrote 
 that Coleridge was to be addressed at "The Cat and Salu- 
 tation," and thither Southey wrote. He received a reply ^ 
 in which Coleridge set a day when he would arrive by 
 
 ^ Cottle, Reminiscences, 300, Letter of Southey to Cottle, March 6, 
 1836. 
 
COLERIDGE — PANTISOCRACY 151 
 
 wagon in Bath. Southey and Lovell walked some score of 
 miles to Marlborough to meet the wagon at the appointed 
 time, but no Coleridge appeared. At last, some time in 
 January,^ Southey went to London in person, and finding 
 that his friend had left his former hostelry, applied to 
 Favell at Christ's Hospital, and was conducted to ''The 
 Angel Inn, Butcher Hall Street." There he found Cole- 
 ridge. What passed between the two men at this meeting, 
 we do not know, but friendship was restored, and they 
 returned together to Bristol, pantisocracy, Sarah and Edith 
 Fricker. 
 
 Before leaving London, however, Southey had a con- 
 ference with the bookseller, Ridgeway, to whom Lovell had 
 intrusted the manuscript of Wat Tyler. This conference 
 took place in Newgate, where the publisher was then so- 
 journing, but what was said and done, and who were 
 present at the time, became a matter of controversy .^ 
 Southey said that Ridgeway and one Simonds agreed to 
 print his play, but it does not appear that they paid him 
 any money or that, after leaving them, he ever heard from 
 them with regard to the matter again. Published Wat 
 Tyler was in 1817, under far different circumstances, and in 
 the controversy and lawsuit that arose over that publica- 
 tion, there were allegations concerning enthusiastic em- 
 braces between the poet and other persons said also to 
 have been present in Ridgeway's Newgate apartment, per- 
 sons who, however highly they may have been esteemed 
 by the pantisocrat, were distinctly not so esteemed by the 
 poet laureate of 1817. 
 
 ^ From July 8, 1794, until January 28, 1795, Southey had drawn 
 books from the Bristol Library Society regularly every four or six days. 
 After the latter date there is a break of a month in the entries of his 
 name. J. Baker Literary and Biographical Studies, 211. 
 
 2 Life, IV, 236-259; Warier, III, 59-70; Merivale, Reports, II, 435. 
 
152 THE EARLY LIFE OF ROBERT SOUTHEY 
 
 II 
 
 Early in February^ the two friends were again together 
 in Bristol. They now realized that any immediate attempt 
 at emigration even to Wales was out of the question. 
 Lovell, perhaps Burnett, could have contributed each his 
 due portion of funds, but the real dependence was upon 
 themselves, and they had learnt what that was worth. 
 Nevertheless their lots were cast together, and they pro- 
 posed to share fortune and fame, only postponing the foun- 
 dation of Utopia, and not ceasing to dream and to talk of 
 it. Southey,^ having surrendered his uncle's assistance 
 upon leaving Oxford, had been living with his mother, but 
 wishing no longer to burden her, now went to live with 
 Coleridge in a rented room at 48 College Street in Bristol 
 where they could, at least, '^aspheterize." ''There is the 
 strangest mixture of cloud and of sunshine! an outcast in 
 the world ! an adventurer ! living by his wits ! yet happy in 
 the full conviction of rectitude, in integrity, and in the 
 affection of a mild and lovely woman: at once the object 
 of hatred and admiration; wondered at by all; hated by 
 the aristocrats; the very oracle of my own party. . . . 
 Coleridge is writing at the same table; our names are 
 written in the book of destiny, on the same page." 
 
 Money was now needed for daily supplies rather than for 
 pantisocracy, and Southey was not behindhand. Adversity 
 was rapidly completing the process of making a writer out 
 of him. He now said of himself that, unable to enter the 
 church or the profession of physic, too notorious for public 
 office, not possessed of the happy art of making or mending 
 shoes, unfitted by education for trade, he must perforce 
 
 ^ But Coleridge's name does not appear in the register of the Library 
 Society until March 2, after which the two men constantly drew books 
 together, Coleridge sometimes borrowing upon Southey's name, until 
 the succeeding autumn. Baker, I.e. ^ Warier, I, 41. 
 
COLERIDGE — PANTISOCRACY 153 
 
 enter the muster roll of authors, and therefore began nego- 
 tiations with The Telegraph in the hope of being its corres- 
 pondent. It does not appear that the little volume that 
 he had published with Lovell the preceding fall had done 
 much to assist his financial condition, but a friend was soon 
 raised up who relieved the wants of the pantisocratic poets 
 in more substantial fashion. Joseph Cottle was a young 
 printer in Bristol. He was not a prudent person; but his 
 trade must have been fairly prosperous, for he managed 
 practically to finance Southey and Coleridge for some 
 months to come. He had a more than Boswellian vanity 
 which made him take unctuous pleasure in acting the 
 Maecenas to poets. When he commenced author himself, 
 his efforts were not as fortunate. Upon the death of Cole- 
 ridge he published a volume of reminiscences concerning his 
 friend, which he enlarged later to include Southey. He is 
 tasteless, incoherent, and untrustworthy, but we are de- 
 pendent upon him for some interesting details in this period 
 of Southey's life. 
 
 Cottle reports that at the close ^ of the year 1794 he met 
 "a, clever young man of the Society of Friends, of the name 
 of Robert Lovell." ^ The latter immediately informed the 
 bookseller concerning the scheme of pantisocracy, "si Social 
 Colony, in which there was to be a community of prop- 
 erty, and where all that was selfish was to be proscribed." 
 Lovell promptly invited him to make one of the band. 
 The head of poor Cottle spun for a moment, but he was 
 shrewd enough to ask a few questions. Who made up the 
 party? Coleridge, Southey, Burnett, and Lovell were the 
 
 1 Cuthbert Southey (Life, I, 216) dates the meeting of Southey and 
 Cottle in the summer of 1794, but Cottle is probably right, for Southey 
 would hardly have had Cruttwell publish his Poems of 1795, especially 
 with an announcement concerning the publication of Joan of Arc^ 
 after his relations with Cottle had begun. 
 
 2 Cottle, Reminiscences, 2-5. 
 
154 THE EARLY LIFE OF ROBERT SOUTHEY 
 
 only assured members. How did they go? They would 
 freight a ship with plows and farming implements. When 
 did they sail? Very shortly. Whence came the funds? was 
 the final question; and there was an unconscious irony in 
 the reply, ''We all contribute what we can, and I shall 
 introduce all my dear friends to you, immediately on their 
 arrival in Bristol." But these friends were also poets, and 
 Cottle, having meddled with verses himself, looked forward 
 with pride to meeting the young geniuses. 
 
 In a few days Lovell introduced Southey: ''Tall, digni- 
 nified, possessing great suavity of manners; an eye piercing, 
 with a countenance full of genius, kindliness, and intelli- 
 gence, I gave him at once the right hand of fellowship, and 
 to the moment of his decease, that cordiality was never 
 withdrawn. I had read so much of poetry and sympathized 
 so much with poets in all their eccentricities and vicissi- 
 tudes, that, to see before me the realization of a character, 
 which in the abstract most absorbed my regards, gave me 
 a degree of satisfaction which it would be difficult to ex- 
 press." After considerable delay, the occasion of which has 
 been explained, Lovell at length introduced Coleridge also, 
 and an intimacy rapidly developed between the two poets 
 and their patron bookseller. The latter gloated over his 
 young lions, and assisted in spreading their fame in Bristol. 
 
 Cottle says that they were still talking pantisocracy. 
 What they wanted was £100 to £150 a year between them, 
 and they would marry, settle in the country, write and 
 cultivate the soil, until they could raise money enough to 
 go to America — "still the grand object in view" (March 
 21, 1795). Cottle, meanwhile, alleges that he felt deep 
 concern lest they should heedlessly set sail at once, that 
 he was "haunted day and night with the spectre of the 
 ship! the ship! which was to effect such incalculable mis- 
 chief."^ His fears were allayed by a request from Coleridge 
 ^ Cottle, Reminiscences, 8-10. 
 
COLERIDGE — PANTISOCRACY 155 
 
 for the loan of five pounds to help pay their lodging bill. 
 Burnett had joined them, and his arrears even exceeded 
 theirs. Cottle lent the money, and shortly after offered 
 assistance far more gratifying. He urged Coleridge to pub- 
 lish a volume of poems, for which he promised to pay 
 thirty guineas in such installments as Coleridge's necessities 
 demanded. A similar offer was made to Southey, followed 
 by an even better one for the publication of Joan of Arc, 
 parts of which had been read to Cottle by the author and 
 greatly approved. The bookseller proposed to print the 
 poem in quarto on fine paper, paying what seemed to the 
 young poet the large sum of fifty guineas as well as fifty 
 copies for the subscribers who might have responded to the 
 proposals that appear to have been published at Bath. 
 With this offer Southey fell in with alacrity. He records 
 later ^ that at this time few books were printed in the 
 country, and Cottle planned to make this the handsomest 
 that had ever appeared in Bristol. A new font of type was 
 sent for, and fine hot-pressed paper. There was no delay 
 in setting to work at the printing, and it was an elated 
 young author who stood by the stove in the center of 
 Bulgin and Rosser's printing office while priggish, powdered 
 Mr. Rosser directed the boy appointed to set up the first 
 page of the great epic.^ The author, however, was much 
 embarrassed at the defects in his work which he beheld 
 when he saw it in print before him. It stood, except for a 
 few changes made in transcription, exactly as he had writ- 
 ten it in those six weeks at Brixton Causeway. For six 
 months now, right up until publication in November, he 
 labored at correcting and rewriting the poem as it passed 
 through the press. Coleridge assisted and contributed to 
 
 ^ Works, Preface to Joan of Arc. 
 
 2 Southey had the satisfaction years afterward of receiving an 
 account of this scene from the boy himself. Correspondence with Caro- 
 line Bowles, 353. 
 
156 THE EARLY LIFE OF ROBERT SOUTHEY 
 
 the text considerable portions most of which were carefully 
 noted by Southey in his preface.^ 
 
 There was other poetry on the stocks at the same time. 
 Often, Southey wrote later in life, he walked the streets 
 of Bristol in these months, and went happy and dinnerless 
 to his room to write. ''Poetry," he told Bedford, ''softens 
 the heart. No man ever tagged rhyme without being the 
 better for it." When he began correcting Joan of Arc, he 
 was already at work on Madoc, which he thought was to 
 be "the pillar of his fame." He had begun it in the pre- 
 ceding autumn, the subject having been suggested to him at 
 Westminster by Wynn. Now, of course, it had to be laid 
 aside. As for minor pieces, his energies were so engrossed 
 that only a few were composed at this time as compared 
 with the number produced during the year before. He 
 states later that his taste had been ameliorated by Cole- 
 ridge; they exchanged long letters of criticism on each 
 other's compositions, and doubtless continued such discus- 
 sions at 48, College Street. Nevertheless the perceptible 
 effect of Coleridge upon Southey's work is small. The 
 former's written criticisms of his friend's poems were mostly 
 verbal, and we know that Southey's poetic tendencies were 
 already fairly well established before the two met. Cole- 
 ridge may have encouraged the other in the way he had 
 chosen, and doubtless helped in the revision of Joan 
 of Arc, but Southey seems, on the whole, to have been far 
 more susceptible to the influence of reading than to that 
 of the talk even of a Coleridge, for talk, consuming, as it 
 did, time that might be used for reading or writing, tended 
 more and more to try his patience. The few shorter poems 
 of these months, therefore, are but obvious continuations 
 of veins already opened. Written on Sunday Morning is an 
 ode of strong deistic flavor. Four pieces carry on the 
 
 1 Joan of Arc, 1796, Preface; Works, Preface to Joan of Arc; Cole- 
 ridge, Poetic and Dramatic Works, 1027. 
 
COLERIDGE — PANTISOCRACY 157 
 
 sympathy for the poor which had already been expressed 
 in the Botany Bay Eclogues. These consisted of The 
 Pauperis Funeral, generously emended by Coleridge;^ The 
 Soldier's Funeral; The Soldier's Wife in dactylics, to which 
 Coleridge contributed a stanza; The Widow, a companion 
 piece to the latter in unlucky sapphics made famous by 
 The Needy Knifegrinder. After Southey had returned to 
 Bath later in the year, he wrote his only poem of the time 
 that preserves much intrinsic interest. Coleridge himself 
 thought that the lines On a Landscape of Gasper Poussin 
 were "worthy to have been published after Joan of Arc as 
 proofs of progressive genius." ^ Though pantisocracy was 
 by that time an abandoned hope, the poem shows the 
 desire for a home in retirement which was the abiding 
 aspiration behind that project in the poet's mind. 
 
 Joan was Southey 's main labor and reliance during 1795, 
 but the pantisocrats turned their wits to finding other 
 means of raising money. They thought of a joint collec- 
 tion of poems in two volumes, and of a periodical, The 
 Provincial Magazine, which was to be upon a new plan 
 and to contain all the verses of its two editors. Both these 
 ideas seem to have been held in mind for some time, but 
 were abandoned with the break-up of all joint schemes 
 in the autumn of the year. More certain returns came 
 from the lectures^ which the two men gave under Cottle's 
 auspices. The friends had become notorious characters in 
 Bristol, and people came, according to Cottle, in fairly 
 large numbers, to hear the young firebrands hold forth. 
 The lectures began in February and continued, in Cole- 
 ridge's case, into the summer. The year 1795 was a trying 
 time for those who had set their hopes of freedom on the 
 success of the revolution in France. The victories of the 
 
 1 Coleridge, Letters, I, 108-109. 
 
 2 Biog. Epis., 1, 123-124, Jan. 3, 1797. 
 ^ Cottle, Reminiscences, 10-20. 
 
158 THE EARLY LIFE OF ROBERT SOUTHEY 
 
 French armies during the first two years of their war with 
 the monarchies of Europe, the threat of French principles, 
 and the excesses of the Jacobins had set the Pitt adminis- 
 tration in a panic. Measures one after another had been 
 adopted so repressive that all the old bulwarks of British 
 freedom seemed to be endangered, and these distresses were 
 heightened by economic distress throughout the country. 
 The subjects of discourse for the two young reformers were 
 therefore easily determined. Coleridge lectured upon re- 
 ligion and politics, Southey upon history, but the remarks 
 of both were colored by their attitude toward contemporary 
 events. 
 
 Coleridge was, of course, plainly the more successful in 
 these performances. The substance of his first series, which 
 was upon contemporary affairs, appears in his Condones ad 
 Populum} The opening lecture, February 1795, he was 
 compelled to publish ^ in order to disprove the accusation 
 of treason. It maintains the usual thesis that goverment 
 by the people is best, as opposed to the tjTanny of kings, 
 prime ministers, and Jacobins, providing that the people 
 are sufficiently ''illuminated." Other addresses. On the 
 Present War and The Plot Discovered or an Address to the 
 People against Ministerial Treason, in the same vein were 
 delivered in quick succession, and the substance of them 
 published later in the same year. Here, however, Coleridge 
 brought his remarks home to the t>Tanny of Pitt, directed, 
 as it seemed to him, against both the English and the 
 French. How the people should be "illuminated" in order 
 to withstand such tyranny and to rule themselves was a 
 question not avoided by Coleridge. They must be taught 
 
 ^ Coleridge, Essays on his Own Times, I, 1-98. 
 
 2 See letter from Coleridge to George Dyer (dated, 1795), in T. J. 
 Wise, Bibliography of Coleridge, 11-13. This lecture was also reprinted 
 in the second edition of The Friend in order to prove that Coleridge had 
 never been a Jacobin. Coleridge, Works, edited by Shedd, II, 297. 
 
COLERIDGE — PANTISOCRACY 1 59 
 
 religion. "Preach the gospel to the poor," he magnilo- 
 quently exclaims, meaning the gospel according to Rous- 
 seau, Berkeley, Hartley, and the other apostles of the 
 rehgion of nature. Such doctrines constituted the political 
 principles of freedom, or more specifically of pantisocracy 
 and aspheterism. 
 
 The prospectus of the "theological lectures" in which 
 these sentiments were delivered, as well as that of a later 
 political series, and of certain disconnected addresses on the 
 slave trade and the hair-powder tax, are all preserved by 
 Cottle.^ That the speaker was not always undisturbed in 
 the delivery of his remarks is indicated in a letter written ^ 
 to George Dyer shortly after the first three lectures in 
 February. Coleridge there says that so great a furore had 
 been raised about him by the aristocrats that he doubted 
 whether he did not do more harm than good. Mobs, 
 mayors, blockheads, brickbats, placards, and press gangs had 
 leagued against him and his small, though sturdy, band of 
 democrats. "Two or three uncouth and unbrained Auto- 
 mata" had threatened his life, and the mob had in his last 
 lecture been scarcely restrained from attacking the house 
 "in which the damn'd Jacobin was jawing away." 
 
 Southey's twelve historical lectures made far less stir, 
 although, as he wrote to his brother, he tried to teach 
 "what is right by showing what is wrong." His definition 
 of right and wrong may be gathered from the remark that 
 "My company, of course, is sought by all who love good 
 republicans and odd characters." He admitted that his 
 lectures were "only splendid declamation." The pros- 
 pectus, preserved by Cottle, though appallingly compre- 
 hensive, shows a good grasp of the main divisions of the 
 subject as a whole. Beginning with Solon and Lycurgus 
 Southey gave an account of the history of Europe down to 
 the American Revolution. Tickets for 10s Qd were sold by 
 ^ Cottle, Reminiscences, 10-14. 2 wrjge^ ij,^ 
 
160 THE EARLY LIFE OF ROBERT SOUTHEY 
 
 Cottle, who testifies that the lectures were well attended 
 and delivered with so much self-possession, grace, and com- 
 mand of reason as to astonish the audience. All were 
 amazed that one so young should be able to tell so much 
 in so short a time.^ 
 
 The notoriety of the pantisocrats may have had the inter- 
 esting result of bringing about the first meeting of Coleridge 
 and Southey with Wordsworth, who in September of this 
 year came to Bristol to join his sister Dorothy on the way 
 to begin life at Racedown. There is some reason to believe 
 that Wordsworth may have met Cottle too upon this occa- 
 sion, and begun to negotiate for the publication of Guilt 
 and Sorrow.^ If it were not that the bookseller makes no 
 mention of such a fact, it would be easy to imagine that he 
 somehow brought the three poets together. As it is, we 
 have only Wordsworth's recollection^ (1845) that in 1795 
 (September must have been the time because by the next 
 month the two pantisocrats were not on speaking terms), 
 he had met Coleridge, Southey, and Edith Fricker in a 
 lodging in Bristol. Some literary intercourse must have 
 taken place among the three men soon after this meeting, 
 for in the following November Wordsworth included ^ in a 
 translation of some lines of Juvenal, two verses by ''Southey, 
 a friend of Coleridge." That anything approaching friend- 
 ship now took place is unlikely, at least so far as Southey 
 is concerned. In March of the following year Wordsworth 
 wrote ^ that the latter had proved himself a coxcomb by the 
 preface to Joan of Arc, and that that poem, though first 
 rate in parts, was on the whole of inferior execution. 
 
 For all his labors Southey now had need. Difficulties 
 weighed ever more pressingly upon him, and despondency 
 
 ^ Cottle, Reminiscences, 19. 
 2 J. McL. Harper, William Wordsworth, I, 277. 
 ^ Letters of the Wordsworth Family, III, 327. 
 ^ Op. ait., I, 89. 5 Op. Git., I, 206. 
 
COLERIDGE — PANTISOCRACY 161 
 
 swept over him from time to time like a wave. As early 
 as February he wrote to Bedford, ''Peace and domestic life 
 are the highest blessings I could implore. ... I am worn 
 and wasted with anxiety; and, if not at rest in a short 
 time, shall be disabled from exertion, and sink to a long 
 repose. Poor Edith! Almighty God protect her!" In 
 June the poet's depression was rendered more acute by the 
 sudden death of his admired friend, Edmund Seward. Yet 
 the immediate cause for the worst of his perplexity was his 
 growing distrust of pantisocracy, even on a small scale, in 
 Wales, and this was due to an increasing lack of confidence 
 in Coleridge. The position was an embarrassing one. In 
 a burst of enthusiasm, Southey had sworn to make one of 
 the company, and to share all equally with Coleridge and 
 the rest, but aways with the hope that the scheme would 
 enable him to meet his family obligations and settle down 
 with his wife. When the scheme failed to materialize, the 
 enthusiasm seemed flaccid and empty. He had sworn 
 fealty to it for practical reasons, and for practical reasons 
 he now wished to withdraw. But such reasons had no 
 weight with Coleridge, and Southey was in the uncomfort- 
 able position of appearing a traitor. Neither man enjoyed 
 the process of disillusionment and disintegration which began 
 almost as soon as Coleridge came to Bristol and continued 
 until Southey's departure for Portugal in November. 
 
 The greatest discouragement to Southey must have been 
 that while he, feeling the obligations that were upon him, 
 worked industriously at Madoc, Joan of Arc, his lectures, 
 and other writing, Coleridge procrastinated and talked. 
 Let us remember that they shared the same room. Cole- 
 ridge should have been preparing copy for the volume of 
 poems which Cottle had agreed to publish, and payment 
 for which was already being received, but, if we can believe 
 Cottle,^ the printer was put off time after time. Mean- 
 1 Cottle, Reminiscences, 26-29. 
 
162 THE EARLY LIFE OF ROBERT SOUTHEY 
 
 while Coleridge was a conspicuous figure about the town, 
 discoursing everjnvhere upon his favorite topics, not omit- 
 ting pantisocracy. To Southey such conduct grew steadily 
 harder to bear, and in a letter written in 1810 he gives an 
 interesting account of its effect upon him at the time and 
 afterwards. He notes the fact that Coleridge, in spite of 
 his passion for close, hard thinking, wrote in a rambling 
 and inconclusive style, while he himself, utterly incapable 
 of the toil of thought in which the other delighted, always 
 wrote perspicuously and to the point. Southey suggests 
 that this characteristic in himself was probably in part due 
 to his having lived with Coleridge at so impressionable a 
 period. The more Coleridge talked and the more he re- 
 peated himself, the more Southey was driven to. moody 
 silence except when provoked to argue in return, and then, 
 never able to put in more than a few words at a time, he 
 had to take care to make them count. Coleridge, Southey 
 concludes, "goes to work like a hound, nosing his way, 
 turning, and twisting, and winding, and doubling, till you 
 get weary with following the mazy movements. My way 
 is, when I see my object, to dart at it like a greyhound."^ 
 Southey's impatience was not lessened, of course, by the 
 fact that, according to his own statement, which there is 
 no reason to doubt, he was contributing four times as much 
 as the other to their joint establishment. ^ Naturally there 
 was something to be said for Coleridge, as Southey's revela- 
 tions of his own nature indicate. The talker had not been 
 idle when assisting in the revision of his friend's poems and 
 the composition of his lectures. Yet this was but a small 
 part of Coleridge's defense. ''The truth is," he told 
 Southey, ''you sat down and wrote; I used to saunter 
 about and to think what I should write." This was, of 
 course, the crux of the whole matter; Coleridge was always 
 
 1 Warter, II, 188-189. 
 
 2 Warter, I, 41; Coleridge, Letters, I, 150-151. 
 
COLERIDGE — PANTISOCRAC Y 1 63 
 
 thinking, and Southey, who wished to see something done, 
 felt of his friend as he now felt of Godwin, ''that he the- 
 orizes for another state, not for the rule of conduct in the 
 present" (Oct. 1, 1795). This growing distaste for un- 
 ending speculation and this insistence upon conduct could 
 not fail to irritate Coleridge; ''I am . . . often forced to 
 quarrel with his want of judgment and unthinkingness; 
 which Heaven knows, I never do without pain, and the 
 vexation of a disappointed wish."^ Finally, there can be no 
 doubt that Southey, in his own ''plethora of virtue," made 
 evident his increasing disapproval of his associate's conduct 
 in no graceful or charitable manner; there was always 
 about him something too much the air of showing "what 
 is right by showing what is wrong." Coleridge was learn- 
 ing,2 as he had said before, that the conscience of a man 
 who has lived free from the common faults of human nature 
 may grow blunt, owing to the infrequency, as that of others 
 may from the frequency, of wrong actions. 
 
 Here were shrewd words written by both men after the 
 facts; the facts themselves were beginning to accimaulate 
 with disagreeable rapidity. Coleridge, according to an 
 angry letter ^ written when his friend at last deserted the 
 cause in the autumn, had already begun to suspect that 
 Southey was receding in his principles when they began their 
 lectures in February. Cottle reports * that, when the time 
 came towards the end of May for Southey 's lecture on "The 
 Rise, Progress and Decline of the Roman Empire," Cole- 
 ridge obtained permission to speak instead on the groimd 
 that he had devoted much attention to the subject. If we 
 may trust Cottle,^ Coleridge omitted to appear at the time 
 of the lecture, and the audience had to be sent away with 
 
 1 To Humphry Davy, Dec. 1808, Biog. Epis., II, 41. 
 
 2 To William Godwin, March 29, 1811, Biog. Epis., II, 72. 
 ^ Coleridge, Letters, I, 139. 
 
 4 Cottle, Reminiscences, 19-20. ^ /5j-(^,^ 20-26. 
 
164 THE EARLY LIFE OF ROBERT SOUTHEY 
 
 a postponement. On the next day, unfortunately, the 
 bookseller had essayed to drag his ''two young friends and 
 their ladies elect" out upon a pleasure party, to which 
 Southey says he would have preferred the luxury of an 
 hour's hanging. They were to visit the Wye and Tintern 
 Abbey. Southey was angry, and at Chepstow, before t^ieir 
 excursion was many hours old, his anger burst out in re- 
 monstrance with Coleridge. The latter's neglect of the 
 preceding evening seemed to him a matter of great im- 
 portance, to Coleridge of little. Cottle says that each of 
 the two ladies sided with her gentleman in the dispute, and 
 that he was compelled to pacify them all. The two men 
 shook hands, and the party proceeded, but such episodes 
 could not fail to shake their friendship. There were similar 
 occurrences before very long. On a strawberry party to 
 Ashton,^ Southey told Burnett that he expected to share 
 only their farm land in Wales with his comrades and to 
 retain his personal property. Burnett carried this to Cole- 
 ridge, who said (Nov. 13, 1795), ''It scorched my throat." 
 Presently new developments in Southey's own affairs 
 complicated the situation still further. His friend Wynn^ 
 had promised some years before that upon coming of age 
 he would bestow upon Southey an annuity of £160. Wynn 
 would reach his majority in January, 1796. At the end of 
 1794 he had been suggesting the trial of pantisocracy in 
 Wales; he may have TVTitten to his friend in the meanwhile 
 about the epic on Madoc, a subject suggested by him; at 
 any rate it seems certain that his old promise of the annuity 
 was now renewed^ with the condition that the recipient 
 study law in order to become independent as soon as pos- 
 
 ^ Coleridge, Letters, I, 140. 
 
 2 De Quincey is the only authority for the statement that Wynn 
 gave the pension out of gratitude for Southey's moral influence at 
 Oxford. De Quincey, Collected Writings, edited by Masson, II, 321. 
 
 3 Warier, I, 41. 
 
COLERIDGE — PANTISOCRACY 165 
 
 sible. On August 22 Southey wrote to Bedford that he 
 thought in fifteen months to be in London and to enter 
 upon his legal work, not omitting to marry, however, and 
 to continue the trade of author. But at this juncture his 
 uncle, the Reverend Herbert Hill, arrived from Lisbon, and 
 once more took the young man's future under consultation. 
 Southey received a letter from him urging again that he 
 return to Oxford and enter the Church. Here then were 
 two courses which offered feasible escapes from the present 
 difficulties. To surrender either of them for the dubious 
 prospects of pantisocracy and aspheterism with Coleridge 
 was plainly folly, but to admit the folly and to act upon 
 the admission was unpleasant. Nevertheless, when the 
 letter from his imcle arrived, Southey handed it to Cole- 
 ridge, ''and told him I knew not what I ought to do." 
 The old objection to taking orders was still strong. ''My 
 uncle urges me to enter the Church; but the gate is perjury, 
 and I am little disposed to pay so heavy a fine at the 
 turnpike of orthodoxy." Coleridge, on the other hand, 
 feared that his friend was considering such perjury as a 
 possibility and meditating ways by which he might gloze 
 over the opinions expressed in Joan of Arc. 
 
 This was not to be; Southey went to Shurton to confer 
 with his uncle, but returned with the decision to accept 
 Wynn's pension and study law, even though Coleridge 
 thought such a course still more opposite to pantisocratic 
 principles than entering the Church. Southey had thought 
 enough; something had to be done if his ambitions ever 
 were to be furthered. His decision being therefore made, 
 it was also decided, perforce, to dissolve the establishment 
 at 48, College Street. With twenty guineas advanced by 
 Cottle as payment for the copyright of Southey's poems 
 (not published until 1797), the pantisocrats settled their 
 arrears of rent, and parted, Southey going back to his 
 mother's house in Bath, and Coleridge taking another room 
 
166 THE EARLY LIFE OF ROBERT SOUTHEY 
 
 in the same street. Mr. Hill may have been disappointed, 
 but he was now more immediately concerned with his 
 nephew's principles and with his intended imprudent mar- 
 riage. In the hope of chilHng the ardor for pantisocracy 
 and for Edith Fricker, at the end of October he invited the 
 young man to go with him to Portugal for six months. 
 Reluctantly the invitation was accepted. Southey had still 
 over a year to wait for Wynnes pension, and he was weary 
 of refusing all the importunities of his mother. He had, 
 to be sure, no intention of deserting Edith, but there began 
 to be less cause for his uncle to worry about his principles. 
 Although still beheving in natural goodness and social cor- 
 ruption, Southey could now write Bedford (Oct. 1, 1795) 
 that he had learned to confute Godwin, to baffle the atheist, 
 to teach the deist that the arguments in favor of Christi- 
 anity were not to be despised, and to esteem metaphysics 
 to be mere difiicult trifles. It should be noted, however, 
 that with the abandonment of the scheme for emigration 
 to Wales or America Southey did not abandon all the 
 fundamental ideas of pantisocracy. Household customs in 
 Greta HaU, it is reported,^ were for years colored by the 
 poet's democratic notions, the servants, for instance, never 
 being permitted to use terms of polite address such as Miss 
 or Master to the children. More significant, perhaps, was 
 Southey's continued interest in schemes of emigration and 
 communism of one sort or another throughout the rest of 
 his life. To transplant himself to a new country was some- 
 times referred 2 to by him as a possible recourse in case of 
 revolution in England, and when he met Robert Owen in 
 1816, he wrote that the latter was ''neither more nor less 
 than such a Pantisocrat as I was in the days of my youth 
 . . . Had we met twenty years ago, the meeting might 
 have influenced both his life and mine in no shght degree."^ 
 
 ^ Information supplied by Mr. Ernest Hartley Coleridge. 
 
 2 Warter IV, 121. ^ Life IV 195-197; Warier III 45, IV 146-149. 
 
COLERIDGE — PANTISOCRACY 1 67 
 
 Even so, although Southey had long since learned to dis- 
 trust such enthusiasm as he saw in Owen, nevertheless he 
 proposed to go to New Lanark on a visit of inspection, 
 corresponded^ with Rickman at length with regard to this 
 and other cooperative schemes of the day, and in his 
 Colloquies on the Progress and Prospects of Society^ repre- 
 sented himself as discussing various such Utopias with the 
 ghost of Sir Thomas More and advocating the gradual adop- 
 tion of a kind of Tory sociaHsm in which there should be com- 
 mon ownership of property, but no leveling and no atheism. 
 
 In the meantime, as the result of Southey's decision to 
 abandon the immediate pursuit of pantisocracy, the break 
 with Coleridge became open. No quarrel occurred when 
 the former first announced his change of plan and withdrew 
 to his mother's house, but Coleridge wrote letters urging 
 Southey against accepting the advice and assistance of his 
 relatives and friends. Soon afterwards the deserted pan- 
 tisocrat took on a coldly courteous manner, and began to 
 speak harshly to third persons of his former comrade. 
 Tale-bearers of course went then to Southey. This resulted 
 in a letter from the latter demanding explanation and 
 bringing a reply couched in the tone of high moral phi- 
 losophy. On October 4, 1795, Coleridge was married to 
 Sarah Fricker on the strength of an offer of Cottle's to pay 
 a guinea and a half for every hundred lines of verse he 
 might produce. A few days later he wrote to Poole that 
 his project for editing a magazine with Southey had been 
 abandoned because he could not be connected with the 
 latter with any comfort to his feelings, and next the two 
 pantisocrats met each other in Redcliff '^unsaluted and 
 unsaluting."^ 
 
 The time drew near for Southey's departure for Portugal. 
 On the fourteenth of November he was to leave. On that 
 
 1 Life, VI, 50-51, 80-84. 2 Colloquies, I, 132-145. 
 
 « Coleridge, Letters, I, 139-144. 
 
168 THE EARLY LIFE OF ROBERT SOUTHEY 
 
 day he received a long letter from Coleridge expressing 
 lofty scorn for his desertion of their noble principles, and 
 defending the conduct of the writer in all their relation- 
 ships together. On that day, too, Southey corrected the 
 last proof sheet of Joan of Arc, went to the church of St. 
 Mary Redcliff, and was married secretly to Edith Fricker. 
 She was to wear her wedding-ring hung from her neck, and 
 to keep her maiden name imtil the news of the marriage 
 became knoTSTi. She would live as a ^^parlour boarder" 
 with Cottle and his sisters, 'Hwo women of elegant and 
 accomplished manners," who, Southey says, ''make even 
 bigotry amiable." The youthful husband left his wife at 
 the church door and went to take his place on the stage- 
 coach for Falmouth. ''She returned the pressure of my 
 hand, and we parted in silence." ^ 
 
 III 
 
 During the six months of Southey's absence from Eng- 
 land the churning passions of 1795 were to subside, and a 
 way of escape from the ills of society was to open for him 
 through study, writing, and a home. The "phlogiston" in 
 his heart would not be quenched, but it would be stopped 
 from consuming the heart that held it, and made to boil 
 the pot. Meanwhile the energies expended upon Joan 
 would not have been wasted, for upon his return he would 
 find that that epic of six weeks had roused a reputation for 
 him that would have a certain cash value. 
 
 Why an epic should have attracted the attention ac- 
 corded to Joan of Arc is not difficult to understand. In 
 the first place, the form was called for by the grandiose 
 aspirations of the day, and in the state of poetry- at the 
 time, Southey's work was not one that could be ignored. 
 The poems of capital pretensions that had appeared since 
 the death of Pope had been conspicuously feeble. There 
 ^ Works, Preface to Joan of Arc. 
 
COLERIDGE — PANTISOCRACY 1 69 
 
 had been poetry, of course, as the names of Thomson, Gray, 
 Collins, Johnson, Goldsmith, Cowper, Chatterton, Blake, 
 and Bums signify, not to mention such widely differing 
 men as Macpherson and Churchill, but these writers had 
 left the attempt to compose long, ambitious poems in some- 
 thing like heroic vein to such persons as Wilkie, Glover, 
 Hayley, Rogers, Darwin, and Hole, or to translators such 
 as Hoole and Mickle. There was, moreover, little attempt 
 to express in poetry those thoughts and passions of the 
 eighteenth century that were rising to revolution. Aken- 
 side had, it is true, put natural religion and liberal prin- 
 ciples into pompous blank verse, but his was a frost-nipt 
 genius that moved only such willing souls as Southey and 
 Coleridge. Bums, it is also true, was to prove a great 
 force for democracy, and Cowper wrote that English hearts 
 would leap when the Bastille fell, but the fame of Burns 
 had not yet gathered way, and Cowper's Calvinism was 
 not the turn of the age. Below Cowper and until we come 
 to Southey there is but such ineptitude as Mason's English 
 Garden. Yet the last twenty-five years of the century were 
 seething with aspirations, and the time was more than ripe 
 for these to overflow in verse as in the other activities of 
 the human spirit. This was the opportunity which Southey 
 caught. The more superficial aspects of the new poetry, — 
 its form, technic, decoration, and certain of its subjects, — 
 had already appeared, but in Joan of Arc the mood of 
 poetic idealism that had been Spenser's and Milton's was 
 at last fully reopened. Southey had looked in his heart 
 to write; that his promise was greater than his performance 
 may in no small part be due to a certain lack of roots and 
 substance in the religion that was the mainspring of his 
 inspiration. Perhaps no poet could have written an epic 
 out of the eighteenth -century nature-worship. 
 
 The tempest over Joan was lively enough to make its 
 author notorious. The three reviews that represented at 
 
170 THE EARLY LIFE OF ROBERT SOUTHEY 
 
 this time various shades of opposition to government all 
 greeted the poem with acclaim, though not without char- 
 acteristic cavils. The Monthly Review^ regretted the haste 
 of composition, and found it hard to accept Joan as an 
 epic figure after the ribaldries of Voltaire. Nevertheless, 
 Southey's powers were admitted to be ''of a very superior 
 kind." In lofty and daring conception, in commanding 
 sentiments and energetic language, the best passages of the 
 poem were said to be unsurpassed, and there were few parts 
 that sank into langour. As for the political principles 
 which it expressed, they were ''uniformly noble, liberal, 
 enlightened, and breathing the purest spirit of general 
 benevolence and regard to the rights and claims of human- 
 kind." Southey's contemporary allusions gave the reviewer 
 a fine, lip-smacking satisfaction. "We know not where," 
 he exclaims, "the ingenuity of a crown lawyer would stop, 
 were he employed to make out a list of innuendoes." 
 
 The notice in The Critical Review was even more favor- 
 able. The reviewer commended the use of Joan as an epic 
 figure, and particularly praised the mode of her education 
 and her religious principles. To the objection that the 
 subject was not. national, he replied that the cause of truth 
 was of higher importance than any particular interest, that 
 national claims might be ill-founded, and that patriotism 
 might be something worse than enthusiasm unless guided 
 by moderation and founded upon justice. 
 
 Finally, the lumbering Analytical^ and colorless Monthly 
 Magazine ^ added their praise. The latter emitted merely a 
 puff, but the former delivered itself of a labored opinion to 
 the effect that, though it was puzzling to find fifteenth- 
 century personages expressing eighteenth-century politics 
 and metaphysics, nevertheless the noble spirit of freedom, 
 
 1 Month. Rev., April, 1796, n.s.,v. 19, 361-368. 
 
 2 Analyt. Rev., 1796, v. 23, 171-177. 
 
 3 Month. Mag., July, 1796, v. 2, 487. 
 
COLERIDGE — PANTISOCRAC Y 171 
 
 which was evidently the poet's inspiring muse, was much 
 to be admired. 
 
 Hostile criticism was slower in finding its way into print, 
 but by the time of the publication of the second edition 
 in 1798, The Anti- Jacobin Review had been established, and 
 then attacked 1 Southey severely for violating the laws of 
 patriotism and criticism. His story was said to have been 
 made ludicrous by Voltaire; it was not national, it was a 
 mere summary of history, and it had no epic machinery. 
 Above all it was '' anti-English." Who at this crisis would 
 represent the English as routed by the French without 
 intending treacherous malignity? Southey was admitted to 
 be a man of genius, but unfortunately for him he was 
 inflamed by the fanaticism of liberty, and his poem was 
 but the poem of a party. 
 
 The attention that Joan of Arc received from certain 
 sections of the reading public is no doubt further indicated ^ 
 in the response that it obtained from that egregious female 
 poetaster, Miss Anna Seward, now in the height of her 
 renown. She did not see the poem until December, 1796, 
 when one of her friends presented her with a copy, but she 
 was then so impressed that she could read but two books 
 in a fortnight. She was drowned in tears, and she recorded 
 her emotions in a notebook kept for such purposes. The 
 author, she said, was another Chatterton, but the more 
 tragic because he was a savage boy of genius defaming the 
 English character and constitution and deifying France in 
 sublime poetry. These sentiments she put into a blank 
 verse Philippic on a Modern Epic, and sent (before April 13, 
 1797) to the editor of The Morning Chronicle. They were 
 not published until the following summer, when the editor 
 
 1 Anti-Jac. Rev., May, 1799, v. 3, 120-128. 
 
 2 The Poetical Wcyrks of Anna Seward, 1810, III, 67; Letters of 
 Anna Seward, 1811, IV, 328, 369; European Magazine, August, 1797, 
 V. 32, 118. 
 
172 THE EARLY LIFE OF ROBERT SOUTHEY 
 
 added a rejoinder which took a less flattering attitude toward 
 the literary merits of the poem. 
 
 The effect of criticism was, of course, to advertise the 
 young author's book thoroughly, and the public bought up 
 the first edition, a guinea quarto, in less than two years. 
 It was soon pirated in America, and four more editions in 
 smaller form were required in England before the publica- 
 tion of Southey's collected poems in 1837. After the second 
 edition Cottle sold the copyright of this work, together with 
 that of Southey's Poems of 1797, to Longman for £370, his 
 own profit having already amounted to £250 and Southey's 
 to £138. Immediately upon the author's return from 
 Portugal he began his extensive revision for the second 
 edition of his epic. He cut out all those portions that had 
 been contributed by Coleridge, and he removed the entire 
 ninth book, in which Joan made a visionary descent to the 
 lower regions. This was printed separately in the 1799 
 volume of minor poems and afterwards in the later editions 
 of Joan of Arc imder the title. The Vision of the Maid of 
 Orleans. The notes to the second edition were also in- 
 creased by many references illustrative of fifteenth-century 
 costume, manners, and methods of warfare from a formid- 
 able array of poets, chroniclers, and antiquaries, but 
 Southey had added nothing to his knowledge of the his- 
 torical characters of his narrative. The revision consisted 
 of certain changes in the diction and a little toning down 
 of the violence of expression without weakening any of the 
 principles of the poem. One episode was added in place 
 of the old ninth book, but without altering the spirit of 
 the whole. In the later editions there were made but a few 
 more changes in diction until the publication of Southey's 
 collected poems in 1837. Joan of Arc was then selected 
 because of its fame for the first volume of the collection, 
 and the exuberance of youth was once more toned down, 
 though not as extensively as might have been expected. 
 
CHAPTER IV 
 1796-1800 
 
 PORTUGAL — LAW AND LITERATURE 
 
 The young husband/ having left his wife at the church 
 door in Bristol, climbed aboard a stagecoach, and after a 
 journey of two wet days arrived in Falmouth. Then for 
 ten days he and his uncle and their companion, Colonel 
 Maber, waited for the packet that was to carry them to 
 Spain. But the drear discomforts of the young man's 
 position were unable to shake the stoic spirit of that parting 
 from his bride, and he wrote at great length to Bedford of 
 his wedding, of his journey, of his poems. He learned that 
 his marriage had become publicly known, but at this he 
 felt no concern, writing to Cottle the real reason for his 
 having taken such a step at this time. So great was the 
 poverty of the Frickers that the support of Edith had 
 already fallen to him. During his absence it might be em- 
 barrassing for her to receive money from one not legally 
 her husband, and besides, if through some accident of 
 travel he should lose his life and Edith be left his widow, 
 his relatives would then surely come to her assistance. 
 
 The packet sailed, and not later than December 13, 1795, 
 after a stormy passage, landed at Corunna. The next two 
 days were spent by Southey's elders in struggles with 
 Spanish officials, while the young man himself hunted up a 
 bookshop and an English consul who knew Spanish poetry. 
 
 ^ The main facts of this period of Southey's Hfe are to be found in 
 Life, I, 262-352, II, 1-56 and Warter, I, 20-104. 
 
 173 
 
174 THE EARLY LIFE OF ROBERT SOUTHEY 
 
 Then the party started on their four-hundred-mile journey ^ 
 by impassable roads and filthy, flea-bitten inns to Madrid. 
 They arrived there on the second of January, and waited 
 ten days before proceeding farther. The king and his court 
 had just set out for the Portuguese border, and the three 
 Englishmen chose not to take the risk of famine and rob- 
 bery which too close proximity to royalty involved. But 
 on January 12 they ventured forth, barely escaped Carlos, 
 entered Portugal by way of Badajos, and reached Lisbon 
 on the twenty-sixth. It was not an easy or a savory journey 
 for the young man, but important in its effects upon his life. 
 
 The hopes of Southey's kindly uncle that this visit would 
 distract his nephew from an imprudent marriage, and direct 
 his attention toward entering the Church were, of course, 
 doomed to disappointment from the start. The statement 
 of Cuthbert Southey, however, that his father returned to 
 England with ^'the same political bias, and the same ro- 
 mantic feelings as he left it" is misleading. In the stress 
 of love, poetry, and pantisocracy, Southey'^s tastes and 
 temper had taken their true bent; during this visit to 
 Lisbon, they would be stiffened in the direction they would 
 keep, but with a subtle change which would make that 
 direction not so regrettable as his elders then anticipated. 
 At the end of the six months Mr. Hill wrote that he felt 
 deeply hurt at the misapplication of his nephew's great 
 abilities and high moral qualities. ''He has everything you 
 would wish a young man to have excepting common sense 
 and prudence." Yet within the limits of Southey's respon- 
 sibilities and of his very decided aspirations, practical 
 morality had set the date of his marriage, and a certain 
 prudence was to be his guide from now on. 
 
 For the effect upon the recent pantisocrat of first-hand 
 observation of decadent feudalism in Spain and Portugal 
 
 1 Letters written during a Short Residence in Spain and Portugal, 
 1-260. 
 
PORTUGAL — LAW AND LITERATURE 175 
 
 was immediate and profound. Wordsworth caught the 
 revolutionary spirit in France at the same age that Southey 
 completed his recovery from it at Lisbon. In his first 
 letter from Corunna, the latter had described how, when 
 entering the packet, he had found the Spanish mate cutting 
 a cross on the side of his berth, while the sailors were 
 pawing a mess of biscuit, onions, liver, and horse beans out 
 of a bucket. The same cleanliness had appeared in the 
 only meal afforded to the passengers on the trip, and the 
 same spirit of devotion, when the wind blew hard, sent 
 the crew to their prayers. Poverty, filth, ignorance, super- 
 stition, — these were the dominant notes in Southey's im- 
 pressions of the peninsular peoples. The causes of these 
 miseries were the gross incompetence and corruption of the 
 government of Carlos in Spain, and the unbridled sway of 
 the priests in Portugal. The Catholic Church was under the 
 yoimg Englishman's observation in Lisbon, and exercised 
 a fascination of loathing upon him which caused him to 
 revert to it again and again, and colored his whole attitude 
 toward Catholicism. With the royal court of Spain 
 Southey' s experience had been almost too intimate for 
 comfort. The household of Carlos, seven thousand strong, 
 was on the road from Madrid to Lisbon just ahead of the 
 party of which he made one. ''In England, if his Majesty 
 passes you on the road, you say, 'There goes the King,' 
 and there's an end of it; but here when the court thinks 
 proper to move, all carriages, carts, mules, horses and asses 
 are immediately embargoed. Thank God, in an English- 
 man's Dictionary you can find no explanation of that 
 word." Southey's party traveled for several days through 
 the devastation created by the royal horde. His most 
 Catholic majesty proceeded like the king of the gypsies, 
 stripping the country, robbing the people, burning the trees, 
 and leaving the road strewn with the rotting carcases of 
 horses and mules that had been driven to death. 
 
176 THE EARLY LIFE OF ROBERT SOUTHEY 
 
 Such brutal ruin was but an episode in the sodden misery 
 to be observed from end to end of the long road from 
 Corunna. Southey's letters were almost a catalogue of inci- 
 dents in illustration of it. Near Villa Franca, for instance, 
 where nature seemed a paradise, but where Church and 
 State kept the people in poverty and ignorance, he saw such 
 a sight as Wordsworth had beheld^ in France, — "sl woman 
 carrying a heavy burden of wood on her head, which she 
 had cut herself, and spinning as she went along; a melan- 
 choly picture of industrious wretchedness." In Wordsworth 
 such an experience helped to confirm the revolutionary 
 spirit. In Southey it turned loyalty back to England. 
 His indecisions concerning the future were settled; he had 
 a wife in Bristol; the worst of sorrows could be expressed 
 in homesick poems TVTitten in dirty Spanish inns; England 
 was clean, comfortable, safe; a man might be comparatively 
 free there, and perhaps an Englishman's hope should be 
 that nothing should disturb the present liberty and order. 
 Comparisons between his own country and Spain were now 
 constantly in Southey's thoughts. He thanks God that the 
 pride of chivalry is extinguished in England, and finds 
 it pleasant that feudal tyranny is there mellowed doTMi, 
 pleasant that, though England may incur the guilt of war, 
 she feels none of its horrors. Noting a case of immorality 
 in Spain, he adds ^'but in England adultery meets the 
 infamy it deserves." Of Spanish towns he says, "It is not 
 possible to give an Englishman an idea of their extreme 
 poverty and wretchedness." His whole feeling may finally 
 be summed up in a statement made (Jan. 26, 1796) in a 
 letter to W\Tin: "I have learned to thank God that I am 
 an Englishman; for though things are not so well there as 
 in Eldorado, they are better than anywhere else." 
 
 The change in his thoughts is plainly indicated by these 
 words. As he himself expressed it at a later time, he was 
 1 Prelude, Book IX. 
 
PORTUGAL — LAW AND LITERATURE 177 
 
 following the sun as it moved, while others at noon still 
 gazed toward the east. Whether any real change in temper 
 and interest occurred is not so certain. To be sure, he 
 professed still to sympathize with '' enthusiasms," but 
 lamented that enthusiasts should turn Quixotes when they 
 might become good husbands and fathers, and that men 
 should be judged upon the Procrustean bed of principle 
 rather than according to their moral character. He had 
 learned to laugh at systems from seeing the mass of wicked- 
 ness ignored by both pulpit and gallows, ''and as for mend- 
 ing the world. Society is an Ass that will kick the man 
 who attempts to ease it of its burthen." ^ Such statements, 
 however, do not indicate any radical change in the temper 
 and sympathies of the former pantisocrat He has gone 
 into harness, he has got a wife, he has something at stake — 
 that is all. The passion for freedom, the sympathy with 
 the enslaved, these remain, though revolution, such as it 
 had become in France, is not desired by him in England 
 or elsewhere. The evidences of this continuity of feeling 
 over the crisis just past in Southey's life are many and 
 striking. He went on writing, for example, inscriptions for 
 martyrs of freedom precisely as before,^ and, what was more 
 promising for the author's future, he began to make shrewd 
 comments on social wrongs for which he was full of schemes 
 for reform. He quickly caught the main features of the 
 arrested work of Florida Blanca and Pombal in Spain and 
 Portugal, and he analyzed with acuteness and justice the 
 evils that were rooted in the subsidized ignorance of the 
 Portuguese priesthood. Moreover his thought on such sub- 
 jects now began to be expressed in that lucid and vigorous 
 prose which was to be perhaps his greatest artistic achieve- 
 ment. 
 
 . ^ Letters written during a Short Residence in Spain and Portugal, 234. 
 2 Inscription for a Column at Truxillo, op. cit., 225; Inscription for 
 a Bust of Danton, 270. 
 
178 THE EARLY LIFE OF ROBERT SOUTHEY 
 
 One of the most interesting of Southey^s youthful sym- 
 pathies so far displayed had been that for woman in her 
 difficult position in society. Joan of Arc, his admiration of 
 Mary Wollstonecraft, a call which he made with Cottle 
 upon Hannah More just before leaving England, — these 
 are evidences of this. The feeling was to suffer no diminu- 
 tion with advancing years. Observing the effects of con- 
 vents in Lisbon, he said that there was no place in the 
 world where the female mind was not murdered, although 
 woman is a ''better animal," purer and more constant, and 
 no less capable of rational education than man. But the 
 problem that came home to Southey with peculiar force 
 was that of finding means of support in English society for 
 the unmarried woman left without the usual provision for 
 maintenance. To make such persons independent he would 
 have them trained for certain industries, such as millinery. 
 This would be feasible, providing that ''government con- 
 sulted the real welfare and morality of the people" or that 
 individuals would "supply the deficiencies of government," 
 neither of which things was to be expected. Of such 
 schemes among Southey's multifarious interests we shall 
 hear more anon. 
 
 The months passed at Lisbon were outwardly uneventful. 
 With his uncle the young man took pains to live peaceably. 
 "My uncle and I never molest each other by our different 
 principles." Lisbon itself he had at first no love for; 
 "Lisbon," he dates a letter, "from which place God grant 
 me deliverance." But there he remained during most of 
 his stay, except for an excursion in March to Setuval to see 
 the convent of Arrabida, and except for a sojourn in April 
 at Cintra in the mountains to the north. To the latter 
 place his thoughts were often afterwards to turn with 
 longing. On the slopes of the mountain above the town 
 the English had built their houses, "scattered on the ascent 
 half hid among cork trees, elms, oaks, hazels, walnuts, the 
 
PORTUGAL — LAW AND LITERATURE 179 
 
 tall canes, and the rich green of the lemon gardens." Here, 
 in a secluded place, his uncle had a dwelling surrounded by- 
 lemon trees and laurels; there was a little stream running 
 by the door and a prospect of hills tempting one from the 
 sitting room. From the mountain could be seen the bare 
 and melancholy country about Lisbon, a distant convent, a 
 ruined Moorish castle, and the Atlantic. "I cannot . . . 
 describe the ever varying prospects that the many emi- 
 nences of this wild rock present, or the little green lanes 
 over whose bordering lemon gardens the evening wind blows 
 so cool, so rich! ... I shall always love to think of the 
 lonely house, and the stream that runs beside it, whose 
 murmurs were the last sounds I heard at night, and the 
 first that awoke my attention in the morning." He con- 
 cludes with a quotation from Anarcharsis; ''C'est un bien 
 pour un voyageur d'avoir acquis un fond d'emotions douces 
 et vives, dont le souvenir se renouvelle pendant tout sa vie." 
 In spite of homesickness and in spite of the Englishman's 
 dislike of filth, when the time came to leave Lisbon, 
 Southey's heart grew heavy at the thought.^ For there he 
 had found that retreat from society and himself which he 
 had vainly hoped that pantisocracy would afford. It was 
 in his uncle's library that peace came to his troubled mind. 
 In that generous collection of Spanish and Portuguese lit- 
 erature he came upon a practically inexhaustible new field 
 for learning, and set upon the invasion of it. Immediately 
 upon his arrival at Corunna he had applied himself to the 
 Spanish language, and soon began to understand both 
 poetry and conversation. By the time he had been in 
 Lisbon but a little while he could read Spanish and Portu- 
 guese with no difficulty, call for common necessities, and 
 
 ^ For an extensive account of the use made by Southey in his writ- 
 ings, not including his historical works, of his knowledge of Spanish 
 and Portuguese scenery and geography, see Ludwig Pfandl, Robert 
 Southey und Spanien, Revue Hispaniqne, 1913, T. 28, 1-315. 
 
180 THE EARLY LIFE OF ROBERT SOUTHEY 
 
 converse with the dogs and cats. Reading and some writ- 
 ing, however, occupied far more of his attention than con- 
 versation of any sort. In odd moments he wrote long 
 letters home, giving his impressions and experiences in de- 
 tail so that he could afterwards put together a book on 
 his travels without much additional labor. These letters 
 are hurried and disconnected but graphic and copiously- 
 interlarded with information from Spanish chronicles, trans- 
 lations from Spanish poetry, some original verses, and. mis- 
 cellaneous curiosities of learning in his own peculiar vein. 
 A mere list of the erudite references to be found in the little 
 book that he published out of these letters would show how 
 indefatigably he must have labored at the new studies 
 opened before him in his uncle's library. Yet poetry was 
 not forgotten. He was eager for news of Joan, which he 
 had not seen out of the press, and he was already anxious 
 for a new edition without Coleridge's additions. He wanted 
 to write a tragedy, but had no leisure for it. The American 
 minister at Lisbon gave him Timothy Dwight's Conquest of 
 Canaan to read, and patriotically defended it against the 
 superior claims of Milton. Southey read the book and 
 thought he found some merit in it, but it served chiefly to 
 spur his thoughts of Madoc. 
 
 II 
 
 On the fifth of May, 1796,. Southey took ship again for 
 England, and on the fifteenth he leapt ashore at Ports- 
 mouth, ''the devil a drop of gall . . . left in my bile bag." 
 In two days he was in Bristol with Edith. Yet not even 
 this joy was to be unshadowed by sorrow, for when he 
 arrived, the Fricker family was mourning the death of 
 Robert Lovell, who, less than a fortnight before, had died 
 suddenly of a ''fever." His wife was left with no money 
 and a babe in arms. Edith had helped to nurse him, and 
 Southey spent part of his honeymoon trying to publish a 
 
PORTUGAL — LAW AND LITERATURE 181 
 
 volume of his friend's verse in the hope of being able to 
 buy at least a harpsichord for the widow. As for himself 
 and his wife, they had planned to continue living apart 
 until Wynn's pension should commence at Christmas, but 
 the young husband had eighteen pounds remaining from a 
 traveling allowance given him by his uncle, he was still 
 creditor for a little on Joan's account, and the faithful 
 Cottle stood ready to make advances on the copyright of 
 a volume of letters from Spain and Portugal. Married life, 
 therefore, began at once in a lodging-house on Oxford 
 Street, Bristol, where the Southeys continued until the 
 arrival of the first payment on their annuity, and with it, 
 the obligation to go to London and begin at the law. In 
 September,! meanwhile, Coleridge and his Sara came to live 
 across the street from them, and true to his disclaimer of 
 all rancor, Southey made the first motion toward a recon- 
 ciliation. He is said to have sent up to Coleridge a slip of 
 paper with the lines from the translation of Schiller's Con- 
 spiracy of Fiesco: ^'Fiesco! Fiesco! thou lea vest a void in 
 my bosom, which the human race, thrice told, will never 
 fill up." 2 To such an advance of friendship Coleridge could 
 not remain obdurate, and the quarrel was somehow patched 
 up. A few months later, however, although Charles Lamb 
 had told him that they were silly fellows to fall out like 
 boarding-school misses,^ Coleridge could still write that 'Hhe 
 blasted oak puts not forth its buds anew." 
 
 It was not long after his return that Southey was again 
 at work. There was the promised volume of poems for 
 Cottle to be prepared, and the new volume of letters. The 
 
 1 Biog. Epis., I, 92; Campbell, Coleridge, 59. 
 
 2 These lines are also quoted in a review of Fiesco; or the Genoese 
 Conspiracy; a Tragedy translated from the German of Frederick Schiller 
 hy G. H. N. [oehden] and J. S. [toddart], (n.d.) in The Critical 
 Review for February, 1798, 2 ser., v. 22, 201-206. This review is not 
 altogether favorable, but may have been written by Southey himself. 
 
 3 Lamb, Works, VI, 52, Oct. 28, 1796. 
 
182 THE EARLY LIFE OF ROBERT SOUTHEY 
 
 latter had to be excerpted from communications home, and 
 then to be annotated, no slight labor. Southey had found, 
 besides, a market for his '^old rubbish'' and for articles on 
 Spanish literature in The Monthly Magazine, and always 
 there was Madoc. The future was now definitely laid out 
 before him. Willynilly he would be first a '^huge lawyer." 
 Wynn was ambitious for him, and in spite of friendly 
 bargaining to the contrary, stipulated for nine hours a day 
 of legal study from his pensioner. This obligation, accepted 
 only with the hope that by meeting it faithfully he could 
 eventually escape from it, was to determine most of 
 Southey' s movements during the next four years. But it 
 was an obligation the meeting of which was more and more 
 to be interrupted by better loved pursuits, and at last 
 abandoned with the approval of Wynn himself. During 
 the whole time Blackstone did nothing for the poet but 
 harass his spirit. What Southey wanted was merely a com- 
 fortable home in the country with his wife and his books 
 and leisure to write. The law was frankly but a vade me- 
 cum. These aspirations were not in any way concealed 
 from Wjron, but they were confided with warmth to 
 Grosvenor Bedford. Southey expected neither amusement, 
 amelioration, nor improvement from the law, but it might 
 get him a little house by the sea and not too far from the 
 post and the bookseller. There he could become a great 
 philanthropist, associating with the dogs, cats, and cab- 
 bages and cultivating poetry and potatoes. He invited 
 Grosvenor to a Christmas celebration, when he and Edith 
 should be settled, in order that they might make together 
 a Christmas fire out of the law books. The business of 
 immediate ''man-mending," we can here plainly see, was 
 now definitely put aside. To be left to his own devices for 
 his own now clearly distinguished ends, this was all that 
 Southey desired. ''The aristocracy," he told Wynn, "have 
 behaved with liberality to Joan of Arc; and if they will 
 
PORTUGAL — LAW AND LITERATURE 183 
 
 favour me by forgetting that I have ever meddled too much 
 with pubhc concerns, I will take care not to awaken their 
 memories." 
 
 The course thus laid out was not as smooth sailing as 
 might have been expected. There were certain other re- 
 sponsibilities and certain other ambitions that could not be 
 surrendered. To meet the former the pension of £160 was 
 hardly sufficient. In the first place, Southey and Edith 
 found living in lodgings unbearable ; then money had to be 
 raised to furnish a house, and a house had to be found. 
 To raise the money a ready pen could write for newspapers 
 and magazines, but to find a house was more difficult. 
 London and the law drew them one way, family interests 
 drew them to Bristol, ill luck and ill health lurked upon 
 every hand to upset all plans. Few months at a time, 
 therefore, saw Southey settled in one place until he took 
 his wife to Keswick in 1803. Meanwhile cares and anxieties 
 accrued from the other Southeys and the Frickers. Con- 
 cerning his own family, the law-student's conscience came 
 near to pricking him, for he was not permitted to forget 
 that, if he had taken orders, all would now have been well 
 with them. As it was, his mother struggled on in ill 
 health, with her lodging-house and with the care of his two 
 brothers and his consumptive cousin, Margaret Hill. The 
 boys, Henry and Edward, had soon to be educated, and 
 Mrs. Southey was in debt, a fact that she characteristically 
 concealed from her son, and though her house did not pay 
 its own rent, some persuasion was necessary from him, 
 when he became apprised of the situation, in order to make 
 her surrender at a small loss what she could keep only at 
 a greater. In addition to all this, the needs of the Frickers 
 were frequently pressing, and when Southey had £10 not 
 required by his own immediate necessities, he sent them to 
 Edith's mother. Mr. Hill intervened with assistance now 
 and then, but if he sent money, it was painstakingly handed 
 
184 THE EARLY LIFE OF ROBERT SOUTHEY 
 
 on to Mrs. Southey. Eventually, of course, the older man's 
 unfailing kindness and good sense toned down the younger's 
 pride. 
 
 Such were debts of the affections; there were also debts 
 of ambition which it was no less dijQBlcult to forswear. The 
 Hymn to the Penates, written immediately after Southey's 
 return, had been intended as a farewell to the muse as well 
 as a pantisocratic palinode. The poet mistakenly thought 
 that he was going to strike his name from the roll of 
 authors, though not for very long and not without char- 
 acteristic regrets, confided as usual to Bedford. He was 
 about to leave off writing, just when he had learned what 
 and how to write. Was it not a pity that he should give 
 up his intention to write more verses than Lope de Vega, 
 more tragedies than Dryden, more epics than Blackmore? 
 ''I have a Helicon kind of dropsy upon me, and crescit 
 indulgens sibi.^' (June 12, 1796.) To stop poetizing alto- 
 gether was plainly impossible, of course, and when some- 
 thing had to be given up, either authorship or law or a 
 coimtry home, it was easy to see which should go. Never- 
 theless, for the next four years Southey manfully tried to 
 reconcile all three aims and to look after his family besides. 
 The results are evident. He was constantly on the move 
 from one place to another. The old sensitiveness to literary 
 impulses and the old passion for experiment and imitation 
 revived with twofold energy under the spur of financial 
 necessity and the feverish desire to make use of all time 
 left over from less congenial pursuits. Lastly the old 
 "sensibility" showed itself in the manner in which he took 
 all his personal cares to heart. The inevitable outcome was 
 that, at the end of four years of such life, his health began 
 to show signs of failing under the strain, and a radical 
 change had to be made that would decide his future with 
 little more question. 
 
 Southey 's movements during the years 1796 to 1800 are 
 
PORTUGAL — LAW AND LITERATURE 185 
 
 somewhat bewildering, but they were all determined by the 
 constant desire to escape from Blackstone, London, and ill 
 health to Edith, the country, and literary work. There 
 was some compensation for him in all this wandering about, 
 for at every turn the poet found friends, two of whom re- 
 quire particular mention at this point. They were Charles 
 Danvers and John May. Just when Southey's acquaint- 
 ance with the former began it is a little difficult to state, 
 but it was probably during the pantisocracy days at 
 Bristol. The relations between the two men were most 
 affectionate; in his later sojourns in his native city Southey 
 generally stayed at the home of Danvers and his mother. 
 Mrs. Danvers, indeed, came to supply somewhat the place 
 of his own mother to him after Mrs. Southey 's death. 
 John May, a little older, was a friend of Mr. Hill's, who 
 had been attracted by the young man at Lisbon. May was 
 at this time a prosperous merchant, and served as the poet's 
 business adviser, even for a time as an intermediary for 
 him with his uncle. 
 
 On the seventh of February, 1797, Southey registered at 
 Gray's Inn, and found two rooms in Newington Butts, 
 where he could miserably spend the few weeks until Edith's 
 arrival. He would study law for nine hours a day, and 
 finish Madoc in the evenings, firmly refusing to join a 
 literary club to which he was soon invited. So strict a 
 course, however, was not feasible for the author of Joan of 
 Arc. Other literary work and literary society interfered. 
 He began sending verses to The Oracle and to The Tele- 
 graph; he engaged to translate the second volume of 
 Necker's French Revolution for twenty-five guineas, Dr. 
 Aiken and son doing the first; and he earned '^ seven 
 pounds and two pair of breeches in eight months" by writ- 
 ing articles on Spanish and Portuguese poetry as well as by 
 contributing discarded juvenilia to The Monthly Magazine. 
 The Godwin set welcomed him, and he dined several times. 
 
186 THE EARLY LIFE OF ROBERT SOUTHEY 
 
 ''with Mar}" WoUstonecraft." She was still the object of 
 Southey's admiration, but her husband he could not endure; 
 though Godwin had noble eyes, language was not ^dtupera- 
 tious enough to describe the downward elongation of his 
 nose. Besides, the philosopher loved London, literary 
 society, and talked '' nonsense about the collision of mind" 
 (March 13, 1797). The lesser lights of the circle — Mary 
 Hayes, Gilbert Wakefield, George Dyer — made but small 
 impression upon Southey. Of far more importance was the 
 renewal at this time of the poet's acquaintance with Charles 
 Lamb. The two men had met m January, 1795, when Lamb 
 and The Angel Inn had, through Southey's interposition, 
 lost Coleridge to pantisocracy.^ Since that time Lamb had 
 heard much of Southey. He had greeted Joan of Arc with 
 such excessive praise, — deeming the author bound one day 
 to rival no less a poet than IMilton,- — that Coleridge had 
 had to correct his hasty judgment. Through Lamb Southey 
 continued an acquaintance -^dth Coleridge's pupil, Charles 
 Lloyd, which may have begun in Bath at any time since 
 the preceding October.^ Lloyd had recently been in Lon- 
 don, had confided his troubles to Lamb, and either shortly 
 before or shortly after Southej^'s arrival in Februarj^, 
 returned to Coleridge at Nether Stowey. Lamb, at this 
 time most sjTupathetic with Lloj^d,^ no doubt had much 
 concerning him to teU Southey. For society in general, 
 however, the latter's distaste was increasing. His sensi- 
 tiveness and self-absorption told against him, and betrayed 
 him into contempt for the attention accorded to his own 
 now weU-known name. He confessed that in company he 
 was a snail popping into his shell or a hedgehog rolling 
 
 1 Lamb, Works VI, 8, 11 n., ca. June 1, 1796. 
 - Lamb, Works, Vl, 13, June, 8-10, 1796; 26, June 13, 1796. 
 3 Campbell, Coleridge, 56. 
 
 ^ E. V. Lucas, Charles Laynh and the Lloyds, 49-51; Life of Charles 
 Lamb, I, 154. 
 
PORTUGAL — LAW AND LITERATURE 187 
 
 himself up in a rough outside. There had been a short 
 time when high spirits, quick feelings, and enthusiastic 
 principles had made him talkative, but experience had 
 taught the wisdom of self-centering silence. ''God never 
 intended that I should make myself agreeable to anybody." 
 (Feb. 16, 1797.) 
 
 In May he could flee from London with Edith, and they 
 set out for the Hampshire seacoast. After a trying jour- 
 ney, Southey left his wife ill at Southampton and pushed 
 on afoot through Lyndhurst and Lymington to Burton, a 
 small place near Christ Church. There he found a cottage 
 of three rooms where they could settle down for work and 
 domesticity. The country was a flat plain threaded by 
 many streams from the hills that rose abruptly to the west. 
 The New Forest lay just to the north, and the beach but 
 two miles to the south. There was a fine church with a 
 pile of ruins near by, and a thatched cottage to be seen 
 from their windows. The ensuing summer was full of 
 happiness. Mrs. Southey visited them, and Thomas came 
 to recuperate from a French prison. Friends came, too, 
 among them Cottle with the new volume of poems by 
 Coleridge, Lamb, and Lloyd, and with new plans of pub- 
 lication to be discussed with Southey. Lamb and Lloyd 
 themselves arrived unexpectedly one day. A new phase in 
 the joint relations of all three with Coleridge was about to 
 develop. Lloyd was one in whom mimosa sensibility now 
 and then lapsed into epilepsy and melancholia. His life 
 with Coleridge had been fairly happy for a few months, and 
 by March of this year it had been decided to include some 
 of his poems in the new volume that Cottle was preparing 
 for Coleridge and Lamb.^ This appeared in June, but by 
 that time Lloyd had felt not a few slights from Coleridge, 
 and had fallen in love with a young woman in Birmingham.^ 
 
 ^ Campbell, Coleridge, 65. 
 
 2 E. V. Lucas, Charles Lamb and the Lloyds, 122. 
 
188 THE EARLY LIFE OF ROBERT SOUTHEY 
 
 In his distress he finally came early in August to Lamb for 
 comfort, and the latter, well inclined from his own troubles 
 to help, carried him down to Southey at Burton. Lamb 
 had already spent a week that summer with Coleridge at 
 Nether Stowey, and so had to hasten back to his desk the 
 next morning, but Lloyd remained for the rest of the sum- 
 mer in pleasant companionship with Thomas as well as 
 Robert Southey. The latter could advise him in the writ- 
 ing of ''an explicit letter to Sophia," and could sympathize 
 with his grievances against Coleridge.^ 
 
 A friend of far different character and more permanent 
 value was found by Southey at Burton in John Rickman. 
 The latter was a youth who lived at Christ Church close by, 
 ''a sensible young man, of rough but mild manners, and 
 very seditious." Rickman's sedition consisted in opposi- 
 tion to Pitt and some notions about man-mending which 
 ultimately resulted in making him the first census-taker. 
 He took the Southeys out in his boat upon the harbor, and 
 the two young men became friends for life. 
 
 The retirement of Burton gave welcome opportunity for 
 work. Blackstone came down from London in the luggage, 
 but the law-student commenced writing a tragedy in the 
 stagecoach. Notwithstanding this omen, law was to fill 
 the mornings, and literature, — with a notion of saving the 
 lawyer's reputation under the pseudonym, Walter Tyler, — 
 the rest of the time. The letters from Spain and Portugal 
 had sold so well that Cottle advised a new edition, the 
 volume of poems was being pubHshed, Joan was ready for 
 another edition, and there was the tragedy on the same 
 subject which had been begun. Besides all this, there was 
 more work for The Monthly Magazine, another volume of 
 poems to be hoped for, and always Madoc. In addition 
 Cottle had brought a task of purest charity for Southey to 
 share. The kindly Joseph had come upon the sister and 
 1 Lamb, Works, VI, Lamb to Coleridge, Aug. 24, 1797. 
 
PORTUGAL — LAW AND LITERATURE 189 
 
 the niece of Chatterton in dire poverty; they had been 
 swindled in 1778 of certain valuable papers of their poet- 
 kinsman by an impecunious, unscrupulous clergyman- 
 baronet named Sir Herbert Croft. All efforts to obtain 
 redress from this person had failed although the stolen 
 material had been utilized in a novel called Love and Mad- 
 ness (1779). Southey and Cottle now planned to pubhsh 
 a subscription edition of Chatterton's works for the benefit 
 of the two women, but first attempted again to get some 
 satisfaction from Croft. This took time and was fruitless, 
 so that it was not until November, 1799, that Southey pub- 
 Ushed proposals for the publication in The Monthly Maga- 
 zine together with an explicit account of Croft's rascality. 
 That gentleman replied in The Gentleman's Magazine for 
 February, March, and April, 1800, dodging the issue in a 
 whirl of talk about pantisocracy and Joan of Arc. The 
 last word necessary was uttered by Southey in the Monthly 
 for April of the same year.^ The number of subscriptions 
 never sufficed to support the printing of the book, but 
 Longman came to the rescue and published it in 1803, 
 allowing some benefit to Mrs. Newton.^ Cottle did most 
 of the editorial work; Southey probably supervised it 
 and stood sponsor to the public, while Dr. Gregory per- 
 mitted the republication of his very poor biography of 
 Chatterton. 
 
 The idyllic summer at Burton came to an end on Sep- 
 tember 21, when Southey and his wife went back to Bath 
 to be near Mrs. Southey and more books. Lloyd, still in 
 the thick of sudden intimacy, went with them, and became 
 an inmate of the lodging-house at 8, Westgate Buildings. 
 He had been using recent experience, not to say recent 
 
 1 Month. Mag., Nov. 1799, v. 8, 770-772; April, 1800, v. 9, 252. 
 Gent. Mag., v. 70, pt. i, 99, 222, 322, Feb., Mar., Apr., 1800. 
 
 2 Preface by Southey to The Works of Thomas Chatterton . . . 1803. 
 See Appendix A. 
 
190 THE EARLY LIFE OF ROBERT SOUTHEY 
 
 friends and their opinions, as material for a novel. This 
 work was done in Southey's company, probably upon 
 Southey's suggestion. The latter had, in the course of his 
 former estrangement from Coleridge, planned (July 31, 
 1796) a ''novel in three volumes of Edmund Oliver." In 
 one of his Commonplace Books, ^ furthermore, he made a 
 sketch for a novel with somewhat the same theme as 
 Lloyd's, and with a hero, Oliver Elton, who, like Lloyd's 
 hero, runs away to the army. This note is dated "1798 or 
 1799" by Warter, but that Southey would have made such 
 a plan after Edmund Oliver had been written seems little 
 likely, especially since he added a statement in 1801 that 
 "the soldier part should be omitted." Be that as it may, 
 upon arriving in Bristol, Southey wrote to his brother Tom, 
 "Do you know that Lloyd has written a novel, and that 
 it is going immediately to press?" In the following spring 
 appeared Lloyd's Edmund Oliver, published by Cottle and 
 dedicated to Charles Lamb. It is a dull performance except 
 for the fact that the personalities of Coleridge and Southey 
 plainly gave suggestions for the two leading characters. 
 The author's purpose, on the one hand, is to present argu- 
 ments against unrestrained sensibility and abstract phi- 
 losophy of the Godwin school of general benevolence, and 
 on the other to plead on behalf of stoicism and private 
 virtue. Edmund Oliver, who shows that abandonment to 
 emotion which Lloyd had seen in Coleridge and from which 
 he had himself suffered, is consumed by unhappy love for 
 a lady of enthusiastic passions who has been convinced and 
 is seduced by an equally enthusiastic democrat, who be- 
 lieves in the Godwin system of morality, has secretly 
 married another woman, and dies in a duel. In his despair 
 at losing the lady, Oliver runs away from his friends, stops 
 eating, lives on nothing but drink and laudanum, and joins 
 a regiment of horse. Fortunately he has a friend, Charles 
 1 Commonplace Book, Series IV, 9-10. 
 
PORTUGAL — LAW AND LITERATURE 191 
 
 Maurice, who resides in cottage-seclusion with his wife and 
 children, who preaches and exemplifies the moral influence 
 of nature as opposed to the wickedness of the city, stoicism 
 as opposed to enthusiasm, virtuous conduct in private life 
 as opposed to general benevolence, to democracy, to skepti- 
 cism, and to metaphysics, and who extricates Oliver from 
 his predicament in the army. There is more to the story 
 after that, but from this point on it merely uses conven- 
 tional tricks selected and strung together in such a way 
 as to bring the argument to an edifying, if not logical, con- 
 clusion. Lloyd denied any intentional reference to Cole- 
 ridge, but Coleridge naturally saw himself in Edmund Oliver, 
 must have seen his uncomfortably virtuous brother-in-law 
 in Charles Maurice, and was offended. 
 
 Meanwhile Lloyd's own love affair was progressing; he 
 now hoped to persuade his lady to a Scotch marriage, and 
 he wrote Lamb that he expected Southey to assist and 
 accompany him in the elopement.^ This plan was never 
 carried out, but before the end of the year Lloyd went 
 home to Birmingham, where his Sophia lived, and in 1799 
 he was married to her in quite the usual fashion. 
 
 Southey spent the autumn quietly engaged in his usual 
 pursuits. He remained most of the time with his mother 
 at Bath, but visited Dan vers for two weeks in Bristol, and 
 renewed his friendship with Joseph Cottle. Now it was, 
 probably, that he found the latter's brother, Amos, making, 
 for Joseph's benefit, a prose translation of the Latin version 
 of the '^Poetic Edda." Southey characteristically urged 
 rather the making of a verse translation for publication, for 
 which he offered himself to write an introductory poem. 
 
 1 Lamb, Works, VI, 120, Coleridge to Lamb [Spring of 1798]. De 
 Quincey distorted these facts (repeated with a question in the Diction- 
 ary of National Biography) into a story that Lloyd did elope by proxy, 
 and that the proxy was Southey. De Quincey, Collected Writings, ed. 
 by Masson, II, 389. 
 
192 THE EARLY LIFE OF ROBERT SOUTHEY 
 
 The suggestion was adopted, the book^ appeared shortly- 
 after, and Southey, although he thought lightly ^ of the 
 merits of Amos Cottle's work except as a convenient source 
 of information, contributed twelve pages of blank verse to 
 the volume dealing with the general subject of northern 
 poetry. Meanwhile the time came for him to eat another 
 set of dinners at London, and thither he went with Edith 
 some time before Christmas of 1797. Law there again 
 harassed him, but he found happiness in routing the spiders 
 from an old library that offered material for many learned 
 notes to the second edition of Joan. He had recently 
 engaged to write for The Critical Review, and now he con- 
 tracted to supply The Morning Post with verses at the rate 
 of a guinea a week in the hope of raising enough money 
 to furnish a house. But he again complained of '' swarms 
 of acquaintances who buzz about me and sadly waste my 
 time," and early in February ill health again drove him 
 and his wife back to Bath. Though Lloyd had come to 
 London at about the same time as they, he had been little 
 with them during their stay in town. He was living in a 
 boarding-house, and had got, says Southey, ''a vast number 
 of new acquaintances, a false tail, a barber to powder him 
 every morning, and is I believe as happy as he wishes to 
 be." The misunderstanding with Coleridge had, at the 
 same time, grown apace. In November the latter's Hig- 
 ginbotham Sonnets in the Manner of Contemporary Writers 
 had appeared in The Monthly Magazine; they were good- 
 humoredly directed at Lamb, Lloyd, and Coleridge himself, 
 but the friends^ took the third as being intended for 
 
 ^ Icelandic Poetry, or the Edda of Saemund Translated into English 
 Verse, by A. S. Cottle, Bristol, 1797; see also F. E. Farley, Scan- 
 dinavian Influences in the English Romantic Movement. 
 
 2 Taylor, I, 246-247. 
 
 3 Lamb, Works, VI, 119-121; Lucas, Charles Lamb and the Lloyds,. 
 61-80. 
 
PORTUGAL — LAW AND LITERATURE 193 
 
 Southey, and all three felt offended, Lloyd the most and 
 Lamb the least so. In the following March (1798), Cole- 
 ridge, then deep in his intimacj^ with the Wordsworths, sent 
 a sarcastic message in reply to Lloyd's request to Cottle 
 that his contributions be omitted from the next edition 
 of Coleridge's poems. Shortly afterwards Lloyd gave the 
 next cut in the publication of Edmund Oliver, and in the 
 summer, probably egged on by Lloyd's tattle. Lamb sent 
 his old friend the famous Theses quaedam Theologicae, not 
 neglecting to supply Southey with a copy for his enjoyment. 
 In September Coleridge departed for Germany with Words- 
 worth, and the eclipse was complete. The most interesting 
 result was that Southey became established for a time in 
 Coleridge's place in Lamb's correspondence, though not in 
 his most intimate feeling. 
 
 One of Southey' s concerns upon reaching Bath was the 
 education of his fourteen-year-old brother, Henry. The lad 
 had shortly before been sent up to Yarmouth to be tutored 
 by George Burnett, now a Unitarian minister in that place. 
 Pantisocracy had not been happy in its effect upon Burnett. 
 In the break-up of that affair he had sided against Southey, 
 and, deprived of his father's support, had joined Coleridge 
 for a time at Clevedon to serve as an incapable assistant 
 in the ill-fated Watchman of 1796. After that he had 
 obtained his present position, and a sufficient reconciliation 
 with Southey must in the meantime have taken place to 
 render him eligible for the supervision of Henry. Thus it 
 came about that in May, 1798, Southey went up to Norfolk 
 for a consultation concerning his brother, and was intro- 
 duced to William Taylor of Norwich.^ The latter had 
 
 ^ Taylor, I, 211-212, et passim. See also O. F. Emerson, The Earliest 
 English Translations of Burger's Lenore; Emerson states (p. 63) that 
 Southey's interest in Taylor's translation of Lenore led to a correspond- 
 ence and eventually to a meeting between the two men. I have en- 
 countered no evidence that indicates that such was the order of these 
 events. 
 
194 THE EARLY LIFE OF ROBERT SOUTHEY 
 
 now settled down to his comfortable bachelor existence, 
 associating with Dr. Sayers and with the dissenters and 
 ''literary circle'^ of Norwich. He lived in studious, con- 
 versational, tobacco- smoking, letter-writing ease, described 
 in characteristic fashion by Borrow in Lavengro, and he 
 contributed occasional articles in an extraordinary style 
 upon a variety of curious subjects to The Monthly Review. 
 At the age of seventeen (1781-1782) Taylor had spent a 
 little over a year in Germany, and as a result became 
 master of more knowledge of the language and literature 
 of that country than any modern EngHshman had up to 
 that time possessed. This knowledge he sought to dis- 
 seminate, and had already won some renown by the transla- 
 tion (1790) of Burger's Lenore, published in The Monthly 
 Magazine for March, 1796. Southey had read this piece 
 with great interest, and attributed it to the hand of Sayers. 
 The latter's acquaintance he now also made, but it was 
 the racier personality of Taylor that attracted him. There 
 was much for the two men to talk of together, and Southey's 
 debt to Taylor for suggestion and criticism in literary 
 matters as well as for thoughtful kindness towards his 
 brother Henry was very great. As they grew older, the 
 intimacy between the two men would have kept warmer if 
 their religious opinions had not tended in opposite direc- 
 tions. 
 
 Upon his return home from Norfolk about June first, 
 another revolution took place in Southey's Hving arrange- 
 ments. His mother had given up her house in Bath, and 
 with her niece Margaret now joined her son in a little 
 house at Westbury, a pretty village about two miles from 
 Bristol. At the end of June Southey wrote to his brother 
 Tom, describing some of the agony of settling. After hesi- 
 tating over the appropriate names of Rat Hall, Mouse 
 Mansion, Vermin Villa, Cockroach Castle, and Spider 
 Lodge, the Southeys dubbed the place Martin Hall from 
 
PORTUGAL — LAW AND LITERATURE 195 
 
 the birds that had built and bemired upon it. This was 
 to be the home of the whole family for the next twelve 
 months. Books, poetry, and friends, all were there to be 
 had, and the poet was very happy. A certain amount of 
 law, supposedly, was to be read, but he was beginning to 
 take that obHgation less and less seriously, and we hear 
 chiefly of literary work. ''I have never," Southey wrote 
 in 1837, '^ before or since, produced so much poetry in the 
 same space of time." In the late summer of 1798 he pub- 
 lished second editions of his Joan of Arc and of the Letters 
 written during a Short Residence in Spain and Portugal, and 
 at the end of the same year another book of poems {Poems 
 1799). For the last-named volume, for an Annual AnthoU 
 ogy undertaken upon Taylor's suggestion, and for The 
 Morning Post, he composed a whole host of minor pieces, — 
 eclogues, ballads, lyrics, and occasional verses of many 
 sorts. He continued at the same time to review for the 
 Critical, he went steadily on with Madoc, and his prolific 
 mind swarmed with ideas for still more works. Among 
 these dreams were a tragedy that never was written, and 
 ''an Arabian poem of the wildest nature; . . . The De- 
 struction of the Dom Danyel,^' which became Thalaba. 
 
 Some of the poet's new friends contributed much to the en- 
 couragement of all this work. He corresponded with Lamb for 
 one, from whom came characteristic comments on his ballads, 
 eclogues, and other minor pieces as well as extracts from John 
 Woodvil. In return, although the letters are apparently not 
 preserved, Southey evidently stimulated Lamb's Uterary and 
 antiquarian interests, putting him upon the track of such 
 favorites as Quarles and Wither.^ Southey's intimacy with 
 Lloyd, meanwhile, had met the fate of many of Lloyd's at- 
 tachments; ''I never knew a man," the former wrote, ''so 
 deUghted with the exteriors of friendship. ... I believe he 
 now sincerely regards me, though the only person who has 
 1 Lamb Works, VI 124-149. 
 
196 THE EARLY LIFE OF ROBERT SOUTHEY 
 
 ever upon all occasions advised, and at times reproved him, 
 in unpalliated terms. ... I love him, but I cannot esteem 
 him, and so I told him." In spite of this frankness, Lloyd 
 wrote one poem of friendship to Southey in 1800^ and 
 another in 1815 dedicating to him a translation of Alfieri;^ 
 Southey, on his part, visited Lloyd at Old Brathay for a 
 few days in 1804.^ A man of another cahbre was WilUam 
 Taylor, whom the poet now began to consult with regard 
 to many personal and Hterary matters; other friends 
 nearer home were Danvers, an appreciative companion for 
 a long walk such as Southey took into Herefordshire in 
 August of this year, and Humphry Davy, a dazzling in- 
 spiration, who, though barely twenty-one, had just been 
 made assistant to Thomas Beddoes at a '^ Pneumatic Insti- 
 tution" which the latter had established in Bristol. There, 
 in the course of experiments for the discovery of a cure for 
 consumption, Davy was beginning his notable career in 
 chemistry. Southey was so fascinated that he set to work 
 reading Davy's scientific treatises, and Coleridge a little 
 later tried to set up a chemical laboratory of his own at 
 Keswick. But Davy had written verses before becoming a 
 chemist, and often did one or the other of the two youths 
 walk the two miles between Martin Hall and the Pneuma- 
 tic Institution in order to exchange chemistry and poetry. 
 "Miraculous," "extraordinary," were the adjectives that 
 Southey applied to his new friend. The disease that Davy 
 was seeking to understand came closely home to him, for 
 his cousin and mother were both strangely ailing under his 
 own roof, and now he himself was beginning to suffer seizures 
 about the head and heart with a cough and a pain in the 
 
 ^ Charles Lloyd, Nugae Canorae, Third ed. 1819. 
 
 2 Lloyd, The Tragedies of Alfieri, 1815. 
 
 3 Warter I 284, Taylor I 520. The statement in the article on Lloyd 
 in the Dictionary of National Biography that Southey visited Lloyd at 
 Old Brathay upon returning from Portugal is apparently an error. 
 
PORTUGAL — LAW AND LITERATURE 197 
 
 side which gave him serious alarm. He was willing, there- 
 fore, to permit himself to be experimented upon, more so 
 than to have the ordinary practitioners treat him. Davy 
 set him to breathing nitrous oxide which he had just dis- 
 covered, and they studied the effects together; ''Oh, Tom! 
 such a gas has Davy discovered, the gaseous oxide! Oh, 
 Tom! I have had some; it made me laugh and tingle in 
 every toe and finger tip. Davy has actually invented a new 
 pleasure, for which language has no name. Oh, Tom! I am 
 going for more this evening; it makes one strong, and so 
 happy! so gloriously happy! and without any after-debility, 
 but, instead of it, increased strength of mind and body. Oh, 
 excellent air-bag! Tom, I am sure the air in heaven must 
 be this wonder-working gas of delight! " In return for these 
 drafts of paradise, Davy received drafts of Madoc upon his 
 visits to Martin Hall. Section by section, the poem was read 
 to him as it was composed, and received his cordial approba- 
 tion. These were roseate days for both. 
 
 So the winter of 1798-1799 passed swiftly by, and when 
 May returned, Southey dutifully, though with sinking 
 heart, went up alone to London for another term of dinners. 
 The result was the same as before; — too much confine- 
 ment, too many acquaintances, too much law to read, 
 homesickness, and no joy but in hunting the bookstalls, 
 even though he lodged at Brixton with Bedford. At the 
 end of the month, therefore, Southey fled back to Edith, 
 and found that another removal of his household had be- 
 come necessary. The lease of Martin Hall could not be 
 renewed, and the whole family had to return to Bristol, 
 Robert and Edith finding shelter under the kindly roof of 
 Danvers. 
 
 House-hunting was again the order of the day, and 
 Southey went down to Burton, most of the way a-foot, to 
 look for a place. There he found that their former genial 
 neighbor, Biddelcomb, was willing to throw two adjoining 
 
198 THE EARLY LIFE OF ROBERT SOUTHEY 
 
 cottages into one so as to make a small house with spare 
 room, sitting-room, and above all, a book room. It was not 
 pretentious but for the Southeys it would be a ''palace." 
 Possession not being possible until October, the poet and his 
 wife would go on a journey in the interval. Late in July 
 they set out for Devonshire,^ and arrived on the twenty-fifth, 
 both wet and Edith ill, at Minehead. Southey walked on 
 alone to Lynmouth and Ilfracombe, finding the former 
 second only to Cintra. The wild beauty of the Valley of 
 Stones also impressed him deeply, but the barren moors 
 repelled him. The south of Devon was to be their next 
 stage, but on the way they turned aside to visit the Cole- 
 ridges at Nether Stowey. For another reconciliation, made 
 easier, no doubt, by Lloyd's elimination of himself from the 
 situation, had now taken place, this time upon Coleridge's 
 initiative. The latter had returned from Germany some 
 time in July, and had written ^ at once to Southey entreat- 
 ing an explanation and a renewal of old ties. His words 
 strikingly suggest certain traits of the man to whom they 
 were written; after entreating Southey that, if they should 
 be thrown together in the future, they should meet with 
 kindness, he concludes, ''We are few of us good enough to 
 know our own hearts, and as to the hearts of others, let us 
 struggle to hope that they are better than we think them, 
 and resign the rest to our common Maker." Southey ap- 
 pears to have replied to this letter by citing the slanders 
 that Lloyd had reported. Coleridge, in return, disavowed 
 everything, and referred to Lamb, Wordsworth, Poole, even 
 Lloyd himself as witnesses to prove that he had never 
 accused Southey of any offense against himself except 
 enmity. Finally a letter of August 8 from Thomas Poole 
 was delivered to Southey at Minehead by special messenger, 
 clinching Coleridge's statements and effecting the recon- 
 
 * Common-place Book, Series IV, 517-524. 
 
 * Coleridge, Letters, I, 303-304; Campbell, Coleridge, 103. 
 
PORTUGAL — LAW AND LITERATURE 199 
 
 ciliation. Shortly afterwards the two farailies were together 
 at Nether Stowey, and on August twentieth Southey was 
 writing at the same table again with his old associate: 
 ''Here I am, and have been some days wholly immersed in 
 conversation. . . . The hours slip away, and the ink dries 
 upon the pen in my hand." From Stowey they went to- 
 gether to Ottery, where all the small literary men and 
 radicals came forth to meet them, and where Southey made 
 the acquaintance of Coleridge's family, and heard deaf old 
 Mrs. Coleridge long for the presence of Samuel's father to 
 set him right in an argument. A few weeks of rambling 
 in south Devon followed, and ended by the Southeys set- 
 thng down in September at Exeter until their new house 
 should be ready. For part of the time the Coleridges were 
 their guests. 
 
 It was during Southey' s visit at Stowey that the famous 
 squib. The DeviVs Thoughts, or, as it was afterwards called, 
 The DeviVs Walk, was composed by the two men. 
 
 "There, while the one was shaving. 
 Would he the song begin; 
 And the other, when he heard it at breakfast. 
 In ready accord join in." ^ 
 
 The one who was shaving was undoubtedly Southey, and 
 the spark of the jeu d'esprit was suggested by WiUiam 
 Taylor, who had sent him his translation of Voss's The 
 Devil in Ban? Southey had been delighted with the idea 
 contained in this piece; ''A meeting of devils might make 
 fine confessions of whom they had been visiting." Out of 
 this suggestion rose The DeviVs Thoughts, and an odd history 
 the verses had. They were published anonymously in The 
 Morning Post on September 6, 1799, and became imme- 
 
 1 Works, 179. 
 
 2 Taylor, I, 228, 233; Month. Mag., v. 7, 139; Histonc Survey of 
 German Literature, II, 64. 
 
200 THE EARLY LIFE OF ROBERT SOUTHEY 
 
 diately popular.^ A story obtained wide circulation that 
 they had been composed by Dr. Porson at an evening party 
 which took place, according to Porson's nephew, at a 
 Dr. Deloe's, and according to Southey himself, at Dr. Vin- 
 cent's. Illustrations were drawn for later editions by 
 Landseer and by Cruikshank, and changes were rung upon 
 the theme by Byron, Shelley, and lesser hands. The fabri- 
 cations concerning the authorship were put at rest in 1827 
 by Southey's publication of the piece expanded to fifty- 
 seven verses instead of the original fourteen, and including 
 a description of its origin and a reference to Dr. Porson's 
 supposed authorship. 
 
 The DeviVs Thoughts was not the only literary work that 
 Southey engaged in during these months of moving about. 
 He complained at the time that his health demanded so 
 many hours of exercise that none were left for more serious 
 pursuits, but the mass of writing that he was carrying on 
 under such circumstances makes one suspect that the study 
 of law was the only labor serious enough to be sacrificed. 
 At any rate, we find him writing on July 12, 1799, ''Yes- 
 terday I finished Madoc, thank God! and thoroughly to my 
 own satisfaction," and immediately he decided on the theme 
 and metrical form of his next long poem, Thalaha. He 
 went to work upon this at once. It was to be printed 
 promptly, and unlike Madoc, was expected to prove popu- 
 lar and profitable. By September 22 the author wrote, 
 "Thalaha the Destroyer is progressive," and by the end 
 of October he had begun the fifth book while he gutted 
 the libraries and book shops of Exeter for notes. 
 
 But the law-student had many other literary irons in 
 the fire during these summer rambles in search of health. 
 A throng of epic figures filled his imagination; "it seems 
 as though all I have yet done is the mere apprenticeship 
 
 ^ Coleridge, Poetical and Dramatic Works; T. J. Wise, Bibliography 
 of Coleridge. 
 
PORTUGAL — LAW AND LITERATURE 201 
 
 of poetry, the rude work which has taught me only how 
 to manage my tools." On his way through Devonshire 
 Southey read the Koran, and Taylor/ after the cue of his 
 German poets, had been suggesting the use of hexameters 
 in English. Consequently, on his visit to Stowey, Southey 
 easily persuaded Coleridge to join him in an hexameter 
 epic on Mohammed. Both men made beginnings, and 
 Southey expected to finish without Coleridge, but neither 
 left anything but fragments. At the same time Southey 
 was borrowing from Taylor ^ a copy of Bodmer's Noachide, 
 and thinking of making his way through it by dint of 
 patience, curiosity, and the ^'dark-lanthorn glimmer of 
 grammar and dictionary." In similar fashion he was at- 
 tacking Dutch for the sake of Jacob Cats's poem on the 
 deluge. This, he agreed with Taylor, was the noblest epic 
 subject afforded by the ''Christian system" or ''perhaps 
 any system." If he had but leisure, what a plan he would 
 mold of the idea. But there was also Zoroaster, and on 
 the third of September Southey received a copy of the 
 Zend-Avesta from John May. By the twenty-seventh of 
 October he had "extracted the kernel"; "the outline of the 
 mythology is fine, and well adapted for poetry, because the 
 system is comprehensible." In this respect he compares it 
 favorably with the Hindoo fables, which he thought were 
 rendered unpoetical by their intricacy. The most magnifi- 
 cent system of all, however, was the Edda, and he will one 
 day "graft a story upon it, to contrast with the oriental 
 picture of ThalahaJ'^ All these schemes were topped on 
 September 22, when he announced that he had determined 
 to undertake one great historical work, — a history of Por- 
 tugal in two, probably three, volumes in quarto that would 
 easily surpass Gibbon in its success. 
 
 One might suppose that something of Coleridge's im- 
 practical expansiveness had infected Southey, if it were not 
 1 Taylor, I, 277. 2 ji^i^,^ i^ 276-280. ^ j^^^i^^ j^ 304. 
 
202 THE EARLY LIFE OF ROBERT SOUTHEY 
 
 that he was still sending the usual number of somehow 
 finished products to the press. The first volume of the 
 Annual Anthology^ appeared during the summer. It had 
 been undertaken on Taylor's suggestion, and was made up 
 of pieces of Southey's own that had been saved from the 
 newspapers or the flames, and of a few dragooned from his 
 friends. He admitted that there was barely enough cork 
 in the book to float the lead; Taylor heartily agreed with 
 this judgment, Coleridge regretted he should so waste his 
 time, Lamb mildly jeered, and nobody bought. Nevertheless 
 the editor went on with his plans for another volume, and 
 Coleridge wrote him a long letter of criticism, suggesting 
 a better principle of classification, and discussing the be- 
 stowal on the volume of Christahel "ii finished." In addi- 
 tion to this impromising venture, Southey published a new 
 volmne of poems during the year (1799), and went on 
 reviewing for the Critical, writing articles on the American 
 Indians for The Morning Post, and still planning a money- 
 making tragedy. 
 
 In October, after a season of such activity, he finally 
 carried his household of wife, mother, and cousin down to 
 the new ''palace" at Burton, hoping there to find peace 
 both for his chosen and his necessary labors, but in vain. 
 Hardly were the rooms swept, when the strain under which 
 he had been working made itself felt in a ''nervous fever." 
 The new home was abandoned at the end of a month, and 
 Southey and Edith moved back to lodgings with Danvers 
 in order to have the advice of Beddoes and Davy. En- 
 forced rest and the miraculous gas-bags, the latter taken 
 not without misgivings, effected some improvement, but 
 several causes — the anxieties of the past few years, too 
 much sedentary labor, and an unsettled way of living — 
 had contributed seriously to weaken Southey's health. He 
 
 1 Taylor, I, 291-300; Coleridge, Letters, I, 312-314; Lamb, Works, 
 VI, 177. 
 
PORTUGAL — LAW AND LITERATURE 203 
 
 was evidently dyspeptic, he was afraid of heart or lung 
 trouble, and, worst of all, he was in an alarmingly disturbed 
 not to say unbalanced state of nerves. The last-named 
 affliction he attributed in later years largely to the excite- 
 ment incidental to poetic composition. Writing in 1811 to 
 Landor^ with the experiences of this period in mind, he 
 said, ''I could not stand the continuous excitement which 
 you have gone through in your tragedy. In me it would 
 not work itself off in tears; the tears would flow while 
 [I was] in the act of composition, and they would leave 
 behind a throbbing head, and a whole system in a state of 
 irritability, which would soon induce disease in one of its 
 most fearful forms." Such apprehension of insanity oc- 
 curred not infrequently to Southey, and had its influence 
 in the efforts that he made in later life to control his sensi- 
 bilities. At this time, as is stated in another part of the 
 letter just referred to, he decided that the only permanent 
 cure both for himself and his wife, who had been ailing 
 ever since her marriage, was to be found in a sojourn 
 abroad in a milder climate. He began at once to make 
 plans and to seek ways and means for such a course. His 
 first hope was that Coleridge with his family might join 
 them at some Mediterranean place. How the two men 
 cursed the war for closing France to them, and then dis- 
 cussed the possibility of taking their families to Italy, 
 Constantinople, the Greek islands, Trieste! All this was 
 futile, for Coleridge expected that duty to the Wedgwoods 
 would cause him to finish his Life of Lessing, and so keep 
 him in England. Early in February, therefore, Southey, 
 still suffering from his complaint, which seems to have been 
 merely the scholar's dyspepsia, aggravated by fear of heart- 
 trouble or consumption, wrote to his uncle in Lisbon for 
 advice. In spite of fears that this would not be what he 
 
 1 From an unpublished letter in the Forster Library in the South 
 Kensington Museum. 
 
204 THE EARLY LITE OF ROBERT SOUTHEY 
 
 wished, he nevertheless went ahead with plans for work in 
 Portugal, and in a couple of months reply came from Mr. 
 Hill in the form of an in\'itation to Lisbon and Cintra. 
 Preparations for the Southeys' leaving England began at 
 once. 
 
 But before escape could be consummated, certain necessi- 
 ties had to be pro^dded. The project for going abroad had 
 to be explained to W}Tm, who was not inclined to be 
 obdurate upon this point, though still quite firm upon 
 another. For Southey also attempted, unsuccessfully, to 
 mitigate his friend's generous ambition, and proposed to go 
 into chancers' instead of common law, on the ground that 
 the former would be less uncongenial, no less certain of 
 profit, and free of the possibility of causing him to argue 
 against a man's life. As for ambition, the poet confessed 
 in good round terms that he had none of it. To Bedford 
 he wrote (Dec. 21, 1799), as usual, with even less resers^e, 
 ''Reading law is laborious indolence — it is thrashing straw. 
 I have read, and read, and read; but the devil a bit can I 
 remember. I have given all possible attention, and at- 
 tempted to command volition. Xo! the e}^ read, the Hps 
 pronounced, I understood and reread it; it was verj^ clear; I 
 remembered the page, the sentence, — but close the book, 
 and all was gone!" 
 
 The question of mone}' for the journey was, of course, 
 particularly pressing. Illness had kept Southey from re- 
 viewing for three months, and newspaper work had been 
 given up before that. He would keep up his connection 
 with the Critical by -^isTiting a few reviews of Spanish and 
 Portuguese books while abroad, but he was sure to lose 
 £100 from this source alone. He thought of finishing 
 Thalaba lq a hurr^^, but changed his mind, especially since 
 his old schoolmate, Peter Elmsley, sent him £100 in the 
 emergency through the kindness of Wjmn. Great comfort, 
 moreover, must have been derived by Southey from the 
 
PORTUGAL — LAW AND LITERATURE 205 
 
 reports that Coleridge, now in London writing for Stuart 
 in The Morning Post, sent ^ concerning the sale of Joan and 
 the Poems of 1797. For the copyright of these two volumes 
 Longman had paid Cottle £370 after the latter had 
 already obtained profit from them to the amount of £250. 
 Southey's return had been £138 12s. ''You are a strong 
 swimmer," wrote Coleridge, ''and have borne up poor Joey 
 with all his leaden weights about him, his own and other 
 people's." The name of Southey had thus come to have a 
 financial value, and Coleridge was full of schemes for his 
 friend to turn it into cash in the present need. He was 
 prepared to ask £200 on the author's behalf for Thalaba, 
 concerning which Longman was already solicitous, and 
 Southey, encouraged, determined to ask not less than £100 
 for the first edition alone. Coleridge had other plans be- 
 sides. One was the composition of a "History of the 
 Levelling Principle," to be written by skimming through 
 Briicker, Lardner, Russell, and Andrews. Southey could do 
 this, Coleridge argued, instead of torturing himself for 
 Stuart, merely by writing a sheet of letter paper full a day 
 for twelve weeks. He would himself contribute "a philo- 
 sophical introduction that shall enlighten without offend- 
 ing." The profit was to be sixty or seventy guineas. If 
 it could be done anonymously, Southey was ready to con- 
 sider the idea, but to this the booksellers would not consent. 
 Coleridge, undaunted, had another project, — that his 
 friend should write a history of poetry for the use of 
 schools, — but was again met with refusal, because Southey 
 felt that he knew too little German, French, and Italian, 
 and would not set his name to work that did not satisfy 
 his own judgment. But a novel was what Coleridge, upon 
 Longman's suggestion, urged above all other things as a 
 means of making money, especially, he added, if four hun- 
 dred pounds could be got by no more pains than were 
 1 Coleridge, Letters, 1, 319-330. 
 
206 THE EARLY LIFE OF ROBERT SOUTHEY 
 
 required for a St, Leon. If he and Southey were together, 
 they might easily ^Hoss up" such a work. Though the 
 latter offered no encouragement to this notion either, he 
 had a few alternatives. Again he thought of a drama, but 
 Coleridge ia his turn disapproved of this as of a periodical 
 with signed articles. Southey concluded that the only cer- 
 tain thing was still the trip to Portugal. ''My eyes and 
 ears are sufficiently open and quick, and I shall certainly 
 pick up a hundred pounds' worth of matter upon my way.'^ 
 Beyond that were the hopes involved in his grander pro- 
 jects, Madoc, Thalaba, and the History of Portugal. 
 
 Early in April, therefore, Southey made bold to fix the 
 day of his departure, having carefully arranged for the 
 disposition of his affairs in case of accident. Madoc was 
 left with Danvers. The written books of Thalaba were left 
 with Wynn. The second volume of The Annual Anthology 
 having appeared — no more prosperously than the first — 
 just before his departure, the editor delegated Davy and 
 Danvers, unless Coleridge would take it, to manage the 
 third. Coleridge was named, too, as his literary executor, 
 John May being appointed to care for his other interests. 
 All he had was to be used for Edith, his brothers, and his 
 mother, unless she went to live with Miss Tyler at the 
 College Green. Having thus carefully stewarded his small 
 estate, Southey was ready for the voyage, no httle under- 
 taking in those days for a man prone to be seasick. 
 
 Ill 
 The welter of emotional excitement through which 
 Southey had passed in the years from 1796 to 1798, how- 
 ever characteristic of the man and the age, had not been 
 a comfortable experience. Pantisocracy, to Coleridge a 
 system of thought, had been to Southey a rule of conduct, 
 and when it failed as such, there resulted a chaos from 
 which it became his chief concern to escape into tranquillity. 
 
PORTUGAL — LAW AND LITERATURE 207 
 
 Coleridge might go on building ever new foundations for 
 ever new philosophies, but Southey longed "for a repose 
 that ever is the same." Such was always the end of 
 mimosa sensibility in common minds with a strong sense 
 of moral responsibihty. Southey and Wordsworth both 
 found that the fever of excitement engendered by new ideas 
 prevented the fulfilhnent of old duties. Therefore they 
 sought escape from the fever by denying the new ideas, by 
 a surrender to mysticism, intolerance, and seK-isolation. 
 They took a view of hfe as their rule of conduct and as 
 the faith upon which their minds did indeed repose which 
 was in both fundamentally the same. They adopted that 
 form of ideahsm which was embodied in the rehgion of 
 nature, but they adopted it as an end of speculation, as the 
 quietus to emotions otherwise engendered, and finally, 
 having lost confidence in the natural goodness of the great 
 mass of the population, as an antidote to popular revolution 
 and as an adequate sanction for the existing constitution of 
 Church and State. Their pohtical apostle, in other words, 
 was no longer Rousseau, no longer Godwin, but Burke. 
 Enough has been said to show that Southey, a Quixote 
 rather than a monastic by nature, was never able to sur- 
 render himself completely to the quietism which such a 
 faith encouraged in Wordsworth. Nevertheless, it is plain 
 that, at the end of his early troubled years, emotional calm 
 was the thing he desired, even at the cost of intelligence. 
 He owned ^ now (Mar. 12, 1799) to a dislike of all strong 
 emotion; a book hke Werther gave him unmingled pain, 
 and he proposed to dwell in his own poetry rather on that 
 which affects than on that which agitates. He said (Sept. 
 22, 1797), with great rehef, that his mind held no more 
 hopes and fears, no doubts, no enthusiasms, — that it was 
 quiet and repelled all feelings that might disturb. He for- 
 swore metaphysics (June 12, 1796), and thought he could 
 1 Taylor, I, 261-262. 
 
208 THE EARLY LIFE OF ROBERT SOUTHEY 
 
 prove that ''all the material and necessarian controversies 
 [were] 'much ado about nothing.' " Hence it would be that 
 the children in Southey's household would be named for no 
 series of philosophers-ascendant; rather would he bless the 
 hour he '"scaped the wranghng crew," dodge the issues of 
 the mind under cover of religion and common sense, and 
 give Coleridge just grounds for complaining of his "unthink- 
 ingness." His religion had, of course, not yet adopted the 
 Church, but he could now easily have refuted the charge of 
 atheism, not so easily that of Socinianism. Nevertheless 
 the true direction of his feelings is shown by the statement 
 made at this time that he would have given every intel- 
 lectual gift he had for the imphcit faith that would have 
 made it possible for him to enter the Church. 
 
 As it was, he henceforth devoted most of his poetry to 
 the expression of the worship of nature in various forms. ^ 
 Here, of course, he was upon the same ground with Words- 
 worth, and we shall see that he paralleled upon a lower 
 level all the striking pecuUarities of the latter' s theory and 
 practice. Some of his most charming poems, for instance, 
 are blank verse pieces that read not unhke the less lofty 
 parts of the Prelude. 
 
 "To you the beauties of the autumnal year 
 Make niournful emblems, and you think of man 
 Doom'd to the grave's long winter, spirit-broken, 
 BendiQg beneath the burden of his years, 
 Sense-duU'd and fretful, 'full of aches and pains,' 
 Yet clinging still to life. To me they show 
 The calm decay of nature when the muid 
 Retains its strength, and in the languid eye 
 Religion's holy hopes kindle a joy 
 That makes old age look lovely. All to you 
 
 ^ For a discussion of certain aspects of Southey's poems on nature, 
 see, J. Schmidt, Robert Southey, sein Naturgefiihl in seinen Dichtungen, 
 Leipzig, 1904. 
 
PORTUGAL — LAW AND LITERATURE 209 
 
 Is dark and cheerless; you in this fair world 
 
 See some destroying principle abroad, 
 
 Air, earth, and water full of living things, 
 
 Each on the other preying; and the ways 
 
 Of man, a strange, perplexing labyrinth, 
 
 Where crimes and miseries, each producing each, 
 
 Render life loathsome, and destroy the hope 
 
 That should in death bring comfort. Oh, my friend, 
 
 That thy faith were as mine! that thou couldst see 
 
 Death still producing life, and evil still 
 
 Working its own destruction; couldst behold 
 
 The strifes and troubles of this troubled world 
 
 With the strong eye that sees the promised day 
 
 Dawn through this night of tempest! All things, then, 
 
 Would minister to joy; then should thine heart 
 
 Be heal'd and harmoniz'd, and thou wouldst feel 
 
 God, always, everywhere, and aU in all" ^ 
 
 Similarly, in his most intimate letters, Southey dwells upon 
 this mystic apprehension of deity in nature. He records ^ 
 (May 25, 1797) that to lie and contemplate an ancient tree 
 filled him with feelings of indefinable and inexpressible de- 
 light, feelings that made him a happier and better man. 
 The same thought occurs in a striking letter (Sept. 10, 
 1797) to John May, in which Southey says that the imagi- 
 nation peoples the air with intelligent spirits and animates 
 every herb with sensation. 
 
 "Wherever there is the possibility of happiness, infinite power and 
 infinite benevolence will produce it. The belief of a creating intel- 
 ligence is to me a feeling Hke that of my own existence, an intui- 
 tive truth: it were as easy to open my eyes and not see, as to 
 meditate upon this subject and not believe. — The recollection of 
 scenery that I love recalls to me those theistic feelings which the 
 beauties of nature are best fitted to awaken." 
 
 1 Works, 149-150, Westbury, 1798. 
 
 2 See also In a Forest, Metrical Tales; Works, 182, Westbury, 1797. 
 
210 THE EARLY LIFE OF ROBERT SOUTHEY 
 
 Akenside's notion of finding in the Greek gods symbols of 
 the God of nature was, of course, as we see in such senti- 
 ments, actively shared by Southey. In the letter just 
 quoted he had said, in words reminding one of Words- 
 worth's wish to be "a, pagan suckled in a creed outworn" 
 for sake of seeing Proteus and old Triton, that he almost 
 wished that he beheved in the local divinities of the pagans, 
 and he writes in the Hymn to the Penates, a poem plainly 
 suggested by Akenside's Hymn to the Naiads, that the 
 ancient poets did not dream idly in suggesting that earth 
 was peopled with deities, because dryads, oreads, and river 
 gods, — in other words, nature, — were inf aUible teachers of 
 reverence, hoUness, and purity of thought.^ 
 
 All the usual romantic concomitants of such a faith were 
 also to be found in Southey. The world was checkered by 
 the duahsm of good and evil, peopled by beings naturally 
 good but capable of evil. Good was to be found and 
 fostered in the retirement of nature; evil grew rank in 
 society. God made the country; God made man; but man 
 made the town, and the town rotted. Therefore Southey 
 expresses repeatedly in his letters ''an unspeakable loath- 
 ing" for London. His heart sank within him whenever he 
 approached the place, and all the ideas that he associated 
 with it were painful. Only in the country or in the out- 
 skirts of Bristol, where within half an hour one could be 
 among rocks and woods with no company except the owls 
 and jackdaws, could a man be virtuous and happy. Rous- 
 seau might be buried in Paris, but his spirit remained at 
 ErmenonviUe, whence a traveler was sure to return purified 
 of heart.2 The city, consequently, became for Southey one 
 of his symbols of all evil, a veritable wood of error out of 
 which the good spirit sought to escape. Long after panti- 
 socracy was a vanished dream, he constantly played with 
 
 1 Hymn to the Penates, Poem^, 1797; Works, 156, Bristol, 1796. 
 
 2 Poems, 1797; Works, 181, Bristol, 1796. 
 
PORTUGAL — LAW AND LITERATURE 211 
 
 the idea of a flight that would carry him far beyond the 
 bounds, not only of London, but of Britain and all the 
 pollution of society. He fancied a fairy ship, a new ark, 
 that would bear him and his family to some island in the 
 sea where they might stand upon the shore, congratulating 
 themselves that no mariner would ever reach their quiet 
 coast, and where hfe would pass away Hke one long child- 
 hood without a care.i These were, dreams; in reaUty he 
 found two ways of escape, which bulk as largely in his 
 work as the worship of nature and the fear of society. 
 
 "Type of the wise who soar but never roam, 
 True to the kindred points of heaven and home," 
 
 he cherished most warmly the love of home and the ex- 
 pectation of heaven. The desire for a household of his own 
 has, of course, been amply in evidence in the troubled years 
 of moving about that we have just reviewed. It is the 
 burden of most of Southey's letters during the whole period; 
 a home is to give him the rehef that pantisocracy failed to 
 afford. The first poem that he composed after his return 
 to Edith, — planned indeed on board the vessel from 
 Lisbon, — was a Hymn to the Penates. Here he records 
 that, whether amid scenes of intemperance at college he 
 mused on man redeemed and perfected or whether he 
 wandered abroad or in cities "an unfit man to mingle 
 with the world," still he had loathed human converse, 
 and had pined to possess household gods of his own, 
 even if they had to be sought far beyond the Atlantic. ^ 
 Home, however, and those friendships which Southey 
 always associated with it, were both subject to sorrows 
 such as he already well knew. Losses by death in the 
 circle of his friends and family had been and would be but 
 too frequent. Heaven, therefore, was the ultimate haven 
 
 ^ Metrical Letter written from London, Poems, 1799; Works, 149, 
 London, 1798. 2 Poems, 1797; Works, 156, Bristol, 1796. 
 
212 THE EARLY LIFE OF ROBERT SOUTHED 
 
 of the former pantisocrat. There he would be reunited 
 with those loved ones he had lost, a notion that recurs with 
 tragic insistency throughout the rest of his hfe. One of his 
 most charming poems is a blank verse epistle in which he 
 expresses the hope of returning to his kindred from the 
 " Vanity -town " of London; faihng in that, he would expect 
 to find in heaven those he had loved on earth.^ 
 
 Here then was the philosophy that was to be Southey's 
 guide during the rest of his hfe. He would shun evil, both 
 its effects upon him from without and its growth within, 
 by fleeing Uke Rousseau from the general society of the 
 city to the retirement of his home in the country where he 
 might worship the principle of good displayed in nature, 
 and devote himself to the affections and pursuits that ac- 
 corded with domestic happiness and the fulfillment of pri- 
 vate duties. The part of Epictetus in all this is plain, but 
 Epictetus was not all. The self-sufficiency of the soul that 
 has committed itself to an ideal is the theme of those 
 romances that Southey read so eagerly in his youth and 
 of Spenser, whom he well-nigh worshiped. His stoicism, 
 therefore, is but the spiritual independence of the perfect 
 knight of The Faerie Queene and of Wordsworth's Happy 
 Warrior; Epictetus, while confirming much, contributed 
 nothing new to this view of hfe. 
 
 A fortune-teller once promised Southey "a gloomy capa- 
 bility of walking through desolation," and the noblest side 
 of the man is displayed in the manner in which he con- 
 firmed that prophecy. He proposed now to govern and to 
 judge his own conduct, his own work, solely by his own 
 ideals. But pride was the besetting sin of his race, and 
 Southey's strength of soul was not to escape that pride 
 which, though spiritual, is yet pride and yet unlovely. 
 The weakness, the strength, and the inner kinship with 
 
 ^ Metrical Letter written from London, Poems, 1799; Works, 149, 
 London, 1798. 
 
PORTUGAL — LAW AND LITERATURE 213 
 
 Wordsworth as well, are expressed in the poem written at 
 Westbury in 1798 To a Friend , Inquiring if I would live 
 over my youth again, and in the writer's constant vaunt 
 that he feels no regret for any action of his past. The 
 happy warrior of Wordsworth, it will be recalled, was one 
 
 "wrought 
 Upon the plan that pleased his boyish thought," 
 
 and whatever resulted from this plan, remained content in 
 the expectation of heaven's applause. So Southey writes 
 that he is satisfied with what he is and has been, and that 
 he looks to the future with cheerful hope that happiness 
 will be his reward hereafter.^ Here was more than a sug- 
 gestion that self-sufficiency in virtue might well degenerate 
 into the complacent self -righteousness, into that incapability 
 of changing their minds or apprehending new ideas which 
 not a few contemporaries found to be such irritating char- 
 acteristics of the lake poets. 
 
 Southey' s political feelings were consistent with such a 
 view of life. We have already noted that he had no relish 
 now for any personal share in revolution. He wished to be 
 left alone to wreak his energies upon the pursuits — domestic, 
 studious, and Uterary — that he had chosen. Yet his feelings 
 with regard to public affairs were none the less positive. 
 Political goodness resided in the people when left to them- 
 selves and to nature. They were now, however, generally 
 corrupted by the evils arising from contact with the great 
 and the rich, from association in towns and cities, and from 
 the oppressions of rulers, who were depraved by the nature 
 of their position. Mobs and tyrants, in short, were the 
 dragons and Orgoglios of humanity. The old government 
 of France Southey therefore still condemned, and to that 
 extent approved the revolution by which the people, with 
 natural right upon their side, overthrew it. When the 
 1 Metrical Tales, 1805; Works, 141, Westbury, 1798. 
 
214 THE EARLY LIFE OF ROBERT SOUTHEY 
 
 tyranny of the Paris mob, however, finally developed into 
 the dictatorship of Napoleon, the poet's old feeling of dis- 
 trust for cities, rulers, and warriors was merely confirmed. 
 The French might have done much, but they lacked moral- 
 ity and were weak as children. The Enghsh were, after all, 
 the only men, and though Southey had Kttle respect even 
 for them, he was ready to die in order to make them what 
 they ought to be. Yet he no longer trusted in ''the per- 
 suadabihty of man," nor felt ''the mania of man-mending." 
 "The ablest physician can do Httle in the great lazar house 
 of society; it is a pest-house that infects all within its 
 atmosphere. He acts the wisest part who retires from the 
 contagion; nor is that part either a selfish or a cowardly 
 one; it is ascending the ark, hke Noah, to preserve a 
 remnant which may become the whole." (June 26, 1797.) 
 This disclaimer of the passion for "man-mending," and 
 this desire to "retire from the contagion" did not, however, 
 prevent Southey from taking active interest in certain 
 efforts, humanitarian rather than poKtical, to improve the 
 "lazar house" in which he hved. He denied himself sugar, 
 for instance, in the hope of discouraging the slave trade, 
 and he tried to persuade others to do the same. More 
 interesting were certain schemes suggested to him by some 
 of his new friends. With May and another he drew up a 
 plan to estabhsh a farm and asylum to which poor conva- 
 lescents might go when dismissed from the hospitals, and 
 support themselves by hght labor in gardening or manu- 
 facture. For about a year this idea seems to have been 
 kept under discussion, but nothing appears to have come 
 of it. There were other schemes as well. At Bath, in the 
 spring of 1798, Southey investigated an old charity for John 
 May, and discovered that thirteen paupers were supported 
 like paupers upon a foundation that had increased in value 
 to £100,000, and that well-nigh £5000 a year went to no 
 one knew who. John May himself was at the same time 
 
PORTUGAL — LAW AND LITERATURE 215 
 
 opening an office in London, where he might receive beggars 
 and learn their histories. 
 
 Still another idea, and one that promised more tangible 
 results, was worked out in some detail with John Rickman, 
 of whom Lamb said that he was very intimate with Southey, 
 but never read his poetry. Rickman's chief interest was in 
 poHtical economy, and out of this his new proposal to 
 Southey arose. He admitted that poetry was one of those 
 human superfluities that we should feel awkward without, 
 but he had been surprised that Southey did not use his 
 facility in writing to some more useful purpose. He there- 
 fore suggested (Jan. 4, 1800) that his friend take as his 
 subject the economic amelioration of woman, investigate the 
 Beguinages of Holland and Flanders, and write a book pro- 
 posing similar institutions for the benefit of women in 
 England. Rickman himself would furnish the ''dry deduc- 
 tions on the head of political economy," but he longed to 
 see Southey in prose, beUeving that he had both the con- 
 science and the imagination necessary for this work, ''You 
 Hke women better than I do; therefore I think it likely 
 that you may take as much trouble to benefit the sex, as 
 I to benefit the community by their means." Southey 
 responded to all this with great interest, and they went so 
 far as to plan for Rickman's coming to Bristol so that they 
 could be together for the work. But before anything could 
 be decided, Southey was off to Portugal, and after that 
 both men were otherwise too occupied ever to carry out 
 the scheme, although both frequently referred to it with 
 interest. 
 
 As it was, by far the largest portion of Southey's time 
 during the four years from 1796 to 1800 was devoted to 
 poetry in one form or another. Madoc was now put to- 
 gether, to be taken apart again and rewritten later. 
 Thalaha was planned and begun. Lastly, most of those 
 smaller pieces were composed which have given Southey his 
 
216 THE EARLY LIFE OF ROBERT SOUTHEY 
 
 best claim to popularity as a poet. The reason for writing 
 these was the need of bread. They appeared in The 
 Monthly Magazine, The Morning Post, The Oracle, in the 
 two volumes of poems pubUshed in 1797 and 1799, and in 
 the two volumes of The Annual Anthology for 1799 and 
 1800. The poet's purpose from now on was for the most 
 part didactic. Dreary as the immediate prospects of so- 
 ciety appeared, and vain though the hope might be of his 
 doing anything to help mankind personally, he declared, 
 ''I will at least leave something behind me to strengthen 
 those feeUngs and excite those reflections in others, from 
 whence virtue must spring. In writing poetry with this 
 end, I hope I am not uselessly employing my leisure hours." 
 (June 26, 1797.) 
 
 This added stress upon the function of the poet as moral 
 teacher was, of course, but the natural development of the 
 juvenile homilectics of Joan, and in all other respects 
 Southey now followed up the veins that had been opened 
 before pantisocracy. Postponing consideration for the pres- 
 ent of the more ambitious pieces, we find in the shorter 
 ones the same sensitiveness as before to new hterary 
 tendencies, and the same facihty at imitating the devices 
 suggested by others. The themes were suppUed by the 
 studies to which Southey was more and more turning his 
 attention, and by the moral convictions with which experi- 
 ence was stiffening his spirit. Nature being the great 
 source of happiness and of virtue, the burden of many of 
 the blank verse reflective poems, of the sonnets, inscrip- 
 tions, and other lyrics, is that ^'the world is too much with 
 us," that man were better if he would but retire to a 
 country home away from the corruptions of society. Na- 
 ture again, as the great source of good, is also the great 
 source of moral instruction, and in such poems as The Oak 
 of our Fathers, The Holly Tree, The Ebb Tide, Autumn, 
 Recollections of a Day^s Journey in Spain, the moral lessons 
 
PORTUGAL — LAW AND LITERATURE 217 
 
 are read in varying degrees of directness, not with Words- 
 worth's power, but very much in Wordsworth's manner and 
 spirit. Similarly the lessons to be derived from simple folk, 
 children, and lower animals are expressed in The Old Man's 
 Comforts, To a Bee, To a Spider, The Battle of Blenheim, 
 The Sailor, The Victory, The Cross Roads, Jasper, The Com- 
 plaints of the Poor, and especially in the English Eclogues. 
 As compared with the best that Wordsworth was writing 
 at the same time, these things are but crude and pedestrian. 
 Southey had neither the genius nor the leisure to express 
 the most intense moods of mysticism, but he was aiming at 
 precisely the same effects. At best he achieved but a 
 secondary success hke The Holly Tree or a household im- 
 mortahty that at least equals We Are Seven in The Battle 
 of Blenheim; yet in some lesser known pieces his resem- 
 blance and even his approach to Wordsworth are still more 
 striking. The Victory, for instance, is in theme and treat- 
 ment almost purely Wordsworthian. A sailor on Thomas 
 Southey's ship was married to a woman whom he had first 
 seduced and then, in a revulsion of good feeling, married 
 and treated honorably. Pressed into the navy, he showed 
 sufficient address, though almost illiterate, to rise to mid- 
 shipman's rank, and sent most of his pay to his wife and 
 family. In a successful engagement with a French vessel 
 he was killed. Southey, struck by the nobility of the man, 
 not only wrote a poem about him, but tried to raise a few 
 pounds for his widow. If he had been a dalesman of Cum- 
 berland, he might have found a place in The Excursion. 
 
 ''He was one 
 Whose uncorrupted heart could keenly feel 
 A husband's love, a father's anxiousness; 
 That from the wages of his toil he fed 
 The distant dear ones, and would talk of them 
 At midnight when he trod the silent deck 
 With him he valued, — talk of them, of joys 
 
218 THE EARLY LIFE OF ROBERT SOUTHEY 
 
 That he had known, — oh God! and of the hour 
 When they should meet again, till his full heart, 
 His manly heart, at last would overflow. 
 Even like a child's with very tenderness." ^ 
 
 The English Eclogues deal in the same vein for the most 
 part with the darker side of the life of the country people, 
 with murders, ruined damsels, mothers desolated by the 
 pressgang, witch superstition, the evil influence of wealth, 
 and the other corruptions of human nature in society. All 
 this is couched in a simplicity of language which apes the 
 simplicity of the country-folk themselves. In some cases 
 Southey even attempted to throw over his subjects an air 
 of literal veracity, prefixing to several pieces, quite as 
 Wordsworth did, solemn asseverations of accuracy. The 
 Sailor who had served in the slave trade, for instance, opens 
 as follows: *'In September, 1798, a Dissenting Minister of 
 Bristol discovered a sailor in the neighborhood of that city, 
 groaning and praying in a hovel. The circumstance that 
 occasioned his agony of mind is detailed in the annexed 
 Ballad, without the sUghtest addition or alteration. By 
 presenting it as a Poem, the story is made more public; 
 and such stories ought to be made as public as possible." ^ 
 
 For suggestions concerning two of his new experiments in 
 form Southey was indebted to his friend, Wilham Taylor. 
 Upon their first meeting at Norwich in the spring of 1798, 
 the poet had listened avidly to all that Taylor had to tell 
 of German literature, and he read with equal interest what 
 Taylor wrote on the same subject in his letters and in his 
 articles for The Monthly Review. ^'You have made me 
 hunger and thirst after German poetry."^ In one of their 
 conversations at Norwich he had thus heard of German 
 
 1 Poems, 1799; Works, 150 Westbury, 1798. 
 
 2 Poems, 1799; Works, 111, Westbury, 1798. In Works Southey 
 emended the word "hovel" to '* cow-house." 
 
 3 Taylor, 1, 255. 
 
PORTUGAL — LAW AND LITERATURE 219 
 
 attempts in the so-called eclogue form, notably by Goethe 
 and Voss, and was delighted with a translation of Goethe's 
 Der Wandrer. Southey was reminded of his own Botany 
 Bay Eclogues, and in the first letter to Taylor, written after 
 his return from Norfolk, he said that the German eclogues 
 had revived some forgotten plans of his own for writing 
 similar pieces that should be strictly English, but like the 
 German, aim at ''domestic interest."^ There followed upon 
 this, for Taylor's perusal, The Old Mansion House. Taylor 
 replied with encouragement, and turned Southey's attention 
 to Voss's Luise, which had lately been reviewed in The 
 Critical Review. This was the beginning of Southey's ex- 
 periments with this form. He vv^rote^ nine such pieces in all, 
 the last in 1803, in each attempting to display common Ufe 
 of the lower classes with didactic purpose, but never learn- 
 ing to make his peasants as eloquent and striking exponents 
 of his view of life as Wordsworth did in Michael and similar 
 poems. As for German, Southey made several endeavors 
 to learn the language, the most serious with his boy Herbert 
 in 1815, but his interest turned aside to German drama, 
 which he was contented to read in English translation, and 
 he never advanced much further than that. 
 
 Taylor's other notable suggestion to Southey came at 
 first through his translation of two ballads of Burger. In 
 The Monthly Magazine for March, 1796, had appeared 
 Taylor's Lenora, a Ballad from BUrger, followed the next 
 month by his translation of the same author's Des Pfarrers 
 Tochter von Tauhenheim with the title, The Lass of Fair 
 Wone. Southey had read both of these poems soon after 
 their appearance, and had asked (July 31, 1796), "Who is 
 this Taylor? I suspected they were by Sayers." It was 
 
 1 Taylor, I, 213. 
 
 ^ For notes for other poems of the same sort, see Commonplace Book, 
 Series IV, p. 195, where there is a note for an eclogue upon the same 
 theme as that of Wordsworth's Michael. 
 
220 THE EARLY LIFE OF ROBERT SOUTHEY 
 
 not long before he learned who Taylor was, and in even 
 less time he tried his own hand at a ballad. Mary the Maid 
 of the Inn, Donica, and Rudiger were all composed at 
 Bristol in 1796, the meter of Mary, however, being taken 
 from Lewis's Alonzo and Imogene. In the following year 
 King Charlemain was the poet's only new attempt in this 
 form, but in the great year of 1798 and 1799 at Westbury, 
 encouraged now by actual correspondence with the trans- 
 lator of Lenore, Southey composed nearly all his popular 
 successes in the ballad form, such as St. Romauld, The Well 
 of St. Keyne, Bishop Bruno, Lord William, and The Old 
 Woman of Berkeley. "1 shall hardly be satisfied," he wrote 
 to Wynn in January, 1799, '"till I have got a ballad as good 
 as Lenora.^' 
 
 Some of the traits that were chiefly sought in these poems 
 are suggested by Taylor in his praise of The Old Woman of 
 Berkeley,^ sl subject that he and Sayers had each also at- 
 tempted. Taylor wrote (Dec. 23, 1798) that Southey had 
 treated the story in the best possible way; '4t is every- 
 thing that a baUad should be — old in the costume of 
 the ideas, as weU as of the style and meter — in the very 
 spirit of the superstitions of the days of yore — perpetually 
 climbing in interest, and indeed the best original Enghsh 
 baUad we know of." This statement, however, only partially 
 summarized the ideal that Southey aimed at in the poems 
 that he caUed baUads. The meters that he used ranged all 
 the way from the usual ballad stanza to blank verse and his 
 own irregular rimed stanza. Confessedly a versifier rather 
 than a melodist, — he admitted that his ear was easily 
 satisfied, — he experimented with rough fines in imitation of 
 the old baUads, and he defended against the conventional 
 strictures of Wynn the substitution of two or even more 
 syUables ''for the dilated sound of one" in such fines as "I 
 have made candles of infant's fat." This feature of the 
 
 1 Poems, 1799; Works, 472, Hereford, 1798. ^ Taylor, I, 235. 
 
PORTUGAL — LAW AND LITERATURE 221 
 
 meter of Christabel, indeed, is as much Southey's redis- 
 covery as Coleridge's. 
 
 Taylor's statement also fails to take cognizance of the 
 variety of themes which Southey treated in the ballad form 
 and of the didactic purpose which he generally displayed. 
 In the first place, the popular origin of the old ballads, 
 thoroughly accepted though widely misunderstood, reen- 
 forced the faith of men Uke Southey and Wordsworth in the 
 virtue of simple human nature when uncontaminated by 
 society, and encouraged them to seek for the moral lesson 
 implicit in the poetry as well as the experiences of the folk. 
 When, therefore, they set themselves to revive, as they 
 thought, the writing of ballads, nothing seemed more logical 
 than to present in this form what Southey, in a different 
 connection, called stories ''sermoni propriora . . . very- 
 proper for a sermon." Consequently the fine between 
 pieces of the type of Bishop Bruno and others of the type 
 of The Battle of Blenheim, or between We Are Seven and 
 Peter Bell on the one hand and The Rime of the Ancient 
 Mariner on the other, was in the minds of Southey and 
 Wordsworth somewhat confused. Southey classified all 
 such pieces as "Metrical Tales"; Wordsworth, with Cole- 
 ridge, called them '^ Lyrical Ballads." In order, moreover, to 
 add weight to the sermon from nature, Southey, Hke Words- 
 worth again, as has already been intimated, was in most 
 of his baUads careful to cite the exact source of his story. 
 In Mary the Maid of the Inn, for instance, where we have 
 a poor maiden ill-requited for her love by a corrupted lover, 
 there is a prefatory note to the effect that ''The story of 
 the following ballad was related to me, when a schoolboy, 
 as a fact which had really happened in the North of Eng- 
 land."^ It is to be noted that Southey is in general less 
 optimistic than Wordsworth, and such a character as Jasper 
 in the ballad of that name, instead of reforming hke Peter 
 1 Poems, 1797; Works, 435, Bristol, 1796. 
 
222 THE EARLY LIFE OF ROBERT SOUTHEY 
 
 Bell, whom he somewhat resembles, and so showing the 
 way to grace, is made to serve as a warning by going mad 
 in the end of his sin. In The Cross Roads, however, theme, 
 didactic purpose, and manner so closely resemble Words- 
 worth at his worst that the reader may well wonder whether 
 he has not stumbled upon a fugitive number from the 
 Lyrical Ballads. This poem was written at Westbury in 
 1798, and has the inevitable note stating that *'the circum- 
 stance related in the following Ballad happened about forty 
 years ago in a village adjacent to Bristol. A person who 
 was present at the funeral told me the story and the par- 
 ticulars of the interment, as I have versified them.'' The 
 poem then begins in the veritable "lake" style. 
 
 ''There was an old man breaking stones 
 
 To mend the turnpike way, 
 He sat him down beside a brook 
 And out his bread and cheese he took, 
 
 For now it was mid-day. 
 
 "He lent his back against a post. 
 His feet the brook ran by; 
 And there were water-cresses growing, 
 And pleasant was the water's flowing 
 For he was hot and dry. 
 
 ''A soldier with his knapsack on 
 
 Came travelling o'er the down. 
 The sun was strong and he was tired. 
 And he of the old man inquired 
 
 How far to Bristol town. 
 
 "Half an hour's walk for a young man 
 
 By lanes, and fields, and stiles. 
 But you the foot-path do not know, 
 And if along the road you go 
 
 Why, then, 'tis three good miles. 
 
PORTUGAL — LAW AND LITERATURE 223 
 
 " The soldier took his knapsack off 
 For he was hot and dry; 
 And out his bread and cheese he took 
 And he sat down beside the brook 
 To dine in company." ^ 
 
 It is needless to quote further. The old man relates the 
 story of a maiden who has been betrayed by a wealthy 
 sinner, has hanged herself for shame, and is buried at the 
 crossroads with a stake through her breast, the very stake 
 against which the soldier leans as he eats his bread and 
 cheese. The resemblances to Wordsworth, — in the tone, the 
 style, the subject, the use of the figure of the old man met 
 upon the road and of the concrete object to center the at- 
 tention, — is painfully unmistakable. This particular poem 
 was, indeed, written at Westbury in 1798 after Southey had 
 undoubtedly read the Lyrical Ballads. It may show that 
 he had been encouraged, perhaps in spite of himself, by 
 that volume to continue his earlier attempts in this vein 
 and to qualify as a member of the ^'lake school." 
 
 The study, however, and not, as with Wordsworth, the 
 highway, was to be Southey's chief Parnassus, and most of 
 his ballads are derived, not from his own experience, but 
 from books. He gives ^ a characteristic picture of himself 
 on the hunt for grist to be made into such poems. While 
 in Hereford in August, 1798, he had sought for admission to 
 the cathedral Ubrary, and was locked up several mornings 
 in the room where the books were kept in chains. Some 
 of the volumes on the upper shelves had but short tethers, 
 and the only way by which he could get at them was by 
 piling up other books to serve as a support for that he 
 wished to peruse while he stood upon a chair to read. 
 Thus he found The Old Woman of Berkeley in Matthew of 
 Westminster. Whatever their source, however, it is im- 
 
 1 Poems, 1799; Works, 445, Westbury, 1798. 
 
 2 Preface to Ballads and Metrical Tales, Vol. I, Works. 
 
224 THE EARLY LIFE OF ROBERT SOUTHEY 
 
 portant to note that the intention in Southey's ballads is 
 always moral and didactic. Even though the supernatural 
 is constantly introduced, this is done, as Wordsworth would 
 have had it in The Ancient Mariner y generally to strengthen 
 the arm of righteousness. Thus the drowned boy rises to 
 drag Lord Wilham into the flood, the miraculous rats de- 
 vour the wicked bishop in his tower on the Rhine, arid the 
 devil gets the old woman of Berkeley in spite of her witch- 
 craft and the merits of the monk her son and her daughter 
 the nun. Southey's faithfulness to his serious purpose is 
 all the more noteworthy because he was turning these things 
 out as pot-boilers. Yet the circumstances under which 
 they were composed account for the fact that it is difficult 
 to take them as anything more than grotesquerie and 
 diablerie. ''If you should meet with a ghost, a witch, or a 
 devil, pray send them to me," he wrote to Wynn. The 
 diablerie, and in the case of The Well of St. Keyne and St, 
 Romauld, a pleasing though simple kind of humor, as well 
 as a concreteness and vigorous directness in the narrative, 
 combined to make these poems popular and to throw into 
 the shade their didactic purpose. For Southey's ballads, 
 after all, fail to convince us that they have a vital bearing 
 upon human experience, and for all their terrors, they 
 therefore lack subhmity, unless it be the German sort that 
 their author himself attributed to The Ancient Mariner. 
 That attempt of Coleridge's at the same kind of thing far 
 surpassed anything of Southey's, because, although begun 
 by Wordsworth and Coleridge with the same purpose of 
 making the supernatural natural, of making witchcraft, that 
 is, help morahty, and although therefore supplied by Words- 
 worth with a moral tag, it does arrest us with the eye of a 
 genuine old man who had beheld with human sight un- 
 earthly things alone upon the sea. Coleridge, transcending 
 the bounds of parables and homiHes about cruelty to 
 animals, penetrated the true sublime of human character. 
 
PORTUGAL — LAW AND LITERATURE 225 
 
 Southey, for all his facile skill at turning a story, never 
 did. 
 
 To William Taylor Southey was also indebted for one of 
 his book-making ideas, and not a very lucky one at that. 
 In September, 1798, Taylor had expressed ^ surprise that some 
 EngUsh poet had not undertaken an '^ Almanack of the 
 Muses" such as had been popular in France and, under the 
 editorship of Voss, Schiller, and others, in Germany .^ Eager 
 for any means of turning a literary penny, Southey took up 
 with Taylor's suggestion, and in the two years following 
 edited, and in large part wrote, the two volumes of The 
 Annual Anthology (1799, 1800), to which reference has 
 already been made. Something more than half of the first 
 volume and about a fourth of the second was his own com- 
 position over a variety of signatures. Other contributors 
 in 1799 were Taylor, Lloyd, Bedford, and his brother 
 Horace, George Dyer, Mrs. Opie, Joseph and Amos Cottle, 
 Davy, Beddoes, Lamb, Lovell posthumously, and several 
 obscurer persons. In 1800 the greatest addition to this list 
 was Coleridge. Among other pieces of his, Lewti, This 
 Lime-tree Bower, Fire, Famine, and Slaughter, here found a 
 berth, and Christabel missed such a fate partly because it 
 had first to be finished. Southey's own pieces were most 
 of them salvaged from the newspapers and the waste- 
 basket; some of them were deservedly never repubUshed, 
 and the rest re-appeared in 1805 as Metrical Tales and 
 Other Poems. 
 
 One other form of Southey's Hterary activity in these 
 busy years remains to be mentioned. Friends who were 
 anxious that he should make money, notably Wynn and 
 
 1 Taylor, I, 228. 
 
 2 Almanac des Muses, 1765; Gottinger Musenalmanach fiir das Jahr 
 1770, founded by H. C. Boie and F. W. Gotter in imitation of Al- 
 manac des Muses, continued by Voss in 1775, by Gocking in 1776- 
 1778, and Biirger, 1779; Anthologie auf das Jahr 1782, edited by 
 Schiller. 
 
226 THE EARLY LIFE OF ROBERT SOUTHEY 
 
 May, urged him to write a tragedy, and we find him, from 
 the time of his first trip to Portugal until his departure on 
 the second, planning and occasionally attempting to write 
 such a work. It is not strange that he did not succeed, 
 for the romantic optimism that avoided conflict in the 
 thought of the omnipotence of benevolence was even less 
 capable of achieving drama than epic. As time went on 
 Southey relinquished his purpose, and when his energies 
 finally turned upon Thalaha, thought no more of his dra- 
 matic schemes. Nevertheless he took them quite seriously 
 for a number of years. His immediate inspiration and 
 models were, of course, derived through translation from 
 Schiller and Kotzebue. His acquaintance with the former 
 may have been due to Coleridge, who, in 1794, after the first 
 summer of pantisocracy, had sat up one night until after 
 one to read The Rohhers, and had then seized pen to write, 
 ''My God, Southey, who is this Schiller, this convulser of 
 the heart?" It is not strange, therefore, that after South- 
 ey 's return from Portugal in 1796 it should have been a 
 quotation from Fiesco that he sent up as a peace-offering 
 to his offended friend, and that among his many plans of 
 the same year (July 31) we should find mentioned no less 
 than three ''tragedies of the Banditti" by some one or all 
 of which he hoped to raise money to furnish a house. A 
 year or so later, however, Kotzebue made a more vivid 
 impression upon him, probably owing to the suggestions of 
 Taylor, and Southey, though surprised that the anti- 
 Jacobins should permit the performance of such plays un- 
 disturbed, declares the German to be of "unsurpassed and 
 unsurpassable genius." A few of his own themes for 
 tragedies are described in letters to May and Wynn. He 
 said that the most noble character he could conceive was 
 that of a martyr, "firm to the defiance of death in avowing 
 the truth, and patient under all oppression, without enthu- 
 siasm, supported by the calm conviction that this is his 
 
PORTUGAL — LAW AND LITERATURE 227 
 
 duty." Of one such story, at least, he thought seriously 
 enough to plan a complete plot and to write a first act,^ 
 but that was all. Like Joanna BaiUie, whom he greatly 
 admired, and Hke Coleridge, Southey was possessed, not by 
 any dramatic sense, but, as he says, by a notion of ''deline- 
 ating the progress of the hero's mind." It was as well 
 that more knowing friends than Wynn and May warned 
 him away from the drama. 
 
 Much of the poetry of Southey that we have been dis- 
 cussing seems now flat and jejune. To contemporary 
 readers it possessed quahties that were striking if not alto- 
 gether praiseworthy. When they compared it with the 
 poetry of the preceding generation, they found some star- 
 thng advances and departures. There was, above all, a 
 spirit of enthusiasm for some of the new ideas that were 
 disturbing Europe. There was also a free and daring use 
 of new forms, together with the turning to nature, to coun- 
 try scenes and country people, and the use of a greater 
 range as well as greater simphcity of language. Such 
 qualities were quickly perceived, and it was not long before 
 critics and partisans took up the task of marking out 
 Southey and other such innovators for praise and censure. 
 There arose in consequence a notion that certain new poets 
 were working more or less in collusion, and some of them 
 finally came to be lumped together as all belonging to a 
 ''school," variously described but finally dubbed the ''lake 
 school." Each of the three leaders of this group, especially 
 Southey, disclaimed the existence of it Or his own member- 
 ship in it, and later critics have tended to accept their 
 disclaimer and to suppose that the so-called school owed 
 its existence only to the accident that three of its members 
 went to five in the lake country. Southey, in particular, 
 because of certain peculiar developments in his work, has 
 frequently been dissociated from the others. Such versions 
 1 This fragment is not extant. 
 
228 THE EARLY LIFE OF ROBERT SOUTHEY 
 
 of the facts are, however, misleading. Before 1800 the 
 associations and friendships that existed among these young 
 men, and certain accidents of pubUcation as well as certain 
 common characteristics in their writings, warranted contem- 
 poraries in supposing that there was at least agreement among 
 them, and possibly collusion. Hence it came that, before any 
 of the lake poets had settled at the lakes, the popular notion 
 that a new '' school" was being attempted was well defined, 
 and Southey was at first taken to be the leader of it. 
 
 That such an idea should arise in pohtical partisanship 
 was not surprising in the ten years subsequent to 1793. 
 Pohtical questions were so all-absorbing that pohtical con- 
 siderations were the determining elements in many ques- 
 tions and reputations. Poetry was no exception to this 
 rule. We have seen that to pohtics Joan of Arc owed its 
 popular success; with pohtics, therefore, Southey's name 
 was at once widely associated by those who looked upon 
 revolutionary ideas with interest. In spite of the diminu- 
 tion of youthful heat the impression made by Joan was not 
 removed by its author's immediately subsequent work. 
 Finally Southey's connection both with The Morning Post 
 and with The Critical Review made certain that his writings 
 would continue to be read in some circles with a touch of 
 partisan interest. By 1798 he had become the most con- 
 spicuous poet opposing the ministry and the war with 
 France. Coleridge was associated with him from the first; 
 they had made themselves notorious together at Bristol, 
 Coleridge's contributions to Joan of Arc had been pub- 
 hcly acknowledged by Southey in his preface, and so also 
 had been his stanza in The Soldier^s Wife,^ companion 
 piece to the unlucky sapphics. Consequently, upon the 
 pubhcation of Coleridge's Poems on Various Subjects, in 
 1796, The Monthly Review inamediately classified ^ him with 
 Southey, and praised his work in terms similar to those 
 
 1 Poems, 1797. 2 Month. Rev., June, 1796, n. s.,v. 20, 194. 
 
PORTUGAL — LAW AND LITERATURE 229 
 
 used in praise of Southey, asserting that Coleridge had 
 written his Monody on the Death of Chatterton because he 
 too had been born in Bristol. In this volume, as in the 
 Ode on the Departing Year (1796), in the second edition of 
 his Poems (1797), and in Fears in Solitude (1798), there was 
 nothing as violent, or, on the whole, as striking to the 
 readers of the day, as in Southey's work of the same years, 
 although the Lines to a Young Ass {Morning Chronicle 
 Dec. 30, 1794) and Fire, Famine, and Slaughter {Morning 
 Post, Jan. 8, 1789) came in for the clamorous condemnation 
 which they courted. It should be noted in passing that 
 nearly all of the poets of the new school indulged in joint 
 publication with each other, and that most of their first 
 volumes, including the Lyrical Ballads itself, emanated from 
 the press of Cottle at Bristol. Thus Southey pubHshed with 
 Lovell and collaborated publicly with Coleridge; Coleridge 
 also published with Lamb and Lloyd; the two latter joined 
 in a volume independently printed; and the Lyrical Ballads, 
 therefore, but followed the established custom among Cole- 
 ridge's associates, a custom, again, which could not help sug- 
 gesting to the pubUc the existence of a veritable "school." ^ 
 It is plain that Southey was at first supposed to be the 
 
 1 Southey's early volumes, except Poems, 1795, were all either 
 published or printed by Cottle at Bristol. (See Appendix A.) Cole- 
 ridge's Poems on Various Subjects, 1796, was printed for C. G. and J. 
 Robinson in London and for J. Cottle, Bookseller, in Bristol, In this 
 volume there were four sonnets by Lamb signed C. L. and acknowledged 
 in the preface to have been written by Charles Lamb of the India 
 House. In the same place Coleridge also acknowledged that one of 
 his "EfiPusions" had been developed from a "rough sketch" by Favell, 
 and that the "first half" of another was by "the author of Joan of Arc." 
 Coleridge's Ode on the Departing Year was pubUshed in 1796 at Bristol, 
 but although printed by "N. Biggs," Cottle's printer, Cottle's name 
 was not on the title page, and only that of "J. Parsons, Paternoster 
 Row, London" appeared as pubUsher. In the same year, 1796, came 
 out Poems on the Death of Prisdlla Farmer by her Grandson Charles 
 Lloyd, Bristol, Printed by N. Biggs, and sold by James Phillips, George 
 
230 THE EARLY LIFE OF ROBERT SOUTHEY 
 
 most important member of this group; the sheer bulk as 
 well as the boyish brilliance of Joan would start such an 
 impression. Consequently he found it necessary to deny 
 the authorship of Fire, Famine, and Slaughter, and com- 
 plained that strangers were always confounding him with 
 Coleridge. Wordsworth, of course, was almost entirely un- 
 known, and his reputation was not rapidly enhanced by 
 the anonymous Lyrical Ballads. When Canning, Frere, 
 EUis, and the government wits, therefore, began The Anti- 
 Jacobin in November, 1797, as a way of casting weekly scorn 
 on the opposition, it was inevitable that Southey should 
 
 Yard, Lombard-Street, London. This volume also contained an intro- 
 ductory sonnet by Coleridge and included Lamb's The Grandame, with 
 a complimentary acknowledgment of his authorship. In 1797 was 
 pubHshed Poems by S. T. Coleridge, Second Edition to which are now 
 added Poems by Charles Lamb and Charles Lloyd. Printed by N. Biggs, 
 for J. Cottle, Bristol, and Messrs Robinson, London. This volume, of 
 course, placed the three authors in conspicuous association with each 
 other, a fact signaUized by a Latin motto on the title page invented 
 for the occasion by Coleridge. It also reprinted from the 1796 edition 
 the effusion or sonnet half of which was written by Southey, and made 
 acknowledgment in a footnote. In 1798 appeared Blank Verse by 
 Charles Lloyd and Charles Lamb, printed not in Bristol, but in London 
 by T. Bensley for John and Arthur Arch. Lloyd's Edmund Oliver, 
 with a dedication to Lamb, was also published in this year through 
 Cottle at Bristol, but Coleridge broke away from the latter at the 
 same time with his Fears in Solitude, which was printed in London for 
 J. Johnson in St. Paul's Churchyard. Finally the Lyrical Ballads was 
 printed by Biggs for Cottle in the same format as Southey's 1797 and 
 1799 Poems, the second and later editions of his Joan of Arc, and The 
 Annual Anthology, 1799, 1800; Coleridge's 1796 and 1797 Poems; and 
 Lloyd's Edmund Oliver. When Cottle sold his interest in the Lyrical 
 Ballads his name disappeared from the title page, and that of J. and 
 A. Arch, Gracechurch-Street, London, appeared instead, though a 
 few copies are known to have been sold under Cottle's name. I hav& 
 noted above Southey's acknowledgment of contributions by Cole- 
 ridge to Joan of Arc and Poems, 1797. For the whole subject see T. J. 
 Wise, Bibliography of Coleridge, Lamb's Works, V, edited by E. ¥► 
 Lucas, and Appendix A. 
 
PORTUGAL — LAW AND LITERATURE 231 
 
 be the poet to receive their immediate attention. In the 
 introduction to the first number (Nov. 20, 1797) of their 
 paper they proclaimed the existence of a school of '' Jacobin 
 poets," and proceeded to define the "springs and principles 
 of this species of poetry." ^ These were said to consist of 
 a proneness to all kinds of exaggeration, and ''the direct 
 inversion of the sentiments and passions, which have in all 
 ages animated the breast of the favourite of the Muses^ 
 and distinguished him from the 'vulgar throng'"; that is, 
 the Jacobin poets exaggerated the poet's usual scorn for 
 riches and grandeur into hatred for the rich and great, and 
 they inverted the love of country into love of the French, 
 the praise of mihtary glory into rejoicings for the victories 
 of England's enemies. The appHcation of all this to Joan 
 is plain. The Anti-Jacohin went on to announce that "we 
 shall select from time to time, from among those effusions 
 of the Jacobin Muse which happen to fall in our way, such 
 pieces as may serve to illustrate some one of the principles 
 on which the poetical, as well as the pohtical, doctrine of 
 the New School is established." The editors were immedi- 
 ately as good as their word. Southey's 1797 volume of 
 poems was in their hands fresh from the press, and in their 
 first number they reprinted in fuU his Inscription for the 
 Apartment in Chepstow Castle, where Henry Marten, the 
 Regicide, was imprisoned thirty years, followed by a parody 
 entitled Inscription for the Door of the Cell in Newgate, where 
 Mrs. Brownrigg, the Prenticecide, was confined previous to 
 her Execution. In the very next number (Nov. 27, 
 1797) Southey was again singled out for attack, and those 
 Sapphics entitled The Widow were immortally parodied in 
 The Friend of Humanity and the Needy Knife-Grinder. A 
 few weeks later (Dec. 11, 1797), Southey's Dactyllics 
 were twice parodied, but less briUiantly, in Come, Little 
 
 ^ The Anti-Jacohin or Weekly Examiner — Fourth Edition — 1799 ;; 
 Poetry of the Anti-Jacohin, Fourth Edition, 1801, 3-4. 
 
232 THE EARLY LIFE OF ROBERT SOUTHEY 
 
 Drummer Boy (Dec. 11, 1797) and Wearisome Sonneteer 
 (Dec. 18, 1797). After that no other references to Southey 
 were made and no names were added to the "new school" 
 until July 9, 1798, when Canning, Frere and EUis contributed 
 The New Morality. In the course of this satire the new poets 
 were accused with other "Jacobins" of worshiping that rather 
 mild deist, the "theophilanthrope," Lepaux. 
 
 ^'Couriers and Stars, Sedition's Evening Host, 
 Thou Morning Chronicle, and Morning Post, 
 Whether ye make the lights of Man your theme, 
 Your Country Hbel, and your God blaspheme, 
 Or dirt on private worth and ^Trtue throw, 
 StiU blasphemous or blackguard, praise Lepaux. 
 And ye five other wandering Bards, that move 
 In sweet accord of harmom^ and love, 
 
 C[oleri]dge and S[ou]th[;e]y, L[loy]d, and L[am]be and Co. 
 Tune all your mj^stic harps to praise Lepaux!" ^ 
 
 The injustice of making aU these poets do homage to 
 Lepaux, of whom they knew next to nothing, did not affect 
 the popularity of The Anti-Jacobin, which was both imme- 
 diate and wide. The influence upon Southey's reputation 
 was important. Tory satire assisted anti-ministerial criti- 
 cism in making his name better known than ever, identify- 
 ing it more than ever with democratic notions, and fixing 
 the idea that there was a definite group of new poets with 
 radical principles in poetry as weU as in poHtics. The later 
 strictures against the lake school, and the anathemas heaped 
 upon Southey by Byron, Hazhtt, and others for turncoating 
 were all in part the result of the satire of The Anti-Jacohin. 
 It is to be especially noted that, in the opinion of satirists 
 and reviewers, so far as there was any new school at all, 
 Southey was at first the most conspicuous member of it. 
 This idea was now to grow with the pubHc while Thalaha 
 was being written. 
 
 1 Poetry of the Anti-Jacobin, 250. 
 
CHAPTER V 
 1800-1803 
 
 I 
 
 SouTHEY watched^ the weathercock at Fahnouth for a 
 week before his departure on his second trip to Portugal. 
 He had with him a volume of Coleridge's poems, the 1798 
 Lyrical Ballads, Burns, and Gehir. The last-named had 
 become matter for daily reading. ''I Uke Gebir more and 
 more; if you ever meet its author, tell him I took it with 
 me on a voyage '^ (Apr. 1, 1800). For other pastime he 
 walked the beach, caught soldier- crabs, watched the sea- 
 anemones, and wrote half a book of Thalaba. Then on 
 Apr. 2, 1800, he embarked with his wife in the Lisbon 
 packet, and after a short voyage of five days and a half, 
 during which both Southey and Edith were wretchedly sea- 
 sick and upon one occasion much alarmed at the approach 
 of a Guernsey cutter, which their captain at first took to 
 be French, the ship put into Lisbon. The old thrill of 
 admiration returned to the poet. "Convents and Quintas, 
 gray ohve yards, green orange-groves, and greener vine- 
 yards; the shore more populous every moment as we 
 advanced, and finer buildings opening upon us; the river, 
 bright as the blue sky which illuminated it, swarming with 
 boats of every size and shape, with sails of every imaginable 
 variety; innumerable ships riding at anchor far as the eye 
 could reach; and the city extending along the shore, and 
 covering the hills to the farthest point of sight." 
 
 ^ The main facts of this period of Southey's Hfe are to be found in 
 Life, II, 57-234 and in Warter, I, 104-237. 
 
 233 
 
234 THE EARLY LIFE OF ROBERT SOUTHEY 
 
 They landed on the eighth of April, and went at once to 
 a small house that Southey's uncle had engaged for them. 
 It was very small and thoroughly Portuguese, Kttle rooms 
 all doors and windows but cool, with a view across the 
 river to the hills of Alentejo. The domestic arrangements 
 were clean and EngUsh only as far as Edith could extend 
 her personal sway. Ceremonial calls and letters once dis- 
 posed of, Southey went busily to work until the time for 
 retreating to Cintra. This was not to be until June, for he 
 delayed departure in order to see a bull-fight and the pro- 
 cessions of Corpus Christi, of St. Anthony, and of the 
 Heart of Jesus. With careful prudence he described his 
 impressions in detailed letters home, so that material would 
 be at hand for another volume similar to that which had 
 been the fruit of his first visit. There was Httle new to 
 record; he found the same filth, misgovernment, corrup- 
 tion, ignorance, and fascinating picturesqueness as before. 
 His letters are, perhaps, more graphic and spirited, but 
 they express merely the old sense of charm and the EngHsh- 
 man's revulsion at squalor and popery. At the end of June 
 he and Edith set out joyfully for Cintra, with its oHve hill- 
 sides and running streams. There they remained until the 
 end of October, when they returned to Lisbon. On the 
 whole it was a tranquil time of happy industry. Under the 
 influence of constant "ass-back-riding," the health of both 
 recovered almost immediately, and they found some pleas- 
 ant EngHsh acquaintances, especially a Miss Barker, who 
 was to continue a friend and, setthng later at Keswick, 
 found a place in The Doctor as the Bhow Begum. There 
 were, besides, fortunately, no casual or idle visitors to invade 
 the peace of Cintra. Though the Southeys longed for 
 bread and butter, and for gooseberry pie, they feasted con- 
 tentedly upon grapes, ohves, oranges, and excellent wine. 
 Rumors of pestilence and the alarm of war disturbed them 
 somewhat, but neither came so close as to cause real danger. 
 
A SCHOOL OF POETS 235 
 
 In February, 1801, after they had returned to Lisbon, they 
 set out upon a three weeks' journey on mules to Coimbra 
 and back over some three hundred and fifty miles of the 
 execrable roads of the country. An Englishman named 
 Waterhouse and, much to the marvel of the natives, a car- 
 riage with three ladies, in addition to Edith, went along 
 upon the journey. Luckily the carriage and two of the 
 ladies did not persist very far, and the historian of Portu- 
 gal could travel comparatively unhampered. The party re- 
 turned in the highest spirits and the best of health, so that 
 in April Southey was moved to set forth again, but this 
 time with Waterhouse alone, for an expedition to the south 
 through Alentejo and Algarve. He came back boasting 
 that he had then seen all of the country except the north- 
 ern provinces. 
 
 Southey looked upon the approach of the twelvemonth's 
 end and his return to England with regret. He wished to 
 continue his travels, and he was loath to suspend his labors 
 of study and writing. But the state of the country was 
 unsettled, his wife longed for home, and the English, his 
 uncle among them, were preparing to flee before the French 
 invasion. In June, therefore, he and Edith returned to 
 England, both seasick for the whole two weeks of the 
 passage. The year of Southey's second sojourn in Portugal 
 came nearer to reahzing the ideal existence he had con- 
 ceived for himself than any similar period he had ever 
 passed before or would soon pass again. Here was the Hfe 
 he had desired, — retirement, a home, the beauty of nature 
 out at Cintra, poetry, and historical study. Thalaba and 
 the history of Portugal consumed all his thoughts and 
 nearly all his time. Of the former he had written six books 
 in January, 1800; in the succeeding month two more were 
 added, and in spite of the distractions of ill-health and 
 travel, ten were complete by the middle of June. Finally, 
 on July 23, Southey wrote to Wynn that the whole twelve 
 
236 THE EARLY LIFE OF ROBERT SOUTHEY 
 
 books were finished, and were being corrected. This took 
 some time, but by September, 1800, the poem was ready to 
 be submitted for pubhcation. Rickman, who, though he 
 did not read his friend's poetry, e\ddently could be trusted 
 to sell it, was selected to be his plenipotentiary with Long- 
 man, and secured an agreement that Southey was to receive 
 £115 for an edition of one thousand copies. This poem 
 was not as important in its author's mind as Modoc or the 
 great history, but it was expected to be popular, or at least 
 to furnish funds to buy chairs and tables for the house he 
 hoped to secure upon his return. If it succeeded, he planned 
 to follow it up with a series of similar works that would 
 carry out his old intention of illustrating the mythologies 
 of the world. ''It is a good job done, and so I have 
 thought of another, and another, and another" (July 25, 
 1800). 
 
 In the same letter to Wynn that announced the com- 
 pletion of Thalaha Southey also TSTote that he had a dis- 
 tant view of manufacturing a Hindoo romance, wild as 
 Thalaha, and a nearer one of a Persian stor\^ In the latter, 
 to be based upon the Zend-Avesta, the powers of darkness 
 were to persecute a prince, but every e^dl they inflicted was 
 to cause the development in him of some virtue which pros- 
 perity had smothered. The outcome of the whole would 
 be that the prince would be exalted into an Athenian 
 citizen, and the French revolution be forgotten in the 
 thought of Attic repubhcanism. For some reason this 
 scheme went no further, but from a distant view of the 
 Hindoo romance Southey plunged at once into the manu- 
 facture of The Curse of Kehama, or, as it was originally 
 called, of Keradon. By April, 1801, this had "matm^ed into 
 a very good and very extraordinary plan,^ which has become 
 a favorite with me;" before the author's departure its 
 ''ground-plan" had been "completely sketched," and the 
 ^ Common-place Book, Series IV, 12-15. 
 
A SCHOOL OF POETS 237 
 
 composition already begun. This was halted, however, 
 pending the returns from Thalaha, and owing to some 
 scruples concerning the use of rime as well as to the desire 
 to employ all the time in Portugal for work that could be 
 done only there. 
 
 For Southey had come to Lisbon filled with the inten- 
 tion to write the history of Portugal, which he felt that 
 he could do as it should be done. There was, he thought, 
 a wholeness and unity in the story, splendid actions, and 
 an important lesson. He wished to know well the entire 
 country, and he intended to do what he said had never 
 been done, that is, to include a narrative of the manners 
 of the people. Though it seemed a task that involved 
 terrifying labor, yet he had now the inclination and leisure 
 to attempt it. Great help could be expected from Mr. 
 Hill, whose estimation of his nephew had risen greatly, 
 partly because the young man had, in his own chosen way, 
 made no inconsiderable figure in the world. Southey's his- 
 torical investigation interested his uncle greatly, and the 
 good gentleman had been adding industriously to his 
 already well-stocked library. In this collection and in such 
 pubhc collections as might be accessible in Lisbon, supple- 
 mented by his own purchases, Southey expected to find his 
 materials. His workmanlike plan was to go through the 
 chronicles, make a skeleton of the narrative, and fill in 
 details at leisure. By August he could say that he had the 
 main facts and personages well in mind, that he could speak 
 the language fluently if not correctly, that he knew its history, 
 and that he was almost as well acquainted with Portuguese 
 literature as with English. "It is not worth much," he 
 adds (Aug. 25, 1800), ''but it is not from the rose and the 
 violet only that the bee sucks honey." When completed 
 the intended book would consist of three parts, a section on 
 the literature, another on the history of the country proper, 
 and a third on that of the colonial enterprises. The first 
 
238 THE EARLY LIFE OF ROBERT SOUTHEY 
 
 of these and a volume of the second Southey was ready to 
 put together for pubUcation immediately upon his return 
 to England, but he would have to return to Portugal before 
 he could complete the whole. The style that he planned to 
 use and the expectations that he entertained of success 
 were both characteristic of the man. It was to be a plain 
 Doric building in a compressed, perspicuous manner, with 
 abundant notes to ''drain off all quaintness"; it would 
 surely endure. With half the success of Gibbon or Roscoe, 
 the author's profits would be important, and he knew that 
 his work would be of more permanent reputation. Such 
 was the state of the great history when Southey set out 
 again for home. "1 have stewed down many a foHo into 
 essential sauce." He would now hope and struggle for 
 leisure, and for an opportunity to come back for more 
 materials to Lisbon. All this would be in vain, however, 
 although at least two bulky historical works and one epic 
 would be the off-shoots of his Ufelong studies. 
 
 II 
 
 Thalaha was the epitome of Southey's youth and the 
 clearest augury of his manhood. It was the fullest expres- 
 sion that he had yet attained of his passionate, self-con- 
 fident ideaUsm. It was his boldest experiment in style, 
 versification, and subject matter. It was at once his first 
 mature effort to garner in poetry the results of his wide 
 reading, and the first member of the series of epics which 
 he had planned illustrating the mythologies of the world.^ 
 Lastly, in the figure of Thalaba, — a hero of single purpose, 
 of complete faith in himself, of imphcit adherence to the 
 
 ^ Southey was at this time also planning an epic on Noah, a sketch 
 for which may be seen in Commonplace Book, Series IV, 2-3. This 
 poem was to express the same ideals put forth in Southey's other 
 poems, but the story of events before the flood was to express the 
 poet's attitude toward the French revolution. 
 
A SCHOOL OF POETS 239 
 
 line of duty made plain by his faith and purpose, — here 
 was the moral character of Southey himself. 
 
 I have already dwelt upon the fact that Southey and 
 Wordsworth both emerged from the fever of the revolution 
 with substantially the same view of Ufe, and that in their 
 early poems they adopted similar methods of expressing 
 their ideahsm. After that, as Thalaha first conspicuously 
 shows, Southey took other ways, which appeared to dif- 
 fer from those of Wordsworth more than was really the 
 case. The latter continued substantially in the way of the 
 Lyrical Ballads. He surrendered himself to the mystical 
 contemplation of the ideal as he beheld it in nature, and he 
 made poetry a vehicle for the deUneation of the moral 
 influence of that ideal upon those who hve in close com- 
 munion with nature. His faith was so unquestioning that 
 he joyfully gave up his life to such poetry; gave up, indeed, 
 much that he should have kept, — reading, study, travel, 
 friends new and old, the habit of thought, cathoUcity of 
 spirit, almost the very power of poetic expression itself. 
 Southey, with interesting individual differences, was to go 
 through essentially the same process. The turn for mystic 
 contemplation, however, although not absent, as we have 
 seen in some of his earher work, was not as strong in him 
 as in Wordsworth. The latter could consistently present 
 nature as a calm power in whose world there was no strife, 
 for the faith of the ideaUst has always been that there can 
 be no opposition, no hate, in the presence of perfection, that 
 evil, by definition, is but the absence of good; the arm of 
 Artegal falls powerless before the might of Britomart's 
 awful lovehness. To reap "the harvest of a quiet eye" and 
 behold that lovehness, not to present the strivings of im- 
 perfection nor even the omnipotence of its opposite, was 
 Wordsworth's purpose. Southey, on the other hand, though 
 forever straining after peace in his own soul and sternly 
 guiding conduct to that end, never had time for undisturbed 
 
240 THE EARLY LIFE OF ROBERT SOUTHEY 
 
 contemplation. Rather, with his passion for action, for 
 committing himself, for getting things done, he found him- 
 self always preoccupied with the presence of evil, and 
 always impatient to banish it headlong before perfection. 
 
 Mrs. Piozzi once wrote of him, "Oh, how I dehght to see 
 him trample on his enemies!" "And that," said Southey 
 when he had been shown the lady's letter, "was worth all 
 the panegyric in the world." ^ Good trampling evil, per- 
 fection banishing wrong by its mere presence, — in short, 
 Joan driving the EngHsh from Orleans, Thalaba destroying 
 the Dom-Daniel, and both acting, not as ordinary human 
 agents, but as "missioned" maid or hero appointed from 
 on high and with arm made omnipotent by faith in the eter- 
 nal good, — this was Southey's perennial theme, and in his 
 own eyes he was himself, when he began Quixotically tilting 
 at windmills of immorality in his own day, not the least 
 potent of his own heroes. "Is there not," asked WilUam 
 Taylor, "in your ethic drawing ... a perpetual tendency 
 to copy a favorite ideal perfection? " To this Southey re- 
 pHed, "There is that moral mannerism which you have 
 detected; Thalaba is a male Joan of Arc."^ 
 
 This "favorite ideal perfection" is precise^ stated for us 
 in Wordsworth's The Character of a Happy Warrior. That, 
 however, is a contemplative man's reflection upon Hfe. 
 Southey's instinct, as well as his problem, was to depict his 
 warrior in action, and Thalaba's story is built accordingly. 
 The Arabian youth begins as "a generous spirit" to whom 
 God has given a plan "to please his boyish thought," and 
 whose task in real hfe is indeed to work upon this plan. 
 Fear, bloodshed, pain, — difficulties that the poet seeks to 
 make concretely terrible, — face him, but he 
 
 "Turns his necessity to glorious gain; 
 In face of these doth exercise a power 
 
 1 Warier, III, 474. 2 Taylor, II, 81-82. 
 
A SCHOOL OF POETS 241 
 
 Which is our human nature's highest dower; 
 Controls them, and subdues, transmutes, bereaves 
 Of their bad influence, and their good receives," 
 
 or in the words of Southey's hero, as he receives a magic 
 ring which was originally a tool of the unrighteous, 
 
 "In God's name, and the Prophet's! be its power 
 Good, let it serve the righteous; if for evil, 
 God and my trust in him shall hallow it." ^ 
 
 Thenceforth Thalaba goes through his trials keeping 'Hhe 
 law in calmness made," seeing as he goes "what he fore- 
 saw," irresistibly playing 
 
 "in the many games of life, that one 
 Where what he most doth value must be won." 
 
 Thus persevering, finding "comfort in himself and in his 
 cause," Thalaba achieves his plan, overthrows evil by con- 
 fronting it with faith in good, and finally, as his reward, 
 draws breath, not merely in the ''confidence of Heaven's 
 applause," but in heaven itself. 
 
 Such was the central theme of Thalaba, derived not from 
 Wordsworth, but from its author's acknowledged master, 
 Spenser. It would be easy to press too far the search for 
 resemblances between Southey's poem and The Faerie 
 Queene, but it will be enough to point out that, aside from 
 his use of the figure of an appointed hero fighting evil with 
 faith, Southey shows an interesting resemblance to Spenser 
 in the scope of his scheme for a series of epics or romances 
 on mythologies each of which was, no doubt, to present the 
 same recurring hero under various names forever fighting, 
 like the knights from the Faerie Queene' s court, the same 
 battles over again. From Spenser to Southey no poet had 
 conceived quite so elaborate a scheme, and none had so 
 nearly achieved it. The younger man's failure to approach 
 1 Thalaba, III, 116. 
 
242 THE EARLY LIFE OF ROBERT SOUTHEY 
 
 the older's success was largely due, of course, to a difference 
 in the power of sheer poetic expression, but also to a differ- 
 ence in the manner of presenting the underlying thought. 
 There are two ways of showing the triumph of good over 
 evil in narrative, both to be found in The Faerie Queene, 
 seldom but the one in Thalaba. Evil may be displayed as 
 the crass, hideous, unmitigated negation of perfection, and 
 therefore, granted the faith of the hero, easily to be over- 
 thrown by his good right arm. On the other hand it may 
 be represented far more subtly as consisting in impulses 
 disguised, glozed over, adorned with show of truth, such as 
 exist in all minds, tend toward evil, and threaten, by taking 
 faith in the rear, to overthrow it in the citadel of the soul. 
 The struggle against evil, when turned into story, then 
 becomes an allegory of our innermost mental processes 
 instead of a mere glorified Jack-and-the-Giant nursery tale. 
 Spenser uses both methods; he has his dragons, his Cor- 
 flambos, his Blatant Beasts, but he has also his Duessa, his 
 false Florimell, his Despair, and a host of figures that 
 betray often amazingly subtle perceptions of the workings 
 of the mind. The trouble with Southey's poem is that evil 
 for him is always either a transparent scoundrel or a blatant 
 beast. He has no notion of projecting the soul into nar- 
 rative. Thalaba, it is true, does upon one occasion deviate 
 from the path of virtue, but he is so quickly righted that 
 the impression of impeccability is not disturbed, and though 
 an enchantress shortly afterwards tricks him into her power, 
 she does so through no fault of his, and is helpless to do 
 anything with him save show her own impotence. South- 
 ey's hero represents no experience easily recognizable as 
 human, but an ideal phrased in terms so remote as to be 
 uninteresting, and the opposing evil too hideous to have 
 any semblance of reaUty. Wickedness in his hands be- 
 comes a thing only to scare children, a mere abstraction 
 tricked out in horrors not felt but read in old books, the 
 
A SCHOOL OF POETS 243 
 
 bloody hocus-pocus of witchcraft, and mumbo-jumbo of 
 dead men's bones. It is all a bad dream out of the reign 
 of terror and the Arabian Nights, and there is something 
 pathetic in the childish satisfaction which the poet takes 
 in belaboring his bugaboos in their Dom-Daniel house of 
 cards. 
 
 The origin of Southey's plot is plain. ^ To display a single 
 virtue wreaking its perfection. on the unrighteous, he wove, 
 like Spenser again, a story out of the fluid themes of ro- 
 mance. In boyhood he had attempted new Faerie Queenes 
 and new Orlandos; Thalaha was the man's effort to fulfill 
 the boy's dream. In a general way the story resembles 
 any story of the quest of an other-world castle. Thalaba's 
 youth is that of the boy whose father and kindred have 
 been slain by evil enemies, and who has been driven into 
 exile with his mother. The enchanters who are his foes 
 have their headquarters in a cavern under the roots of the 
 sea, and there they keep the charmed sword of the hero's 
 father, by which they are themselves to be overthrown 
 when the youth shall have penetrated to their strong- 
 hold and regained the weapon. To find the Dom-Daniel 
 caverns, to win the sword, and to avenge his father is the 
 plan and purpose of the boy's fife. Bereft of his mother, 
 under strange circumstances that permit Southey to de- 
 scribe the fabled garden of Iram, Thalaba grows up with 
 simple people in the desert. These are a noble Arab and 
 his daughter, who perform the same function for him that 
 was performed for Joan by the hermit and Theodore in 
 the forest. Like Joan, too, Thalaba is reared in virtue by 
 the influence of nature and sohtude, and Hke Joan he is 
 finaUy apprised by miraculous means of his mission. 
 Thereupon he departs for Babylon to begin his quest, but 
 
 ^ For Southey's extensive preliminary notes for the poem, together 
 with suggestions for giving the story certain allegorical significance, 
 see, Commonplace Book, Series IV, pp. 97-195 passim. 
 
244 THE EARLY LIFE OF ROBERT SOUTHEY 
 
 not without regret on the part of the maid, Oneiza, for a 
 pure and tender love has grown up between them. This 
 simple story is wrapped up in a bewildering apparatus of 
 charms and taUsmans and special providences. Although 
 communion with nature has taught Thalaba such faith that 
 Allah has a bee or a simoon ready at any time to save him, 
 yet the youth is supposed to possess a magic ring as a 
 protection against enchanters, and he must be told by 
 Haruth and Maruth in their cavern under the ruins of 
 Babylon, whither he is unwittingly guided by the forces of 
 evil themselves, that he also possesses that faith which is 
 talisman sufficient to daunt the unfaithful. To obtain this 
 knowledge is simple enough, for he has but to follow his 
 unknown enemy into the cavern, throw him into an abyss, 
 and shout aloud in the name of Allah. After that is accom- 
 plished, and the tahsman learned, the poet's problem was 
 the one with which all who tell this story are confronted, 
 namely to supply his hero with suitable adventures to con- 
 sume the time until he should proceed to the end of his 
 quest. Southey solved it in the usual way by transporting 
 Thalaba to a bower of bhss. The machinery is not strange 
 to romance; there is an enchanted steed, a valley in the 
 mountains, iron gates to be set open by the blowing of 
 massy horns, then Ussome harlots in filmy lawn dancing 
 lewdly by a fountain in the forest. Thalaba and Southey 
 hasten swiftly by, for it is really a long time since the age 
 of Spenser. Oneiza appears upon the scene, fleeing Hke 
 Angelica from the embraces of lust, and the hero rescues 
 her. Then, of course, he destroys the sorcerer who rules 
 the place, and passes out with his beloved through riven 
 enchantments to meet the sultan marching to overthrow 
 the iniquities that have just been disposed of. 
 
 The youth and the maid are carried in triumph to Bagdad 
 to be luxuriously rewarded. But now, hke one of Spenser's 
 knights, Thalaba is tempted to err, for such is the influence 
 
A SCHOOL OF POETS 245 
 
 of wealth, of cities, and of kings. He proposes to marry 
 Oneiza, and deceives himself with the thought that his 
 mission is done. The maiden, however, is claimed by the 
 angel of death in the bridal chamber, and thereafter for a 
 short time Thalaba is betrayed by the devices of witchcraft 
 until Oneiza' s father comes to him with fresh faith from 
 the desert, and sets him free to continue his quest. He is 
 again ensnared, but this time through no fault of his own, 
 and is wafted to an island of all unrighteousness, whence 
 he escapes partly by the aid of a repentant witch, and 
 partly by wickedness overreaching itself. This is the 
 weakest part of the poem, for it is difficult to see why 
 Thalaba should be even temporarily overcome. But be 
 that as it may, he is now directed toward his goal by a 
 dervish and by the Simorg, and encounters another en- 
 chanter, who tries to trick him into beheving that it is his 
 destiny to slay an innocent maid, the enchanter's own 
 daughter. Thalaba knows better, though Azrael himself 
 stands by demanding the fulfillment of fate; in the scuffle 
 that ensues, destiny receives its due, but by the knife of 
 the wicked father, who is not so wicked as not to mourn 
 his loss. Thalaba pities the old man's grief, and goes on, 
 guided by a green bird which is the maiden's soul. The 
 finest descriptive passages of the poem now occur. The 
 difficulties that remain in the hero's path are ice and cold 
 and perilous seas in fairy lands forlorn, but he is at last 
 safely ferried over the waters that in romance forever flow 
 between our world and the other-world where the castles 
 lie in which the Percivals and the Galahads and the Thala- 
 bas finally achieve the quest. Southey's hero relieves 
 another youth, who has failed at the very threshold of 
 success, makes his way past Afreets and Teraphim to the 
 innermost caverns of the Dom-Daniel, regains the magic 
 sword, destroys the seats of the wicked, pities and forgives 
 his father's murderer Uke the good Christian that he really 
 
246 THE EARLY LIFE OF ROBERT SOUTHEY 
 
 is, and is translated to Heaven for his pains. The respect- 
 able Englishman does not forsake him, even in paradise, 
 for he is met by but one Houri, and that Oneiza, to whom 
 the poet had taken pains previously to marry him, and 
 who has been patiently reserving her charms to reward him 
 alone. 
 
 If the reader of to-day reads Thalaha at all, he generally 
 does so without having in mind the nature of Southey's 
 earlier work, and it may seem surprising that this poem 
 should at any time have been thought to possess traits in 
 common, not only with Joan of Arc, but also with its 
 author's shorter pieces pubhshed in 1797 and 1799, and 
 even with the Lyrical Ballads. Yet such was the case, and 
 we must not neglect to observe what just basis Jeffrey was 
 to have for making this poem the text of his first diatribe 
 against the lake school. 
 
 "My aim has been," wrote Southey, "to diffuse through 
 my poems a sense of the beautiful and good."^ This was 
 true of all his serious work, both before and after Thalaha. 
 The next mythological poem, for instance, was intended to 
 be founded on the system of Zoroaster, in the hope that 
 the fables of false rehgion might be made subservient to 
 the true. Yet, besides being written with the same general 
 moral purpose, Thalaha also expresses the pecuUar beUefs 
 which Southey shared with Wordsworth, and for which 
 "the lake poets" were conspicuous. The most striking of 
 these, of course, is the belief in the beneficent influence of 
 nature and solitude. Thalaba grows up in the Arabian 
 desert precisely as he would have done upon the shores of 
 Windermere. We are told that his lot was cast by heaven 
 in a lonely tent in order that his soul might there develop 
 its energies of faith and virtue, and his heart remain ui. 
 contaminated by the world.^ In addition to this Southey 
 emphasizes, characteristically, the influence of domesticity. 
 1 Life, III, 351. 2 Bk. Ill, 130. 
 
A SCHOOL OF POETS 247 
 
 The home in the Arab's tent, the fireHght at evening, the 
 sweet family picture of the old man intoning the holy book 
 or placidly smoking at the tent door, the maiden at her 
 loom or with her goats and birds, the boy with his basket- 
 weaving or his bows and arrows, — these too have their 
 moral influence. But the power of nature, — the mornings 
 in the desert, the winds, the rains, the broad-leaved syca- 
 mores, the moon, — chiefly mold his character. 
 
 "When the winter torrent rolls 
 Down the deep-channelled rain-course, foamingly. 
 Dark with its mountain spoils, 
 With bare feet pressing the wet sand 
 
 There wanders Thalaba, 
 The rushing flow, the flowing roar, 
 FiUing his yielded faculties; 
 A vague, a dizzy, a tumultuous joy. 
 ... Or lingers it a vernal brook 
 
 Gleaming o'er yellow sands? 
 Beneath the lofty bank reclined. 
 With idle eye he views its little waves. 
 Quietly listening to the quiet flow; 
 While in the breathings of the stirring gale 
 The tall canes bend above, 
 Floating like streamers in the wind 
 Their lank uplifted leaves." ^ 
 
 What matters it if the old Arab intones the Koran beneath 
 no lamp-illumined dome or marble walls bedecked with 
 flourished truth, azure and gold! To Thalaba and the maid 
 her father is their priest, the stars their points of prayer, 
 and the blue sky a temple in which they feel the deity .^ 
 
 The wisdom thus learned by the child suffices the man. 
 during the rest of his career. So when Thalaba wavers in 
 
 ^ Thalaba, Bk. Ill, 135. There is in these Unes, perhaps, an echo of 
 Tintern Abbey, admiration for which Southey had expressed a year 
 before in his review of the Lyrical Ballads in The Critical Review. 
 
 2 Bk. Ill, 145-147. 
 
248 THE EARLY LIFE OF ROBERT SOUTHEY 
 
 his purpose, owing to the influence of hfe in Bagdad, it is 
 Oneiza and her father, with safer instinct, who recall him 
 to virtue by recalHng him to nature and the desert sohtude. 
 Knowledge is otherwise to be learned only through league 
 with the powers of hell. Metaphysics, it will be remem- 
 bered, had become anathema to Southey, and the evil 
 sorcerers in his poem are metaphysicians of the school of 
 Locke, but Thalaba stanchly defends revelation and innate 
 truth. Lobaba argues that Solomon grew wise by observa- 
 tion and reflection, but Thalaba maintains that wisdom is 
 God's special gift, the guerdon of early virtue; providence 
 at once intervenes to aid him and prove the point. This is 
 the faith that renders him invincible, and he acts through- 
 out merely as the unreasoning instrument of omnipotence. 
 He cries out that the wicked blindly work the righteous 
 will of heaven, casts the protection of magic embodied in 
 the ring into the abyss, pitches his enemy after it, and 
 attains his purpose by the aid of God alone. 
 
 It is needless, though it would be easy, to dwell more 
 particularly upon the fidehty with which Thalaba expresses 
 the philosophy of the lake poets. The cardinal sins of 
 obscurity of thought and mystical enthusiasm are obvious. 
 Affected simphcity, trivial and vulgar subject matter, pro- 
 saic style, — these, on the other hand, have been obscured 
 by the Arabian machinery and ignored by later readers 
 owing to that inattention which has been the meed of 
 Southey's poetry. To be sure the author himself said of 
 the poem, ''Simphcity would be out of character; I must 
 build a Saracenic mosque, not a Quaker meeting-house."^ 
 Nevertheless the notorious faults of the new sect of poets 
 were present in sufficient abundance to justify the critics. 
 One of the passages which, with its footnote, was particu- 
 larly obnoxious to Jeffrey occurs in the opening book, and 
 gives uncomfortable premonitions of Peter Bell. What more 
 1 Tayl(yr, I, 272. 
 
A SCHOOL OF POETS 249 
 
 "lakish" in tone, diction, subject matter, and thought could 
 be found than the following hnes: 
 
 "It chanced my father went the way of man, 
 He perished in his sias. 
 The funeral rites were duly paid, 
 We bound a camel to his grave 
 
 And left it there to die, 
 So if the resurrection came 
 Together they might rise. 
 I past my father's grave, 
 I heard the Camel moan. 
 She was his favorite beast. 
 One that carried me in infancy, 
 The first that by myself I learnt to mount. 
 Her limbs were lean with famine, and her eyes 
 Looked ghastlily with want. 
 She knew me as I past. 
 She stared me in the face." ^ 
 
 To the last line of this passage Southey added a note, 
 saying that it had been taken from one of the most beau- 
 tiful passages in one of the most beautiful of ''our old 
 ballads.^' Never having seen this poem in print, he quotes 
 ten stanzas of a piece called Old Poulter's Mare, an im- 
 perfect copy of which he has with difficulty ''procured . . . 
 from memory. '' It is the story of an old beast turned out 
 to die by her owner, who, repenting a Uttle, sends one to 
 find her and bring her home again. 
 
 "He went a little farther 
 
 And turned his head aside, 
 And just by goodman Whitfield's gate 
 
 Oh there the Mare he spied. 
 He asked her how she did, 
 
 She stared him in the face, 
 Then down she laid her head again, — 
 She was in wretched case." ^ 
 1 Bk. I, 28-29. 2 Bk. I, 29-32. The itaHcs are Southey's. 
 
250 THE EARLY LIFE OF ROBERT SOUTHEY 
 
 Southey's story did not supply many opportunities for such 
 passages, but this one alone sufficed to evoke Jeffrey's 
 ridicule and Taylor's condemnation. 
 
 The charge of obscurity of style can even more easily 
 be maintained against Thalaha. The narrative was drawn 
 from romances, but the manner of presenting it from far 
 different sources. It is told, not directly and flowingly, but 
 by implication, imprecation, and ejaculation. The action 
 is suggested lyrically by the exclamations of the poet at in- 
 teresting points in his hero's career. Whence Southey 
 learned this method has already been suggested. It is the 
 style of Sayers's choruses and of Gray's odes. It is some- 
 what the manner, also, of Landor's Gehir, which Southey 
 was reading with enthusiastic interest at the time of com- 
 posing Thalaha. It is the style of Ossian, and also, espe- 
 cially in its constant use of parallelism of thought and image, 
 of the poetic narratives of the Old Testament. Finally, it 
 was suggested by the abruptness of the ballads, leaping like 
 them from pinnacle to pinnacle of the action, but never 
 achieving their dramatic movement and concreteness. At 
 best certain passages of Thalaha equal Gray and surpass 
 Macpherson, but taken as a whole the narrative style is 
 not good, for simple as the plot is, only the willing and 
 attentive reader can follow and remember it. 
 
 But the most conspicuous poetical innovation of Thalaha 
 was its meter. Southey's interest in versification and his 
 love of experimenting with verse forms have already been 
 described. They had very early made him subject for 
 ridicule, for the attacks of the Anti-Jacohin upon him in 
 1797 had been in part due to his attempts in the use of 
 accentual Sapphics and DactylHcs. His early interest in 
 the ode, especially as developed by Gray, Collins, and 
 Mason, and his particular interest in the rimeless form used 
 by Sayers have also been discussed. Now when he under- 
 took the project, which Sayers had ventured so timidly 
 
A SCHOOL OF POETS 251 
 
 upon, of 'illustrating" the mythologies of the world, 
 Southey turned to the meter of the Dramatic Sketches as 
 his proper vehicle. Yet he took some months in deciding 
 the question. He began by resolving against blank verse 
 in order to avoid mannerism and feebleness, and he planned 
 at first to use irregular rimed stanzas, possibly with blank 
 verse at dramatic moments in the narrative.^ But in 
 August, 1799, he had composed the first book and a half in 
 the irregular unrimed stanzas. In this he met encourage- 
 ment from WilHam Taylor,^ who cited Klopstock's choral 
 dramas, Stolberg's odes, and Cesarotti's translation of 
 Ossian into ItaHan. Sayers, however, was constantly ac- 
 knowledged by Southey to be his model. 
 
 The metrical beauties of Thalaba can easily be over- 
 stated. There were so many faults that Southey might so 
 easily have committed but foresaw and avoided, that we 
 are apt to praise the verse of the poem as a positive success. 
 The lines, undistinguished as they are by rime, and irregular 
 as they are in length, do not run into insignificant prose. 
 On the other hand, the pauses are managed with such 
 skill that one gets no impression that one is reading the 
 conventional blank verse unconventionally printed. The 
 absence of rime is not an annoyance to the ear, largely be- 
 cause the mind is constantly satisfied by the use of parallel- 
 ism. What Southey prided himself particularly upon was 
 his skill in constantly var5dng the beat of the rhythm and 
 the time-length of the verses to fit the changing sentiments 
 
 expressed. 
 
 "The Arabian youth knelt down, 
 
 And bowed his forehead to the ground 
 
 And made his evening prayer. 
 
 When he arose the stars were bright in heaven, 
 
 The sky was blue, and the cold Moon 
 
 Shone over the cold snow. 
 
 A speck in the air! 
 
 1 Taylor, I, 272. 2 n^i^., 284. 
 
252 THE EARLY LIFE OF ROBERT SOUTHEY 
 
 Is it his guide that approaches? 
 
 For it moves with the motion of life! 
 Lo! she returns and scatters from her pinions 
 Odours di^oner than the gales of morning 
 Waft from Sabea." ^ 
 
 Yet Southey's facility in thus varying the verse, — and the 
 passage just quoted is taken almost at random, — was so 
 great as to outreach itself. The tune shifts so often that 
 the reader gets no sense of harmony, and the poem is hke 
 an opera that is all aria; while the singer curvets through 
 trills and runs, the hstener loses himself, the story, and the 
 music in sheer admiration of dexterity. Consequently there 
 is no enchantment of tone and overtone in the verse of 
 Thalaha; all, even in such fine passages as the opening 
 lines upon night or those upon the wedding and death of 
 Oneiza, conveys at best the suspicion of legerdemain, and 
 consequently there is some justification, aside from the 
 rimelessness and the general resemblance to a prose-printed 
 thing like Ossian, for the accusation of the critics that the 
 poem was but ''prose run mad."^ There is one curious 
 result of the meter of Thalaha in the fact that it is a very 
 difficult poem to remember. The style and the bewilder- 
 ment of machinery have much to do wdth this, but the 
 shifts of the verse play their part also. Southey himself 
 called it "the Arabesque ornament of an Arabian tale," but 
 he neglected to observe that even Arabesque must have 
 some pattern to avoid confusion. 
 
 Finally we must note that one strong reason for Southey's 
 using a novel meter, aside from his sense of its appropriate- 
 ness and his desire to experiment, w^as his unconquerable 
 impulse for committing himself, for challenge and contro- 
 versy. EngHsh versification was in a bad way; why not 
 reform it at once and with a flourish that would put the 
 whole matter out of question! He coolly expected that the 
 1 Bk. XI, 268-269. ^ Crit. Rev., 3rd. Ser., v. 4, 118. 
 
A SCHOOL OF POETS 253 
 
 meter of Thalaha would have many imitators;^ that it did 
 not do so he attributed in later years to the fact that it 
 was not so easy a form to practice as it looked.^ Mean- 
 while, in the preface to the first edition of the poem, he 
 dehvered himseK of the judgment that his verse could be 
 read with a ''prose mouth," but could not be distorted into 
 discord, and furthermore that EngUsh taste in verse had 
 been corrupted by the "regular Jew's-harp twing-twang of 
 what had been fooHshly called heroic measure." As if to 
 make sure that this challenge to the conservatives should 
 not go unregarded, Southey placed upon his title page a 
 Greek motto from Lucian to the effect that poetry is free, 
 and the poet a law unto himself. 
 
 Besides experimenting with style and meter, Southey also 
 had the temerity in this poem to attempt an experiment in 
 subject. Joan of Arc purported to deal with the Europe of 
 the fifteenth century, but although some learned notes were 
 attached to the first edition, and more were added to the 
 second, in order to enforce that impression, the poem 
 palpably referred mainly to contemporary affairs. Thalaha^ 
 on the other hand, seriously set out to illustrate not only 
 Arabian mythology, but also the Arabian people and the 
 scenery of their country. Southey is, therefore, frequently 
 associated with Scott as one who attempted to use eastern 
 material as the other did the history of his own country 
 and of the rest of Europe. We shall see that this resem- 
 blance is only upon the surface, and that in the broadest 
 sense Scott was a finer scholar as he was a finer artist than 
 Southey. 
 
 The latter was not, of course, the first EngUshman to 
 write an Oriental tale,^ though he was the first to profess, — 
 
 1 Taylor, I, 292, August, 1799. 
 
 ^ Quar. Rev. v. 35, 214. Correspondence with Caroline Bowles, 51, 53- 
 54, 58-59. 
 
 ^ See Martha Pike Conant: The Oriental Tale in England. 1908. 
 
254 THE EARLY LIFE OF ROBERT SOUTHEY 
 
 unfortunately it was only profession, — seriously to "illus- 
 trate" Oriental things in English poetry. From the first 
 translation of the Arabian Nights out of Galland's French 
 early in the eighteenth century, eastern material had been 
 used in some form or other by many writers in EngHsh for 
 a variety of purposes. That famous work was followed 
 by the translation out of French of similar collections which 
 had been drawn from the original languages or spuriously 
 concocted. Eastern costume and machinery were speedily 
 used on the continent and in England as a vehicle for satire 
 and, as is often the case with romantic material, for moral 
 and philosophical didacticism. In this field the Oriental 
 tale achieved its greatest strictly Hterary distinction in such 
 hands as those of Addison, Steele, Montesquieu, Voltaire, 
 Johnson, Goldsmith, and others. Eastern names and scen- 
 ery had also been used in poetry for purely decorative 
 purposes by such men as Parnell, Colhns, and Chatterton, 
 but their performances had attained no popularity to com- 
 pare with that of the Oriental tale pure and simple or with 
 the Oriental apologue. None of these attempts, moreover, 
 had ostensibly enhsted all the apparatus of scholarship in 
 order to "illustrate" the Orient for western minds; satire, 
 moral or philosophical instruction, and pure entertainment 
 had been the sole objects. The growing importance for 
 England of India, to be sure, was fostering an interest in 
 the east which became truly scholarly in the work of Sir 
 William Jones, but Beckford's Vathek (1786) was the first 
 attempt to employ the results of such learning in new work. 
 Yet even so, the Oriental learning in Vathek, although it 
 appears that Beckford himself was not ignorant of the 
 matter, was suppHed chiefly in the footnotes by Henley, 
 who was the prime instigator in the composition of the 
 story, and who translated it from the original French. 
 Henley pretended that he obtained the story from the 
 Arabic, but he quoted freely from Sale and D'Herbelot, and 
 
A SCHOOL OF POETS 255 
 
 although Vathek has been declared worthy to stand beside 
 the Arabian Nights themselves, it cannot be said that it is 
 free from the touch of eighteenth-century Europe. The 
 voice of Voltaire is evident in its cynicism, and the famous 
 conclusion, for all its power, is plainly that of the morahzing 
 European, magic and deviltry being presented, not with the 
 naive gusto of the Arabian Nights, but solely as instruments 
 for the punishment of sin. 
 
 The resemblance in moral purpose between Vathek and 
 Thalaba is obvious; each is preoccupied with the question 
 of retribution. Beckford's hero attains to the caverns of 
 evil enchantment by stupid persistence in evil, and finds suc- 
 cess to be its own punishment. Thalaba achieves a simi- 
 lar quest by means of faith in good and by the very efforts 
 of the unrighteous to oppose him. For that reason Southey 
 could say, "The poem compares more fairly with Vathek 
 than with any existing work, and I think may stand by its 
 side for invention."^ But it was Henley's annotations that 
 particularly impressed the poet, for he wrote that the trans- 
 lator of Beckford's tale had ''added some of the most 
 learned notes that ever appeared in any book whatever I"^ 
 WilUam Taylor probably knew that his friend would be 
 pleased to read in his Critical Review article upon Thalaba 
 that the notes to that poem were ''worthy of the commen- 
 tator of Vathek.'* ^ 
 
 As a matter of fact, however, Henley was far outdone by 
 Southey.^ What Gray and Sayers had attempted to do for 
 "northern antiquities," what Scott was to do for Scotland 
 and England, Southey essayed to do for the Orient. To be 
 sure, he knew no eastern language, he had never visited an 
 eastern country, nor was he at all intimately acquainted 
 with anyone who could supply these lacks, but he was 
 
 1 Taylor, I, 371. 2 Warter, I, 303. ^ Crit. Rev., 2d ser., v. 39, 378. 
 ^ See Appendix B for a list of the books and authors probably re- 
 ferred to by Southey in connection with Thalaha. 
 
256 THE EARLY LIFE OF ROBERT SOUTHEY 
 
 intoxicated by the vistas that investigation and travel were 
 beginning to suggest, and he deluded himself into supposing 
 that the mirage that he could project across any one of 
 them out of his own Enghshman's book-learning and insular 
 imagination would long be taken for a picture of the truth. 
 Under the circumstances, from the httle he could know he 
 constructed a setting for his poem which seems and never 
 is Oriental, and which is carefully authenticated in notes 
 that represent many days of labor and that nearly equal 
 in bulk the poem itself. 
 
 To the Arabian Nights and all its numerous progeny 
 Southey probably owed much of the atmosphere and nomen- 
 clature of his poem, but most of his specific information 
 concerning Mohammedanism was derived from Sale's recent 
 translation of the Koran, with its long '^Preliminary Dis- 
 course," from the Latin translation of the Koran and refuta- 
 tion of its heresies by a seventeenth-century Italian named 
 Maracci, from Sir WiUiam Jones's various translations and 
 essays on Oriental Hterature, from an EngHsh translation 
 with notes of a Persian romance called The Bahar-Danush, 
 and from the Old Testament and the Apocrypha. This prob- 
 ably was the extent of the Oriental hterature that was 
 available to Southey. He supplemented these sources with 
 such pubHcations as D'Herbelot's Bihliotheque Orientate^ 
 KnoUes's General Historie of the Turks, Marigny's Histoire 
 des Arahes, Pococke's Description of the East, and Morgan's 
 History of Algiers. Far more important, however, were 
 volumes of voyages and travels, which had steadily grown 
 in number through the eighteenth century. With these 
 Southey had a wide acquaintance, and some, indeed, he 
 may have reviewed for the Critical in the few years before 
 the composition of Thalaba. In his notes he goes back as 
 far as to Hakluyt and Purchas, and he refers frequently to 
 later seventeenth-century writers, such as Olearius, Chardin 
 with the profuse illustrations to his book on Persia, and 
 
A SCHOOL OF POETS 257 
 
 Tavernier. Of more modern books, there was great abun- 
 dance; Shaw, Volney, Chenier, Carsten Niebuhr, Mungo 
 Park, La Perouse, are some of the men to whom Southey 
 was most indebted for local color. Finally he makes careful 
 acknowledgement for much of his witch-lore and some of his 
 imagery to a mass of curious and out-of-the-way sources 
 that need not be detailed here. 
 
 There was a pedantic look about all this learned appara- 
 tus that was not lessened by the printing of the author's 
 references illustrating camels, simoons, Arabian cookery, 
 and the Hke as footnotes to the pages of the first edition. 
 The opportunity for ridicule thus afforded was quickly 
 seized. Jeffrey said that, when Southey had filled his com- 
 monplace book, he began to write, and that the pattern of 
 his work had only the merit of those patch-work draperies 
 to be met with in ''the mansions of the industrious, where 
 a blue tree overshadows a shell-fish, and a gigantic butter- 
 fly seems ready to swallow up Palemon and Lavinia."^ 
 
 Southey felt that this criticism was unjust because most 
 of his poem was distinctly original in design and execution. 
 Certainly it was a remarkable achievement for him to fuse 
 the details of his background into so smoothly-running 
 a piece of machinery. Nevertheless, the reader to-day is 
 inchned to admit the truth of the criticism. As a repre- 
 sentation of the Orient, Thalaba is a tour- de-force, dazzling 
 but hollow because Southey made no advance, except in 
 the bulk of his learning, upon Sayers. The great innova- 
 tion of Scott was that in far larger measure he succeeded 
 in showing, not merely the costume, manners, scenery, and 
 mythology of strange times and places, but fife itself re- 
 gardless of all strangeness of time and place. For life in 
 all its forms he had no contempt, but abundant love and 
 that imaginative sympathy which enabled him to reveal it 
 as he saw it. Never do we find Scott, upon the basis of 
 1 Edin. Rev., v. I, 77-78. 
 
258 THE EARLY LIFE OF ROBERT SOUTHEY 
 
 some meager second-hand information, damning a whole 
 civilization, expressing a wish that it might be entirely 
 swept away, and at the same time utihzing it as '^ machin- 
 ery" for the expHcation of a totally foreign moral doctrine 
 of his own. Yet that was what Southey did in Thalaha, 
 and the criticism that would associate him with Scott shows 
 but scant understanding of the latter's greatness of soul 
 and scope of mind. 
 
 Enough has been said to show that, in spite of the 
 handicaps under which he labored, Southey's knowledge of 
 the Orient was considerable. Upon this point it is difficult 
 to be just to him. His limitations, as betrayed in Thalaba, 
 are so positive and so concrete, so conspicuously those of 
 his race as well as of his time, that we are apt to allow too 
 little credit to his unceasing activity in seeking and spread- 
 ing information. This labor not only strengthened the 
 soundest things in his mind, but it constituted what was 
 probably his greatest service to his generation, a service 
 no less great for being difficult to measure. Yet the limita- 
 tions must be stated. With the same theory of life to 
 expound as Wordsworth, Southey distorted Mohammedan- 
 ism, as the other ''lake poet" distorted nature, to prove 
 his point. Neither was wholly true to the facts of his 
 subject; yet each made a parade of veracity. Of the true 
 spirit of the east Southey remained as ignorant as Words- 
 worth did of the true science of nature. All his reading 
 was done, like all the observation of the other, not to en- 
 large his own spirit, but merely to confirm his preconcep- 
 tions about Hfe, and to condemn what disagreed with them. 
 In short, he traveled to the Orient in the same spirit in 
 which he had gone to Spain, — to congratulate himself at 
 every step that he was an Enghshman. He wore his 
 Arabian plumage precisely as the EngHsh ladies wore the 
 rich Indian shawls sent home by kinsmen free-booting in 
 the train of Warren Hastings. The attitude of the home- 
 
A SCHOOL OF POETS 259 
 
 loving, middle-class Englishman was that you had better 
 stay in England if you were able to afford it, but if you 
 went out to India, you had better garner all the wealth 
 you could as rapidly as possible, and hurry back to be a 
 Nabob before it should be too late. This was the spirit 
 with which Southey approached his subject. '^ Somebody 
 should do for the Hindoo gods," he wrote to Taylor, when 
 he had read Sir William Jones and a French translation of 
 the Zend-Avesta, ''what Dr. Sayers has done for Odin; we 
 know enough of them now for a poetical system."^ Enough 
 forsooth! Enough for an EngUshman, but for the Hindoos 
 and the Hindoo gods how httle! 
 
 In July, 1799, Southey read Sale's translation of the 
 Koran, and found it dull and repetitious. When he came 
 to make the characters of his poem talk,^ he therefore used 
 the language of the Old Testament, because, he said, the 
 tame language of the Koran can hardly be remembered by 
 the few who have toiled through its tautologies. By Mo- 
 hammed himself Southey was puzzled. The prophet might 
 have been an ''enthusiast," but the fact that he had a 
 verse of the Koran revealed in order that he might marry 
 the wife of Zeid stamped him as an impostor. In spite of 
 this lack of sjnnpathy, the author of Thalaha was at about 
 the same time planning to make this scoundrel the theme 
 of an epic all to himself, keeping, of course, "the mob of 
 his wives . . . out of sight." 
 
 To the spirit of Mohammed's religion Southey's own 
 spirit bore only the resemblance that it bore to all religious 
 systems in which the passion of faith is particularly stressed. 
 "I began with the religion of the Koran,^' he said of his 
 projected mjrthological series, "and consequently founded 
 the interest of the story upon that resignation, which is the 
 only virtue it has produced."^ Thalaha is not, however, 
 
 1 Taylor, I, 262-263. 2 Thalaha, Bk. I, 3-4. 
 
 3 Thalaha, 2d ed. Note to Bk. I, p. 29; Life, III, 352. 
 
260 THE EARLY LIFE OF ROBERT SOUTHEY 
 
 an expression of Mohammedan fatalism. Southey's faith 
 in his own ideals had steeled him to resignation, and this 
 steeUng is the theme of his poem. What faith had not done 
 was to change his resignation to that indifference which is 
 fatahsm. Any other rehgion, therefore, which gives op- 
 portunity for the celebration of faith would have served 
 equally well as "machinery," and indeed Southey found 
 himself turning to faith as the theme of all his epics and 
 romances. As for the art and hterature of the Orient, the 
 author of Thalaba takes an early occasion in the notes to 
 his poem to dehver a round condemnation of both, stating 
 that all the work of eastern artists is characterized by 
 waste of ornament and labor. He had seen Persian illumi- 
 nated manuscripts which were to him nonsensically absurd 
 because they showed, not representations of life and man- 
 ners, but curves and Unes like those of a Turkey carpet. 
 The httle Oriental Hterature that had reached Europe he 
 pronounced equally worthless, and said that to call Ferdusi,^ 
 whom he admitted to have seen only in a bad rimed trans- 
 lation, the Oriental Homer is sacrilege. This unscholarly 
 attitude toward his subject matter is even more strikingly 
 illustrated in the same note. The Arabian Tales, by which 
 he may refer to the Arabian Nights or more probably 
 to the spurious Continuation, ''certainly abound with genius; 
 they have lost their metaphorical rubbish in passing 
 through the filter of a French translation." How Southey 
 could have had any just notion of the metaphorical rubbish 
 of an Arabian work that he knew only in filtration, it is 
 a Httle difficult to see, unless he supposed that the style 
 of the Bahar-Danush, a Persian story which he saw in 
 either or both of two EngHsh translations, was character- 
 istic of all Arabian Hterature. FinaUy, we must observe 
 that Occidental imperiahsm intrudes even into the very text 
 
 1 Sir WiUiam Jones, On the Poetry of the Eastern Nations in his Poems, 
 2d ed., 1777; Thalaba, Bk. I, 9-10. 
 
A SCHOOL OF POETS 261 
 
 of Thalaba. When his hero arrives at Bagdad, the poet 
 indulges in a httle independent elegy and prophecy. He 
 regrets the ignorance and servitude that in his time ob- 
 tained in the city, but expresses the hope that one day the 
 Crescent may be plucked from the Mosques by wisdom 
 when the enlightened arm of Europe conquers to redeem 
 the East.^ 
 
 In view of all that has just been said, there is a certain 
 irony in the fact that the acknowledged source of the im- 
 mediate suggestion for the story of Thalaba came from a 
 piece of spurious Orientalism. In his original preface 
 Southey says that ''In the continuation of the Arabian 
 Tales, the Dom-Daniel is mentioned; a Seminary for evil 
 Magicians under the Roots of the Sea. From this seed the 
 present Romance has grown." The work here referred to 
 was La Suite des Mille et Une Nuits, Contes Arabes, pub- 
 lished as a part of the Cabinet des Fees (1788-1799), and 
 purporting to be translated from the Arabic by a certain 
 Dom Chavis and M. Cazotte. Chavis was an Arab and 
 Cazotte was a clever cleric, but these tales were at most 
 but very free versions of originals which, if they ever 
 existed, were scanty and have disappeared. In 1792 the 
 book was translated into English by Robert Heron with 
 the title, Arabian Tales, or, A Continuation of the Arabian 
 Nights Entertainments. More than the mere conception of 
 a seminary for evil magicians may have been suggested to 
 Southey by this collection. One of its four volumes is 
 entirely given up to the story of a wicked enchanter named 
 Maugraby. He and his equally wicked parents ''were the 
 founders of the formidable Dom-Daniel of Tunis, that 
 school of magic whose rulers tyrannize over aU the wicked 
 spirits that desolate the earth, and which is the den where 
 those monsters are engendered that have overrun the 
 country of Africa." The master of all this is, of course, 
 1 Bk. V, 262-267. 
 
262 THE EARLY LIFE OF ROBERT SOUTHEY 
 
 Zatanai, or Satan himself, and his servant, Maugraby, 
 makes it his chief business to lure kings to give him their 
 first-born sons, whom he educates, or in the event of their 
 proving unworthy pupils in the black arts, tortures in the 
 Dom-Daniel caverns, ''the chief roots of which he concealed 
 under the waters of the ocean." In the course of time a 
 prince of Sjo-ia is introduced as one of Maugraby' s victims. 
 He, gaining superior knowledge of magic, destroys the en- 
 chanter's power, breaks the charms of the Dom-Daniel, and 
 releases aU its victims. The place itself, however, he is 
 unable to overthrow. ''That great work," it is said, "is 
 reserved for the powers of Mahomet," and the Dom-Daniel 
 is to be "burnt and destroyed with all its contents" by a 
 hero named Zanate Kalife. 
 
 This theme Southey developed rather under the influence 
 of Ariosto and Spenser than of the Arabian Tales or of the 
 Arabian Nights, but there are certain other bits of resem- 
 blance to his immediate source which are worthy of men- 
 tion. The first is a resemblance in spirit. In that respect 
 in which Cazotte, — for he seems to have been the respon- 
 sible party to the joint authorship, — differed most from 
 the Mille et Une Nuits Southey most resembled him. One 
 of the eternal charms of the Arabian Nights, at least to a 
 reader of the present day, is their expression of that naive 
 love of power which most men and nations at some time 
 feel. To wave a wand, to cry "Sesame," to push a button, 
 to say a word into a telephone, and be wafted through 
 space by magic or by taxi, which of us has ever quite 
 outgrown such small-bo3dshness? Here is one of the charms 
 of the Arabian Nights. Magic may be bad or good, as the 
 exigencies of the story demand, but we are not interested 
 in it for its badness or its goodness; we are interested 
 because it is magic and will do things. Not so with the 
 eighteenth-century European. In the tale of Maugraby, 
 magic is all bad; it exists, not to be enjoyed, but destroyed. 
 
A SCHOOL OF POETS 263 
 
 In Thalaba it is the same. Gazette's hero, therefore, shat- 
 ters the hideous idol of the Dom-Daniel standing poised 
 against him to strike if his courage or his knowledge should 
 fail, and burns all the instruments of magic, especially an 
 immunizing ring Uke that of Thalaba. Finally Cazotte 
 dwells upon the idea that the wicked are always hoist with 
 their own petard, and makes Maugraby the author of his 
 own overthrow. The resemblances to all this in Thalaba 
 are obvious, and it must be said that the earUer tale is by 
 no means an unworthy predecessor of the later. 
 
 The Arabian Tales provided the central situation; the 
 sources for the leading episodes in Southey's plot are sug- 
 gested in a letter to Taylor in January, 1799,^ as well as in 
 the notes to the poem itself. The story of the boy who 
 has lost his father by murder, who is exiled with his mother 
 in childhood, and who grows up to return and take ven- 
 geance upon his father's foe is obviously but a stock theme 
 from romance in general. Southey decorated it with the 
 Mohammedan tradition of the garden of Iram of which he 
 read in the Koran, Sale, and D'Herbelot. From the same 
 sources came Haruth and Maruth, and hence, too, as well 
 as from the Arabian Nights, Arabian Tales, and much read- 
 ing in demonology and other curious literature, came the 
 enchanters with all their apparatus. The bowers of Aloadin 
 were suggested by the account of the paradise of Aladeules 
 which Purchas gives from Marco Polo. Finally the Arctic 
 and marine landscape into which Southey transported the 
 Dom-Daniel from its original Tunis was suggested to him 
 by the French traveler La Perouse. 
 
 Southey's opinion of his own work was not uncertain, 
 and he would have added, not unduly flattering. In this 
 connection he made a distinction between two faculties of 
 the poet's mind which somewhat suggests that which Cole- 
 ridge and Wordsworth made between fancy and imagination. 
 1 Taylor, I, 247. 
 
264 THE EARLY LIFE OF ROBERT SOUTHEY 
 
 Joan and Madoc, he felt, were more closely related to truth 
 and to human nature. They represented Robert Southey, 
 the man; Thalaba was a romance, displaying not truth or 
 character or Robert Southey; — it was a work, rather, of 
 the fancy, indeed of pure imagination, using the word in 
 the contrary sense to that in which the other two poets 
 used it. With this limitation, Thalaha was, nevertheless, 
 in its author's judgment, a great achievement. He knew 
 no poem that deserved a place between it and the Orlando, 
 and was even ready, if he cared to speak out, to assert 
 that it might stand comparison with Ariosto's work; cer- 
 tainly it could be weighed with Wieland's Oheron. Speak 
 out he did in another place where he asserted that there 
 was no poem of equal originaHty save The Faerie Queene, 
 "which I regard almost with a reUgious love and venera- 
 tion." 
 
 The reasons why the world has not accepted the poet's 
 rating of his own work are not far to seek. It cannot be 
 denied that Southey possessed eloquence, descriptive power, 
 rhetorical effectiveness, skill in versification, and above all a 
 genuinely sincere ideal, but neither can it be denied that 
 he never displayed any of these qualities with more than 
 second-rate ability. He remained always in the tragic 
 position of the man who, within his limitations, has left 
 nothing undone that he can do to be a very great poet, 
 and lacks nothing necessary for being one except genius. 
 The fact that he lost while playing gallantly for the highest 
 stakes should not detract from our personal respect for him. 
 Thalaha, although it made some stir in the world, fell 
 lukewarm from the press, and has lain so ever since. The 
 explanation for this failure to achieve even popularity was 
 supphed to the author by Wilham Taylor both in letters 
 and in the review which he wrote for the Critical} Taylor 
 maintained that the fundamental fault was the '* moral 
 1 Crit. Rev., Dec. 1803, 2d ser., v. 39, 369-379. 
 
A SCHOOL OF POETS 265 
 
 improbability," the lack of recognizable human motive in 
 the story and character of the hero. He ''is a talismanic 
 statue, of whose joints capricious destiny pulls the strings, 
 who with a forgiving temper undertakes a work of ven- 
 geance, and who is moved here and there one knows not 
 why or wherefore."^ This is Taylor's central contention, 
 but he also notes the bewildering effect of the whirling 
 witchcraft and the ever-shifting style. 
 
 "The ballad lends its affecting simplicity, the heroic poem its 
 learned solemnity, the drama its dialogue form, and the ode its 
 versatility of metre. All the fountains of expression are brought 
 together, and gush with sousing vehemence and drifting rapidity 
 on the reader: who admires, but not at ease, and feels tossed as in 
 the pool of a cataract, not gliding as in a frequented stream." ^ 
 And of the confusions of the magic he says, "There is in Thalaba a 
 sort of pantomimic scene-shifting; harlequin touches the landscape 
 with his wand, and it becomes a palace of flame or a desert of snow, 
 but cui hono'i^^ ^ 
 
 This criticism was sufficiently severe, although much of it 
 had been previously expressed in letters, to make Taylor 
 suffer some apprehension lest Southey should feel sore at the 
 publication of such sentiments. The poet was man enough 
 to take the whole article in good part, and to be grateful 
 for the generous modicum of praise which Taylor also gave, 
 expecting, indeed, that this review would help the sale of 
 the poem. As for adopting any of the criticisms, that was 
 out of the question. The second edition did eliminate 
 some of the demonology from the ninth book, relegated 
 the notes to a less conspicuous place, and made minor 
 changes in the diction and versification, but more thorough- 
 going reformation was impossible. 
 
 There has never been any danger that public taste would 
 not confirm Taylor's judgment. The habit of disparage- 
 ment that has persisted about Southey has assessed his 
 
 1 Taylor, I, 373-374. 2 Crit. Rev., I. c. ^ Taylor, I, 390. 
 
266 THE EARLY LIFE OF ROBERT SOUTHEY 
 
 faults at their full value. However often we read it, 
 Thalaha is still a bewildering poem that shps from the 
 memory before we are aware. The moral that it teaches 
 we prefer to obtain in the naked vigor of the Happy 
 Warrior, or in the magic verse and with all the subtle 
 imphcations of Spenser. The glamor of other times and 
 places still comes to us in more hfehke terms and without 
 the smell of the scholar's farthing candle in the true wiz- 
 ardry of Scott. Finally, and this may be Southey's greatest 
 praise, the mystery of strange seas and continents comes 
 to us with more convincing power from Shelley, who made 
 the scenery of Thalaha his own in Alastor. Yet many a 
 poem of far less worth has received larger meed of amiable 
 praise from critics. Thalaha failed of its high purpose, 
 true, but the theme was of the noblest, the intent coura- 
 geous, labor not lacking, and the performance so near 
 to success that the reader is surprised to find the poem 
 more beautiful than he had expected or remembered. 
 Unfortunately Southey has not quite succeeded in that 
 conspicuous kind of poetry wherein anything short of su- 
 preme success meets but little charity. Thalaha is almost 
 a great poem; yet almost to achieve inmaortaHty is to be 
 but mortal after all. 
 
 Ill 
 Joan of Arc inaugurated its author's reputation; Thalaha 
 now settled his position before the pubhc, for upon the 
 appearance of this work the still more or less vaguely ex- 
 pressed notion that the younger poets were making a con- 
 certed effort at innovation in the style and subject matter 
 of poetry was crystalUzed and proclaimed in the pages of 
 the first number of The Edinhurgh Review. The poem had 
 been sent from Lisbon to London in October, 1800, and 
 accepted by Longman for an edition of a thousand octavo 
 copies at a price to the author of £115. Davy and Dan vers 
 were to overlook the press; they did so very badly. The 
 
A SCHOOL OF POETS 267 
 
 peculiarities of Southey's meter were rendered more con- 
 spicuous by obscure punctuation, and the page arrangement 
 was spoilt by the manner of printing the voluminous notes. 
 These were strung along the bottoms of the pages in such 
 a way that in many places the reader was forced to suspend 
 from a single line of text solid blocks of fine print on Ori- 
 ental geography, mythology, and history. Before Southey's 
 return from Portugal in June this damage was done, and 
 the book had appeared. The sale was slow from the first; 
 only three hundred copies had been sold by November 20, 
 1801. Not until October, 1808,^ were the first thousand 
 copies exhausted, and a second edition, better punctuated, 
 the verse paragraphs numbered, and the notes relegated 
 to the ends of the books, rendered possible. No further 
 issue of the volume was called for until the pubhcation of 
 Southey's complete poems in 1837.2 
 
 The ill success of Thalaha was no indication of the atten- 
 tion which the poem attracted in hterary circles. ''Sa repu- 
 tation est faite," wrote the poet in his sportive French, 
 ^'mais sa fortune — helas! n'importe." A band of young 
 wits in a Scotch lawyer's third-story flat in Buccleuch 
 Place, Edinburgh, happened at this very time to be plan- 
 ning a new organ of Whig politics and criticism, and in 
 October, 1802, the first number of their Edinburgh Re- 
 view appeared. Of the new era in periodical pubHcations 
 marked by the Edinburgh, of the consequent eclipse of the 
 Monthly, the Critical, and the lesser reviews, of the author- 
 ity in criticism which it immediately assumed, it would be 
 needless to speak here in detail. But in that first number, 
 received with an acclaim that amazed even its editors, one of 
 the most conspicuous and trenchant articles was a review 
 
 1 Warter, II, 101, 107. 
 
 2 In the Works the Preface to the first edition is reprinted under 
 the caption, "Preface to the Fourth Edition." This is an error. There 
 was no fourth edition. 
 
268 THE EARLY LIFE OF ROBERT SOUTHEY 
 
 of Thalaba by Francis Jeffrey himself in which that redoubt- 
 able law-giver to literature defined the tenets of the new 
 *'sect" in poetry as deduced from their practices and as 
 illustrated by Thalaha and by the Lyrical Ballads. While 
 regretting that genius should be so misspent, Jeffrey con- 
 demned all three poets, and suddenly hfted the raiUngs of 
 the Anti-Jacobin to the level of serious criticism. Thus 
 Southey became fixed in the public mind as a member, if 
 not the leader, of an actual conspiracy of poets later to 
 be known as 'Hhe lake school." 
 
 That Southey, Coleridge, Lamb, and Lloyd had been 
 associated together by the Anti- Jacobin as a group of 
 writers with peculiar and up-setting notions in poUtics as 
 well as poetry, we have already seen. The last number 
 of the original Anti- Jacobin and Weekly Examiner had ap- 
 peared July 9, 1798, with the satire entitled The New 
 Morality as a parting broadside to all Jacobins, but espe- 
 cially to the Jacobin poets. In the same month, with the 
 same pubhsher and the same poKtics, though under far 
 different editorship, began The Anti-Jacobin Review. The 
 very first number proceeded to take advantage of the 
 popularity achieved by The New Morality, and pubUshed 
 an elaborate caricature by Gillray illustrating those lines 
 in the satire that describe the Jacobin newspapers, politi- 
 cians, and poets, ''tuning their harps to praise Lepaux." 
 The picture represents that gentleman as the leader of the 
 "theo-philanthropic sect of Marat, Mirabeau, and Voltaire." 
 Justice, Philanthropy, and Sensibility, all in suitable Jaco- 
 binical attitudes, watch over him. Before him stand tooting 
 figures to represent 
 
 ^^ Couriers and Stars, Sedition's Evening Host, 
 Thou Morning Chronicle, and Morning Post." 
 
 Then in the center of the picture, grouped about a ''Cornu- 
 copia of Ignorance," labeled ''Analytical Review, Monthly 
 
A SCHOOL OF POETS 269 
 
 Review, Critical Review/' and belching pamphlets, are 
 grouped the Jatjobin authors. Most conspicuous of these 
 is Southey with an ass's head standing in the immediate 
 foreground at the mouth of the cornucopia. He is braying 
 praises to Lepaux from a volume in his hand inscribed 
 Southey's Saphics [sic]/ and Joan of Arc is thrust into the 
 pocket of his coat. In the background stands a similar 
 figure holding before him Coleridge's Dactylics.'^ Finally, two 
 frog-figures, representing Lloyd and Lamb, squat behind 
 Southey in the picture, and croak from Blank Verse by 
 Toad and Frog. Other men who were attacked in the 
 poem are also represented: Priestley, Whitfield, Thelwall, 
 Paine, Godwin, Holcroft, Erskine, Grey, Courtenay, Whit- 
 bread, and Leviathan Bedford hooked by Burke. Southey 
 did not fail to see this production, and was half amused 
 by it. ''The fellow has not, however," he wrote (Aug. 29, 
 1798) to his brother, ''libeled my hkeness, because he 
 did not know it, so he clapped an ass's head upon my 
 shoulders." To Wynn he wrote (Aug. 15, 1798) more 
 seriously that The Anti-Jacohin had stupidly lumped to- 
 gether men of opposite principles, who should have been 
 shown welcoming the Director rather than Lepaux, and 
 that the editors would have much to answer for in thus 
 inflaming political animosities. 
 
 After this beginning one might have expected The Anti- 
 Jacohin Review to become a consistent opponent of Southey 
 and his brethren. This is not the case. They were, how- 
 ever, attacked in September, 1798, in another poem called 
 The Anarchists, — an Ode, which, after representing Paine, 
 Priestley, Thelwall, Godwin, and Holcroft praising anarchy, 
 describes the Jacobin poets doing the same, and follows 
 them with Fox, Norfolk, and Bedford. 
 
 1 Poems, 1797, The Widow, 82. 
 
 2 Poems, 1797, The Soldier's Wife, 81. The third stanza is accred- 
 ited in a footnote to S. T. Coleridge. 
 
270 THE EARLY LIFE OF ROBERT SOUTHEY 
 
 "See! faithful to their mighty dam, 
 C[oleri]dge, S[ou]th[e]y, L[loy]d, and L[am]be, 
 In splay-foot madrigals of love, 
 Soft-moaning like the widow'd dove. 
 Pour, side by side, their sympathetic notes; 
 
 Of equal rights, and civic feasts. 
 
 And tyrant Kings, and knavish priests, 
 Swift through the land the tuneful mischief floats. 
 And now to softer strains they struck the lyre, 
 
 They sung the beetle, or the mole. 
 
 The dying kid, or ass's foal, 
 By cruel man permitted to expire." ^ 
 
 Of this attack Southey does not appear to have heard, and 
 then but indirectly, until 1801. Writing in February from 
 Lisbon, he said of Thalaha, ''It is so utterly innocent of all 
 good drift; it may pass through the world like Richard 
 Cromwell, notwithstanding the sweet savour of its father's 
 name. Do you know that they have caricatured me be- 
 tween Fox and Norfolk — worshiping Bonaparte? Poor 
 me — at Lisbon — who have certainly molested nothing but 
 Portuguese spiders." ^ Yet The Anti- Jacobin criticasters 
 were henceforth sparing in their notice of the new poets. 
 The second edition of Joan of Arc received but meager 
 attention,^ and that dealt with politics, not poetry. The 
 Poems of 1799, however, were attacked on the score of 
 style. In the prefatory note to the English Eclogues in that 
 volume, Southey had written, ''The following Eclogues, I 
 beUeve, bear no resemblance to any poems in our language." 
 The reviewer added, "No — nor to any poetry in any 
 language," and then expressed disgust with the meanness 
 of the subjects and the antiquated phraseology. This was 
 
 1 Anti-Jac. Rev., v. I, 365-367. 
 
 ^ I have found no such caricature of Southey and others worshiping 
 Bonaparte in either of two copies of The Anti- Jacobin Review which I 
 have examined. 
 
 3 Anti-Jac. Rev., June, 1799, v. 3, 120-128. 
 
A SCHOOL OF POETS 271 
 
 the last time that any of Southey's poetry was reviewed 
 in the Anti-Jacohin, but in January, 1800,^ thrown off his 
 guard by anonymity and absence of poHtics, the reviewer 
 of the Lyrical Ballads wrote a thoroughgoing puff, praising 
 even The Idiot Boy. 
 
 When we turn to the reviews that compose the "cornu- 
 copia of ignorance," the Monthly, the Critical, and the 
 Analytical, we find almost as little penetration as in the 
 Anti'Jacohin. Nevertheless, the name of Southey occurs 
 with some frequency upon their pages; those of Coleridge, 
 Wordsworth, Lamb, and Lloyd more rarely, and then often 
 in conjunction with Southey. The existence of some loose 
 union or "school" among these young poets was now taken 
 for granted, and they are singly or collectively charged 
 with affected simplicity, antiquated phraseology, prosaic 
 style, and vulgar subject matter. Thus the ground was 
 prepared for Jeffrey, to whom it was left, by giving the 
 new poets more serious and extended attention, to turn 
 these carping jews-harps of criticism into the trumpet of 
 a battle of books. 
 
 We have seen that the Monthly, the Critical, and the 
 Analytical had all smacked their hps over Joan of Arc, and 
 for sake of his pohtics had acclaimed the youthful author. 
 This not only insured more attentive notice to his later 
 works, but it also brought him the opportunity to become 
 a reviewer himself, first in the Critical and later in the 
 short-hved Annual, an organ conducted for Longman by 
 Dr. Aiken, author of the review of Joan in the Analytical, 
 The Monthly followed up its notice of Joan by another ^ in 
 similar vein upon the Poems of 1797, in which it is said 
 that true poetry, though with some neghgence, is always 
 to be expected from this youthful genius. The Poems on 
 the Slave Trade, the inscription For a Tablet on the Banks 
 
 1 Anti-Jac. Rev., April, Jan., v. 5, 334. 
 
 2 Month. Rev., March, 1797, ii.s.,v. 22, 297-302. 
 
272 THE EARLY LIFE OF ROBERT SOUTHEY 
 
 of a Stream, and Botany Bay Eclogues are all highly com- 
 mended. A few months later the Letters written during a 
 Short Residence in Spain and Portugal were praised^ for the 
 warmth of interest which the author took in ''the general 
 welfare and true happiness of his fellow-creatures, in every 
 quarter of the habitable globe." Coleridge, meanwhile, 
 although receiving less notice than Southey, did not go 
 entirely without attention. His Poems on Various Subjects 
 (1796) was reviewed by the Monthly in June of the same 
 year.2 The notice was brief, referring to him as an asso- 
 ciate of Southey, and praising his sublimity and power. 
 In March, 1797, his Ode on the Departing Year (1796) was 
 mentioned^ in perfunctory fashion, and a puff of his 1798 
 volume containing Fears in Solitude, France, — an Ode, and 
 Frost at Midnight appeared in May, 1799.^ In this article 
 it is noteworthy that the reviewer takes occasion to com- 
 mend Hterary as well as political heresy; here is an author, 
 he says in effect, who makes no use ''of exploded though 
 elegant mythology, nor does he seek fame by singing of 
 what is called Glory. ^' With the review of the Lyrical 
 Ballads in June, 1799,^ the Monthly struck a new note that 
 had rather more of what was to be the familiar sound of 
 criticism against the authors of that volume. "So much 
 genius and originality are discovered in this publication, 
 that we wish to see another from the same hand, written 
 on more elevated subjects and in a more cheerful disposi- 
 tion." On questions of politics, the poor, and the war, 
 this reviewer now took occasion to differ, and he insisted 
 that much of the volume was not to be regarded as poetry 
 because it had been imitated from such crude fourteenth- 
 
 1 Month. Rev., July, 1797, n.s.,v. 23, 302-306. 
 
 2 lUd., June, 1796, n.s.,v. 20, 194-199. 
 
 3 jjyi(i_^ March, 1797, n.s.,v. 22, 342-343. 
 
 4 Ibid., May, 1799, n.s.,v. 29, 43-47. 
 
 5 Ibid., June, 1799, n.s.,v. 29, 202-210. 
 
A SCHOOL OF POETS 273 
 
 century models as Chaucer, and dealt too freely with low 
 life. Of The Ancient Mariner he says that it is written ''in 
 imitation of the style as well as the spirit of the elder poets, 
 [and] is the strangest story of a cock and a bull that we 
 ever saw on paper; yet, though it seems a rhapsody of 
 unintelligible wildness and incoherence . . . , there are in 
 it poetical touches of an exquisite kind." As for T intern 
 Abbey, it is ''poetical, beautiful, and philsosphical; but 
 somewhat tinctured with gloomy, narrow, and unsociable 
 ideas of seclusion from the commerce of the world." 
 Southey's Poems of 1799 were reviewed at some length and 
 in the same tone.^ The poet was advised to labor longer, 
 and he was condemned for prosiness, for his low vulgar 
 style, his triviahty, his use of "monkish" models, his imi- 
 tation of "the rudest productions of the last two centuries," 
 and for obsolete language. "Let Mr. Southey look up to 
 the classic models, instead of the monkish trash which he 
 has studied, and he will find reason enough for congratu- 
 lating himself on his change of objects." In April of the 
 same year the attack was pressed ^ with more vigor against 
 The Annual Anthology for 1799. The ballads were again 
 singled out for objection, and the author was advised, in- 
 stead of imitating the "quaintness of the old writers," or 
 seeking, as in Bishop Bruno, "a very indifferent resemblance 
 of halfpenny ballads," to adopt Gay and Goldsmith as his 
 models. Again Southey is said to be prosaic, obscure, 
 bizarre, and to affect simplicity. The rimeless experiments 
 and the English Eclogues came in for special condemnation. 
 Of The Last of the Family, for instance, it is said that 
 "Mr. S. has proved so very correct in his imitation of the 
 gossiping Farmer James and Farmer Gregory that he has 
 taken off much from the gravity as well as the interest of 
 the piece." After this the Monthly neglected Southey for a 
 
 1 Month. Rev,, March, 1800, n.s.,v. 31, 261-267. 
 
 2 lUd., AprU, 1800, n.s.,v. 31, 352-363. 
 
274 THE EARLY LIFE OF ROBERT SOUTHEY 
 
 time, and it moderated its tone considerably in dealing 
 with the second edition of the Lyrical Ballads} Upon that 
 occasion it even expressed a '^hope that this will not prove 
 the last time of our meeting this natural, easy, sentimental 
 Bard, in his pensive rambles through the wilds and groves 
 of his truly poetic, though somewhat pecuHar, imagination." 
 
 Yet the unfriendliness of the Monthly's new attitude ^ 
 toward the erstwhile Jacobin poets was plain and not 
 without significance. Its criticism had now laid aside the 
 tone of partisan puffery that had arisen about Joan of Arc, 
 and confined itself more strictly to hterary matters. More- 
 over, the traits in the Lyrical Ballads and in the 1799 
 volumes which the Monthly objected to were precisely those 
 against which Jeffrey was at a later time to direct his 
 shafts, — affected simpHcity, prosaic style, and apish imita- 
 tion of barbarous models. 
 
 The criticisms upon the new poets in The Analytical 
 Review, — after, that is, its article upon Joan, — and of the 
 orthodox British Critic were colorless and negligible, but 
 not so with The Critical Review. Previous to Joan of Arc 
 that organ had noticed,^ though at first only in the spirit 
 of perfunctory partisanship, the early volumes of Southey, 
 Coleridge, and even of Wordsworth. Then, in February, 
 1796, Joan of Arc was received in its pages with what 
 acclaim we have aheady seen, and after that the Critical 
 accorded more vigorous attention to Southey and Coleridge. 
 The latter's Poems on Various Subjects (1796) was noticed 
 
 1 Month. Rev., June, 1802, n.s.,v. 38, 209. 
 
 2 Southey was anxious to discover the identity of his new critic 
 in the Monthly, and mentioned the matter at least twice (July 5, 1800; 
 Nov. 11, 1801) in his letters to Taylor, broadly hinting for information. 
 Taylor suspected (Nov. 22, 1801) from internal evidence only that 
 the reviewer may have been James Mackintosh or his wife. TayloTf 
 I, 353, 378-379, 388-389. 
 
 3 Crit. Rev., July, 1793, 2d ser., v. 8, 347; Nov. 1794, 2d ser., v. 12, 
 260-262; April, 1795, 2d ser., v. 13, 420-421. 
 
A SCHOOL OF POETS 275 
 
 at length in June, 1796/ with general commendation, but 
 with certain exceptions to innovations in language and 
 versification. It was carefully noted by the reviewer that, 
 of Coleridge's Effusions in this volume, ''the first half 
 of the fifteenth was written by Mr. Southey, the ingenious 
 author of Joan of Arc/' and that, of the sonnets, three 
 were the work of Mr. Charles Lamb of the India House. 
 The CriticaVs account of Southey's Poems of 1797 adopts 
 the same tone that had been used toward Joan, for which 
 the poet is here said to be already well known. The Tri- 
 umph of Woman, Sonnets on the Slave Trade, and Botany 
 Bay Eclogues are, for political reasons, singled out for 
 praise. ''The same animated description, the same spirit 
 of benevolence, and the same love of virtue that pervaded 
 Mr. Southey 's former poems will be found in this volume." ^ 
 When we come to the little book which Coleridge published 
 in 1798, containing France, — an Ode, we find that the Critical 
 mitigates its commendation, and asserts that the author 
 "too frequently mistakes bombast and obscurity for sub- 
 limity." It is further claimed now that "our lyric poets" 
 attempt too often "to support trifling ideas with a pom- 
 posity of thought," whatever that may mean. Neverthe- 
 less the second edition of Joan of Arc came in for very 
 flattering attention,^ although the Poems by S. T. Coleridge 
 To which are added Poems by Charles Lamb and Charles 
 Lloyd were only briefly noticed,^ and Blank Verse by 
 Charles Lloyd and Charles Lamb was but half-heartedly 
 praised.^ 
 
 It is not impossible that Southey was himself responsible 
 for the two last-mentioned reviews, for he was by this time 
 
 1 Crit. Rev,, June, 1796, 2d ser., v. 17, 209-212. 
 
 2 Ihid., March, 1797, 2d ser., v. 19, 304-307. 
 
 3 lUd., June, 1798, 2d ser., v. 23, 196-200. 
 
 4 lUd., July, 1798, 2d ser., v. 23, 266-268. 
 
 5 lUd., Sept., 1798, 2d ser., v. 24, 232-233. 
 
276 THE EARLY LIFE OF ROBERT SOUTHEY 
 
 one of the CriticaVs regular contributors, and some volumes 
 of poetry seem to have fallen to him for dissection. After 
 six months at Bristol, in 1797, he had gone up to London 
 near the end of the year for his first term of law, and on 
 December 24 he said, ''I write now for The Critical Review." 
 This connection undoubtedly continued during more than a 
 year, for we know that he was the author of the review of 
 the Lyrical Ballads in the October number, and in 1799 
 there are several references in his letters to show that he 
 was regularly at work for Hamilton until interrupted by 
 ill-health. In January, 1800, Southey had not reviewed a 
 book for three months. This breach continued during the 
 year of his second sojourn in Portugal, but in July, 1801, 
 shortly after his return, he applied successfully for a re- 
 newal of the former arrangement, and wrote for the Critical, 
 in spite of vicissitudes of the publisher costly to his con- 
 tributors, until the close of 1803, when the editor ceased 
 applying for Southey' s criticism just at the time when the 
 latter had found a better market for his wares with Long- 
 man and the Annual.^ His hand in the Critical is probably 
 not in every case to be distinguished from the dull fists of 
 other hacks, but we can identify some of his work. Specific 
 references in letters certainly indicate that he reviewed the 
 Lyrical Ballads,'^ Landor's Gebir,^ some part of Joanna 
 Baillie's series of plays,^ and a few obscurer publications. 
 His statement in January, 1799, that he had some weeks 
 before ''killed off" a bundle of French books probably 
 points to his responsibility for several articles appearing in 
 December, 1798, in which political opinions characteristic of 
 him were expressed in his characteristic, clear, rapid style. 
 
 1 Taylor, I, 500. 
 
 2 Ibid., 223; Crit. Rev., Oct. 1798, 2d ser., v. 24, 197-204. 
 
 3 Life, II, 240; Crit. Rev., Sept. 1799, 2d ser., v. 27, 29-38. 
 
 * Ibid. 240; Crit. Rev., Sept. 1798, 2d ser., v. 24, 13-22, Feb. 1803, 
 2dser.,v. 37, 200-212. 
 
A SCHOOL OF POETS 277 
 
 Style and opinions also tend to show that Southey was the 
 author of reviews of Kotzebue, Schiller, ElHs's Specimens of 
 Early English Poets, and Anderson's British Poets. Finally, 
 it may be noted that, during the months that Southey 
 wrote for the Critical, there appeared in its pages accounts 
 of various books of travel, such as those of La Perouse and 
 Mungo Park, which were later referred to in connection 
 with Thaldba. To search much farther in the dusty files 
 of the Critical for work of Southey's, however, would hardly 
 prove profitable. His method of criticism was as a rule the 
 usual one of summary and excerpt with a modicum of per- 
 functory comment but with less than usual acerbity. He 
 quite frankly reserved ''the lazy work of reviewing bad 
 books" (Feb. 20, 1800) for the hours when he was too 
 weary for other work, and he thought the Critical so miser- 
 ably bad that he felt no impulse to write in any but an 
 indolent way for it himself. He owned to great expecta- 
 tions that the Edinburgh Review would surpass its London 
 rivals because EngUsh authors would be personally unknown 
 to its reviewers, and confessed at the same time that he 
 himself got the worthless poems of good-natured acquaint- 
 ances, to whom he tried to give no pain but rather such 
 milk-and-water praise of smooth versification and moral 
 tendency as might take in some to buy. ''I have rarely 
 scratched without giving a plaister for it; except, indeed, 
 where a fellow puts a string of titles to his name, or such 
 an offender as — appears, and then my inquisitorship, instead 
 of actually burning him, only ties a few crackers to his 
 tail" (Dec. 22, 1802). The superficiaUty of Southey's 
 criticism is exemplified even in his account of Gehir, great 
 as his admiration of that poem was, for he gives merely 
 a sunmiary of the story interspersed with quotation and 
 with praise which, though sincere, is certainly rather 
 general. The faults of the work are said to be incoherence 
 and obscurity. ''Of its beauties, our readers must already 
 
278 THE EARLY LIFE OF ROBERT SOUTHEY 
 
 be sensible. They are of the first order; every circumstance 
 is displayed with a force and accuracy which painting 
 cannot exceed. . . . We have read his poem with more 
 than common attention, and with far more than common 
 delight." This was enough to warm the heart of Landor 
 and open the way for friendship, but it is not acute criti- 
 cism. The most interesting of Southey's reviews in the 
 Critical was that of the Lyrical Ballads in October, 1798.^ 
 This is famous for a httle understood remark upon The 
 Ancient Mariner; justice would also add that, except for 
 this one ineptitude, Southey's opinion sums up about what 
 later taste has felt concerning the book. He notes to begin 
 with that the poems included in its pages were 'Ho be con- 
 sidered as experiments," and in conclusion that 'Hhe ex- 
 periment . . . has failed, not because the language of con- 
 versation is Httle adapted to 'the purposes of poetic pleas- 
 ure,' but because it has been tried upon uninteresting 
 subjects. Yet every piece discovers genius; and, ill as the 
 author has frequently employed his talents, they certainly 
 rank him with the best of Uving poets." Surely we should 
 disagree with Httle in this opinion as far as it goes; yet it 
 is even harsher than the article as a whole. One may not 
 admit that The Idiot Boy and The Thorn fail because of 
 their subjects, but fail they certainly do. Of the former 
 Southey says, "It resembles a Flemish picture in the worth- 
 lessness of its design and the exceUence of its execution," 
 and The Ancient Mariner, in a notorious phrase, is also 
 condemned for expending too much art upon matters of 
 small moment. ''Many of the stanzas are laboriously 
 beautiful; but in connection they are absurd or uninteUigi- 
 ble." Hence he can say, "We do not sufficiently under- 
 stand the story to analyze it. It is a Dutch attempt at 
 German sublimity. Genius has here been employed in 
 producing a poem of little merit." Certain other pieces in 
 1 Crit. Rev., 2d ser., v. 24, 197-204. 
 
A SCHOOL OF POETS 279 
 
 the volume, on the other hand, were singled out for great 
 praise; naturally they are the ones which most resemble 
 those which Southey was himself writing at the time. 
 Coleridge's The Foster-mother^ s Tale and Wordsworth's The 
 Female Vagrant are attempts to do what Southey was 
 trying to do in his English Eclogues. Coleridge's The 
 Dungeon might have been a companion- piece to his fellow- 
 pantisocrat's inscriptions for martyrs of Hberty. Words- 
 worth's Lines left upon a Seat in a Yew-tree are, of course, 
 in the same manner and vein as those inscriptions of 
 Southey's that deal with the worship of nature. Finally, 
 Tintern Abbey, a poem of similar type, expresses supremely 
 that mood of idealism, of self-sufficiency in the mystic con- 
 templation of nature, to which Southey also had arrived. 
 He quotes in great admiration the passage which begins 
 with the sixty- sixth line of the poem as printed in 1798, 
 which centers in the famous lines, 
 
 "And I have felt 
 A presence that disturbs me with the joy 
 Of elevated thoughts;" 
 
 and which concludes with those in which the poet owns 
 
 himself 
 
 "Well pleased to recognize 
 In nature and the language of the sense, 
 The anchor of my purest thoughts, the nurse, 
 The guide, the guardian of my heart, and soul 
 Of all my moral being." 
 
 ''In the whole range of Enghsh poetry," says Southey, "we 
 scarcely recollect anjrthing superior to a part of [this] 
 passage." 
 
 At the time this review was written, its author, together 
 with Lamb and Lloyd, was on the outs ^ with Coleridge, and 
 knew his associate but sHghtly. Though Southey had as 
 1 Letters of the Wordsworth Family, I, 122. 
 
280 THE EARLY LIFE OF ROBERT SOUTHEY 
 
 good a reason for writing reviews as that which Words- 
 worth gave for pubhshing his poems at this time, — namely 
 that he needed money, — nevertheless he would undoubtedly 
 have shown greater tact if he had written nothing about 
 the Lyrical Ballads. For what he wrote he has been bit- 
 terly and intemperately condemned ^ on the supposition that 
 his strictures were prompted by spite against Coleridge. 
 In view of all the facts this was probably not the case. 
 Though Southey often spoke without charity of his brother- 
 in-law's faiUngs as a man, he frequently expressed just 
 
 ^ In the introduction to his edition of the Lyrical Ballads, Mr. 
 Thomas Hutchinson, whose conclusions are in the maui accepted by 
 Professor Harper in his William Wordsworth, I, 381-382, and by Mr. 
 Thomas J. Wise in his Bibliography of Wordsworth 31, presents the 
 case against Southey most fuUy. In addition to his objections to the 
 review itself, Mr. Hutchinson thinks that Southey tried to conceal 
 his authorship of the article, and especially that he warned Cottle to 
 sell out the cop>Tight of the Lyrical Ballads because he intended to 
 attack the book in the Critical. If concealment had been Southey's 
 purpose, he knew Cottle too well to have imparted the secret of his 
 authorship to him; as it was, Wordsworth learned the identity of 
 his critic from the bookseller upon his return from Germany in 1799, 
 though the precise date is uncertain, (The date of Wordsworth's 
 letter upon the subject to Cottle from Sockburn is given in Letters of 
 the Wordsworth Family, 1, 122 merely as 1799.) That Cottle sold out 
 the Lyrical Ballads to Arch in London within a fortnight of pubUcation 
 because Southey was going to attack the book is, from the evidence 
 available, but a conjecture. An explanation at least equally plausible 
 and sufficient in itseh to account for the sale is plainly suggested by 
 a letter of Coleridge to which Mr. Hutchinson refers. (Coleridge to 
 Southey [Dec. 24], 1799, Coleridge Letters, I, 319.) Joey had been 
 plunging as a publisher, and when Coleridge wrote, had evidently been 
 for some time fighting hard to keep his head above water. Among the 
 books that he had put forth, only Southey's had been profitable. In 
 1799 the pubhshing business was therefore wound up by the Bristol 
 Maecenas, and all his copyrights sold to Longman. It is possible, if 
 not highly probable, that the earher sale of the Lyrical Ballads to Arch 
 was made to tide over a stringency preliminary to the final outcome of 
 Cottle's affairs, and may have had nothing to do with Southey's review. 
 
A SCHOOL OF POETS 281 
 
 admiration for his abilities. We must remember that when 
 this review was written, the tone of periodical criticism was 
 even less urbane than that which its author adopted. That 
 his opinions on The Idiot Boy, Tintern Abbey, and the ex- 
 periments in diction did not have much reason in them, it 
 would be difficult to prove. Coleridge, to be sure, had good 
 ground for thinking that The Ancient Mariner had been 
 unintelKgently treated, but Lamb appears to have been the 
 only one at this time to treat it otherwise, and Wordsworth 
 spoke of it in his own way wdth as little appreciation as 
 Southey.^ That the greatest poet of the three should have 
 felt too much aggrieved at the objections to some of his pieces 
 to take with good grace the high commendation of others 
 and of his work as a whole, is no reason why we should agree 
 with him. We may more than suspect that nothing but 
 unmitigated praise would have satisfied him at all. Finally, 
 it must be noted that neither of the authors of the Lyrical 
 Ballads retained animosity toward their critic for what 
 might hastily have been thought treachery. 
 
 Southey's article on the Lyrical Ballads was the CriticaVs 
 first notable contribution to the recognition of the new sect 
 of poets. Wordsworth thought that it injured the sale of 
 the book, but proof upon such a point is difficult to es- 
 tabhsh. The unusual particularity of the criticism in this 
 review as well as the striking phrase on The Ancient Mariner 
 probably did their share toward pointing out the peculiari- 
 ties in the poetry of Southey's associates, and, indeed, of 
 himself, for many knew him as Coleridge's collaborator and 
 friend in comparison with the number that knew him at 
 this time as a reviewer. The succeeding productions of 
 the group as a whole were reviewed by the Critical with 
 increasing asperity and with emphasis upon their common 
 faults. Southey's 1799 Poems were, to be sure, greeted^ 
 
 1 J. Mc L. Harper, William Wordsworth, I, 380, 383. 
 
 2 Crit. Rev., June, 1799, 2d ser., v. 26, 161-164. 
 
282 THE EARLY LIFE OF ROBERT SOUTHEY 
 
 with puffing references to the high rank of the author 
 among youthful poets, but mild objections were set up 
 against the too famihar thought and language of the English 
 Eclogues. The review of the first Annual Anthology (1799),^ 
 which referred to Southey's sponsorship in the opening 
 sentence, was more outspoken. In a left-handed compli- 
 ment to the Eclogue, The Last of the Family, it is said that 
 this is a "successful specimen of the author's talent in 
 using a familiar vehicle of sympathy and instruction, with- 
 out falling into that prosaic flatness which is frequently 
 the consequence of such attempts." The critic then 
 roundly damns the poems on a goose, a pig, and a filbert 
 because they "have neither the humourous pomp of bur- 
 lesque, nor the easy charm of nature." Some months later 
 the foundation of a new school of poets was actually at- 
 tributed by the Critical to Coleridge in a review ^ of his 
 translation of Wallenstein. He was there exhorted to teach 
 "his pupils" by precept and example that they should 
 pohsh their effusions, that carelessness was not ease, and 
 obscurity not subhmity. The same point was made against 
 the second Annual Anthology (1800), a number of the poems 
 in which, notably by Southey, Coleridge, Lloyd, and Joseph 
 Cottle, were cited ^ as being "disgraced by that carelessness, 
 or rather that affectation of carelessness, which we have 
 often had occasion to notice and reprobate of late as absurd 
 and pretended attempts at genuine simplicity and ease." 
 More favorable mention, however, was accorded to The 
 Battle of Blenheim, which was quoted in full, and of which 
 it was said that it "archly conveys, in strains of poetic 
 simpHcity, a most affecting moral." 
 
 The drift of all this criticism is sufficiently obvious; the 
 "lake school" was taking shape in the minds of its enemies. 
 
 1 Cnt. Rev., Jan. 1800, 2d ser., v. 28, 82-89. 
 
 2 Ibid., Oct. 1800, 2d ser., v. 31, 175-185. 
 
 3 Ibid., Dec. 1800, 2d ser., v. 31, 426-431. 
 
A SCHOOL OF POETS 283 
 
 We have seen that the names of Southey and Coleridge had 
 appeared together in their volumes of 1796 and 1797, and 
 that for the sake of their principles the anti-ministerial 
 organs had at first acclaimed, as the Anti-Jacobin had 
 satirized, the two new poets that had suddenly blazed out 
 together in the critical months of 1797. Now the opposi- 
 tion reviews, in 1798 and 1799, when the stress of pohtical 
 dissension had eased, and the two youths had mitigated 
 some of their ardor, permitted partisan praise gradually to 
 subside, and began to apply their characteristic attitude of 
 mind to more strictly literary matters. They then found 
 much that was incompatible with devotion to that consti- 
 tution of the Hterary state which rested upon the prestige 
 of Pope and Dryden. The practices of the new poets, of 
 whom Southey was easily the most conspicuous, Coleridge 
 his best-known associate, and Wordsworth practically un- 
 heard of, were discovered to be distinctly subversive, and 
 both Monthly and Critical, with intermittent support from 
 other quarters, began, as we have seen, to make charges 
 that cover all the main points of rebelHon which Jeffrey 
 was soon to assemble, elaborate, and proclaim. These 
 charges are easy to distinguish in the criticisms just sur- 
 veyed. The school began and continued with innovation, 
 sinister word. Its members used obsolete or vulgar lan- 
 guage, they affected simphcity and achieved carelessness, 
 they experimented with verse and became prosaic, they 
 neglected the accepted models, and resorted to the imitation 
 of ones that had been thought safely discarded. As for 
 subject matter, so long as they used the merely sentimental 
 and the semi- or the pseudo-heroic, they met with no dis- 
 approval, but the tendency grew to condemn, on the one 
 hand, their use of themes from low or simple Hfe, and on 
 the other their attempts at subHmity, ''enthusiasm," and 
 lofty passion. The self-confidence of the new poets and 
 their contempt of criticism account for much of the asperity 
 
284 THE EARLY LIFE OF ROBERT SOUTHEY 
 
 of the later reviews, and Southey's air in London of personal 
 aloofness from poetasters and criticasters helped to chill 
 any warmth they may have felt in the beginning for the 
 author of Joan of Arc, 
 
 Such was the situation when the Edinburgh appeared and 
 at once appropriated to itself the leadership of criticism. 
 Jeffrey made no break with the methods, style, or prin- 
 ciples of his predecessors. Summary, excerpt, and verdict 
 was his procedure as it had been theirs. Their tone of 
 judicial, all-knowing finahty, he now merely deepened and 
 made more trenchant. Their assumption of a constitution 
 and ohgarchy in Hterature, he merely made more emphatic. 
 In the first number^ of the new Edinburgh Review, there- 
 fore, testif5dng in the act to the importance of the new 
 poets, Jeffrey passed over the second edition of the Lyrical 
 Ballads, preface and all, but made Thalaba the subject of 
 his first hterary review and the occasion for summing up 
 the naggings of previous critics and for the deUvery of a 
 regular indictment against Southey's school for poetic 
 treason. 
 
 He begins by laying down the constitution of that literary 
 state before whose bar of criticism EngUsh poets were in 
 succession to be summoned. The standards of poetry, he 
 maintains, hke those of rehgion, were fixed long ago, and 
 are not lawfully to be questioned. Saints of the cathoUc 
 church of the muses appeared early in its history; since 
 then had come schism and heresy. The author before the 
 court of criticism was said to belong to a recently estab- 
 hshed ''sect of poets" and was looked upon as one of its 
 chief champions and apostles. The sect was made up en- 
 tirely of dissenters in poetry, and so serious was their 
 heresy that it was proposed to make the review of Thalaba 
 the occasion for considering the group as a whole. Their 
 principles and the origin of their creed were then analyzed 
 1 Edin. Rev., Oct. 1802, v. 1, 63-83. 
 
A SCHOOL OF POETS 285 
 
 in detail. First the new poets were all said to betray the 
 anti-social notions of Rousseau, his distempered sensibihty, 
 his discontent with the existing constitution of society, his 
 paradoxical morahty, and his perpetual hankering after 
 some unattainable state of voluptuous virtue and perfection. 
 At another point the principles of the new poets were said to 
 be Calvinistic in origin. Their simpUcity and energy were 
 attributed to the influence of Kotzebue and Schiller, the 
 homehness and harshness of their verse and language to 
 Cowper, their "innocence" to Ambrose PhilUps, their 
 quaintness to Quarles and Donne. Jeffrey had no doubt 
 that from these models a complete art of poetry might be 
 collected, by which 'Hhe very gentlest" of his readers might 
 qualify themselves to compose a poem as correctly versified 
 as Thalaba and to deal out sentiment and description ''with 
 all the sweetness of Lambe [sic], and all the magnificence 
 of Coleridge." Then quoting from Wordsworth's preface 
 the sentence about adapting to the uses of poetry ''the 
 ordinary language of conversation in the lower and middle 
 classes of society," the critic declared the "most distin- 
 guishing symbol" of the whole group to be "an affectation 
 of great simpHcity and famiHarity of language" leading, 
 especially in subordinate parts of their work, to "low and 
 inelegant expressions," to the ''bona fide rejection of art 
 altogether," and to a "bold use of . . . rude and neghgent 
 expressions." This style was to be condemned because "it 
 is absurd to suppose that the author should make use of 
 the language of the vulgar to express the sentiments of the 
 refined." The different classes of society had different 
 characters and sentiments as well as different idioms, and 
 "the poor and vulgar may interest us, in poetry, by their 
 situation; but never ... by any sentiments that are 
 pecuUar to their condition, and still less by any language 
 that is characteristic of it." By these strictures, Jeffrey 
 confessed, he meant "no particular allusion to Mr. Southey.'' 
 
286 THE EARLY LIFE OF ROBERT SOUTHEY 
 
 Better examples of these faults were to be found '4n the 
 effusions of that poet who commemorates, with so much 
 effect, the chattering of Harry Gill's teeth, [and] tells the 
 tale of the one-eyed huntsman." Southey was, indeed, 
 '4ess addicted" to this sort of thing 'Hhan most of his 
 fraternity," but ''at the same time, it is impossible to deny 
 that the author of the English Eclogues is liable to a 
 similar censure; and few persons will peruse the following 
 verses without acknowledging that he still continues to 
 deserve it." There followed two passages^ from Thalaba 
 in which the style does indeed drop to the flat tone of the 
 lake poets at their w^orst. Such lines Jeffrey characterized 
 as ''feeble, low, and disjointed; without elegance, without 
 dignity; the offspring of mere indolence and neglect," and 
 he went on to condemn the disgusting homeliness of "odes 
 to his college-bell" and "hymns to the Penates." 
 
 Another characteristic fault of the new sect of poets is 
 one that was more frequently attributed to Southey by 
 Jeffrey. "Next after great famiUarity of language," he 
 said, "there is nothing that appears to them so meritorious 
 as perpetual exaggeration of thought. There must be 
 nothing moderate, natural, or easy about their sentiments. 
 . . . Instead of contemplating the wonders and pleasures 
 which civihzation has created for mankind, they are per- 
 petually brooding over the disorders by which its progress 
 has been attended." All their horror and compassion, ac- 
 companied by no indignation against individuals, was 
 reserved for the vices of the vulgar, while for those whose 
 sins were due to wealth they had no sympathy whatever. 
 To such conceptions the new sect contrived to give the 
 "appearance of uncommon force and animation" by wrap- 
 ping them up in "a veil of mysterious and uninteUigible 
 
 1 Thalaba, Vol. I, Bk. Ill, 124-125; Vol. II, Bk. VII, 89-90. Jef- 
 frey also singles out "Old Poulter's Mare," to which reference has been 
 made above. 
 
A SCHOOL OF POETS 287 
 
 language, which flows past with so much solemnity, that 
 it is difficult to beheve that it conveys nothing of any 
 value." To such a charge, even more than to the charge 
 of apish simplicity, Thalaha, as well as Southey's early 
 work, was plainly not invulnerable. There was, moreover, 
 the versification, a perfect example of the heresies of the 
 sect. It was declared to have no melody, to be merely 
 prose. As for the story, it was an inconsistent, uncon- 
 vincing, extravagant, confusing patchwork. The only 
 praise to be accorded to the whole work was for the senti- 
 mental episodes dealing with Oneiza and Laila. Jeffrey 
 concluded, therefore, with only grudging recognition for 
 Southey's genius and insistence upon the faults that he 
 shared with his brethren. His gifts were admittedly great, 
 but his "faults are always aggravated, and often created, 
 by his partiaHty for the pecuhar manner of that new school 
 of poetry, of which he is the faithful disciple, and to the 
 glory of which he has sacrificed greater talents and acquisi- 
 tions than can be boasted of by any of his associates." 
 
 To the charge that he was a party to any conspiracy for 
 the formation of a new school of poets, Southey from the 
 first offered denial, and of course there was no basis for 
 supposing that the three men had jointly drawn up any 
 articles of critical faith. But that the reviewers had cre- 
 ated them into the "lake school" because they resided in 
 the lake region was equally untrue. The accident of resi- 
 dence at a later time merely supplied a convenient name 
 for the sect which had been defined before Southey and 
 Coleridge had gone near Keswick, and before Wordsworth, 
 the original "laker," was at all known to the world. Even 
 at the time of Jeffrey's onslaught upon Thalaha, Southey's 
 connection with what was not to be his home until 1803 
 was limited to one fleeting visit to Greta Hall in 1801. 
 Yet in 1802 he himself recognized a kinship in spirit be- 
 tween himself and the author of Tintern Abbey, nay even 
 
288 THE EAELY LIFE OF ROBERT SOUTHEY 
 
 the author of the preface to the second edition of the 
 Lyrical Ballads, a kinship which, out of pure contentious- 
 ness, he was at pains to deny in 1837, and which the world 
 has been prone to overlook. ^^Vidi the Review of Edin- 
 burgh," he wrote in December, 1802, to Wynn; ^'The first 
 part is designed evidently as an answer to Wordsworth's 
 Preface to the second edition of the Lyrical Ballads; and, 
 however relevant to me, quoad Robert Southey, is certainly 
 utterly irrelevant to ThalahaJ^ ^ Here was an implicit ac- 
 knowledgment that he shared the principles of that noted 
 preface. Even before this and before his first visit to 
 Keswick, in a letter to Coleridge in August, 1801, the same 
 tacit agreement and a decided interest in Wordsworth are 
 expressed. '^I know not whether Wordsworth will forgive 
 the stimulant tale of Thalaba, — 'tis a turtle soup, highly 
 seasoned, but with a flavor of its own predominant. His 
 are sparagrass . . . and artichokes, good with plain butter 
 and wholesome." Jeffrey's finking the three of them so 
 pubficly together, therefore, was not unflattering to Southey. 
 ''I am well pleased to be abused with Coleridge and Words- 
 worth: it is the best omen that I shall be remembered with 
 them," 2 and although he admits that he has no intimacy 
 with Wordsworth, he does say, in words that sum up 
 exactly the impression that we have already derived from 
 his early poems, *'In whatever we resemble each other, the 
 resemblance has sprung, not, I befieve, from chance, but 
 because we have both studied poetry — and indeed it is 
 no fight or easy study — in the same school, — in the works 
 of nature, and in the heart of man." 
 
 Southey at first took Jeffrey's broadside in what was for 
 him fairly good part. He told^ Taylor that, although the 
 
 1 The italics are mine. See also Southey's letter to Bedford (Aug. 
 19, 1801) commending Wordsworth's Michael and The Brothers. 
 Southey says he had never been so much or so well affected as by some 
 passages in the latter poem. ^ Taylor, I, 440. ^ Ibid. 
 
A SCHOOL OF POETS 289 
 
 Edinburgh's principles were thoroughly false, they were ably 
 pleaded, and the worst faults were those of neghgence. 
 Yet at another time he argued that the misrepresentation 
 he had suffered from the new review was the result of an 
 unfair attitude in the critic rather than inattention. Much 
 water was to run through the mill between 1801 and 1837, 
 when Thalaba was revised for the last time. In the preface 
 to the final edition of the poem as it appeared in his 
 poetical works (1837) Southey recalls that it was upon the 
 original pubHcation of this poem that his name was first 
 associated with Wordsworth's, but he goes on to add that 
 no two poets could be found more different, ''the difference 
 not being that between good and bad." "I happened to be 
 residing at Keswick when Mr. Wordsworth and I began to 
 be acquainted; Mr. Coleridge also resided there; and this 
 was reason enough for classing us together as a school of 
 poets. Accordingly, for more than twenty years from that 
 time, every tjTO in criticism who could smatter and sneer, 
 tried his 'prentice hand' upon the lake poets; and every 
 young sportsman, who carried a popgun in the field of 
 satire, considered them as fair game." 
 
 Southey was forgetting much when he penned these mis- 
 leading and ungracious words. Yet the success of the new 
 Scotch review had emboldened others in their objections to 
 the poetry of Southey and his friends, and the charges that 
 Jeffrey trumpeted went echoing through the pages of 
 periodical criticism. The first number of the Edinburgh 
 appeared in June, 1802. In November The Monthly Review^ 
 noticed Thalaba rather lamely, prophesying that Southey 
 would disgust many readers by his story and meter, and 
 expressing a wish that he would advance toward a "more 
 correct taste or a more manly style of composition." But 
 the new Annual Review, pubUshed by Longman, with 
 Arthur Aiken as editor and Southey himself as one of the 
 1 Month. Rev., Nov. 1802, n.s., v. 39, 240-251. 
 
290 THE EARLY LIFE OF ROBERT SOUTHEY 
 
 chief contributors, took up the hue and cry with more 
 earnest. The first number, which was for the year 1802, 
 but appeared about a year late, seized upon Lamb's luckless 
 John Woodvil^ as occasion to pillory the new school, the 
 Edinburgh^ having already, in its review of the same 
 volume, though with no reference to the ''sect," grouped 
 Lamb with Coleridge. The writer^ in the Annual was, 
 according to Southey, Aiken's daughter, Mrs. Barbauld, 
 and in no gentle fashion did the review summarize the play 
 with sneering imphcation against the author's poetic gifts, 
 theories, and friends. It concludes with a thorough scold- 
 ing .for poor Lamb and the school of poetry which he was 
 accused of setting up. Implying that perhaps his disciples 
 had been led astray by their disgust of the ''Delia Crus- 
 cans," the reviewer goes on to say that, not content with 
 stripping poetry of superfluous embelhshments, the new 
 poets had stripped the muse of the common decencies of 
 dress, and taught her to be a bold, affected, pouting, melan- 
 choly, discontented, fretful, deceitful little minx. Southey 
 expressed great indignation at this translation of Jeffrey 
 into the idiom of the respectable British female, and wrote * 
 at once to Coleridge: "Why have you not made Lamb 
 declare war upon Mrs. Bare-bald? He should singe her 
 flaxen wig with squibs, and tie crackers to her petticoats 
 till she leapt about Hke a parched pea for very torture. 
 There is not a man in the world who could so well revenge 
 himself." A few days later he wrote to Taylor^ that, 
 though Lamb's tragedy was a bad tragedy, albeit full of 
 fine passages, Mrs. Barbauld's review was nothing but 
 "Presbyterian sneer from one end to the other." To this 
 
 1 An. Rev., 1803, v. 1, 688-692. 
 
 ^'Edin. Rev., AprU, 1803, v. 2, 90-96. 
 
 3 Mr. E. V. Lucas states that later Lamb learned from Mrs. Bar- 
 bauld herself that she had not written the review of his play. E. V. 
 Lucas, Life of Lamb, I, 312. * Life, II, 275. ^ Taylor, I, 489. 
 
A SCHOOL OF POETS 291 
 
 Taylor repKed, defending the lady, who was an old friend 
 of his, but scouting her notion that Lamb was to be lumped 
 with the new sect of poets. "It is . . . preposterous," he 
 says,^ *Ho inveigh against the Southey school of writers in 
 analysing this play; for it is not of the school struck at. 
 It is quaint and affected, not simple and insipid; the diction 
 is artfully antique, not vulgarly natural." 
 
 The CriticaVs ^ account of Thalaha, written by Taylor him- 
 self during a brief service for Hamilton, did not appear until 
 December, 1803. Naturally it did not echo Jeffrey, but it 
 delivered a passing shot at him in the course of a laudation 
 of the witch's incantation in Book IX; ''Greeks! Latins! 
 come with your pythonesses! Where is there a description 
 like this? Edinburgh Reviewers, tamers of genius, come 
 and vaunt couplets and habitual meters, and show us an 
 effort like this! Ghost of Boileau scowl! we will enjoy." 
 
 At the time of the pubhcation of the Metrical Tales 
 (1805), which was noticed but insignificantly in the Monthly^ 
 and not at all in the Edinburgh, Taylor's connection with 
 the Critical was off, and that organ opened the vials of 
 vituperation. This volume was a reprinting of those minor 
 pieces that Southey had been writing during the few years 
 past for the newspapers and The Annual Anthology. The 
 reviewer, although admitting that the poet possessed 
 ''genius, fancy, no common powers of language and versi- 
 fication," nevertheless insisted^ that "he has also many 
 faults which are highly reprehensible, the more so perhaps 
 because they are avoidable and voluntary. The greatest, 
 and indeed that which contains in itself the seeds of all 
 his other defects, is that he is an egregious poetical cox- 
 comb. It seems to be his aim to strike out a new model 
 
 1 Taylor, 1, 491. 
 
 2 Crit. Rev., Dec. 1803, 2d ser., 1, 39, 369-379 and see above. 
 
 3 Month. Rev., Nov. 1805, n.s.,v. 48, 323. 
 ^ Crit. Rev. 3d ser., v. 4, 118. 
 
292 THE EARLY LIFE OF ROBERT SOUTHEY 
 
 for English poetry; to be as it were the founder of a new 
 sect. But to this he has no pretensions; it is for Mr. 
 Southey to follow received opinions." So the rest of the 
 article prates of the faults ''which are pecuUar to Mr. 
 Southey and his school" with particular objections to 
 word-coining, the sonnet form, and above all to the rhyme- 
 less, irregular meter. '^In his 'Songs of the American 
 Indians' . . . [he] treats us with that new-fangled and 
 nondescript species of poetry, that prose-like verse or verse- 
 Hke prose, which it is not possible sufficiently to reprobate." 
 In spite of all this there is a sprinkling of praise for The 
 Old Man's Comforts and the English Eclogues, but through- 
 out the whole there is evident a particular animus against 
 the poet-reviewer who had deserted to the Annual. 
 
 The limitations of the present book make it impossible 
 at this time to enter in detail into the later criticism of 
 the lake poets as well as to discuss the justice of that 
 criticism and its effects upon the poets themselves and their 
 reputations. Such a study would, nevertheless, be well 
 worth making. We have seen that there had arisen about 
 Southey, Coleridge, and their associates the notion that 
 they were attempting to start a "new sect of poets." We 
 have seen also that the pecuharities of these young writers 
 and their friendly association together gave some basis for 
 such a notion, but that there was no such formal con- 
 spiracy as the legal mind of Jeffrey postulated. Several 
 forces served to keep the "lake school" ahve; Jeffrey's 
 insistence, the chorus of minor critics, Southey' s obstinacy, 
 the conspicuous and increasing provinciahsm of the two 
 most steadfast members of the group, perched upon their 
 mountains and giving laws to England down below. As 
 time went on Wordsworth won respect in spite of Jeffrey, 
 and Southey took to writing epics, histories, reviews, biog- 
 raphies, and treatises upon pohtical philosophy, works 
 superficially remote from the forgotten English Eclogy£S as 
 
A SCHOOL OF POETS 293 
 
 well as from the notorious Excursion, Wordsworth, there- 
 fore, eventually became, in the pages of periodical criticism, 
 the chief, practically the sole, representative of the lake 
 school, but this was not for several years to come. After 
 Thalaba, Jeffrey dehvered his next edict (October, 1805)^ 
 upon Madoc, repeating his former strictures more em- 
 phatically and elaborately, while in the same month the 
 Monthly^ and a few months later The Critical Review^ 
 echoed his thunders in less gentlemanly terms. Not until 
 October, 1807, was Wordsworth, whose Poems in Two Vol- 
 umes appeared in that year, made the subject of an article 
 in the Edinburgh^ which publicly defined his position as a 
 greater offender in the same class with Southey. Without 
 recounting the indictment in detail, we may note a few of 
 Jeffrey's remarks. The critic defied anyone to show a 
 worse poem than Resolution and Independence even in the 
 Specimens of the Later English Poets edited by Mr. Words- 
 worth's ''friend Mr. Southey." Jeffrey further declared 
 that ''All the world laughs at Elegiac Stanzas to a Sucking 
 Pig^ — a Hymn on Washing-Day^ — Sonnets to one's grand- 
 mother^ — or Pindarics on Gooseberry-pie;^ and yet, we are 
 
 1 Edin. Rev., Oct. 1805, v. 7, 1-27. 
 
 2 Mmth. Rev., Oct. 1805, n.s., v. 48, 113-122. 
 
 3 Crit. Rev., Jan. 1806, 3d ser., v. 7, 72-83. 
 
 4 Edin. Rev., Oct. 1807, v. 11, 214. 
 
 ^ Perhaps a reference to Southey's The Pig in Metrical Tales, 1805. 
 
 ^ Perhaps a reference to a poem called Washing Day by Mrs. Bar- 
 bauld, written in blank verse after the model of Cowper's Task. Wash- 
 ing Day appeared in Month. Mag., Dec. 1797, v. 4, 452 and in The 
 Works of Anna Laetitia Barhauld, 1825, 202-206. 
 
 ' Sonnets on this subject by both Lamb and Lloyd appeared in 
 Poems, by S. T. Coleridge, Second Edition. To which are now added 
 Poems by Charles Lamb and Charles Lloyd. Jeffrey may also have had 
 in mind Lloyd's Poem on the death of his Grandmother, Priscilla Farmer, 
 1796, which also contained an introductory sonnet by Coleridge and 
 The Grandame by Lamb. 
 
 * Gooseberry-Pie, A Pindaric Ode in Southey's Metrical Tales, 1805. 
 
294 THE EARLY LIFE OF ROBERT SOUTHEY 
 
 afraid, it will not be quite easy to convince Mr. Words- 
 worth, that the same ridicule must infaUibly attach to most 
 of the pathetic pieces in these volumes." And finally for 
 the first time pubHc mention of the lakes was now made 
 in the Edinburgh; ''this author [Wordsworth] is known to 
 belong to a certain brotherhood of poets, who have haunted 
 for some years about the lakes of Cumberland; and is 
 generally looked upon, we beheve, as the purest model of 
 the excellences and pecuHarities of the school which they 
 have been labouring to establish." After this Jeffrey 
 paused in his onslaughts, except for an occasional side- 
 thrust,^ until the pubhcation of The Curse of Kehama in 
 1810, when he could adopt only a tone of discouraged 
 resignation at his failure to win Southey from lakish 
 heresies.2 Then, in 1814 and 1815, came The Excursion^ 
 and The White Doe of Rylstone,^ and the fuU force of critical 
 wrath fell upon Wordsworth. Curiously enough, of the 
 whole series of pronunciamentos on the lake school, the 
 two last named were the earhest to which Jeffrey gave 
 place in the selections from his writings in the Edinburgh 
 which he pubhshed in 1843, and these are the ones, there- 
 fore, by which his opinions upon the "sect" are best known 
 to later readers, although, aside from the fact that they 
 deal specifically with two of Wordsworth's most ambitious 
 efforts, they are in themselves less interesting and less 
 representative of Jeffrey's genuine though hmited critical 
 acumen and sanity. Incidentally, the greater attention 
 which has been given to these later articles has helped to 
 obscure the close association that existed, in the character 
 
 1 Edin. Rev., Jan. 1808, v. 11, 411, Bowles's edition of Pope; April, 
 1808, V. 12, 133, Poems by George Crabbe, 1807; Jan. 1809, v. 13, 276, 
 Reliques of Robert Burns; April, 1809, v. 14, 1 Thomas Campbell's 
 Gertrude oj Wyoming. 
 
 2 lUd., Feb. 1811, v. 17, 42^-465. 
 
 3 Ihid., Oct. 1815, V. 25, 355-363. 
 
 4 Ibid., Nov. 1814, v. 24, 1-30. 
 
A SCHOOL OF POETS 295 
 
 of their work and its reception by the pubHc, between 
 Southey and Wordsworth. This connection has been the 
 more easily forgotten again, because it was the review of 
 Roderick in June, 1815,^ making no specific reference to the 
 lake school whatever, which was the only one of his articles 
 upon Southey that Jeffrey chose to preserve and reprint. 
 
 Before leaving this subject it will be well to add that 
 other periodicals helped to keep alive the pother main- 
 tained by the Edinburgh. The Critical, in spite of Tory 
 politics, became an offensive and violent auxihary to Whig 
 criticism, and the Quarterly's connection with Southey did 
 not prevent it from challenging Jeffrey only lukewarmly in 
 defense of the lake school. Blackwoods was bolder, denied 
 the existence of any conspiracy, or of any resemblance 
 between Southey and Wordsworth, but at the same time 
 pubUshed articles on ''The Lake School of Poets" con- 
 sisting, to be sure, only of generous appreciation of Words- 
 worth. ''Maga's" wits, furthermore, invented a whole 
 series of ''schools," such as "the leg of mutton school of 
 poetry" or "the pluckless school of politics," to accommo- 
 date the pecuharities of various persons whom they wished, 
 from time to time, to satirize. Of these the best known 
 was, of course, "the Cockney school of poetry," created for 
 the sake of Leigh Hunt and infamous for the sake of Keats. 
 Finally, in this Hst of the figments of literary controversy, 
 it is but just to mention that Southey himself, in the pref- 
 ace to his unhappy Vision of Judgment (1821), became the 
 luckless inventor of "the Satanic school of poets," and 
 thereby precipitated that quarrel with Byron from the 
 effects of which his fame has never recovered. 
 
 Into the further history of that fame this is not the point 
 
 at which to enter. The "lake school," in the sense of 
 
 conspiracy which legalistic critics gave to the term, never 
 
 existed. This fact, however, does not warrant several mis- 
 
 1 Edin. Rev., June, 1815, v. 25, 1-31. 
 
296 THE EARLY LIFE OF ROBERT SOUTHEY 
 
 apprehensions which have arisen. Jeffrey was far too 
 clever a man not to perceive that popular judgment was 
 correct in recognizing a definite point of wiew and certain 
 definite Uterary pecuHarities in the earher writings of 
 Southey which were only less conspicuously manifested in 
 his compatriot Coleridge and carried to an extreme both 
 of subhmity and absurdity in Wordsworth. The justice of 
 Jeffreys strictures in matters of taste was recognized in 
 practice, even though his authority was denied, by all three 
 poets and not least by the greatest among them. Further- 
 more, it may be said again, if any of the group is to be 
 excluded, it should not be Southey, and the criticism that 
 would see a closer kinship between him and Scott betrays 
 but a superficial understanding both of Southey himself and 
 of that great man who, in true cathoHcity of mind, far 
 excelled any of the lake school. 
 
 IV 
 
 The author of Thalaba returned from Lisbon to Bristol 
 in June, 1801. He and his wife were restored in health, 
 but still unsettled as to the future. Though penniless as a 
 result of their year's excursion, they were not without 
 resources. There was a head and a portfoHo full of market- 
 able material, and always there were friends. Southey's 
 central problem was still to find means of independent 
 support, and incidental to this was the question where to 
 live and what to do with his family, particularly, now, what 
 to do with his brother Henry. 
 
 The boy had passed something over a year under the 
 tutelage of the Reverend Michael Maurice in Suffolk, where 
 he had been placed by his brother upon the advice of 
 WiUiam Taylor. The time had been spent profitably, and 
 Taylor had a good report to make. But Henry was nearly 
 eighteen, and it became necessary that his future should 
 be more definitely provided for. He was a fine, spirited 
 
A SCHOOL OF POETS 297 
 
 lad of very pleasing presence and sociable temper, a great 
 favorite with Taylor. With the latter's counsel he now 
 fixed his ambition upon the practice of medicine, and the 
 question of providing the requisite funds was pressing. 
 Southey at first thought of having the boy study in Lon- 
 don, but on Taylor's advice Henry was finally apprenticed to 
 a surgeon in Norwich named Phihp Martineau. This in- 
 volved a cost of a hundred pounds, and Southey cheerfully 
 made ready to surrender the profits of Thalaba for the 
 purpose, resigning thereby the hope of furnishing a house. 
 Fortunately this sacrifice was unnecessary, for Mr. Hill 
 came to the rescue, and after vainly attempting to persuade 
 the protege of Wilham Taylor to accept the opportunity 
 already decHned by his elder brother to go to Oxford and 
 enter the church, provided the money required for a 
 medical education. Henry well repaid the interest of his 
 friends and kindred. After further study at Edinburgh in 
 1804, he practiced his profession at Norwich and then with 
 distinction in London. His relations with his brother, 
 although naturally rather more fiHal in character than 
 fraternal, were continuously warm and affectionate. Other 
 members of the family were not in so hopeful a state in 
 180L Margaret Hill, the cousin whom Southey loved 
 dearly, and to whose support he had been for some time 
 contributing, was evidently dying of consumption, and his 
 mother was also faihng more and more rapidly every day. 
 The question of deciding upon a home and a profession 
 for himself had now to be approached anew by the poet, 
 and the trying uncertainty was to continue for several 
 years longer, though rendered less acute by the unmistak- 
 able fact that hterature would always claim the major part 
 of his attention, whatever might be the major source of his 
 income. Before his return to England the futility of 
 Southey's persisting in the law had become evident even 
 to Wynn, and early in July the poet journeyed to Wor- 
 
298 THE EARLY LIFE OF ROBERT SOUTHEY 
 
 cester to discuss the new plan that his old friend now- 
 suggested. This was that Wynn should use his influence 
 to obtain for Southey the secretaryship to some legation 
 in the south of Europe where climate would consort with 
 health, and where leisure would permit hterary pursuits. 
 Pending some decision in this matter, the emancipated law 
 student expected to spend the coming summer in Bristol, 
 then to walk through North Wales in search of local color 
 for Madoc, and afterwards to go to Keswick to see Cole- 
 ridge. To the latter he had written from Lisbon, and con- 
 fided his longing that they might at last hve together. 
 He feared a return of his old illness from the Enghsh 
 climate, and wondered whether Coleridge's ailments did not 
 have the same cause. Perhaps they might emigrate to- 
 gether after all, and find happiness in some southern place. 
 An answer from his friend, urging him at once to come to 
 Kes-^dck, awaited his return to Bristol. Coleridge had 
 three arguments in favor of Greta Hall. The first was the 
 beauty of the surrounding scenery — the httle River Der- 
 went; the giant's camp of mountains; ''massy Skiddaw, 
 smooth, green, high;" Lodore; Derwentwater; Borrow- 
 dale. The next argument was the size and convenience of 
 the house. The last was the near neighborhood of Words- 
 worth. 
 
 Such was Southey's invitation and first introduction to 
 the lake country and his future home. He could not accept 
 the invitation at once, partly because of the precarious 
 state of his cousin's and of his mother's health, and partly 
 because he was awaiting the early development of Wynn's 
 new scheme. But the idea of again hving with Coleridge 
 took hold of him, and he pressed the suggestion that they 
 emigrate together to a warmer chmate. In the ensuing 
 months the subject was thoroughly discussed in their 
 letters. Constantinople, Palermo, Naples, even India, and 
 the West Indies were thought of. Eventually Coleridge 
 
A SCHOOL OF POETS 299 
 
 tried his unhappy experiment of going to Malta in a posi- 
 tion similar to that at first designed for Southey. Mean- 
 while the latter wrote day-dream pictures of the Ufe they 
 would lead together at Constantinople, concluding, how- 
 ever, with something finer, if not more tangible. ''Time 
 and absence make strange work with our affections; but 
 mine are ever returning to rest upon you. I have other 
 and dear friends, but none with whom the whole of my 
 being is intimate — with whom every thought and feehng 
 can amalgamate. Oh! I have yet such dreams! Is it quite 
 clear that you and I were not meant for some better star, 
 and dropped, by mistake, into this world of pounds, shill- 
 ings, and pence?" To all this Coleridge responded with 
 repeated exhortations to come to Keswick; "Do, do for 
 heaven's sake, come . . . the shortest way, however dreary 
 it may be; for there is enough to be seen when you get to 
 our house. If you did but know what a fiutter the old 
 movable at my left breast has been in since I read your 
 letter." Rather than not see him, Coleridge, despite iU- 
 health, was ready to brave the journey to Bristol, and he 
 subscribed with a desperate heartiness to the scheme for 
 joint residence abroad. He would go anywhere, do any- 
 thing, if Southey would but come and float with him on 
 Derwentwater. ''Oh how I have dreamt about you! 
 Times that have been, and never can return, have been 
 with me on my bed of pain, and how I yearned towards 
 you in those moments, I myself can know, only by feehng 
 it over again." ^ 
 
 For any journey, however, as well as for the expense of 
 his cousin's illness, and for the payment of the debts in- 
 curred by the Portugal trip, Southey was in immediate 
 need of money. He offered Madoc to Longman for an 
 advance of fifty pounds, but upon being cheapened, — 
 Thalaba was not hving up to expectations as a popular 
 1 Coleridge, Letters, I, 356-358. 
 
300 THE EARLY LIFE OF ROBERT SOUTHEY 
 
 success, — summarily withdrew the offer. Reviewing again 
 for the Critical was a more certain resource, but he even 
 thought of once more ''selUng his soul" to Stuart of The 
 Morning Post. The hope of pubKshing any of the history 
 had to be deferred. A volume could have been prepared, 
 but the historian must one day return to Lisbon, and what 
 he might pubUsh at this time would surely render him 
 persona non grata in Portugal hereafter. 
 
 Not until the end of August, 1801, was Southey able to 
 leave Bristol and go to Coleridge at Keswick, but he 
 reached there at last, expecting to remain while the plans 
 for going abroad settled themselves. What passed between 
 the two men we do not know. The lake country disap- 
 pointed Southey after the grander scenery of Cintra, and 
 the chmate seemed raw and cold, so that he conceived no 
 desire to make his permanent residence at Greta Hall. 
 His visit was, indeed, cut very short, for after a week or 
 so, he left Edith with her sister, and joined Wynn at 
 Wynnstay in Wales for a trip through the country of 
 Madoc. With their old Westminster friend, Peter Elmsley, 
 they tramped through a land of mountains, waterfalls and 
 forests, ruined abbeys, castles, romantic bridges, and plung- 
 ing streams. The poet in Southey rejoiced; the peaks 
 were the highest he had seen, and walking gave him such 
 sleep and hunger as he had not known. Upon his return 
 to Wynnstay, however, a letter awaited him which ended 
 his hohday, and demanded his translation to a new role. 
 Wynn's efforts to obtain a place abroad for him had so far 
 failed, and in the meantime Rickman had succeeded else- 
 where. Through the latter's interposition Southey was now 
 offered the place of private secretary to Michael Corry, 
 chancellor of the Exchequer for Ireland, at a salary of 
 about £350, half of which would be consumed by travel. 
 Rickman himself held a government position in Dublin, 
 where his company would make the annual six months' 
 
A SCHOOL OF POETS 301 
 
 stay of Corry's secretary at least tolerable. Southey ac- 
 cepted the offer immediately, and his services being re- 
 quired at once, went up to Keswick for a day or so, and 
 by October 10 was on his way to Dublin. 
 
 ''A fooHsh office and a good salary," Southey said of his 
 secretaryship after he had resigned it, but he undertook it 
 with high hopes, fostered by Rickman, of the independence 
 he had so longed for. His duties, indeed, were nearly nil, — 
 a Httle copjdng, a Uttle cooHng his heels daily at Corry's 
 door, a little investigation on tithes and corn-laws, the rest 
 of his time free. In Dublin he was required to remain but 
 a short time, and he then set out for London with his 
 chief, stopping by the way at Keswick to get his wife. In 
 November London saw them again, and the secretary's 
 duties were as before. To be sure The True Briton and 
 other hostile organs printed sundry paragraphs on the 
 Jacobin turned office-holder, but these flea-bites were osten- 
 tatiously ignored. Thus the winter passed, not with entire 
 satisfaction, in an office of ^'all pay and no work." Then 
 it was intimated to the secretary that his services would 
 be appreciated as tutor to Corry's son, whereupon he 
 resigned, and about May first retired still another time to 
 Bristol. He would never again seriously attempt to earn 
 his bread save by Hterature. 
 
 On March 27, 1802, an event occurred which settled any 
 remaining doubts Southey may have had about his attitude 
 toward political affairs. Upon that day the ''anti- Jacobin 
 war" came to a close with the Treaty of Amiens, and the 
 author of Joan of Arc felt in later years that English feeUng ^ 
 had thereby at last been restored within him. England had 
 fought against the cause of hberty, and he had consistently 
 felt that her opposition had helped drive the revolutionists 
 into those excesses toward which their own corruption was 
 already tending. Now that his country had made peace, 
 1 Wart&r, III, 319-321. 
 
302 THE EARLY LIFE OF ROBERT SOUTHEY 
 
 he expected that freer scope would be given to the better 
 nature of France. When France should reject the oppor- 
 tunity thus afforded and Napoleon should attack England, 
 Southey would have no doubt that the two countries had 
 exchanged roles, that tyranny infinitely monstrous was 
 embodied in France and that England was fighting for 
 Hberty and natural goodness. The same passion for un- 
 compromisingly and conspicuously committing himself that 
 had made him write an anti-Enghsh epic at the age of 
 nineteen would later make him the vehement Quarterly 
 reviewer and Tory laureate. 
 
 Meanwhile the young man who turned his back once 
 more upon London and returned to Bristol was seeking 
 from Danvers and his mother simple human comfort. 
 Southey had now lost his cousin, and on January 5, 1802, 
 his own mother had died under his roof in London, whither 
 she had gone to be with him. As he had now long schooled 
 himself to do, Southey reined in his emotions hard. In a 
 letter to Wynn, which, for the terseness of intense though 
 restrained grief, is not to be surpassed, he says, ''I calmed 
 and curbed myself, and forced myself to employment; but, 
 at night, there was no sound of feet in her bed-room, to 
 which I had been used to Usten, and in the morning it was 
 not my first business to see her. ... I have now lost all 
 the friends of my infancy and childhood. The whole recol- 
 lections of my first ten years are connected with the dead. 
 There Uves no one who can share them with me. It is 
 losing so much of one's existence. I have not been yielding 
 to, or rather indulging, grief; that would have been folly. 
 I have read, written, talked; Bedford has been often with 
 me, and kindly." 
 
 There were plenty of distractions in London. It had 
 been a great pleasure to be with Rickman in DubUn; here 
 there were more friends and acquaintances than were 
 welcome. Longman invited him ''to meet a few hterary 
 
A SCHOOL OF POETS 303 
 
 friends." He appears to have seen the Lambs frequently, 
 Coleridge occasionally. The father of Maria Edgeworth 
 invited him to Edgeworthtown, and he made a short visit 
 to WilKam Taylor at Norwich. Some acquaintances came 
 to him with his new position, but comments upon them 
 show the real attitude of the man toward general social 
 converse of any kind. He was reserved, sensitive, ill-at- 
 ease, and proud; his heart was in his Uterary work, and he 
 was frankly in his present position only to help that work 
 forward. After he had been a week in town, he wrote that 
 the civiUties that had been shown to him made him think 
 despicably of the world, that one man congratulated him 
 and another called upon him as though the author of Joan 
 of Arc and of Thalaba had been made great by scribing for 
 the Irish Chancellor of the Exchequer. Back to Bristol, 
 therefore, Southey went with his wife and her sister, Mrs. 
 Lovell, who had shortly before become a member of his 
 household. By the first of June they had taken a fur- 
 nished house in the same row on the Kingsdown Parade 
 with their old friend Danvers. Here there was room for 
 books, quiet for work, and conveniences for Edith, who 
 expected confinement during the summer. This was to be 
 the last of their temporary residences until September of 
 the following year, when they finally made their way to 
 Greta Hall for that visit that was to stretch out to the end 
 of Hfe. Meanwhile Southey took great pleasure in the near 
 neighborhood of Danvers and his mother, a joy broken into 
 by the death of the latter in the course of the winter. For 
 a few summer weeks, Thomas Southey visited his brother's 
 family, enforcing wholesome idleness and promoting good 
 spirits. Then, in September, a daughter was born to the 
 poet, named Margaret after Southey' s mother, and the 
 household was completely happy. 
 
 The years from 1801 to 1803, during which Southey, now 
 settled in his own mind as to his ambitions and desires, 
 
304 THE EARLY LIFE OF ROBERT SOUTHEY 
 
 was still unsettled in the world, were not years of literary- 
 harvest, nor yet of literary inactivity. The Hindoo ro- 
 mance which he had begun in Portugal immediately after 
 finishing Thalaba, and which was to be followed by similar 
 works on the Persian and on the "Runic'' mythology, if 
 he were granted but four years of hfe, was first delayed 
 and then halted for several reasons. In the first place 
 Thalaba had not sold. PubHshed in the spring, but three 
 hundred copies had been disposed of by November 20, 1801. 
 Longman, as we have seen, did not rate highly the selUng 
 value of Madoc, and esteemed the prospects of Kehama no 
 better. Then the attack of The Edinburgh Review upon 
 Thalaba and the new sect of poets appeared in October, 
 1802. Such discouragement, coming partly when the secre- 
 taryship supplied daily wants, merely helped to foster in 
 Southey the confidence that, if he missed popularity, he 
 would the more surely win immortahty. Consequently the 
 new mythological romance could rest for a time while he 
 turned his attention to correcting Madoc. When he arrived 
 in Dubhn in October, 1801, to assume his official position, 
 the new secretary found Mr. Corry on the wing for London, 
 and "what did I but open 'Madoc,' and commenced the 
 great labour of rebuilding it." This poem had rested since 
 the completion of the first draught in 1799; now it was 
 put upon the anvil for thorough revision. Notes were to 
 be compiled, and local color was to be suppHed from the 
 walk in North Wales with Wynn. Possibly the fortune of 
 Thalaba and the criticisms of Taylor were not without 
 influence. Certainly Southey proposed to revise the latter 
 poem thoroughly for its next edition, and wrote to Taylor 
 concerning Madoc, "I am correcting it with merciless 
 vigilance, — shortening and shortening, distilling wine into 
 alcohol." 1 
 All poetic composition, however, was now put into a 
 1 Taylor, I, 440. 
 
A SCHOOL OF POETS 305 
 
 parenthesis beside the work on the great history, to which 
 the new salary permitted Southey to devote part of his 
 time. In this task the man had at last really found him- 
 self and his happiness. To sit at home over old fohos, 
 digesting, taking notes, transcribing, compiling, — here was 
 to be found that calm for the spirit which he had longed 
 after. Of this fact he was himself fully aware. In No- 
 vember, 1802, he wrote ^ to Taylor from Bristol that he had 
 for some time been abstaining from poetry. Old chronicles 
 pleased him better because to delve in them never made 
 'Hhe face burn or the brain throb." Occasionally he would 
 think of "a, huge faery castle in the air," but when it came 
 to write, ''alas for the stately rhyme." So when some 
 passing trouble with his eyes kept him from reading, 
 Southey was annoyed because then he could write only 
 poetry, and that was hard when prose pleased him better. 
 The scope and the pleasure of the work upon Portugal had 
 increased proportionately. Mr. Hill was buying books for 
 it and moving them to England; Southey 's own hbrary 
 was beginning to be embarrassingly large; and he was rum- 
 maging in aU pubhc collections to which he could gain 
 access. PubHcation of any part of his labors had to be 
 postponed for reasons already explained, and especially 
 because he was now deep in the unsavoury history of the 
 church and the monastic orders, an experience by which he 
 confirmed in himself that hatred of popery which was to 
 be one of the standing terrors of his Hfe. 
 
 Unfortunately the income from the secretaryship lapsed 
 in less than a year, and even while it lasted, it was in- 
 sufficient for all needs, and had to be eked out by never- 
 ending hack-work. ''Drudge, drudge, drudge," Southey 
 wrote to Taylor; "Do you know Quarles's emblem of the 
 soul that tries to fly, but is chained by the leg to earth? 
 For myself I could do easily, but not easily for others; 
 1 Taylor, 1, 429-430. 
 
306 THE EARLY LIFE OF ROBERT SOUTHEY 
 
 and there are more claims than one upon me."^ For 
 several years to come, therefore, he had to "evacuate" for 
 The Morning Post ''sundry indifferent verses, value one 
 guinea per hundred, according to the print-reckoning of six 
 score." Far more distasteful was the reviewing that had 
 to be done for The Critical Review, and for the new Annual 
 Review that Longman had set up under the editorship of 
 Dr. Aiken. Never was Southey to be free from such work, 
 and never was he to do it with a willing spirit. More to 
 his taste was another task that he undertook for Longman, 
 unwelcome only because it took time from the history. 
 This was a translation and abridgment of Amadis of Gaul, 
 begun in the spring of 1802, when the resignation of his 
 "foolish ofl&ce" made him cast about for other sources of 
 money. It was done purely as a task, and he huzzaed Uke 
 a schoolboy as each chapter was knocked off. If it suc- 
 ceeded, the pubHsher was to proceed through the whole 
 catalogue of romances, but so meanly did Southey think of 
 this kind of hterary service that he stipulated for an 
 anonymous pubhcation. The wily Longman, well knowing 
 the worth of the translator's name on the title-page, acci- 
 dentally divulged his identity, much to Southey's disgust. 
 Still the returns were materially increased to £100 cash, 
 £50 when the edition should be sold, and half the profit on 
 future issues. This was substantially better than the pay- 
 ments from Thalaba, and the author pocketed his chagrin 
 after a futile attempt to disclaim his work. The transla- 
 tion itself, passing over Southey's antiquated speculation 
 concerning the original authorship, is one of his rare suc- 
 cesses in genuine beauty. He skillfully condensed the text 
 into half its length by curtaihng dialogue, avoiding repeti- 
 tion, and excising some of the morahzing, immoraHty, and 
 fighting, but thereby heightened the unity of the narrative 
 as a whole. His wide reading in such hterature and his 
 1 Taylor, I, 445. 
 
A SCHOOL OF POETS 307 
 
 sympathy with chivalric ideals enabled him to catch per- 
 fectly the spirit of romance and to clothe it in a style 
 that carries the reader, if anything can, happily through 
 the extravagances and involutions of the long-winded old 
 story. 
 
 Now that Uterature was to be relied upon for sole sup- 
 port, some more regular resource than such casual tasks 
 as Amadis had to be found, and Southey canvassed several 
 schemes in the next year or two before settHng down to 
 reviewing for his bread and cheese. In November, 1802, 
 Wilham Taylor, just returned from Paris, where he had been 
 joined by Henry Southey as his companion, proposed to 
 Robert that he make his residence in Norwich, where rents 
 were cheap, and offered the editorship of a Whiggish weekly 
 newspaper, called The Iris, soon to be estabHshed in that 
 place under his sponsorship. Southey decUned to consider 
 a removal to Norwich for a number of reasons. It was 
 above all too inaccessible. He wished to be nearer London, 
 the seaports that led to Portugal, and Hereford, where his 
 uncle might settle or might have a house which his nephew 
 could occupy. The editorship of a newspaper would be too 
 confining, and finally, ''Among the odd revolutions of the 
 world you may reckon this, that my pohtics come nearer 
 to Mr. Windham's than they do Wilham Taylor's." Nor- 
 wich, therefore, in spite of the attractions offered, was out 
 of the question. 
 
 Nevertheless, a library and a nursery had to be housed 
 in some fairly fixed habitation, and all Southey's new plans 
 for work were accompanied by new plans for an estabhsh- 
 ment. The kind of place he would have hked is suggested 
 by the words that he wrote to Bedford upon the latter's 
 enforced removal from Brixton Causeway. The poet said 
 that he loved best an old house with odd closets, cupboards, 
 thick walls, heart-of-oak beams, chimney pieces, fire-places, 
 and chpt yews. Probably he had no expectations of finding 
 
308 THE EARLY LIFE OF ROBERT SOUTHEY 
 
 such an ideal realized by the place he looked for in Rich- 
 mond in the spring of 1802, but he did hope that he would 
 there find comfort for his work on the history and pleasure 
 in the near neighborhood of John May. Far more alluring 
 was the place that he considered in the fall of the same 
 year for a residence in Wales. Eighty miles from Bristol 
 was Neath, and eight miles up the vale of Neath was the 
 house of Maes Gwyn, a journey of some thirty-six hours. 
 ''I shall have a house in the lovehest part of South Wales, 
 in a vale between high mountains; and an onymous house 
 . . . that is down in the map of Glamorganshire." (Nov. 
 28, 1802.) Arrangements for renting this estabhshment 
 furnished were almost concluded when a dispute with the 
 landlord about the kitchen resulted in the breaking off of 
 the whole scheme. In after years Southey is said always 
 to have spoken of Maes Gwyn with something hke regret. 
 Another winter passed at Bristol, therefore, and in the 
 next year still another hterary scheme arose which promised 
 to carry Southey's household back to London after all. 
 This was a Bihliotheca Brittanica, and by July, 1803, we find 
 Southey actively consulting Coleridge with regard to a 
 design for a work of several eight-hundred-page quarto 
 volumes forming a history of EngHsh hterature or chrono- 
 logical account of all books in the British languages, with 
 biography, criticism, and connecting chapters. Southey as 
 editor and absolute director was to receive £150 per vol- 
 ume; contributors apparently were to receive four guineas 
 per sheet. It was hoped to pubhsh haK of the first volume 
 by Christmas 1804. Some of Southey's assistants were 
 already enhsted; Sharon Turner, Duppa, Wilham Taylor, 
 Rickman, and Coleridge were among them. The plan at 
 first promised well, and arrangements for pubHcation were 
 apparently settled with Longman, who was to advance 
 £150 so that Southey could move to London, the more 
 conveniently to carry on his editorial duties. John May 
 
A SCHOOL OF POETS 309 
 
 was sent again to seek a house in Richmond, and even went 
 so far as to secure the refusal of one place that promised 
 sufficiently well. Such a scheme naturally appealed to 
 the expansive genius of Coleridge, who took an influential 
 hand in formulating it, but whose ambitions were too 
 comprehensive for Southey's more practical mind. To 
 the latter's first suggestions Coleridge responded with a 
 proposal far more copious still which, if executed, would 
 have included, not only an account of all English books, but 
 of all books written upon subjects that had been written 
 upon in Enghsh. In another connection Southey had 
 written, ''You spawn plans hke a herring," and he rephed 
 to the new suggestion in similar vein. ''Your proposal is 
 too good, too gigantic, quite beyond my powers." With 
 health and industry, Coleridge might, if he would, make 
 such a work the most valuable of any age or country, but 
 Southey alone did not feel himself capable of filhng up 
 such an outhne; he must have a plan that he knew he 
 could execute. As for relying upon Coleridge for whole 
 quartos, the thought brought tears to his friend^s eyes 
 (Aug. 3, 1803). 
 
 Suddenly all hopes came to an end. The child Margaret, 
 so gladly welcomed, a quick-hmbed, bright-eyed baby, died 
 when scarcely more than a year old. "Edith is suffering 
 bitterly," he wrote; "I myseK am recovering, perfectly 
 resigned to the visitation, perfectly satisfied that it is for 
 the best, perfectly assured that the loss will be but for a 
 time. Never man enjoyed purer happiness than I have 
 for the last twelve months. My plans are now all wrecked" 
 (Aug. 29, 1803). For the Bihliotheca, somewhat to South- 
 ey' s rehef under the circumstances, was now frustrated. 
 The general panic lest Bonaparte should invade England 
 entered Longman's breast, and the grand new scheme had 
 to be indefinitely postponed. This, of course, halted the 
 plan for living at Richmond, and the Southeys were again 
 
310 THE EARLY LIFE OF ROBERT SOUTHEY 
 
 all at sea. The one thing now was to escape from Bristol; 
 ''The place is haunted, and it is my wish never to see it 
 again" (Sept. 8, 1803). After Edith had recovered, there- 
 fore, they started at once for the north, and after five days 
 in Staffordshire with their Lisbon friend. Miss Barker, 
 arrived at Greta Hall on the seventh of September. Southey 
 hoped that the infant Sara Coleridge might afford some 
 rehef to Edith, might be 'grafted into the wound,' but it 
 was a joyless coming and to no happy household. Poor 
 Coleridge, caught in the grip of opium, was sick at heart 
 and in body. The glory of his promise was shpping from 
 his enervated fingers, and the bitterness of dissension had 
 entered his home. He was in Scotland at this time, but 
 hastened back (September 15, 1803),^ wretchedly ill, to 
 welcome his old friends. A few weeks later his companions, 
 the Wordsworths, returned, and before long WilHam came 
 over from Grasmere, met his former critic, and wrote ^ that 
 he hked him very much. So the visit of the Southey s at 
 Greta Hall began. They had not intended to remain, but 
 there were now no ties to draw them elsewhere, and it 
 became evident in time that their departure would be long 
 postponed. They had at last come home. 
 
 1 Campbell, Coleridge, 140. 
 
 2 Letters of the Wordsworth Family, I, 153, October 14, 1803. 
 
CONCLUSION 
 
 Southey's youth had ended when he crossed the thres- 
 hold of Greta Hall. His reputation as an author, his ideals 
 and plan of hfe, his means of livehhood, in spite of tempo- 
 rary discouragement and embarrassment, were virtually 
 fixed. In 1837 he wrote, 
 
 "Personal attachment first, and family circumstances afterwards, 
 connected me long and closely with Mr. Coleridge; and three-and- 
 thirty years have ratified a friendship with Mr. Wordsworth, which 
 we believe will not terminate with this life, and which it is a pleas- 
 ure for us to know will be continued and cherished as an heirloom 
 by those who are dearest to us both. When I add, what has been 
 the greatest of aU advantages, that I have passed more than half 
 my life in retirement, conversing with books rather than men, 
 constantly and unweariably engaged in literary pursuits, commun- 
 ing with my own heart, and taking that course which, upon mature 
 consideration, seemed best to myself, I have said everything neces- 
 sary to account for the characteristics of my poetry, whatever they 
 may be." 
 
 The ideals whose development in youth we have now 
 traced and which such a way of Hfe in manhood confirmed 
 formed the staple of all the hterary pursuits with which 
 Southey's days were henceforth filled. Though living in 
 retirement, he tried to apply these ideals to the questions 
 and affairs of his own day in The Annual and then in The 
 Quarterly Review, and in such works as his Book of the 
 Church, his Colloquies on the Progress and Prospects of 
 Society, and his History of the Peninsular War. His early 
 interest in purely hterary matters found expression in his 
 Life of Cowper and in other writings in which he helped 
 
 311 
 
312 THE EARLY LIFE OF ROBERT SOUTHEY 
 
 forward the study of English literature. The historical 
 studies by which he sought to verify his preconceived 
 ideals and to disseminate the learning that he loved he 
 vainly tried to consummate in his vastly planned works 
 upon the history of Portugal. Finally his passionate devo- 
 tion to those ideals thus fortified by erudition he labored 
 to express for all time in a great epic poem. Until the hand 
 of death was upon him, he never was freed from poverty 
 to serve his ambitions with all his powers but he kept 
 his courage through long years of struggle and deferred 
 hope by unflinching faith in the rectitude of his own pur- 
 poses and in his own abihty to achieve them. If he had 
 succeeded, he would have become one of the standing 
 examples of the sublime self-confidence of great genius. 
 That his name became, instead, a by-word for renegade in 
 life, and for a vanished reputation after death, is an irony 
 acute enough to give any man pause in his pride. But 
 it was a hfe worth hving and worth remembering because, 
 if for no other reason, of the spirit in which it was hved, 
 a spirit that caanot in conclusion be better expressed than 
 in the words of Thalaba on the way to the Dom-Daniel 
 Caverns : 
 
 ''If from my childhood up, I have looked on 
 With exultation to my destin}', 
 If, in the hour of anguish, I have felt 
 The justice of the hand that chastened me, 
 If, of all selfish passions purified, 
 I go to work thy will, and from the world 
 Root up the ill-doing race, 
 Lord! let not thou the weakness of mine arm 
 Make vain the enterprise!" 
 
APPENDIX A 
 
 WORKS OF ROBERT SOUTHEY 
 
 This list purports to be a contribution to a bibliography of Southey, 
 and not a complete final list of all his works nor of all editions of his 
 works. It includes the works of Southey as first pubhshed by or for 
 him, and does not include contributions to periodicals. Unless other- 
 wise stated, all information has been taken, either by the writer or by 
 some other competent person, from the books themselves, but certain 
 information concerning editions other than those in the first instance 
 cited has been obtained from sources indicated as foUows: The Cata- 
 logue of the British Museum,^ Book Prices Current,^ American Book 
 Prices Current,^ Book Auction Records.^ 
 
 The Flagellant. London: printed for the authors; and sold by T. 
 and J. Egerton, near Whitehall, mdccxcii. 
 
 Written by Southey and Grosvenor C. Bedford at Westminster 
 School, and pubhshed in nine weekly numbers from March 1 to 
 April 26. The first mmiber was by Bedford. The fifth number, 
 on the subject of flogging, was by Southey, and caused the author's 
 expulsion from the school. There is a complete file of the nine 
 numbers in the British Museum, and there is a file of numbers one 
 through five in the hbrary of Yale University. 
 
 The Fall of Robespierre. An Historic Drama. By S. T Coleridge, 
 of Jesus College, Cambridge. Cambridge: Printed by Benjamin 
 Flower, For W. H. Lums, and J. and J. Merrill; and sold by 
 J. March, Norwich. 1794. 
 
 The first act of this drama was written by Coleridge, the second 
 and third by Southey. See T. J. Wise, Bibliography of Coleridge and 
 E. H. Coleridge, Complete Poetical Works of Samuel Taylor Coleridge. 
 
 Poems: containing The Retrospect, Odes, Elegies, Sonnets, &c. by 
 Robert Lovell, and Robert Southey, of Baliol College, Oxford.. 
 . . . "Minuentur atrae/ ''Carmine curae." Hor. [Publisher's 
 device] Bath, Printed by R. Cruttwell, and sold by C. Dilly,. 
 Poultry, London, mdccxcv. 
 
 313 
 
314 THE EARLY LIFE OF ROBERT SOUTHEY 
 
 Joan of Arc, an Epic Poem, by Robert Southey. EIS 0I12N0S 
 API2T0S AMTNESGAI HEPI HATPHS. OMHPOS. Bristol: 
 printed by Bulgin and Rosser, for Joseph Cottle, Bristol, and 
 Cadell and Da\des, and G. G. and J. Robinson, London. 
 
 IMDCCXCVI. 
 
 Second edition, Bristol 1798: Third, London 1806: Fourth, 1812:* 
 Fifth, London 1817: Another, London 1853:^ Another, Boston 
 Mass. 1798. 
 
 Letters written during a short residence in Spain and Portugal, by 
 Robert Southey. With some account of Spanish and Portu- 
 gueze Poetry. Bristol; printed bj^ Bulgin and Rosser, for 
 Joseph Cottle, Bristol, and G. G. and J. Robinson, and Cadell 
 and Da\aes, London. 1797. 
 
 Second edition, Bristol 1799: Third with title "Letters written 
 during a journey in Spain, and a short residence in Portugal," 
 London 1808. 
 
 On the French Revolution, by Mr. Necker. Translated from the 
 French. In two volumes. Vol. I. [ II. ] London: Printed for 
 T. Cadell Jun. and W. Davies (Successors to Mr. Cadell) in the 
 Strand, 1797. 
 
 Published without the translators' names. According to Southey 
 (April 5, 1797, Life I, 307 note), the first volume was translated by 
 Dr. John Aiken and son (probably Arthur Aiken), and the second 
 by himself. 
 
 Poems by Robert Southey. Second Edition. Bristol: Printed by 
 N. Biggs, for Joseph Cottle, and sold in London by Messrs. 
 Robinsons. 1797. [Reverse of title-page]; Goddess of the 
 Lyre! with thee comes/ Majestic Truth; and where Truth 
 deigns to come,/ Her sister Liberty will not be far./ Akenside. 
 
 This volume consisted partly of pieces reprinted from the Poems 
 of 1795, and partly of new material. 
 
 Third edition, London 1800: Fourth, London 1801: Fifth, London 
 1808: Another, Boston Mass. 1799.i 
 
 Poems, by Robert Southey. The better, ^please; the worse, displease; 
 I ask no more. Spenser. The second volume. Bristol: printed 
 by Biggs and Cottle, for T. N. Longman and O. Rees, Pater- 
 noster-Row, London. 1799. 
 
APPENDIX A 315 
 
 This volume consisted partly of The Vision of the Maid of Orleans, 
 being the original ninth book of Joan of Arc (1796) now reprinted 
 as a separate poem, and partly of new material. 
 Second edition, London 1800: Third, 1801 1^ Fourth, London 1806. 
 
 The Annual Anthology. Volume I. 1799. [II. 1800.] Bristol: 
 printed by Biggs and Co. for T. N. Longman and 0. Rees, 
 Paternoster-Row, London. 
 
 Edited anonymously and in part written by Southey. T. J. Wise, 
 Bibliography of Coleridge, 192, notes that in all known copies of 
 this book except Southey's own, now in the Dyce Library South 
 Kensington Museum, Sig. B 8 (pp. 31-32) of Vol. I is missing. It 
 contained War Poem, a poem sympathizing with the French in 
 their victory at Toulon. 
 
 Thalaba the Destroyer, by Robert Southey. HoiyifxaTUiv aKparrjs 
 7] eXevdepLa, /cat vofxas ets, to 8o^av rcx) iroirjTri. Lucian, Quomodo 
 Hist, scrihenda. The first volume. {^The second volume.] 
 London: printed for T. N. Longman and 0. Rees, Paternoster- 
 Row, by Biggs and Cottle, Bristol. 1801. 
 
 Second edition, London 1809: ^ Third, London 1814: Fourth, 
 London 1821: Others, London 1846, 1853,^ 1860,^ Boston Mass. 
 1812. 
 
 The Works of Thomas Chatterton. Vol. I. Containing his Life, 
 by G. Gregory, D. D. and Miscellaneous Poems. London: 
 printed by Biggs and Cottle, Crane-Court, Fleet-Street, for 
 T. N. Longman and 0. Rees, Paternoster-Row. 1803. Vol. II. 
 Containing the Poems attributed to Rowley. 
 Vol. III. Containing Miscellaneous Pieces in Prose. 
 
 The preface is by Southey. The editorial work was done almost 
 entirely by Joseph Cottle under Southey's direction. 
 
 Amadis of Gaul, from the Spanish version of Garciordonez de 
 Montalvo, by Robert Southey, Vol. I. [II. III. IV.] [Half- 
 title.] 
 
 Amadis of Gaul, by Vasco Lobeira. In four volumes. Vol. I. 
 [II. III. IV.] London: printed by N. Biggs, Crane-court, 
 Fleet-Street, for T. N. Longman and 0. Rees, Paternoster Row. 
 1803. [FuU-title.] 
 
 Second edition [?]: Third, London 1872. 
 
316 THE EARLY LIFE OF ROBERT SOUTHEY 
 
 Madoc, by Robert Southey. [device] London Printed for Longman, 
 Hurst, Rees, and Orme. and A. Constable and Co. Edinburgh. 
 M.D.ccc.v. [HaK-title.] 
 
 Madoc, a Poem, in two parts, by Robert Southey. Omne solum 
 forti patria. London: printed for Longman, Hurst, Rees, and 
 Orme, Paternoster-Row, and A. Constable and Co. Edinburgh, 
 by James Ballantyne, Edinburgh. 1805. [Full-title.] 
 
 None of the three copies which I have examined contains both the 
 title-pages. Second edition, London 1807: Third, 1812:2 Fourth, 
 London 1815: Fifth, London 1825 :i Another, London 1853: i 
 Another, Boston Mass., 1806. 
 
 Metrical Tales and Other Poems, by Robert Southey. Nos haec 
 novimus esse nihil. London: printed for Longman, Hurst, 
 Rees, and Orme, Paternoster-Row. 1805. 
 
 This volume consisted of pieces by Southey reprinted from The 
 
 Annual Anthology. 
 
 Another edition, Boston Mass. 1811. 
 
 Letters from England: By Don Manuel Alvarez Espriella. Trans- 
 lated from the Spanish. In Three Volumes. Vol. I. [II. III.] 
 London: Printed for Longman, Hurst, Rees and Orme, Pater- 
 noster Row. 1807. 
 
 PubUshed anonymously. 
 
 Second edition, London 1808: Others, Boston Mass. 1807, New 
 York 1808, 1836: translated into French, Paris 1817,^ into German 
 from the French, Leipzig 1818.^ 
 
 The Remains of Henry Kirke White, of Nottingham, late of St. 
 John's College, Cambridge. [ Engraving. Drawn by Harraden 
 Junr. Engraved by George Cooke]. /No marble marks thy 
 couch of lowly sleep,/ But hving statufes, there are seen to weep;/ 
 Affliction's semblance bends not o'er thy tomb,/ Affliction's self 
 deplores thy youthful doom./ Ld. Byron. This drawing & 
 Plate presented to the Work by a Lady an esteemed friend of the 
 Author. Pubhshed by Vernor, Hood & Sharpe, Novr. 14, 1807. 
 [Engraved title-page.] 
 
 The Remains of Henry Kirke White, of Nottingham, late of St. 
 John's College, Cambridge; With an Account of his Life, by 
 Robert Southey. In Two Volmnes. Vol. I. [II.] London: 
 
APPENDIX A 317 
 
 Printed for Vernor, Hood, and Sharpe; Longman, Hurst, Rees, 
 and Orme; J. Deighton, T. Barrett, and J. Nicholson, Cam- 
 bridge; and W. Dunn, and S. Tupman, Nottingham; At the 
 Union Printing Office, St. John's Square, by W. Wilson. 1808. 
 [Second title-page.] Vol. III. 1822. 
 
 This is the earhest edition in the British Museum and the earhest 
 which I have seen, but the hst of Southey's works given in Life VI, 397 
 gives the date of the first edition as 1807. (See also Ahibone, Critical 
 Dictionary of English Literature.) The earhest mention of the book 
 in Southey's letters {Life HI, 140) is of the date, April 22, 1808. 
 It states that the first edition of 750 copies was sold in less than three 
 months. Later editions in Great Britaiu and America have been 
 frequent, the tenth appearing in London, 1823. 
 
 Palmerin of England, in four volumes. Corrected by Robert 
 Southey, from the original Portugueze. [HaK-title.] 
 
 Palmerin of England, by Francisco de Moraes. Vol. I. [II. III. IV.] 
 London; printed for Longman, Hurst, Rees, and Orme, Pater- 
 noster Row. 1807. [FuU-title.] 
 
 Translated by A. Munday from the French (1581) and extensively 
 corrected by Southey from the original. 
 
 Specimens of the Later English Poets, with preliminary notices; 
 by Robert Southey. In three volumes. London: printed for 
 Longman, Hurst, Rees and Orme, Pater-noster Row. 1807. 
 
 Chronicle of the Cid, from the Spanish; by Robert Southey. Lon- 
 don: printed for Longman, Hurst, Rees, and Orme, Paternoster- 
 row. 1808. 
 
 Another edition, London 1846: another, London 1868:^ another, 
 London 1883: another, Lowell Mass. 1846. 
 
 The Curse of Kehama: by Robert Southey. KATAPAI, fiS 
 KAI TA AAEKTPTONONEOTTA, OIKON AEI, O^E KEN 
 EHANHSAN EFKAeiSOMENAI. AHO^O. ANEK. TOT 
 FTAIEA TOT MHT. Curses are like young chicken, they 
 always come home to roost. London: printed for Longman, 
 Hurst, Rees, Orme, and Brown, Paternoster-row, by James 
 Ballantyne and Co. Edinburgh. 1810. 
 
 Second edition, London 1812:2 Third [?]: Fom-th, London 1818: 
 Others, London 1853 :i London 1886 :i New York 1811. 
 
318 THE EARLY LIFE OF ROBERT SOUTHEY 
 
 History of Brazil; by Robert Southey. Pajt the First. London; 
 
 Printed for Longman, Hurst, Rees, and Orme, Paternoster-row. 
 
 1810. 
 
 Part the Second, 1817. 
 
 Part the Third, 1819. 
 
 Part the First, Second edition, 1822. 
 Omniana, or Horae Otiosiores. Vol. I. [XL] London: printed for 
 
 Longman, Hurst, Rees, Orme, and Brown, Paternoster Row. 
 
 1812. 
 
 Pubhshed anonymously. Forty-five contributions are by Cole- 
 ridge, and are marked with an asterisk in the table of contents. 
 The remaining number, two hundred and one, are by Southey. 
 Some of the latter's contributions were previously published in 
 The Athenceum Magazine. 
 
 The Life of Nelson, by Robert Southey./ . . . "Bursting thro' the 
 gloom/ With radiant glory from thy trophied tomb,/ The sacred 
 splendour of thy deathless name/ ShaU grace and guard thy 
 Country's martial fame./ Far-seen shall blaze the unextin- 
 guish'd ray,/ A mighty beacon, lighting Glory's way;/ With 
 living lustre this proud Land adorn,/ And shine and save, thro' 
 ages yet unborn."/ Uhn and Trafalgar. In Two Volumes. 
 Vol. I. [IL] London: printed for John Murray, bookseller to 
 the Admiralty and to the Board of Longitude, 50, Albemarle 
 Street. 1813. 
 
 Later editions have been very numerous. No less than twenty- 
 two 1 appeared between 1843 and 1894, and there have been many 
 others since in Great Britain and America. 
 
 Roderick, The Last of the Goths, by Robert Southey, Esq. Poet 
 Laureate, and Member of the Royal Spanish Academy. Lon- 
 don: printed for Longman, Hurst, Rees, Orme, and Brown. 
 Paternoster-Row, by James Ballantyne and Co. Edinburgh, 
 1814. 
 
 Second edition, London 1815: Third, London 1815:^ Fourth, Lon- 
 don 1816: Fifth, London 1818: Sixth, London 1826 :i Another, 
 Philadelphia 1815: Translated into French 1820, 1821; into Dutch 
 1823-1824. 
 
 Odes to His Royal Highness The Prince Regent, His Imperial 
 Majesty The Emperor of Russia, and His Majesty The King of 
 
APPENDIX A 319 
 
 Prussia By Robert Southey, Esq. Poet-Laureate. London: 
 Printed for Longman, Hurst, Rees, Orme, and Brown, Pater- 
 noster Row. 1814. 
 
 Second edition, London, 1821, with the title, "Carmen Triumphale, 
 for the Commencement of the year 1814. Carmen AuHca. Written 
 in 1814 on the Arrival of the AUied Sovereigns in England." 
 
 The Minor Poems of Robert Southey. Nos haec novimus esse nihil. 
 In three volumes Vol. I. [II. III.] London: printed for Long- 
 man, Hurst, Rees, Orme, and Brown, Paternoster-Row 1815. 
 
 Second edition, London 1823. In these volumes were reprinted the 
 Poems of 1797 and of 1799 and the Metrical Tales of 1805. 
 
 The Poet's Pilgrimage to Waterloo: by Robert Southey. Esq. Poet 
 Laureate, Member of the Royal Spanish Academy, and of the 
 Royal Spanish Academy of History. /EvavOea b^ava^aaoixai/ 
 UtoKov aiicf)' dpera /Ke\a8e(x)v./ Pindar. Pyth. 2. London: 
 printed for Longman, Hurst, Rees, Orme, and Brown, Pater- 
 noster Row. 1816. 
 
 Second edition, London 1816: Others, New York 1816, Boston 
 Mass. 1816. 
 
 The Lay of the Laureate. Carmen Nuptiale, by Robert Southey, 
 Esq. Poet Laureate, Member of the Royal Spanish Academy, 
 and of the Royal Spanish Academy of History. London: 
 Printed for Longman, Hurst, Rees, Orme, and Brown, Pater- 
 noster Row. 1816. 
 
 The Byrth, Lyf, and Actes of King Arthur; of his noble knyghtes 
 of the rounde table, theyr merveyllous enquestes and aduentures, 
 Thachyeuyng of the Sane Greal; and in the end Le Morte 
 Darthur, with the dolorous deth and departyng out of thys 
 worlde of them al. With an introduction and notes, by Robert 
 Southey, Esq. Vol. I. [II.] [Engraving] London: printed from 
 Caxton's Edition, 1485, for Longman, Hurst, Orme, and Brown, 
 Paternoster-Row. by Thomas Davison, Whitefriars. 1817. 
 
 Wat Tyler, a Dramatic Poem, in three acts. ''Thus ever did rebel- 
 lion find rebuke." Shakespeare. London: printed for Sher- 
 wood, Neely, and Jones, Paternoster-Row. 1817. 
 
 This is apparently the first edition, for it was against "Sherwood 
 and others" that Southey tried to get an injunction restraining 
 
320 THE EARLY LIFE OF ROBERT SOUTHEY 
 
 them from publication of the poem (March 18, 19, 1817, Merivale 
 Reports II 435). In the trial it appeared that Sherwood printed 
 the piece from a manuscript the history of which was obscure, but 
 he denied having any property or copyright in the production, and 
 Lord Eldon, in refusing the injunction, denied any rights to the 
 author on the ground that the work was of a nature dangerous to 
 the pubhc weKare. The consequence of this decision was the pub- 
 lication of numerous editions by numerous booksellers in London 
 and elsewhere, some of which are here Usted. 
 
 Wat Tyler; a dramatic poem. A new edition. With a Preface, 
 suitable to recent circumstances. /Come, listen to a Tale of 
 Times of Old! / Come, for ye know me — I am he who sung/ 
 The ''Maid of Arc," and I am he who fram'd/ Of ''Thalaba" 
 the wild and wondrous song./ Southey! /And I was once like 
 this! .../... Twenty years/ Have wrought strange altera- 
 tion./ Southey!!! London: Printed for W. Hone, 67, Old 
 Bailey, and 55, Fleet Street. 1817. 
 
 A shp of paper, sewed into the binding of the copy of this pamphlet 
 which I have examined, contains the following: 
 Wat Tyler. Price 3s 6d. Printed for W. Hone, 67. Old Bailey 
 and 55, Fleet Street.*** This is the Genuine Edition, carefully and 
 literally reprinted, verbatim, (not a word being omitted), carefully 
 collated with the Original, and enlarged by the addition of a new 
 PREFACE, suitable to present Circumstances. Orders should be given 
 expressly in these words — "hone's edition of wat tyler, with a 
 New Preface, 3s. 6d." 
 
 Other editions, London 1817, were published by John Fairburn,^ 
 W. T. Sherwin, T. Broom,^ and by various other persons at dates 
 uncertain. 
 
 A Letter to William Smith, Esq. M. P. from Robert Southey, Esq. 
 London: John Murray, Albemarle Street. 1817. 
 Third edition, London 1817: Fourth, London 1817. 
 
 The Life of Wesley; and the Rise and Progress of Methodism. By 
 Robert Southey, Esq. Poet Laureate, Member of the Royal 
 Spanish Academy, of the Royal Spanish Academy of History, 
 and of the Royal Institute of the Netherlands, &c. Read not 
 to contradict and confute; nor to believe and take for granted; 
 nor to find talk and discourse : but to weigh and consider. Lord 
 Bacon. In two Volumes. London: Printed for Longman, 
 Hurst, Rees, Orme, and Browoi, Paternoster-Row. 1820. 
 
APPENDIX A 321 
 
 Second edition, London 1820: Third, "with notes by ... S. T. 
 Coleridge . . . , and remarks on the life and character of J. Wesley, 
 by ... A. Knox. Edited by ... C. C. Southey, London 1846 '.^ 
 Other editions, London 1858,^ 1864,^ 1889,^ New York 1820. 
 
 A Vision of Judgement, by Robert Southey, Esq. LL.D. Poet Lau- 
 reate; Member of the Royal Spanish Academy, of the Royal 
 Spanish Academy of History, and of the Royal Institute of the 
 Netherlands, &c. London: printed for Longman, Hurst, Rees, 
 Orme, and Brown, Paternoster-Row 1821. 
 
 Another edition, London n. d.: Appeared also in "A Vision of 
 Judgment; by Robert Southey, Esq. L.L.D. Author of Wat 
 Tyler, also a Vision of Judgment; by Lord Byron. My bane and 
 antidote are both before me. Third edition, London: printed and 
 published by W. Dugdale, 23, Russel Court, Drury Lane, 1824." 
 and in "The Two Visions or Byron v. Southey . . . New York 
 1823." 
 
 The Expedition of Orsua; and the Crimes of Aguirre. by Robert 
 Southey, Esq. LL.D. Poet Laureate: Member of the Royal 
 Spanish Academy, of the Royal Spanish Academy of History, 
 of the Royal Institute of the Netherlands, of the Cymmrodorion, 
 &c. London: printed for Longman, Hurst, Rees, Orme, and 
 Brown, Paternoster-Row. 1821. 
 
 Reprinted from The Edinburgh Annual Register, v. 3, pt. 2. 
 
 History of The Peninsular War. by Robert Southey, Esq. LL.D. 
 Poet Laureate, Honorary Member of the Royal Spanish Acad- 
 emy, of the Royal Spanish Academy of History, of the Royal 
 Institute of the Netherlands, of the Cymmrodorion, of the 
 Massachusetts Historical Society, &c. In Three Volumes. 
 Vol. I. London: John Murray, Albemarle-Street. 1823. 
 Vol. II. 1827. 
 Vol. III. 1832. 
 
 A new edition in six volumes, London, Vols. I-IV 1828, Vols. V-VI 
 1837. 
 
 The Book of the Church, by Robert Southey, Esq. LL.D. Poet 
 Laureate, Honorary Member of the Royal Spanish Academy, of 
 the Royal Spanish Academy of History, of the Royal Institute 
 of the Netherlands, of the Cymmrodorion, of the Massachusetts 
 
322 THE EARLY LIFE OF ROBERT SOUTHEY 
 
 Historical Society, of the American Antiquarian Society, of the 
 Royal Irish Academy, of the Bristol Philosophical and Literary 
 Society, &c. In Two Volmnes. Vol. I. [IL] London: John 
 Murray, Albemarle-Street. mdcccxxiv. 
 
 Second Edition, London 1824: Third, London 1825: Fourth, Lon- 
 don 1837:1 Fifth, London 1841 :i Sixth, London 1848: Seventh, 
 London 1859 :i Others, London 1869,^ 1885,^ Boston 1825. 
 
 A Tale of Paraguay, by Robert Southey, Esq.LL.D. Poet Laureate, 
 Member of the Royal Spanish Academy, of the Royal Spanish 
 Academy of History, of the Royal Institute of the Netherlands, 
 of the Cymrodorion, of the American Antiquarian Society, of 
 the Royal Irish Academy, of the Bristol Philosophical and 
 Literary Society, &c. &c. /Go forth, my little book!/ Go forth, 
 and please the gentle and the good./ Wordsworth. London: 
 printed for Longman, Hurst, Rees, Orme, Brown, and Green, 
 Paternoster-row, 1825. 
 
 Second edition, London 1828: another, Boston Mass. 1827. 
 
 Vindiciae Ecclesiae Anglicanae. Letters to Charles Butler, Esq. 
 comprising Essays on the Romish Religion and vindicating the 
 Book of the Church, by Robert Southey, Esq. LL.D. Poet Lau- 
 reate, Honorary Member of the Royal Spanish Academy, of 
 the Royal Spanish Academy of History, of the Roj^al Institute 
 of the Netherlands, of the Cymmrodorion, of the Massachusetts 
 Historical Society, of the American Antiquarian Society, of the 
 Royal Irish Academy, of the Bristol Philosophical and Literary 
 Society, of the Metropohtan Institution, of the Philomathic 
 Institution, &c. London: John Murray, Albemarle-Street. 
 
 MDCCCXXVI. 
 
 All for Love; and the Pilgrim to Compostella. by Robert Southey, 
 Esq. LL.D. Poet Laureate, &c. London: John Murray, Albe- 
 marle Street, mdcccxxix. 
 
 Sir Thomas More: or. Colloquies on the Progress and Prospects of 
 Society, by Robert Southey, Esq. LL.D. Poet Laureate. Hon- 
 orary Member of the Royal Spanish Academy, of the Royal 
 Spanish Academy of History, of the Royal Institute of the 
 Netherlands, of the Cymmrodorion, of the Massachusetts His- 
 torical Society, of the American Antiquarian Society, of the 
 
APPENDIX A 323 
 
 Royal Irish Academy, of the Bristol Philosophical and Literary 
 Society, of the MetropoHtan Institution, of the Philomathic 
 Institution, &c. Respice, Aspice, Prospice. — St. Bernard. With 
 plates, in two volumes. London: John Murray, Albemarle- 
 Street. mdcccxxix. 
 
 Second edition, 1831. 
 
 The Poetical Works of Robert Southey. Complete in one volume, 
 [device] Paris Published by A.and W. GaHgnani N° 18, Rue 
 Vivienne 1829. 
 
 Another edition, n. d. 
 
 The Pilgrim's Progress, with a Life of John Bunyan by Robert 
 Southey, Esq. LL.D. Poet Laureate, &c. &c. &c. Illustrated 
 with engravings, [device] London: John Murray, Albemarle- 
 Street, and John Major, Fleet-Street, m.dccc.xxx. 
 
 Second edition, London 1839 : Others, London 1844, Boston Mass. 
 1832, New York 1837, 1846. 
 
 Select Works of the British Poets, from Chaucer to Jonson, with Bio- 
 graphical Sketches by Robert Southey Esq^.. L. L. D. [Device] 
 London. Printed for Longman, Rees, Orme, Brown and Green. 
 Paternoster Row, 1831. 
 
 Attempts in Verse, by John Jones, an old servant: with some 
 account of the writer, written by himseK and an introductory 
 essay on the lives and works of our uneducated poets, by Robert 
 Southey, Esq. Poet Laureate. London: John Murray, Albe- 
 marle Street, mdcccxxxi. 
 
 Another edition, London 1836. 
 
 Essays, Moral and Political, by Robert Southey, Esq. LL.D. Poet 
 Laureate, &c. Now first collected: in two volumes. /Here 
 shalt thou have the service of my pen, /The tongue of my best 
 thoughts./ Daniel. London: John Murray, Albemarle Street. 
 
 MDCCCXXXII. 
 
 Lives of the British Admirals, with an Introductory view of the 
 Naval History of England, by Robert Southey, LL.D. Poet 
 Laureate. Vol. I. [Engraving, H. Corbauld, del. — E. Finden, 
 sc] London: printed for Longman, Rees, Orme, Brown, Green 
 
324 THE EARLY LIFE OF ROBERT SOUTHEY 
 
 & Longman, Paternoster Row. and John Taylor, Upper Gower 
 Street. 1833. 
 Vol. II. 1833. 
 Vol. III. 1834. 
 Vol. IV. 1837. 
 
 Continued by Robt. BeU, Esqr. Vol. V. 1840. 
 Letter to John Murray, Esq., "touching" Lord Nugent; in reply 
 to a letter from his lordship, touching an article in the "Quar- 
 terly Review." by the author of that article. /"I have been 
 libell'd, Murray, as thou know'st, /Through all degrees of 
 calumny!"/ Southey's Epistle to Allan Cunningham. London: 
 John Murray, Albemarle Street, mdcccxxxiii. 
 Pubhshed anonymously. 
 
 The Doctor, &c. [device] Vol. I. London: Longman, Rees, Orme, 
 
 Brown, Green, and Longman. 1834. 
 
 Vol. II [1834] 
 
 Vol. III. 1835. 
 
 Vol. IV. 1837. 
 
 VoLV. 1838. 
 
 Vol. VI-VII. 1847, edited by John Wood Warter. 
 Third edition Vols. I-II, London 1839: Another, Vols. I-II, New 
 York 1836: An edition in one volume edited by J. W. Warter, 
 London 1848, 1853, 1856, 1862, 1864, 1865: Others, New York 
 1836, 1856, 1872. 
 
 Horae Lyricae. Poems, chiefly of the Lyric Kind, in three books. 
 Sacred to devotion and piety, — to virtue, honour, and friend- 
 ship. — to the memory of the dead, by Isaac Watts, D.D. to 
 which is added a supplement, containing translations of all the 
 
 Latin poems, with notes, by Thomas Gibbons, D.D. / Si 
 
 non Uranie lyram/ Coelestem cohibet, nee Polyhymnia/ Hu- 
 manrnn refugit tendere barbiton./ Hor. Od. I. Imitat. With a 
 Memoir of the Author, by Robert Southey, Esq, LL. D. London: 
 John Hatcherd and Son, Piccadilly; Whittaker and Co. Ave. 
 Maria Lane; Simpkin and Marshall, Stationers' Court; Talboys, 
 Oxford; Deighton, Cambridge; Oliver and Boyd, Edinburgh: 
 and Gumming, Dublin, mdcccxxxiv. in The Sacred Classics: 
 or. Cabinet Library of Divinity. Edited by the Rev. R. Cat- 
 termole, B. D. and the Rev. H. Stebbing, M. A. Vol. IX. 
 
APPENDIX A 325 
 
 Life and Works of William Cowper, by Robert Southey, Esq. 
 L. L. D. Vol. I. [Engraving, W. Harvey-E. Goodall] London: 
 Baldwin and Cradock, Paternoster Row. 1835. [Half-title]. 
 
 The Works of William Cowper, Esq. comprising his Poems, Cor- 
 respondence, and Translations. With a Life of the Author, by 
 the editor, Robert Southey, Esq. LL.D. Poet Laureate, Etc. 
 London: Baldwin and Cradock, Paternoster Row. 1835. 
 [FuU-title]. 
 Vols. II-IX 1836. 
 Vols.X-XV 1837. 
 Second edition, London 1853-1855: Another, Boston 1839. 
 
 The Poetical Works of Robert Southey, collected by himself. In 
 ten volumes. Vol. L[II.]] London: printed for Longman, Orme, 
 Brown, Green, & Longmans, Paternoster-Row. 1837. 
 Vols. III-X 1838. 
 
 This edition, or various volumes of this edition, was reissued, with 
 and without date, in London by Longman at frequent intervals 
 during the ten or twelve years after the poet's death. Another 
 edition. New York 1839. An edition in one volume appeared in 
 London 1850,^ 1863, 1873; PhHadelphia 1846, New York 1848, 
 1853, 1856. 
 
 The Life of the Rev. Andrew Bell. D.D. LL.D. F. As. S. F. R. S. Ed. 
 Prebendary of Westminster, and Master of Sherburn Hospital, 
 Durham. Comprising the history of the rise and progress of 
 the system of mutual tuition. The first volume by Robert 
 Southey, Esq., P.L., LL.D. edited by Mrs. Southey. The two 
 last by his son, the Rev. Charles Cuthbert Southey, B.A., of 
 Queen's College, Oxford, perpetual curate of Setmurthy, and 
 assistant curate and evening lecturer of Cockermouth. In three 
 Volumes. Vol. I. [11. III.]| John Murray, London; William 
 Blackwood & Sons, Edinburgh, m.dccc.xliv. 
 
 The Life of OHver Cromwell. 
 
 In the hst of Southey's works given in lAje, VI, 397, this work is 
 mentioned as pubhshed in London, 1814. This is doubtless an 
 error. In The Quarterly Review, July 1821, v. 25, 279-347, there 
 appeared an article by Southey entitled Life of Cromwell, a review 
 of four works on Cromwell. This was reprinted in Murray's Home 
 and Colonial Library, London, 1844, along with Southey's Life of 
 Bunyan, q. v. 
 
326 THE EARLY LIFE OF ROBERT SOUTHEY 
 
 Oliver Newman: A New-England Tale (Unfinished): With Other 
 Poetical Remains. By the Late Robert Southey. [[Edited by 
 H. Hill] London: Longman, Brown, Green, & Longmans, 
 Paternoster Row. 1845. 
 
 Robin Hood: a fragment, by the late Robert Southey, and Carohne 
 Southey. with other fragments and poems By R. S. & C. S. 
 WiUiam Blackwood and Sons, Edinburgh and London, m.dccc- 
 
 XLVII. 
 
 Southey's Common Place Book, [[engraving E. W. Wyon] /Oderat 
 hie urbes: nitidaque remotus ab aula/ Secretos montes, et 
 inambitiosa colebat/ Rura: nee Iliacos coetus, nisi rarus, adibat./ 
 Ovid Met XI 765. London. Longman, Brown, Green, & 
 Longmans, Paternoster Row 1849. [Half-title]. 
 
 Southey's Common-place Book. First Series. Choice passages. 
 Collections for English manners and literature. Edited by his 
 son-in-law, John Wood Warter, B.D. Second Edition. London : 
 Longman, Brown, Green, and Longmans. 1850. [[Full-title] 
 Second Series. Special Collections. 1849, 1850. 
 Third Series. Analytical Readings 1850. 
 Fourth Series. Original Memoranda, etc. 1850. 
 
 Journal of a Tour in the Netherlands in the autumn of 1815 by 
 Robert Southey with an introduction by W. Robertson Nicoll 
 [[device] William Heinemann London m dcccc hi. 
 
 First edition, Houghton Mifflin Co., Boston, 1902. 
 
APPENDIX B 
 
 Joan of Akc 
 
 A list of the works cited or probably referred to in the preface and 
 notes to the first edition of Joan of Arc. 
 
 Note: Southey's usual practice was to refer to his source only 
 by the last name of the author or in some other abbreviated way. 
 In many cases, therefore, it has been impossible to trace his allusion 
 with complete certainty. It has also been impossible in many 
 cases to state exactly the edition used by Southey, but I have 
 attempted to give the date of the first edition of each work cited 
 and, in the case of foreign works, of the first Enghsh edition or 
 • translation, or of the first EngHsh edition or translation prior to 
 the pubhcation of the poem. 
 
 An asterisk signifies that the title occurs with the date indicated 
 in the "Catalogue of the Valuable Library of the Late Robert 
 Southey . . . which will be sold by auction . . . by . . . Sotheby & 
 Co . . . [London] 1844." 
 
 Information has been taken, unless otherwise indicated, either 
 from the books themselves or from the British Museum Catalogue 
 of Printed Books. 
 
 BOOKS OF CURIOUS AND HISTORICAL 
 INFORMATION 
 
 Andrews, James Pettit. The History of Great Britain connected 
 with the Chronology of Europe; . . . London 1794*. 
 
 The notes which Southey cites from J. de Paris [sic] and from Mem. 
 de Richemont [sic], and the note concerning the Priace of Orleans 
 are taken verbatim from this work. 
 
 Clarendon, Hugh. A new and authentic History of England ... to 
 
 the close of the year 1767. London (1770?). 
 Clavigero, Francisco Saverio. Storia antica del Messico, . . , 
 
 Cesena 1780*-81. Tr. mto English by CuUen, London 1787. 
 Cranz, David. Historie von Gronland . . . Barby 1765. Tr. into 
 
 English, London 1767.* 
 
 327 
 
328 THE EARLY LIFE OF ROBERT SOUTHEY 
 
 Fuller, Thomas. The holy and profane State*. Cambridge 1642; 
 London 1652. The Historie of the Holy Warre; . . . Cambridge 
 1639; 4 ed. 1651*. 
 
 Southey Sale Catalogue gives the two preceding works together 
 under the date Cambridge 1651. 
 
 Gillies, John. The History of Ancient Greece, . . . London 1786*. 
 Goodwin, Thomas. The history of the reign of Henry the Fifth, 
 
 . . . London 1704-03. 
 Grose, Francis. Military Antiquities . . . London 1786-88, 1812*. 
 Holinshed, Raphael. The Chronicles of England, Scotlande and 
 
 Irelande. London 1577. 
 Hume, David. The History of England . , . London 1754-1761 
 
 (Dictionary of National Biography); 1762; 1789*. 
 L'Averdy, Clement Charles Frangois de. Notices et Extraits des 
 
 Manuscrits de la Bibliotheque du Roi, Paris 1790. 
 
 Southey refers to this work in his preface but had not seen it at 
 the time of the first edition of Joan of Arc. 
 
 Leemius, (Leem, Knute). de Lapponibus . . . Copenhagen 1767. 
 Mezeray, Fr. Eudes de. Histoire de France . . . Paris 1643-51. 
 Millin, Aubin-Louis. Antiquites Nationales . . . Paris 1790-(1799). 
 Monstrelet, Enguerrand de. . . . Des Croniques de France, . . . 
 
 (1380-1467). Paris (1500?). 
 Newton, Sir Isaac. Opticks . . . London 1704; many later editions. 
 
 Translated into French, Amsterdam 1720; Paris 1722. 
 
 The Southey Sale Catalogue gives an edition Paris 1702, probably 
 an error for 1722. 
 
 Paris, J. de. See Andrews, J. P. 
 
 Rapin-Thoyras, Paul de. Histoire d'Angleterre. La Haye 1724- 
 36. Tr. with notes by N. Tindal, London 1726-1731, 1732*. 
 
 . . . Acta Regia; or. An Account of the Treaties, Letters and In- 
 struments between the Monarchs of England and Foreign 
 Powers. Publish'd in Mr. Rjoner's Foedera, . . . from the 
 French of M. Rapin, as publish'd by M. Le Clerc . . . London 
 1726-1727. 
 
 Richemont, Mem. de. See Andrews, J. P. 
 
APPENDIX B 329 
 
 SOURCES OF LITERARY ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 The following omissions have been made in this list: references 
 in the preface to Homer, Virgil, Statins, Lucan, Tasso, Ariosto, 
 Camoens, Spenser, Milton, Pope, Cowper, and Glover; refer- 
 ences in the notes to Southey's portion of the poem to Quarles, 
 Lucan, Goethe's Werther, Revelations, Isaiah, Coleridge's Condones 
 ad Populum and Poems (1796), and an essay in The Flagellant 
 by P [eter the] H[ermit3, pseudonym of G. C. Bedford; a reference 
 in the notes to Coleridge's portion of the poem to his Greek Ode on 
 the Slave-trade with a translation by Southey. 
 
 Boileau-Despreaux, Nicolas. Satires du sieur D****. Paris 1666- 
 
 68. 
 . . . (Euvres . . . (graves de Picart.) Amsterdam 1718, La Haye 
 
 1722*. 
 Chapelain, Jean. La Pucelle ou la France Delivree . . . Paris 1656*. 
 Southey refers to this work in his, preface but had not seen it at 
 the time of the first edition of Joan of Arc. 
 
 Chm-ton, Ralph. Eight Sermons . . . preached . . . Oxford . . .1785 
 
 at the lecture founded by John Bampton. Oxford 1785. 
 Cottle, Amos S. Icelandic Poetry, or the Edda of Saemund translated 
 
 into English verse, . . . Bristol 1797*. 
 D'Aubignac, Hedelin, abb^. La Pucelle d'Orleans, trag^die en 
 
 prose . . . Paris 1642.^ {Bibliotheque National; Catalogue General.) 
 Mesnardiere, Jules de la; or, Mainardiere, Pilet de la; attrib. to. 
 
 La Pucelle d'Orleans, Trag^die. Paris 1642.^ 
 Mistere du si^ge d'Orleans, . . . manuscrit conserve a la Biblioth. 
 
 du Vatican . . . (pub. 1862) .i 
 Modern Amazon, The.^ Southey probably refers to the following: 
 
 Le jeune, le P., canon of Orleans. L'Amazone frangaise . . , 
 
 par le P. Neon dit le Philopole [Pseud, for above]. Orleans 
 
 1721; Rouen 1729. (Pierre Landry D'Arc, Le Livre d'Or de 
 
 Jeanne d' Arc.) 
 Orleans, The Prince of. See Andrews, J. P. 
 Voltaire, F. Arouet de. La Pucelle. 1755; many later eds. 
 
 (Lanery as above). 
 
 Southey refers to this title in his preface, but had not read the work 
 itself. 
 
 1 Southey mentions these titles in his preface, but it does not 
 appear that he had seen the works themselves. 
 
APPENDIX C 
 
 Thalaba 
 
 A list of the works cited or probably referred to in the notes to the 
 first edition of Thalaba. 
 
 Note: See note to Appendix B. 
 
 BOOKS OF ANTIQUARIAN AND CURIOUS 
 INFORMATION 
 
 Abyssinian historian. 
 
 The note in which allusion is made to an Abyssinian historian is 
 taken practically verbatim from James Bruce, q. v. 
 
 Admirable Curiosities etc. See Burton. 
 
 Aelianus. See Mexia. 
 
 Argens, Jean-Baptiste de Boyer, Marquis d'. Lettres juives, . . . 
 
 La Haye 1736; Eng. trans. London 1739, Dublin 1753, London 
 
 1766-65. 
 Buff on, G. L., Leclerc, Comte de. Histoire Naturelle des Min^raux 
 
 . . . Paris 1783-88. Many later editions and translations. 
 Burnet, Thomas. Telluris Theoria Sacra. London 1681-89; trans. 
 
 into English by the author with additions, London 1684-89 
 
 (Dictionary of National Biography). Many later editions. 
 Burton, R. (pseud, of Nathaniel Crouch.) Admirable Curiosities, 
 
 Rarities, and Wonders in Great Britain and Ireland . . . 10th. 
 
 ed. London 1737. 
 Carlos Magno, Historia do Imperador, etc. See Turpin. 
 Davies, J. History of Magic. See Naude. 
 Eleazar, Rabbi. 
 
 Reference unlocated. 
 
 English Martyrologe, The. (John Watson?) . . . 1608. 
 Fuller, Thomas. See Appendix B. 
 
 Garcia Lasso de la Vega . . . Los Commentaries Reales, que tratan 
 
 330 
 
APPENDIX C 331 
 
 del origen de los Yncas, Reyes que fueron del Peru, . . . Lisboa 
 
 1609; trans, into Eng. London 1688. 
 Godwin, ^or GodwynJ Thomas. Moses and Aaron. Civil and 
 
 Ecclesiastical Rites, used by the ancient Hebrews; . . . 1625 
 
 {Die. Nat. Biog.) ; second ed. London 1626. 
 Grimstone, Edward. A Generall Historie of the Netherlands . . . 
 
 London 1608*. 
 Grose, Francis. A Provincial Glossary; with a collection of . . . 
 
 popular Superstitions, London 1787; enlarged 1790. 
 Heeren, [Heering], Professor, of Gottingen. On Transplanting the 
 
 Camel to the Cape of Good Hope; . . . Month. Mag. v. 8, Jan. 1, 
 
 1800. 
 Jortin, John. Sermons, 7 vols., London 1787. 
 Leonardus, Camillus. Speculum Lapidum, Venetiis 1502; The 
 
 Mirror of Stones; . . . Now first translated into Enghsh. Lon- 
 don 1750. 
 Lettres Juives. See Argens. 
 Margarita Philosophica. See Reisch. 
 Matthew of Westminster. See Paris. 
 Mexia, Pedro. The treasurie of auncient and moderne times, . . . 
 
 (from) . . . Pedro Mexia and Francesco Sansovino, (etc) . . . 
 
 London 1613-19*. 
 Naude, Gabriel. Apologie pour tons les Grands Personnages qui 
 
 ont est6 faussemment soupgonnez de Magie. Paris 1625; trans. 
 
 into Eng. by John Davies of Kidwelly {Catalogue of the Library 
 
 of Peabody Institute, Baltimore) as The History of Magick, by 
 
 way of apology for all the wise men who have unjustly been 
 
 reputed magicians, . . . London 1657. 
 Nuremburg Chronicle. See Schedel. 
 Paris, Matthew. Historia Major (or Chronica Majora). First 
 
 printed London 1571; many later editions. Continuous with 
 
 Flores Historiarum, first printed London 1567; with additions 
 
 London 1570. Ascribed to Matthew of Westminster. 
 Reisch, Gregorius. Margarita Philosophica, . . . Strasbourg 1504 
 
 (1505 n. s.); Basileae 1535*. 
 Saxonis Grammatici Historiae Danicae libri XVI. Stephanus 
 
 lohannis Stephanius summo studio recognovit, . . . Sorae 1644- 
 
 45; another ed. Lipsiae 1771. 
 
332 THE EARLY LIFE OF ROBERT SOUTHEY 
 
 Schedel, Hartmann. Nuremburg Chronicle, Nuremburg 1493. 
 
 Setphanius [sic]. See Saxonis. 
 
 Smellie, William. The Philosophy of Natural History, Edinburgh 
 
 1790-99*. 
 Treasury, . . . See Mexia. 
 Tristan L'Hermite, Fr. Plaidoyers historiques; . . . Paris .1643; 
 
 Lyon 1650 {Manuel du Libraire . . . J. C. Brunet). 
 Turpin, archeveque de Reims (Attributed to). Cronique et His- 
 
 toire . . . du . . . Roy Charles le grat . . . Paris 1527. Many 
 
 later editions and translations. 
 
 Southey quotes the title in Portuguese and may have used the 
 translation into that language by J. Moreira de Carvalho, Lisbon 
 1800-1799. 
 
 Universal History, An, from the earliest account of time to the 
 present: compiled from original authors ... 23 vols. London 
 1736-65; another ed. 1747-; an ed. in 26 vols. 1740-65*. 
 
 ORIENTAL AND PSEUDO-ORIENTAL SOURCES 
 
 Arabian Nights Entertainments, trans, from A. Galland, Les Mille 
 
 et Une Nuits, Contes Arabes, traduits en Frangois . . . 1704-; 
 
 another ed. in Le Cabinet des F^es 1785-86; trans, into English 
 
 1713 (fourth ed.) ; many later eds. and translations. 
 Arabian Tales. La suite des Mille et Une Nuits, Contes Arabes, 
 
 tr. par Dom Chavis et M. Cazotte, in Le Cabinet des F^es, . . . 
 
 Paris 1788-89; trans, into English by R. Heron 1792; another 
 
 ed. 1794. 
 Asiatic Researches, . . . Calcutta 1788-1839 {Catalogtie of the Library 
 
 of Congress); 12 vols. 1801-11*. 
 Bahar-Danush; or. Garden of Knowledge, . . . Inatulla, Trans, from 
 
 the Persic ... by Jonathan Scott, Shrewsbury 1799*. 
 Beckford, William. Vathek, . . . trans, from the French with notes 
 
 by S. Henley, London 1786*; pub. in French 1787. 
 Caherman Nameh or History of Caherman. Quoted from D'Her- 
 
 belot, q. V. 
 Carlyle, J. D. Specimens of Arabian Poetry . . . Cambridge 1796. 
 D'Herbelot, Barth^l^mi, concluded bj Antoine Galland. Biblio- 
 
 theque Orientale, ... La Haye 1777-79. First ed. Paris 1697; 
 
 Maestricht 1776*. 
 
APPENDIX C 333 
 
 Ferdusi. See Jones, Traits sur la Po^sie Orientale. 
 
 Hafez. Quoted from Jones, Poeseos, q. v. 
 
 Hau Kiou Choan; or, the pleasing History. A translation from the 
 
 Chinese . . . [by James Wilkinson] London 1761 (Ed. by Thomas 
 
 Percy). 
 
 Die. Nat. Biog. states that this work was translated by Percy from 
 a Portuguese manuscript. 
 
 Jones, Sir William. 
 
 Traits sur la Po^sie Orientale, 1770 {Die. Nat. Biog.). 
 
 Includes an abstract of Channame [Ferdusi] with illustrative 
 extracts in French. 
 
 Poems, consisting chiefly of translations from Asiatic Languages, 
 . . . [with] . . . two Essays on the Poetry of the Eastern 
 Nations, and on the Arts called Imitative, 1772; 1777. 
 Poeseos Asiaticae Commentariorum libri sex . . . London 1774; 
 
 Lipsiae 1777. 
 Works, ed. by Lord Teignmouth and Lady Jones, 6 vols. 1799; 
 two supplementary vols. 1801; Memoirs 1804; Works (in- 
 cluding aU the above) 13 vols. 1807; an ed. with date not 
 given, 13 vols*. 
 Koran. See Sale. 
 
 Lamai. Quoted from D'Herbelot, q. v. 
 Moallakat. See Jones. 
 Marraci, Ludovicus. Alcorani textus universus ... in Latinum 
 
 translatus, . . . Patavii 1698; Leipzig 1721. 
 Poeseos Asiaticae Commentarii. See Jones. 
 
 Sale, George. The Koran, commonly called the Alcoran of Mo- 
 hammed, trans, into English immediately from the original 
 Arabic, with Explanatory Notes, taken from the most approved 
 commentators, to which is prefixed a Preliminary Discourse, 
 London 1734; new ed. Bath 1795*. 
 Scott, Jonathan. See Bahar-Danush. 
 Scott, Major. 
 
 Identity not estabhshed. Southey may refer to Jonathan Scott 
 (see Bahar-Danush) or to his brother Major John Scott- Waring, 
 author of several works on affairs in British India. 
 
334 THE EARLY LIFE OF ROBERT SOUTHEY 
 
 HISTORIES AND DESCRIPTIONS OF STRANGE LANDS, 
 AND BOOKS OF TRAVEL 
 
 Ambassadors' Travels. See Olearius. 
 
 Astley, T. A New General Collection of Voyages and Travels . . . 
 London 1745-47. Includes, The Journey of Anthony Gaubil, 
 Jesuit, from Kanton to Pe-king in 1722. 
 
 Bartolomeo, Fra Paolino da San (Philipp Weredin). Viaggio alle 
 Indie Orientah. Romae 1796; trans, into German 1798 (Kayser, 
 Bucher-Lexicon) ; trans, into English from the German by W. 
 Johnston, London 1800* {Lib. Cong.). 
 
 Bruce, James, of Kinnaird. Travels to discover the source of the 
 Nile, ... (in the years) . . . 1768-1773. Dublin 1790*. 
 
 Chandler, Richard. Travels in Asia Minor, , . . Oxford 1775 
 (Lib. Cong.); London 1776; 1817*. 
 
 Chardin, John. Voyages ... en Perse, et autres lieux de I'Orient, 
 Amsterdam 1711; enrichis de Figures . . . nouvelle ed. Amster- 
 dam 1735 (Lib. Cong.) ; an ed. of the first portion of the work, 
 London 1686; the first vol. trans, into Eng. 1686. Also in 
 Harris, q. v. 
 
 Chenier, Louis Sauveur de. Recherches historiques sur les Maures, 
 et histoire de TEmpire de Maroc, Paris 1787; trans, into Eng. 
 London 1788. 
 
 Churchill, Awnsham and John. A Collection of Voyages and 
 Travels, . . . London 1704-32; 1732; 1744*, 1752. 
 
 Dampier, William. A New Voyage romid the World . . . 1697*- 
 1709. Also in Harris, q. v. 
 Quoted by Southey as History of the Buccaneers. 
 
 De La Roque, Jean. Voyage de Syrie et du mont Liban: . . . Paris 
 
 1772; Amsterdam 1723*. 
 D'Ohsson, I. de M. Tableau general de FEmpire Othoman . . . 
 
 Paris 1787-1820; trans, into English, Philadelphia 1788; London 
 
 1789 (Lowndes, Bibliog. Manual). 
 Du Halde, Jean Baptiste. Description . . . de L'Empire de la 
 
 Chine . . . Paris 1735; trans, into English by R. Brooks, London 
 
 1736. 
 Fryer, John. New account of East India and Persia . . . 1672-81, 
 
 London 1698*. 
 
APPENDIX C 335 
 
 Gaubil. See Astley. 
 
 Gemelli-Careri, Giovanni Francesco. Giro del mondo . . . Napoli 
 
 1699-1700; trans, into English in Churchill, q. v. 
 Greaves, John. Pyramidographia : or, a description of the pyra- 
 mids in Aegypt, London 1646. Also in Churchill, q. v. 
 Guys, Pierre Augustin. Voyage litt^raire de la Grece, ou Lettres 
 
 sur les Grecs, . . . Paris 1771; nouvelle 6d. . . . augment^e . . . 
 
 1776; third ed. 1783* (Lib. Cong,). 
 Hakluyt, Richard. The Principal Navigations, Voyages, Traffiques, 
 
 and Discoveries of the English Nation . . . etc. 1598-1600*. 
 
 Includes: 
 
 The voyage of M. John Eldred to Tripolis in Syria by sea, and 
 from thence by land and river to Babylon, and Balsara. 
 Anno 1583. 
 
 The voyage of Master Cesar Frederick into the east India . . . 
 1563. 
 
 The voyages of M. Anthony Jenkinson. 
 
 The voyage of . . . Ralph Fitch ... to Goa in the East India, 
 . . . etc 1583-1591. 
 
 Voyage of . . . Odoricus to Asia Minor, Armenia . . . &c. 
 
 Certain letters in verse, written out of Moscovia by George 
 Tuberuile . . . 1568. 
 Hanway, Jonas. An Historical account of the British Trade over 
 
 the Caspian Sea; with Journal of Travels . . . London 1753*. 
 Irwin, Eyles. A series of adventures in the course of a voyage up 
 
 the Red-Sea, . . . in . . . 1777 . . ., London 1780. 
 Jackson, John. Journey from India towards England in the year 
 
 1797 . . . London 1799. 
 Jenkinson. See Hakluyt. 
 KnoUes, Richard. The Generall Historie of the Turkes . . . London 
 
 1603; 1610*. 
 Mandeville, Sir John. The Voiage and trauayle of, . . . London 
 
 1568. (The first English edition appeared about 1500.) Many 
 
 later editions, among them one in London 1725. 
 Mandelslo. See Olearius. 
 Marigny, L'abbe Augier de. 
 
 Histoire des Arabes sous le gouvernement des Califes, Paris 
 1750*; trans, into English, London 1758. 
 
336 THE EARLY LIFE OF ROBERT SOUTHEY 
 
 Histoire des Revolutions de rEmpire des Arabes, Paris 1750-52*. 
 Morgan, John. A complete history of Algiers, London [^1728*3- 
 
 1731. 
 Nieuhof, Jan. Het Gezantschap der Neeriandtsche Oost-Indihesc 
 Companie aan den grooten Tartarischen Cham . . ., Amsterdam 
 1665; 1693*; trans, into French, Leyden 1665*; mto Latin, 
 Amsterdam 1668*; mto English, London 1669; 1673. Also in 
 Astley and in Chm-chill, q. v. 
 Niebuhr, Carsten. 
 
 Beschreibung von Arabien . . . , Copenhagen 1772; trans, into 
 
 French, Copenhagen 1773; Amsterdam 1774*. 
 Reisebeschreibung nach Arabien . . . Copenhagen 1774; trans. 
 
 into French, 1776-80*; into EngUsh, Edinburgh 1792. 
 Recueil de questions . . . par Michaehs . . . , Amsterdam 1774* 
 
 {Brunei). 
 In the Southey Sale Catalogue the three works marked * are 
 included together under the date, Copenhagen 1774. 
 
 Norden, Frederic Louis. Voyage d'Egypt et de Nubie . . . Copen- 
 hague 1755; trans, into English ... by P. Templeman, London 
 1757. 
 
 Odoricus. See Hakluyt. 
 
 Olearius, Adam. The Voyages and Travels of the Ambassadors 
 sent by Frederick Duke of Holstein, to the Great Duke of 
 Muscovy, and the King of Persia . . . 1633-1639 . . . whereto 
 are added the Travels of John Albert de Mandelslo . . . from 
 Persia into the East Indies . . . Faithfully rendered into EngHsh 
 by John Davies of Kidwelly, London 1662*. Also in Harris, q. v. 
 
 Park, Mungo. Travels in the Interior districts of Africa . . . 1795 
 . . . 1797 . . . appendix ... by Major Rennell, London 1799. 
 
 Pausanius. Description of Greece . . . (Translated by Thos. 
 Taylor.) London 1794; 1824*. 
 
 P^rouse, J. F. Galaup de la. . Voyage . . . auteur du Monde . . . 
 r^dig^ par M. L. A. Milet-Mureau, Paris (1797); 1798; trans, 
 into English by J. Johnson, London 1798, 1799; another transla- 
 tion, London 1798. 
 
 Pococke, Richard. A Description of the East . . . London 1743-45. 
 
 Pontoppidan, Erik. The Natural History of Norway . . . (Trans, 
 from the Danish of 1552, 1753), London 1755. 
 
APPENDIX C 337 
 
 Purchas, Samuel. 
 
 Purchas his Pilgrimage; . . . London 1613; 1614; 1617; 1626; 
 n.d*. 
 
 Purchas his Pilgrimes, (Haklytus Posthumus), London 1625. 
 Rauwolf. 
 
 The note alluding to Rauwolf is quoted verbatim from the notes 
 to the Universal History, q. v. 
 
 Russell, Alexander. The Natural History of Aleppo . . ; London 
 
 1756; second ed. . . . enlarged . . . notes by Pat. Russel, London 
 
 1794*. 
 Shaw, Thomas. Travels . . - (in) . . . Barbary and Levant, Oxford 
 
 1738; second ed. with improvements, London 1757*. 
 Sonnerat, Pierre. Voyage aux Indes Orientales et a la Chine . . . 
 
 1774-81, Paris 1782; trans, by F. Magnus into Eng. Calcutta 
 
 1788-89*. 
 Sonnini de Manoncourt, C N. S. Voyage dans la Haute et Basse 
 
 figypte, . . . Paris (1799); trans, into English by Hunter, Lon- 
 don 1799*. 
 Tavernier, Jean Baptiste. Les Six Voyages . . . Paris 1676; 1692* 
 
 {Brunei); ''Made into English by J. P." (J. Philips and E. 
 
 Everard), 1684. Also in Harris, q. v. 
 Tournefort, Joseph Pitton de. Relation d'un Voyage du Levant, . . . 
 
 Paris 1717; Amsterdam 1718*; trans, into English, London 
 
 1718. 
 Turbervile. See Hakluyt. 
 Valle, Pietro della. Viaggi ... in tre parti, ... la Turchia, la 
 
 Persia, e ITndia, Roma 1650; Venice 1667*; trans, into English 
 
 London 1665*. 
 
 Southey's reference to this author is found in fuU in the notes to the 
 Universal History, q. v. 
 
 Vasconcellos, Simao de. Vida do . . . padre Joseph de Anchieta 
 . . . , do Brasil, Lisboa 1672*. 
 
 Volney, C. F. Chasseboeuf, comte de. Voyage en Syrie et en 
 Egypte . . . 1783-1785, 1787; seconde ed. revue et corrigee, 
 Paris 1787; trans, into English, London 1787; 1805*. 
 
338 THE EARLY LIFE OF ROBERT SOUTHEY 
 
 SOURCES OF LITERARY ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 Note: Southey makes references to the following authors or 
 works which have been omitted from this Hst: The Old Testament 
 and the Apocrypha, Euripides, Ariosto, Don Quixote, Gower, Shake- 
 speare, Spenser, Jeremy Taylor, Gibbon, Erasmus Darwin, Burger, 
 and Dr. Frank Sayers. 
 
 Boccage, Marie-Anne du. La Colombiade . . . Paris 1756; Lon- 
 
 dres 1758; Paris 1758*. 
 Br^beuf. See Lucanus. 
 Gongora, Luis de. Obras . . . Madrid 1627 (Heredia, Catalogue de 
 
 la Bibliotheque) ; Bruselas 1659*. 
 Leonardo de Argensola, Lupercio i Barolome. Rimas . . . Zaragoza 
 
 1634. 
 Lesuire, Robert-Martin. Le Nouveau Monde, . . . Paris 1781; 
 
 1800. 
 Lucanus, Marcus Annseus. Pharsalia, cum supplement© T. Maii. 
 
 . . . [Edited by J. Goulin] Paris 1767*; trans, into French by 
 
 G. de Brebeuf Paris and Rouen 1655-54; trans, into English 
 
 [with continuation] by Thomas May, London 1627; 1659-57*. 
 Old Poulter's Mare. 
 
 A poem quoted by Southey as a ballad of which he prints "only an 
 imperfect copy from memory." The source of the poem has not 
 been found. It is evidently not a genuine ballad. 
 
 Roberts, William Hayward. Judah Restored: a poem, London 
 
 1774*. 
 Sylvester, Joshua. [Guillaume de Salluste, seigneur] Du Bartas. 
 
 His devine Weekes and Workes translated . . . London 1605-06. 
 Uziel, Jacopo. David: poema Heroica. Venetia 1624*. 
 
INDEX 
 
 Addison, Joseph, 254 
 
 Aiken, Arthur, 185 
 
 Aiken, Dr. John, 185, 271, 289, 
 
 306 
 Akenside, Mark, 73, 80, 94, 107- 
 
 109, 169, 210 
 Allen, Robert, 70, 127, 128, 132 
 America, Southey's plans for 
 
 emigration to, 120-126, 131, 
 
 134-136, 140-142, 144, 149, 
 
 154, 166, 211 
 America, Joan of Arc in, 172 
 American Revolution, 2, 50, 99, 
 
 159 
 Amiens, Treaty of, 301-302 
 Anarcharsis, 179 
 Anarchists, — an Ode, The, 269- 
 
 270 
 Analytical Review, 170, 268, 271, 
 
 274 
 Anderson's, Dr., British Poets, 276 
 Andre, Major John, 42 
 Anna Matilda, 46 
 Annual Review, 271, 276, 289-291, 
 
 292, 306, 311 
 Anti-Jacobin, The, 230-232, 250, 
 
 268, 269, 283 
 Anti-Jacohin Review, 171, 268-270 
 Apocrypha, The, 90, 256 
 Arabian fictions, 89 
 Arabian Nights, The, 243, 254, 
 
 255, 256, 260, 261, 262, 263 
 Arabian Tales, Continuation of 
 
 The Arabian Nights, 26, 260, 
 
 261-263 
 
 Ariosto, Orlando Furioso, 25, 39, 
 
 95, 243, 244, 264 
 Aristotle, 72 
 Aspheterism, 129, 130, 131, 136, 
 
 152, 159, 165 
 Australia, 76 
 Autobiography, Southey's, 7, 31- 
 
 32 
 
 Bahar-Danush, The, 256, 260 
 BailHe, Joanna, 227, 276 
 Baker, Richard, 102 
 Balliol College, Oxford, 52, 53, 
 
 54, 65, 100, 114, 125, 138 
 Ballad, The, 195, 219-225, 249- 
 
 250, 265, 273 
 Bampfylde, J. C, 73 
 Barbauld, Mrs. Anna Laetitia, 
 
 290-291, 293n. 
 Barker, Mary, 234, 310 
 Bartram, William, Travels through 
 
 North and South Carolina, etc., 
 
 123n. 
 Bath, 11, 15, 18, 25, 27-28, 115, 
 
 132 
 Beaumont and Fletcher, 16, 24, 
 
 83 
 Beckford, WiUiam, Vathek, 254- 
 
 255 
 Beddoes, Thomas, 63, 196, 202, 
 
 225 
 Bedminster, 10, 14, 18-20, 23 
 Bedford, Duke of, 269 
 Bedford, G. C, 34, 35, 39, 40, 45, 
 
 47-49, 51, 65, 71, 96-97, 99, 
 
 339 
 
340 
 
 INDEX 
 
 112, 117, 118, 119, 121, 125, 
 
 127, 133, 161, 165, 166, 173, 
 
 182, 184, 197, 204, 225, 288n., 
 
 302, 307 
 Bedford, H. W., 35, 121, 225 
 Bedminster, 10, 14, 18-20, 23 
 Beguinages, plan for something of 
 
 the kind in England, 215 
 Berkeley, Bishop, 159 
 Bible, The, 41, 90-91 
 Blackwoods Magazine, 295 
 Blackmore, Richard, 184 
 Blake, WiUiam, 169 
 Bodmer's Noachide, 201 
 Boileau, 291 
 
 Borrow, George, Lavengro, 194 
 Boswell, James, the younger, 35, 39 
 Bowles, W. L., Sonnets, 16, 46, 
 
 47, 73, 7^75, 76, 88, 148, 149; 
 
 Edition of Pope's Works, 294n. 
 Brissot de Warville, 105, 119, 
 
 122-125 
 Bristol, 9, 19, 23, 24, 27-28, 43, 
 
 45, 63, 115, 122, 132, 136, 152, 
 
 181, 303, 310 
 Bristol Library Society, 122, 
 
 126n., 132n., 151n., 152n. 
 British Critic, The, 274 
 Brulenck, Madame, 67 
 Burger, G. A., Lenore, 194, 219- 
 
 220; Des Pfarrers Tochter von 
 
 Taubenheim, 219 
 Burke, Edmund, 42, 60, 148, 207, 
 
 269 
 Burnett, George, 70, 130, 131, 
 
 132, 133, 137, 149, 152, 153, 
 
 155, 164, 193 
 Burns, Robert, 169, 233; Reliques 
 
 of, 294 
 Burton, near Christ Church, 
 
 Hampshire, 187-189, 197-198, 
 
 202 
 
 Byron, Lord, 3, 60, 115, 200, 232, 
 
 295 
 Bysshe, Edward, Art of Poetry, 27 
 
 Cambridge, 127, 139 
 
 Camoens, 95 
 
 Campbell, Thomas, Gertrude of 
 
 Wyoming, 294n. 
 Canning, George, 40, 230, 232 
 Cannon family, 8, 118 
 Carlyle, Thomas, 3, 55, 60-61 
 Carter, Mrs. Elizabeth, transla- 
 tion of Epictetus, 50 
 CathoUc Church, 175, 234, 305 
 Cats, Jacob, 201 
 Caxton, WiUiam, Chronicle, 102 
 Cazotte, M., 261, 262, 263 
 Cesarotti, translation of Ossian, 
 
 251 
 Chamberlayne, WiUiam, Pharon- 
 
 nida, 26 
 Chapelain, Jean, La Pucelle, 106 
 Chardin, John, 256 
 Chatterton, Thomas, 26, 27, 73, 
 
 169, 17L 189, 254 
 Chaucer, Geoffrey, 26, 75, 273 
 Chavis, Dom, 261 
 Chenier, L. S. de, 257 
 Christ Church, Oxford, 30, 33, 
 
 35, 44, 69 
 Church, Southey's plans for enter- 
 ing the, 30, 52, 113-114, 165 
 208 
 ChurchUl, Charles, 169 
 Cintra, 178-179, 198, 204, 234, 
 
 235, 300^ 
 Claviere, Etienne, 124 and n. 
 CUfton, 28, 47 
 
 Cockney school of poetry, 295 
 Coleridge, Mr. Ernest Hartley, 
 
 114n., 166n. 
 Coleridge, George, 145-146 
 
INDEX 
 
 341 
 
 Coleridge, Samuel Taylor: 
 
 Meets Southey and plans pan- 
 tisocracy, 127-132; in Bristol 
 with Southey and Sarah 
 Fricker, 133-138; plans pan- 
 tisocracy in London and 
 Cambridge, 139-150; fetched 
 from London by Southey, 
 150-151; Uving in Bristol 
 with Southey, 152-160; 
 quarrel with Southey and 
 break-up of pantisocracy, 
 161-168 
 7, 22, 53, 61, 62, 74, 97, 108, 
 114, 115 and n., 122, 123, 
 180, 181, 186, 187, 188, 190- 
 191, 192-193, 196, 198, 200, 
 201, 202, 203, 205-208, 225, 
 227-232, 233, 263, 268-275, 
 278-296, 298-300, 308, 309, 
 310, 311 
 
 Biographia Epistolaris, 7n. 
 Biographia Liter aria, 74n. 
 
 Christahel, 202, 221, 225 
 Condones ad Populum, 158 
 
 Demi's Walk, The, 199 
 Dungeon, The, 279 
 
 Effusions, 275 
 
 Essays on His Own Times, 
 123n. et passim 
 
 Fall of Robespierre, The, see 
 
 Southey 
 Fears in Solitude, 229, 230n., 272 
 Fire, Famine, and Slaughter, 225, 
 
 229, 230 
 Foster-mother's Tale, The, 279 
 France — an Ode, 272, 275 
 
 Friend, The, 158n 
 Frost at Midnight, 272 
 
 Letters, 97n. 
 
 Lewti, 225 
 
 Lines to a Young Ass, 148, 229 
 
 Life of Lessing, 203 
 
 Lyrical Ballads, see Wordsworth 
 
 Monody on the Death of Chatter- 
 ton, 229 
 Moral andPolitical Lecture, 108n. 
 
 Ode on the Departing Year, 229 
 
 and n., 272 
 On the Present War, 158 
 
 Plot Discovered, The, 158 
 Poems on Various Subjects 
 
 (1796), 108n, 228, 229n., 272, 
 
 274-275, 283 
 Poetical and Dramatic Works, 
 
 137n. et passim 
 Provincial Magazine, The, 157 
 Poems, Second Edition (1797), 
 
 108n., 187, 193, 229, 230n., 
 
 275, 283, 293n. 
 
 Religious Musings, 108n. 
 Rime of the Ancient Mariner, 
 The, 221, 224, 273, 278, 281 
 
 Sonnets in the Manner of Con- 
 temporary Writers, 192-193 
 
 Sonnets on Eminent Characters, 
 148 
 
 This Lime-tree Bower, 225 
 
 Wallenstein, 282 
 Watchman, The, 193 
 
 Coleridge, Samuel Taylor, by 
 
342 
 
 INDEX 
 
 James Dykes Campbell, 128n. 
 et passim 
 
 Coleridge, Samuel Taylor, and 
 Robert Southey, Reminiscences of 
 by Joseph Cottle, 128ii., 153, 
 et passim 
 
 Coleridge, Samuel Taylor, A Bibli- 
 ography of, by Thomas J. Wise, 
 139n., et passim 
 
 Coleridge, Sara, Memoir of, 114n.; 
 116-117 
 
 Coleridge, Sarah or Sara Fricker, 
 39, 115-117, 137, 142, 143, 150, 
 151, 164, 167, 181, 300, 310 
 
 CoUing, Mary, 113 
 
 Collins, Charles, 70 
 
 CoUins, WUham, 46, 73, 77, 80, 
 81, 86, 89, 90, 169, 250, 254 
 
 Combe, 35 
 
 Come Little Drummer Boy, 231 
 
 Congreve, WUHam, The Mourning 
 Bride, 26 
 
 Convalescent hospital, project for, 
 214 
 
 Cooper, Thomas, 141-142 and n. 
 
 Cooper, William, of Cooperstown, 
 140n. 
 
 Corry, Michael, 300-301, 304 
 
 Corston School, 16-18, 47, 73 
 
 Corunna, 173, 175, 176 
 
 Cottle, Amos, Icelandic Poetry, 
 191-192, 225 
 
 Cottle, Joseph, 107, 128, 139n., 
 152-155, 157, 159-160, 161, 
 163-164, 165, 167, 168, 172, 
 173, 181, 187, 188-189, 190, 
 193, 205, 225, 229-230, 280n., 
 282 
 
 Courtenay, John, 269 
 
 Cowley, Abraham, 121, 125 
 
 Cowper, WiUiam, 73, 84, 94, 169, 
 285, 293n., 311 
 
 Crabbe, George, 73; Poems, 1807, 
 294n. 
 
 Crevecoeur, St. Jean de, 123n., 124 
 
 Critical Review, The, 170, 192, 
 202, 204, 219, 228, 247n., 255, 
 256, 264r-265, 267, 269, 271, 
 274-282, 283, 291-292, 293, 
 295, 300, 306 
 
 Croft, Sir Herbert, 189 
 
 Cmikshank, Robert, 200 
 
 Cruttwell, bookseller, 74^75, 138 
 
 Cimningham, Peter, 27 
 
 DactyUics, 157, 228, 231-232, 
 
 269 and n. 
 Danvers, Charles, 185, 191, 196, 
 
 197, 202, 206, 266, 302, 303 
 Darwin, Erasmus, 73, 84, 169 
 Davy, Sir Humphry, 63, 196-197, 
 
 202, 206, 225, 266 
 Deism, Deists, 54, 59, 107-109, 
 
 127, 128, 134, 156, 166 
 Delia Cruscans, 290 
 Democracy, 128, 129, 131, 132, 
 
 133, 134, 141, 159, 166, 169, 
 
 190, 191 
 De Quincey, Thomas, 102, 164n., 
 
 191n. 
 Dermody, Thomas, 73 
 Devonshire, 198 
 D'Herbelot, Bibliotheque Orientale, 
 
 254, 256 
 Donne, John, 285 
 Dryden, John, 73, 90, 184, 283 
 Dubhn, 300-302 
 Duppa, Richard, 308 
 Dwight, Timothy, Conquest of 
 
 Canaan, 180 
 Dyer, George, 139, 159, 186, 225 
 
 Edda, The, 83, 87, 201; Amos 
 Cottle's version of, 191-192 
 
INDEX 
 
 343 
 
 Edgeworth, Maria, 303 
 Edinburgh Renew, 67, 266-268, 
 
 277, 284r-295, 304 
 Ellis, George, 232; Specimens, 277 
 Elmsley, Peter, 35, 204, 300 
 Emily, 73 
 
 Epictetus, 50, 67, 72, 212 
 Epicurus, 72 
 
 Erskine, Thomas, Lord, 269 
 Evans, Mary, 131, 146, 149-150 
 Exeter, 199 
 
 Fabyan, Chronicle, 102 
 FaveU, 132, 143, 150, 229n. 
 Ferdusi, 260 
 
 Foot's School, Bristol, 16 
 Fox, Charles James, 269-270 
 Frere, John Hookham, 230, 232 
 France, Southey's attempted trip 
 
 to, 30 
 France, revolution in, 2, 29, 42, 
 
 39, 44, 50-51, 54, 57, 60, 68, 
 
 98-112, 119, 125, 141, 157-158, 
 
 175-177, 207, 213-214, 228, 
 
 236, 239, 243, 301-302 
 French Town, Pennsylvania, 139n. 
 Frend, WiUiam, 127 
 Fricker, Stephen, family of, 44- 
 
 45, 113-117, 132, 145, 147, 173, 
 
 180, 183 
 Friend of Humanity and the Needy 
 
 Knifegrinder, The, 157, 228, 231 
 FuUer, Thomas, The Holy War, 
 
 101 
 
 Gay, Thomas, Pastorals, 26, 73, 
 
 76; 273 
 German language and Uterature, 
 
 78-80, 92, 194, 201, 218-219 
 Gerstenberg, H. W. von, Ariadne 
 
 auf Naxos, 92 
 Gessner, Solomon, 73, 76 
 
 Gibbon, Edward, 38, 39, 42, 44, 
 
 50, 56, 60, 201, 238 
 Gillies, John, History of Greece, 122 
 Gillray, James, 268 
 Gilpin, WiUiam, 122 
 Glover, Samuel, 73, 169; Leoni- 
 
 das, 80, 95, 98, 100-102, 107; 
 
 Medea, 80, 86 
 Godwin, WiUiam, 50, 144, 149, 
 
 163, 166, 185-186, 190, 207, 269 
 
 Political Justice, 122, 129 
 
 St. Leon, 206 
 Goethe, J. W. von, 61 
 
 Proserpina, 79, 91, 92 
 
 Wandrer, Der, 219 
 
 Werther, 38, 39, 44, 46, 47, 54, 
 
 75, 207 
 Goldsmith, OUver, 73, 169, 254, 
 
 273 
 Goody Twoshoes, 15, 24 
 Gray, Thomas, 73, 77, 80-84, 
 
 88-91, 93, 169, 250, 255 
 Greek school of poets, 80, 82 
 Gregory, Dr., 189 
 Greta HaU, 65, 166, 287, 298, 300, 
 
 303, 310, 311 
 Grey, Charles, Lord, 269 
 Guthrie, WiUiam, History of Eng- 
 land, 102 
 
 Hakluyt, Richard, Voyages, 256 
 
 HaU's Chronicle, 102 
 
 Hartley, David, 132n., 159 
 
 Hardy, Thomas, 144 
 
 Hayes, ''Botch," 33 
 
 Hayes, Mary, 186 
 
 Hayley, WiUiam, 169 
 
 HazUtt, W^miam, 232 
 
 Heath "apothecary," 132 
 
 Henley, Samuel, Vathek, 254-255 
 
 Hereford, 223, 307 
 
 Heron, Robert, Arabian Tales, 261 
 
344 
 
 INDEX 
 
 Hexameters in English, 201 
 
 HUl, Rev. Herbert, 10, 30, 43, 
 
 44, 49, 52, 152, 165, 166, 173- 
 
 174, 178, 181, 183-184, 185, 
 
 203, 234, 237, 297, 305, 307 
 Hill, Margaret [Bradford Tyler], 
 
 9-10, 14, 18-20, 23, 58 
 HiU, Margaret, 132, 183, 194, 
 
 297, 302 
 History of poetry for schools, 205 
 History of the Levelling Principle, 
 
 205 
 Hole, Richard, 73, 80, 169 
 Holcroft, Thomas, 145, 148, 269 
 Hohnshed, Raphael, Chronicle, 
 
 101, 102 
 Homer, 71, 95 
 Hoole, John, 25, 27, 169 
 Howe, Thomas, 65 
 Hucks, Joseph, 128, 130 
 Hume, David, 49, 60, 101, 102 
 Hunt, Leigh, 295 
 Hutchinson, Mr. Thomas, on 
 
 Southey's review of Lyrical 
 
 Ballads, 280 
 
 Inscription for the Door of the Cell 
 in Newgate, where Mrs. Brown- 
 ■ rigg, the Prenticecide, was con- 
 fined previous to her Execution, 
 231 
 
 Imlay, G., Description of North 
 America, 123n. 
 
 Iris, The, 307 
 
 Jacobins, 51, 134, 158, 159, 268 
 ''Jacobin Poets," 231, 268, 269, 
 
 274 
 Jeffrey, Francis, 246, 248, 250, 
 
 257, 267-268, 271, 274, 283-295 
 Johnson, Dr. Samuel, 55, 254 
 Jones, Sir WiUiam, 254, 256, 259 
 
 Keats, John, 295 
 
 Keswick, 183, 287, 288, 289, 298, 
 
 299, 300, 301 
 Klopstock, Friedrich, 78, 79, 84, 
 
 85, 251 
 KnoUes, Richard, Historic of the 
 
 Turks, 256 
 Knowles, Herbert, 73 
 Koran, 201, 256, 259, 263 
 Kosciusko, 149 
 Kotzebue, A. F. F., 226, 277, 285 
 
 Lake School of Poets, 213, 222- 
 
 223, 227-232, 246-253, 258, 
 
 266-296, 304 
 Lamb, Bessy, 36 
 Lamb, Charles, 42, 139, 148, 
 
 150, 181, 186, 187, 188, 190- 
 
 193, 195, 198, 202, 215, 225, 
 
 229, 268, 269, 270, 271, 275, 
 
 279, 281, 285, 291, 293n., 303 
 Lamb, Thomas PhiHp, 35-36, 39, 
 
 51 
 Landor, Walter Savage, 15n., 203, 
 
 233; Gehir, 250, 276, 277-278 
 Landseer, John, 200 
 La Perouse, J. F. G. de la, 257, 
 
 263, 277 
 L'Averdy, C. C. F. de, 103 
 Law, Southey's study of, 164, 165, 
 
 181-185, 192, 195, 197, 204, 
 
 276, 297-298 
 Le Grice, C. V., 132 
 Lectures of Southey and Coleridge 
 
 at Bristol, 157-164 
 Lepaux, 232, 268-269 
 Lewis, M. G., Alonzo and Imogene, 
 
 220 
 Liberty, 98-101, 103-106, 126, 
 
 171, 301-302 
 Lightfoot, Nicholas, 70 
 Lisbon, 10, 30, 43, 49, 52, 165, 
 
INDEX 
 
 345 
 
 174-175, 178-180, 203-204, 233- 
 
 238 
 Lloyd, Charles, 186, 187, 188, 
 
 189, 195-196, 198, 225, 229, 
 
 232, 268-271, 275, 279, 282, 
 
 293n.; Edmund Oliver, 189-193 
 Locke, John, 54, 248 
 Longman, T. N., 189, 205, 236, 
 
 266, 271, 276, 280n., 289, 306, 
 
 308, 309 
 Lovell, Mary Fricker, 58, 115, 
 
 116n., 132, 180, 303 
 Lovell, Robert, 58, 72, 73, 75, 
 
 115, 117, 131, 132, 133, 137- 
 
 138, 144, 145, 148, 149, 151, 
 
 152, 153, 180, 225, 229 
 
 Mackenzie, Henry, Man of Feel- 
 ing, 71 
 Mackintosh, James, 274n. 
 Macpherson, James, Ossian, 90, 
 
 95, 169, 250, 251, 252 
 Mallet, Introduction a VHistoire 
 
 de Dannemarc, 46, 79n., 87 
 Maracci, Koran, 256 
 Marat, J. P., 268 
 Marigny, Histoire des Arahes, 256 
 Martin HaU, 194-195 
 Martineau, Philip, 297 
 Mason, WilHam, 73, 77, 80-85, 
 
 88, 169, 250 
 Maugraby, 261-263 
 Maurice, Rev. Michael, 296 
 May, John, 185, 201, 206, 209, 
 
 214, 226-227, 308 
 May, Thomas, Lucan's Pharsalia, 
 
 98 
 Medicine, Southey's interest in, 
 
 63, 117 
 Merry, Robert, 84 
 Mickle, M. J., Lusiad, 26 
 
 Microcosm, The, 40 
 
 Milton, John, 25, 80, 86, 95, 126, 
 
 169, 180, 186 
 Mirabeau, 268 
 Mohammed, Mohammedanism, 
 
 201, 256, 258-261, 263 
 Monodrama, The, 87, 91-93 
 MonstreUet, 101-102 
 Montesquieu, 254 
 Monthly Magazine, The, 76, 89, 
 
 91, 93, 170, 182, 185, 188, 189, 
 
 192, 194, 216, 219 
 Monthly Review, The, 123, 170, 
 
 194, 218, 228, 267, 268, 271, 
 
 272, 273, 274, 283, 289, 291, 293 
 More, Hannah, 137, 178 
 More, Sir Thomas, 167 
 Morgan, John, History of Algiers, 
 
 256 
 Morning Chronicle, The, 148, 171, 
 
 232, 268 
 Morning Post, The, 192, 195, 199, 
 
 205, 216, 228, 232, 268, 300, 306 
 Mythology, Southey's interest in, 
 
 37, 46, 63-64, 76, 84-86, 236, 
 
 246, 251, 304 
 
 Napoleon, 60, 213-214, 269, 270, 
 302, 309 
 
 Nature, 1, 2, 15, 28, 56, 60, 73, 
 75, 76, 88, 90, 95, 107-110, 118, 
 159, 169, 207-216, 227, 239-248, 
 258, 288 
 
 Necker, Jacques, French Revolu- 
 tion, 185 
 
 New Morality, The, 232, 268-269 
 
 Nicholson, Peg, 51 
 
 Niebuhr, Carsten, 257 
 
 Norfolk, Duke of, 269-270 
 
 Northern antiquities, 77-84, 87, 
 88, 90, 91, 255 
 
 Novel-writing, 205-206 
 
346 
 
 INDEX 
 
 Ode, The, 73, 77, 80-83, 85, 88- 
 
 91, 93, 250, 265 
 OU Poulter's Mare, 249, 286n. 
 Old Testament, The, 250, 256, 259 
 Olearius, Voyages and Travels, 
 
 256 
 Opie, Mrs., 225 
 Oracle, The, 185, 216 
 Orient, Literary use of, 253-263 
 Ovid, Metamorphoses, 27, 38 
 Owen, Robert, 166-167 
 Oxford, 53, 61, 65-70, 95, 96, 
 
 112, 113, 127 
 
 Paine, Thomas, 51, 269 
 
 Pantisocracy, 58, 120-155, 159, 
 161-162, 164-167, 174, 179, 
 184-185, 189, 193, 206, 210-211, 
 216 
 
 Park, Mungo, 257, 277 
 
 Pamell, Thomas, 254 
 
 Peele, George, 80 
 
 Pennsylvania, 124-125, 139-141 
 
 Percy, Thomas, Northern Anti- 
 quities, 46, 79, 85, 87, 89, 91; 
 Reliques, 26 
 
 Peter the Hermit, pseud, for, G. C. 
 Bedford, 40 
 
 Phillips, Ambrose, 285 
 
 Picard, Bernard, Religious Cere- 
 monies, 37 
 
 Piozzi, Mrs. H. L., 240 
 
 Pitt, WiUiam, 68, 100, 104, 158, 
 188, 228 
 
 Plato, 49, 70, 120, 126 
 
 Plotinus, 72, 120 
 
 Pneimiatic Institute, Beddoes', 
 63, 196 
 
 Pococke, Reginald, Description of 
 the East, 256 
 
 Polo, Marco, 263 
 
 Polwhele, Richard, 73, 79 
 
 Pope, Alexander, 26, 73, 107, 168, 
 
 283 
 Poole, John, 133 
 Poole, Thomas, 133, 167, 198 
 Porson, Dr., 200 
 Portugal, 64, 161, 166, 167, 174- 
 
 180, 203-204, 206, 215, 226, 
 
 233-238, 276, 299, 300, 312 
 Priestley, Dr. Joseph, 139, 141, 
 
 148, 269 
 Purchas, Samuel, Pilgrimage, 256, 
 
 263 
 
 Quarles, Francis, 185, 285, 305 
 Quarterly Review, The, 64, 295, 
 
 302, 311 
 Quicherat, Jules, Jeanne d^Arc, 
 
 103n. 
 
 Ramler, K. W., Ino, 92 
 
 Rat Castle, 65, 68 
 Rapin-Thoyras, Histoire d'Angle- 
 
 terre, 101, 102 
 Repubhcanism, repubhcans, 119, 
 
 121, 122, 124, 127, 129, 159, 236 
 Richmond, 308-309 
 Rickman, John, 167, 188, 215, 
 
 236, 300, 302, 308 
 Ridgeway, Bookseller, 151 
 Rimeless irregular verse, 80-81, 
 
 85-86, 90-91, 251 
 Roberts, Mr. and Mrs., 146 
 Robespierre, 134, 137-139 
 Rogers, Cooke, 70 
 Roland, Madame, 105, 111 
 Roscoe, Wilham, 238 
 Rousseau, J. B., Circe, 92 
 Rousseau, J. J., 14, 38, 39, 44, 46, 
 
 47, 49, 50, 53, 54, 55, 67, 71, 
 
 76, 89, 92, 96, 98, 107, 109, 
 
 120, 121, 122, 125, 159, 207, 
 
 210, 212, 285 
 
INDEX 
 
 347 
 
 Rowe, Mrs., Letters, 24 
 Rush, Benjamin, Account of the 
 Progress in Pennsylvania, 123n. 
 Russell, Thomas, 73 
 
 Sale, George, 254, 256, 259, 263 
 Sapphics, 157, 231, 269 
 Satanic school of poets, 295 
 Sayers, Dr. Frank, 45-46, 73, 
 
 76-80, 83-88, 90-93, 194, 219, 
 
 220, 250, 251, 255, 257, 259 
 Schiller, Friedrich, 181, 226, 277, 
 
 285 
 Scott, Sir Walter, 25, 253, 255, 
 
 257-258, 266, 296 
 Seneca, 72 
 Sensibility, Southey's romantic, 
 
 47-49, 55-65, 72, 206-208 
 Seward, Anna, 79, 171-172 
 Seward, Edmund, 58, 69, 71, 96, 
 
 132, 161 
 Shakespeare, WilUam, 16, 24, 8^2, 
 
 83, 102 
 Shaw, Thomas, 257 
 Shelley, Percy Bysshe, 116n., 200, 
 
 266 
 Siddons, Mrs., 84 
 Sidney, Sir PhiHp, 26, 37, 80, 89 
 Simonds, bookseller, 151 
 Slave trade, 214 
 Smith, Adam, Wealth of Nations, 
 
 122 
 Somerville, Lord, 118 
 Sonnet, The, 74r-75 
 Southey, Cannon, 11, 144 
 Southey, Charles Cuthbert, 7n., 
 
 16, 41, 58, 128, 174 
 Southey, Edith Fricker, 45, 58, 
 
 75, 113-117, 126, 132, 145, 151, 
 
 152, 160, 161, 164, 166, 168, 
 
 173, 180, 181, 182, 183, 185, 
 
 187, 189, 192, 197, 198, 203, 
 
 206, 233, 234, 235, 296, 300, 
 301, 303, 309, 310 
 Southey, Edward, 11, 132, 145, 
 
 147, 183, 206 
 Southey, Emma, 58 
 Southey, Henry Herbert, 63, 132, 
 145, 147, 183, 193, 194, 206, 
 296-297, 307 
 Southey, Herbert, 58, 219 
 Southey, Isabel, 58 
 Southey, John, 8-9, 44 
 Southey, Margaret, 58, 303, 309 
 Southey, Margaret Hill, 10, 13-14, 
 16, 18, 24, 29, 45, 58, 132, 136, 
 145, 147, 152, 166, 167, 183, 
 185, 187, 191, 194, 206, 303 
 Southey, Robert, the elder, 8-11, 
 
 16-17, 23, 29, 30, 32, 44, 58 
 Southey, Robert 
 Introduction, 1-6 
 Birth and ancestry, 7-11 
 Childhood with his aunt. Miss 
 Tyler, in Bath and Bristol, 
 reading and play-going, school 
 at Corston, vacations at 
 Bedminster, school in Bristol, 
 reads Tasso, Ariosto, and 
 Spenser, boyhood writings, 
 play with Shadrach Weeks, 
 sent to Westminster School 
 by his uncle, the Rev. Her- 
 bert Hill, 1776-1788, 11-30 
 Life at Westminster, friend- 
 ships with C. W. W. Wynn 
 and G. C. Bedford, hoUday 
 visits, traits of character, 
 schoolboy erudition, influence 
 of his reading and the French 
 Revolution, The Flagellant, 
 expelled from school, philoso- 
 phizing and poetizing in 
 rustication in Bristol, his 
 
348 
 
 INDEX 
 
 father's bankruptcy and 
 death, sent to Oxford by his 
 uncle to prepare for the 
 church, 1788-1792, 31-52 
 
 Character and state of mind 
 upon entering Oxford, 1793, 
 53-65 
 
 BaUiol College, state of the 
 university, Southey's uncon- 
 ventional conduct, forms a 
 "sober society" of his friends, 
 
 1793, 65-70. 
 
 Nature and extent of his read- 
 ing at college, sensitiveness 
 to new Hterary influences, 
 Bowles, Sayers, copious and 
 facile scribbling, early poems, 
 1793-1794, 71-96 
 
 Long vacation visit with Bed- 
 ford, composition of Joan of 
 Arc, Joan oj Arc, 1793, 96- 
 112 
 
 Bristol, engagement to Edith 
 Fricker, the Frickers, dis- 
 content with society and his 
 own prospects, Plotinus, God- 
 win, Brissot, dreams of emi- 
 grating to America, 1793- 
 
 1794, 112-126 
 
 Returns to Oxford, meets Cole- 
 ridge, pantisocracy, plans 
 with Burnett to try it in 
 America, Coleridge in Bristol, 
 Thomas Poole, Sarah Fricker, 
 composition of The Fall of 
 Robespierre and Wat Tyler, 
 pubhcation of Poems by 
 Southey and Lovell, Coleridge 
 in Cambridge and London 
 making plans for pantiso- 
 cracy in Pennsylvania, 
 Southey devising means in 
 
 Bristol, friction between 
 them, Miss Tyler puts 
 Southey out, he suggests 
 Wales, he fetches Coleridge 
 from London, 1794-1795, 
 127-152 
 
 Southey and Coleridge together 
 in Bristol, Lovell, Cottle 
 offers to print their poems, 
 they lecture on poUtics, his- 
 tory, and rehgion, increas- 
 ing difficulties, differences in 
 character, Southey decides 
 to study law, quarrel with 
 Coleridge, pubhcation of Joan 
 of Arc, marriage, departure 
 to Portugal with his uncle, 
 1795, 152-168 
 
 Reception of Joan of Arc by the 
 pubhc, 1796, 168-172 
 
 Journey through Spain, Lisbon, 
 Cintra, influence of sojourn 
 in the peninsula, 1795-1796, 
 173-180 
 
 Return to England and Bristol, 
 a pension from Wynn, Poems 
 of 1797, Letters from Spain 
 and Portugal, London, law, 
 Lamb, Charles Lloyd, Burton 
 in Hampshire for the summer, 
 Rickman, Edmund Oliver, 
 Bristol and Bath, hack- 
 writing, WiUiam Taylor, 
 Westbury, Humphry Davy, 
 house-hunting, Coleridge 
 
 again, hterary work, iU- 
 health, plans another trip to 
 Portugal, 1796-1799, 108- 
 206 
 
 State of mind, nature, Akenside, 
 Poems of 1799, Annual An- 
 thology, kinship with Words- 
 
INDEX 
 
 349 
 
 worth, influence of Taylor, 
 the "Jacobin poets" and 
 The Anti-JacoUn, 1796-1799, 
 207-232 
 
 Portugal again, composition of 
 Thalaba, The History of Portu- 
 gal, 1800, 233-238 
 
 Thalaba, 1800, 238-266 
 
 Reception of Thalaba by the 
 pubUc, rise of the idea of a 
 "new sect of poets," Anti- 
 Jacobin Review, Monthly, 
 Critical, Southey's work in 
 the Critical, his review of the 
 Lyrical Ballads, Jeffrey, The 
 Edinburgh Review, and the 
 "lake school," 1797-1803 
 266-296 
 
 Return to England and Bristol, 
 abandons the law, Coleridge 
 again, hack-writing again, 
 secretary to the chancellor 
 of the exchequer for Ireland, 
 the treaty of Amiens, family 
 losses, hterary plans upset by 
 war, goes on a visit to Cole- 
 ridge at Greta Hall, Keswick, 
 1801-1803, 296-310 
 
 Conclusion, 311-312 
 
 Bibhography of the works of, 
 313-326 
 
 Southey, Robert, with Caroline 
 Bowles, Correspondence of, 
 47n. et passim 
 Southey, Robert, Life and 
 Correspondence of, 7n. et 
 passim 
 Southey, Robert, Selections 
 from the Letters of, 9n. et 
 passim 
 
 Amadis of Gaul, 64, 306-307 
 
 Annual Anthology, The, 195, 
 202, 206, 216, 225, 273, 282, 
 291 
 
 Aristodemus, 93 
 
 Autumn, 208-209, 216 
 
 Battle of Blenheim, The, 217, 
 
 221, 282 
 Bibliotheca Brittanica, 308- 
 
 309 
 Bishop Bruno, 220, 221, 273 
 Book of the Church, The, 311 
 Botany Bay Eclogues, 76, 
 
 157, 219, 272, 275 
 
 Chapel Bell, The, 94, 286 
 Chronicle of the Cid, 64 
 Colloquies on the Progress and 
 
 Prospects of Society, 167, 311 
 Commonplace Book, 64, 190 
 Complaints of the Poor, The 
 
 217 
 Contemplation, 46 
 Cross-Roads, The, 217, 222- 
 
 223 
 Curse of Kehama, The, 22, 
 
 236^237, 304 
 
 Death of Joshua, The, 91 
 Death of Matathias, The, 91 
 Death of Moses, The, 91 
 Death of Odin, The, 91 
 Doctor, The, 6n., 12, 21, 64, 
 
 234 
 Donica, 220 
 
 Ebb Tide, The, 216 
 Edmund Oliver, 190 
 English Eclogues, 217-218, 
 270, 273, 279, 282, 286, 292 
 
 Fall of Robespierre, The, 137- 
 139 
 
350 
 
 INDEX 
 
 Flagellant, The, Sin., 40-44, 52 
 For a Monument at Oxford, 
 
 95n. 
 For a Tablet at Godstow 
 
 Nunnery, 94, 111 
 For a Tablet on the Banks of a 
 
 Stream, 271 
 For the Apartment in Chep- 
 
 stow-Castle where Henry 
 
 Marten the Regicide was 
 
 imprisoned Thirty Years, 
 
 94, 126, 231 
 Frances De Barry, 93 
 
 Gooseberry-Pie, A 
 Ode, 293 and n. 
 
 Pindaric 
 
 History of Brazil, 64 
 History of the Peninsular War, 
 
 64, 311 
 History of Portugal, 64, 201, 
 
 206, 235-238, 305, 306 
 Holly Tree, The, 216 
 Hospitality, 89 
 Hymn to the Penates, 16, 18, 
 
 184, 210, 286 
 
 Jasper, 217, 221-222 
 
 Joan of Arc 
 
 Composition of , 96-97; rev- 
 olutionary spirit, 97-101, 
 103-107, 112; treatment 
 of the legend, 102-103 ; re- 
 ligion of nature, 107-111 ; 
 expression of Southey's 
 personality, 111-112; re- 
 ception by the pubUc, 
 168-172; books relating 
 to, 327-329; 30, 72, 90, 
 94-95, 112-113, 117, 133, 
 137, 138, 155-157, 160, 
 161, 165, 168, 178, 180, 
 
 181, 182, 185, 186, 188, 
 189, 192, 195, 216, 228, 
 230, 231, 240, 246, 253, 
 264, 266, 270, 271, 274, 
 275, 284, 301, 303 
 
 King Charlemain, 220 
 
 La Caba, 93 
 
 Letters of Don Manuel Es- 
 
 priella, 66, 114 
 Letters written during a Short 
 
 Residence in Spain and 
 
 Portugal, 174n., 180, 181, 
 
 188, 195, 272 
 Life of Cowper, 73n., 311 
 Life of Wesley, 67n. 
 Lord William, 220, 224 
 Lucretia, 93 
 
 Madoc, 29, 40, 99, 156, 161, 
 
 164, 180, 182, 185, 188, 
 
 195, 197, 200 
 Mary the Maid of the Inn 
 
 220 
 Metrical Letter written from 
 
 London, 211-212 
 Metrical Tales and Other 
 
 Poems, 225, 291 
 Miser's Mansion, The, 73 
 Mortality, 89 
 
 Oak of our Fathers, The, 216 
 Old Man's Comforts, The, 217, 
 
 292 
 Old Mansion House, The, 219 
 Old Woman of Berkeley, The, 
 
 220, 223, 224 
 On a Landscape of Gaspar 
 
 Poussin, 157 
 On my own Miniature Picture, 
 
 31 
 
INDEX 
 
 351 
 
 On the Death of a Favorite Old 
 
 Spaniel, 46 
 Orthryades, 93 
 
 Palmerin of England, 64 
 Pauper's Funeral, The, 157 
 Pig, The, 293n. 
 Poems (1795), 72, 75, 138, 
 
 153 
 Poems (1797), 181, 205, 216, 
 
 231, 246, 271, 275, 283 
 Poems (1799), 195, 202, 216, 
 
 246, 270, 273, 274, 281 
 Poems on the Slave Trade, 271 
 
 Race of Odin, The, 90-91 
 
 Recollections of a Day's Jour- 
 ney in Spain, 216 
 
 Retrospect, The, 16-17, 73, 138 
 
 Roderick, the Last of the 
 Goths, 64, 295 
 
 Romance, 89 
 
 Rosamund to Henry, 73, 95 
 
 Rudiger, 220 
 
 mate, 263-266; reception 
 by the public, 266-268, 
 284-291 ; books relating to, 
 330-338; 86, 91, 195, 200, 
 201, 204, 205, 206, 215, 
 226, 232, 233, 235, 238, 
 296, 297, 299, 303, 304, 
 306, 312 
 
 To a Bee, 217 
 
 To a Brook near the Village of 
 Corston, 16 
 
 To a Friend, 88 
 
 To a Friend, Inquiring if I 
 would live over my youth 
 again, 213 
 
 To a Spider, 217 
 
 To Contemplation, 46, 88 
 
 To Horror, 46, 89 
 
 To Hymen, 77 
 
 To Lycon, 89 
 
 Triumph of Woman, The, 73, 
 90, 111, 275 
 
 Urban, 89 
 
 Sailor, The, 217, 218 
 
 St. Romauld, 220, 224 
 
 Sappho, 93 
 
 Specimens of the Later English 
 Poets, 293 
 
 Soldier's Wife, The, 157, 228, 
 231-232, 269 and n. 
 
 Songs of the American In- 
 dians, 292 
 
 Verses, intended to have been 
 addressed to his Grace the 
 Duke of Portland, 68, 94 
 
 Victory, The, 217-218 
 
 Vindidae Ecclesiae Angli- 
 canae, lOn., 37n. 
 
 Vision of Judgment, 295 
 
 Vision of the Maid of Orleans, 
 The, 172 
 
 Thaldba 
 
 Idealism, 238-243; plot and 
 sources, 243-246, 277; 
 representative of "lake 
 school," 246-250; versifi- 
 cation, 250-253; oriental- 
 ism, 253-263; critical esti- 
 
 Wat Tyler, 40, 138, 144, 151 
 Well of St. Keyne, The, 220, 
 
 224 
 Widow, The, 157, 228, 231 
 Wife of Fergus, The, 93 
 Written the Winter after the 
 
 Installation at Oxford, 68, 94 
 
352 
 
 INDEX 
 
 Written on the First of Decem- 
 ber, 77 
 
 Written on the First of Jan- 
 uary, 77 
 
 Written on Sunday Morning, 
 89, 156 
 
 Ximalpoca, 93 
 Southey, Thomas, the elder, 9, 11, 
 
 16,44 
 Southey, Thomas, the younger, 
 
 11, 52, 132, 136, 187, 188, 190, 
 
 194, 206, 217, 269, 303 
 Spain, 64, 173-177 
 Spanish Uterature, 173, 179, 180, 
 
 182, 185 
 Spenser, Edmund, 25, 27, 31, 38, 
 
 45, 80, 89, 95, 169, 212, 239, 
 
 241-244, 264, 266. 
 Statins, 95 
 
 Steele, Sir Richard, 254 
 Stoicism, 49, 122, 190, 191, 203, 212 
 Stolberg, Graf von, 79, 85, 251 
 Strachey, George, 33, 37, 40 
 Stuart, Daniel, 93n., 205, 300 
 Susquehanna River, 139-141 
 
 Tasso, 24-25, 95 
 
 Tavernier, 257 
 
 Taylor, William, of Norwich, 47, 
 78, 79, 88, 91, 92, 93, 193-196, 
 199, 201, 202, 218, 219-221, 
 225, 226, 240, 250, 251, 255, 
 259, 263, 264, 265, 274n., 288, 
 290-291, 296-297, 303, 304, 305, 
 307, 308; Memoir of the Life and 
 Writings of, 36n, et passim 
 
 Telegraph, The, 149, 153, 185 
 
 ThelwaU, John, 269 
 
 Thompson, James, 73, 169 
 
 Tragedy, Southey's plans for a, 
 188, 195, 206, 225-227 
 
 Trifler, The, 40 
 
 True Briton, The, 301 
 
 Turner, Sharon, 308 
 
 Tyler, Edward, 10, 21 
 
 Tyler, Ehzabeth, 9-16, 18, 21, 23, 
 
 24, 26, 27, 28, 32, 43, 44, 131, 
 
 132, 144, 145, 206 
 Tyler, WiUiam, 21-22, 24 
 
 Unitarianism, 127, 132, 134, 208 
 
 Vega, Lope de, 184 
 Versification, Southey's interest 
 
 in, 85, 86, 90, 220, 250-253 
 Vincent, Dr., 33, 34, 41-45, 50, 
 
 200 
 Vu-gil, 95, 101 
 Volney, Comte de, 257 
 Voltaire, 39, 41, 49, 95, 102, 106- 
 
 107, 170, 171, 254, 255, 268 
 Voss, J. H., 79, 199, 219 
 
 Wakefield, GHbert, 186 
 
 Wales, 149, 152, 161, 164, 166, 
 
 300, 304, 308 
 Warter, John Wood, 9n. 
 Warton, Thomas, 26, 73, 81-82, 
 
 88 
 Watt, James, 141 
 Watts, Isaac, 37, 80 
 Wearisome Sonneteer, 231 
 Weeks, Shadrach, 28-29, 118, 
 
 146-147 
 Wesley, John, 54, 59, 67, 102 
 West, Gilbert, 80 
 Westbury, 114, 194, 197, 220, 222 
 Westminster Abbey, 42 
 Westminster School, 29, 30, 31- 
 
 46, 51, 53, 66, 67, 75, 300 
 Weymouth, 24 
 Whitbread, Samuel, 269 
 Wieland, Oberon, 264 
 
INDEX 
 
 353 
 
 Wilkie, James Epigoniad, 80, 
 lOOn., 169 
 
 Williams, WiUiam, 23 
 
 Windham, William, 307 
 
 Wither, George, 195 
 
 Wollstonecraft, Mary, 111, 178, 
 186 
 
 Wordsworth, Dorothy, 160, 193, 
 310 
 
 Wordsworth, WilUam, 1-4, 22, 
 32, 39, 60, 100, 108-109, 160, 
 175, 176, 193, 198, 207, 208, 
 213, 217-218, 222-224, 229- 
 230, 239-241, 246, 258, 263, 
 279, 281, 283, 287, 288, 289, 
 292-296, 298, 310, 311 
 Brothers, The, 288ii. 
 Excursion, 217, 293, 294 
 Female Vagrant, The, 279 
 Happy Warrior, The Character 
 of the, 212-213, 239-241, 266 
 Harry Gill, 286 
 
 Idiot Boy, The, 271, 278, 281 
 Lines left upon a Seat in a Yew- 
 tree, 279 
 Lines Written a few miles above 
 Tintern Abbey, 247ii., 273, 
 279, 281, 287 
 
 Lyrical Ballads, 223, 229, 230, 
 233, 239, 247n., 271, 272, 
 274, 276, 278, 279, 281, 284, 
 285, 288 
 
 Michael, 219, 288n. 
 
 Peter Bell, 222, 248 
 
 Poems in Two Volumes, 1807, 
 293 
 
 Prelude, The, 176, 208 
 
 Resolution and Independence, 
 293 
 
 Simon Lee, 286 
 
 Thorn, The, 278 
 
 We Are Seven, 217, 221 
 
 White Doe of Rylstone, The, 294 
 Wordsworth, William, by George 
 
 McLean Harper, 128n., 139n. 
 Wynn, C. W. W., 9, 34-36, 39, 
 
 40, 46, 69, 118, 149, 156, 164r- 
 
 166, 181, 182, 204, 206, 220, 
 
 224, 225, 226, 227, 235, 236, 
 
 269, 288, 297, 298, 300, 302, 304 
 
 Young, Edward, 73 
 
 Zoroaster, Zend-Avesta, 201, 236, 
 246, 259 
 
VITA 
 
 The author of this dissertation was bom in New York 
 City in 1885, received his elementary education in the 
 public schools of Buffalo N. Y., graduated from Amherst 
 College in 1908, was an instructor in English in Amherst 
 College for one year in 1908 and 1909, was a graduate 
 student in Columbia University during the years 1909 
 through 1911 and attended the lectures of Professors W. P. 
 Trent, A. H. Thorndike, J. B. Fletcher, W. W. Lawrence, 
 and others, was an assistant in English in Barnard College 
 from 1909 to 1911, and has been an instructor in that 
 institution since 1911. 
 
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