And bends the gallant mast, my boys, Away the good ship flies, and leaves Oh for a soft and gentle wind! I heard a fair one cry; But give to me the snoring breeze, There's tempest in yon horned moon, The wind is piping loud, my boys, THE MARINER. Ye winds, which sweep the grove's green tops, Oh softly stir the ocean-waves Which sleep along the shore! For my love sails the fairest ship Oh bend his masts with pleasant gales, Oh leave nae mair the bonnie glen, Clear stream, and hawthorn grove, For faithless is the ocean-wave, Then leave nae mair my heart to break ROBERT SOUTHEY, 1774-1843. THIS distinguished poet and prose writer was the son of a linen-draper in Bristol, and was born in that city on the 12th of August, 1774. After going through the ordinary preparatory course of study, he entered Baliol College, Oxford, in 1 I look upon "A wet sheet and a flowing sea," as one of the best songs going.-SIR WAL TER SCOTT: Diary, 14 Nov. 1826. 1792, with the design of entering the church; but as his religious views underwent a change, inclining to Unitarianism, he left the university in 1794, and in the same year published his first poems, in conjunction with Mr. Lovell. Of his appearance and character at this time, Joseph Cottle thus speaks: "One morning, Robert Lovell called on me, and introduced Robert Southey. Never will the impression be effaced produced on me by this young man. Tall, dignified, possessing great suavity of manners; an eye piercing, with a countenance full of genius, kindliness, and intelligence. I gave him at once the right hand of fellowship, and, to the moment of his decease, that cordiality was never withdrawn."1 About this time he took part in the famous Pantisocratic scheme,2 "to which all the eager contributors brought golden theories, but so little of the more tangible coin that the Utopian project was necessarily relinquished." In November of the following year, (1795,) he married Miss Fricker, of Bristol, the sister of Mrs. Coleridge. In the winter of the same year, while he was on his way to Lisbon, "Joan of Arc" was published. In the following summer he returned to Bristol, and in the next year removed to London, and entered Gray's Inn. He passed part of the years 1800 and 1801 in Portugal, and from Lisbon wrote to Joseph Cottle the following poetical letter, which, for ease, vivacity, and vigorous description, stands at the head of that class of compositions: LISBON, May 9th, 1800. Dear Cottle, d'ye see, in writing to thee, For I lay like a log, as sick as a dog; And whoever this readeth, will pity poor Edith: Indeed it was shocking, the vessel fast rocking, The timbers all creaking; and when we were speaking, It was to deplore that we were not on shore, And to vow we would never go voyaging more. The fear of our fighting did put her a fright in, And I had alarms for my legs and my arms. When the matches were smoking, I thought 'twas no joking, When I knew that my head might remain on my shoulder. But oh! 'twas a pleasure, exceeding all measure, And when I got there, I vow and declare, The pleasure was even like getting to Heaven! I could sleep at ease, except for the fleas; and xiii. 225; “Reminiscences of Coleridge and Southey." p. 4. Read "North British Review," xii. 371, Edinburgh," lxxxvii. 391; Gentlemen's Magazine," April, June, and September, 1850; "London Athenæum," March, 1850. 2 See an account of this in the notice of Coleridge. But still the sea-feeling-the drunken reeling- Like a cradle, the bed seem'd to rock my head, My Edith here thinks all things queer, But then the street she thinks not neat, Nor do the fleas her fancy please, They at first view fell merrily to, For they made no demur. But oh the sight! the great delight! This view so fine, this scene divine! The Tagus here, so broad and clear, And it lies light, all silver white, Adieu, adieu, farewell to you, Write when you may, I need not say How gladly we shall hear. I leave off rhyme, and so next time But in rhyme or prose, dear Joseph knows ROBERT SOUTHEY. Soon after Southey's return to England, he established himself at Keswick, in the Lake country, where he lived for the remainder of his life. In 1805, he published his "Madoc," and in 1810 the "Curse of Kehama." In 1813, on the death of Mr. Pye, Southey was appointed poet laureate. In 1814, he published "Roderic, the Last of the Goths," and in 1821 "The Vision of Judgment." The same year he received his doctor's degree from the University of Oxford. In 1825, appeared "The Tale of Paraguay," the latest of his longer poems. Besides these, he wrote a great number of smaller pieces of poetry, and numerous prose works, which have given him the character of one of the best prose-writers in the language, for a clear, vigorous, manly, and graceful style. Of these, the most important are the Book of the Church," the " 'History of the Peninsular War," the "History of the Brazils," and the Lives of "Nelson," "Wesley," "Cowper," "Chatterton," and "Henry Kirke White." He was a regular contributor for many years to the "Quarterly Review," and was the author of that remarkable book, "The Doctor." In his "Life of Nelson," I regret to say, there are some most exceptionable sentimentssentiments utterly at variance with the spirit and teachings of Christianity. The following is a list of his articles in the "London Quarterly," as given by Joseph Cottle in his "Reminiscences," up to 1825: In No. 1, Baptist Mission in India; 2, Portuguese Literature; 3, South Sea Missions-Lord Valentia's Travels; 4, American Annals; 3. Life of Nelson; 6, Season at Tongataboo-Graham's Georgics; 7, Observador Portuguez; 8, Feroe Islands-On the Evangelical Sects; 11, Bell and Lancaster; 12, The Inquisition-Montgo But "excess of mental labor in every department of literature-poetry, history, biography, criticism, and philosophy-continued, from year to year, without cessation, bowed his strong spirit at last, and obscured the genius which had so long cast glory upon the literature of the age." For three years before his death, his mind was so far gone that he was not able to recognize those who had been his companions from his youth. Scarcely could his wife console herself with the poor hope that he recognized even her. He died at his residence in Keswick, on the 21st of March, 1843, in the sixty-ninth year of his age. "In all the relations of life, Mr. Southey was universally allowed, by those who knew him best, to be truly exemplary. His house at the Lakes was open to all who presented themselves with suitable introduction; and there are few persons of any distinction, who have passed through that picturesque region, who have not partaken of his hospitality." He enjoyed a pension of three hundred pounds a year from the government, granted in 1835 by Sir Robert Peel, and left personal property to the amount of twelve thousand pounds, and a very rich and valuable library, all the fruits of his own literary labors.2 mery's Poems: 13. Iceland; 14, French Revolutionists: 15, Count Julian-Calamities of Authors; 16, Manufacturing System and the Poor; 19, Bogue and Bennett's History of the Disseuters; 21. Nicobar Islands-Montgomery's World before the Flood; 22, 23, British Poets; 23, Oriental Memoirs; 24, Lewis and Clark's Travels-Barrè Roberts; 25, Miot's Expedition to Egypt; 25. 26, Life of Wellington; 28, Alfieri; 29. Me. La Roche Jacqueline-The Poor; 30, Ali Bey's Travels-Foreign Travellers in England; 31, Parliamentary Reform; 32, Porter's Travels-Rise and Progress of Disaffection; 33, Tonga Islands; 35, Lope de Vega; 37, Evelyn on the Means of Improving the People; 41, Copyright Act; 42, Cemeteries: 43, Monastic Institutions; 45, Life of Marlborough: 46, New Churches; 48, Life of William Huntington, 8. S.; 50, Life of Cromwell; 52, Dobrizhoffer; 53, Camoens; 55, Gregorie's Religious Sects; 56, Infidelity; 57, Burnet's Own Times; 59, Dwight's Travels; 62, Hayley-Mrs. Baillie's Lisbon. Read a most interesting and feeling letter on this painful incident, from Mr. Cottle to the Rev. John Foster, at page 310 of the Reminiscences." The following is Coleridge's estimate of Southey: "Southey stands second to no man, either as an historian or as a bibliographer; and when I regard him as a popular essayist. I look in vain for any writer who has conveyed so much information, from so many and such recondite sources, with so many just and original reflec tions, in a style so lively and poignant, yet so uniformly classical and perspicuous; no one, in short, who has combined so much wisdom with so much wit-so much truth and knowledge with so much life and fancy. His prose is always intelligible, and always entertaining. It is Southey's almost unexampled felicity to possess the best gifts of talent and genius, free from all their characteristic defects. As son, brother, husband, father, master, friend, he moves with firm yet light steps, alike unostentatious, and alike exemplary. As a writer, he has uniformly made his talents subservient to the best interests of humanity, of public virtne, and domestic piety; his cause has ever been the cause of pure religion and of liberty, of national independence, and of national illumination."-Bio. Lit. To this I may add the following criticism: "Southey, among all our living poets," says Professor Wilson, "stands aloof, and alone in his glory. For he alone of them all has adventured to illustrate, in poems of magnitude, the different characters, customs, and manners of nations. Joan of Arc' is an English and French story-Thalaba' an Arabian one-Kehama' is Indian- Madoc' Welsh and American-and Roderic' Spanish and Moorish; nor would it be easy to say (setting aside the first, which was a very youthful work) in which of these noble poems Mr. Southey has most suc cessfully performed an achievement entirely beyond the power of any but the highest genius. In Madoc,' and especially in Roderic,' he has relied on the truth of Nature-as it is seen in the history of great national transactions and events. In 'Thalaba' and 'Kehama,' though in them, too, he has brought to bear an almost boundless lore, he follows the leading of fancy and imagination, and walks in a world of wonders. Seldom, if ever, has one and the same poet exhibited such power in such different kinds of poetry; in truth a master, and in fiction a magician. Of all these poems, the conception and the execution are original; in much, faulty and imperfect both, but bearing throughout the impress of highest genius, and breathing a moral charm, in the midst of the wildest, and sometimes even extravagant imaginings, that shall preserve them for ever from oblivion, and embalm them in the spirit of love and of delight." THE BATTLE OF BLENHEIM. It was a summer evening, And by him sported on the green She saw her brother Peterkin In playing there, had found; He came to ask what he had found, Old Kaspar took it from the boy, Who stood expectant by; And then the old man shook his head, "Tis some poor fellow's skull," said he, "I find them in the garden, For there's many here about; And often, when I go to plough, The ploughshare turns them out! For many thousand men," said he, "Were slain in that great victory." "Now tell us what 'twas all about," Young Peterkin, he cries: While little Wilhelmine looks up, With wonder-waiting eyes; "Now tell us all about the war, And what they kill'd each other for." "It was the English," Kaspar cried, |