2147. Robert Southey to Neville White, 20 September 1812*

My dear Neville. You have here a sheet full of gleanings from the M.S.S. in my possession. I have so transcribed as that they mat be cut asunder, & arranged in such manner as may be thought best, when they are wanted for the press.¹ You shall soon have the remainder.² RS. Sept 20. 1812.

With slow still step along the desert sands³ Where oer the parching plains broods red dismay, The Arab chief leads on his ruthless bands. And lo! a speck of dust is seen to play On the remotest confines of the day. Arouse! arouse! fierce does the Chieftain cry, Death calls! the Caravan is on its way! The warrior shouts. – The Siroc hurries by Hushd is his stormy voice, & quenchd his murderous eye.

These lines appear by the metre to have been intended for a stanza of the Christiad,⁴ – perhaps to have introduced a simily. The conception is striking, but the composition far more incorrect than that of that fine fragment.

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Behold the Shepherd boy who homeward tends,⁵ Finished his daily labour. Oer the path Deep overhung with herbage, does he stroll With pace irregular; by fits he runs, Then sudden stops with vacant countenance, And picks the pungent herb, or on the style Listlessly sits, & twines the reedy whip. And carols blithe his short & simple song. Thrice happy idler! thou hast never known Refinements piercing pang; thy joys are small, Yet are they malligned with bitter thought And after misery. As I behold Thy placid xxxx artless countenance, I feel Strange envy of thy state, & fain would change These short, uncommon hours of keener bliss For the long day of equal happiness.

Heaven grant no after trials may imprint Troubles deep wrinkle on thine open face, And cloud thy generous features. Mayst thou tread In the calm paths thro which thy fathers trod, To their late graves of honourable rest: So will thy lot be happy, so the hour Of death come clad in loveliness & joy; And as thou layest down thy blanched head Beneath the narrow mound, Affections hand Will bind the ozier oer thy peaceful grave, And bid the lily blossom on thy turf. But oh may Heaven avert from thee the curse Of mad fanaticism! away! away Let not the restless monster dare pollute The calm abodes of rural innocence! Oh if the wide contagion reach thy breast, Unhappy peasant, peace will vanish thence, And rag raging turbulence will rack thy heart With feverish dismay; then discontent Will prey upon thy vitals, then will doubt And sad uncertainty in fierce array With Superstitions monstrous train surround Thy dreadful death-bed, & no soothing hand Will smooth the painful pillow, for the bonds Of tender amity are all consumed By the prevailing fire, they all are lost In one ungovernable selfish flame.

Whence<re> has the patience arisen? where The Hydra multitude of sister ills Of infidelity, & open sin If disaffection & repining gall? Oh ye revered venerable band Who wear religious ephod, unto ye Belongs with wakeful vigilance to check The growing evil. In the vicious town Fearless & fixd the monster stands secure: But guard the rural shade! let honest peace Yet hold her ancient seats, & still preserve The village groups in their primeval bliss.

Such was, Placidio, thy divine employ, Ere thou wert borne to some sublimer sphere By Deaths mild angel

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Psalm 22⁶

My God, my God, oh why dost thou forsake me? Why art thou distant in the hour of fear? To thee, my wonted help, I still betake me, To thee I clamour, but thou dost not hear.

The beam of morning witnesses my sighing, The lonely night hour views me weep in vain. Yet thou art holy, & on thee relying Our Fathers were releas’d from grief & pain.

To thee they cried & thou didst hear their wailing, On thee they trusted, & their trust was sure. But I, poor lost & wretched son of feeling, I without hope must scorn & hate endure.

Me they revile, with many ills molested. They bid me seek of thee, oh Lord, redress Oh God, they say, his hope & trust he rested Let God relieve him in his deep distress.

To me, Almighty! in thy mercy shining, Lifes dark & dangerous portals thou didst ope; And softly on my Mothers lap reclining Breath’d thro my breast the lovely soul of Hope.

Even from the womb thou art my God, my Father, Aid me now trouble weighs me to the ground! Me heavy ills have worn, & faint & feeble The Bulls of Bavan have beset me round.

My heart is melted & my soul is weary, The wicked ones have pierced my hands & feet, Lord let thy influence cheer my bosom dreary, My help! my strength! let me thy presence greet.

Save me, oh save me from the sword dividing, Give me my darling from the jaws of death, Thee will I praise, & in thy name confiding Proclaim thy mercies with my latest breath.

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Mild Vesper, favourite of the Paphian Queen,⁷ Whose lucid lamp on Evenings twilight zone, Sheds a soft lustre oer the gloom serene, Only by Cynthia’s silver beam outshone, Thee I invoke to point my lonely way Oer these wild wastes to where my lover bides, For thou alone canst lend thy friendly ray Now the bright moon toward the ocean glides – No midnight murderer asks thy guilty aid, Nor might robber * * * I am alone by silly love betrayed To woo the star of Venus * * *

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Ode to Liberty⁸

Hence to thy darkest shades, dire Slavery, hence! Thine icy touch can freeze, Swift as the polar breeze The proud defying port of human sense. Hence to thine Indian cave To where the tall canes whisper oer thy rest, Like the murmuring wave Swept by the dark wing of the rapid West; And at the night’s still noon The lash’d Angolan in his grated cell, Mix’d with the Tygers yell Howls to the dull ear of the silent moon

But come thou Goddess blithe & free Thou mountain-maid sweet Liberty, With buskined knee & bosom bare, Thy tresses floating on the air: Come, & treading on thy feet Independence let me meet Thy giant mate, whose awful form Has often braved the bellowing storm, And heard its angry Spirit shriek Reard on some Promontory’s beak, Seen by the lonely fisher far By the glimpse of the flitting star, His awful bulk, in dusky shroud Commixing with the pitchy cloud, While at his feet the lighnings play And the deep thunders die away. Goddess come & let us sail On the fresh reviving gale, Oer dewy lawns & forests lone, Till lighting on some mountain stone That scales the circumambient sky, We see a thousand nations lie. From Zemblas snows to Africs heat Prostrate beneath our frolic feet.

From Italys luxurious plains Where everlasting summer reigns, Why Goddess dost thou turn away? Didst thou never sojourn there? Oh yes thou didst – but fallen is Rome, – The pilgrim weeps her silent doom. As at midnight murmuring low Along the mouldering portico, He hears the desolate wind career While the rank ivy whispers near.

Ill-fated Gaul, ambitious grasp Bids thee again in slavery gasp. Again thy dungeon walls resound The hopeless shriek, the groan profound. But lo, in yonder happy skies Helvetia’s airy mountains rise, And oh on her tall cliffs reclin’d Gay Fancy, whispering to my mind As the wild Herdsmans call is heard, Tells me that she, oer all preferred In every clime, in every zone, Is Libertys divinest throne. Yet whence that sigh? . O Goddess, say Has the Tyrants thirsty sway Dared profane the sacred seat, Thy long high-favourd, best retreat? It has! it has! away away To where the green Isles woo the day, Where thou art still supreme, & where Thy Pæans fill the floating air.

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Oh that I were the fragrant flower that kisses⁹ My Arabella’s breast that heaves on [? high] high. Pleasd should I be to taste the transient blisses And on the melting throne to faint & die.

Oh that I were the robe that loosely covers Her taper limbs & Grecian form divine, Or the entwisted zones, like melting lovers, That clasp her waist in many an aëry twine

Oh that my soul might take its lasting station In her waved hair, her perfumd breath to sip, Or catch by chance her blue eyes fascination, Or meet by stealth her soft vermillion lip.

But chaind to this dull being, I must ever Lament the doom by which I’m hither placed. Must pant for moments I must meet with never And dream of beauties I must never taste.

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In the dark coverts of the Forest shade,¹⁰ By scathed oaks & haunted streamlets laid, What time the moon uprose, her clouds among, The muse unheeded pourd her lonely song. Unheard she sung, save when to Fancy’s eye Pale Vesper stooping from the spangled sky Would listen still, or when with distant swell Sequestered Echo answered from her cell. When shrinking timid from the obtrusive gaze She first explored the worlds tumultuous maze, Who smiled benignant on her artless way? Who opened first the patrons fostering ray? Who bade her fears, her throbbing tremours flee Who o revered Derby – who but thee?

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Sonnet¹¹

Poor little one, must bitterly did pain And lifes worst ills assail thine early age, And quickly tird with this rough pilgrimage Thy wearied spirit did its Heaven regain. Moaning & sickly on the lap of life Thou lay’dst thine aching head & thou didst sigh A little while, ere to its kindred sky Thy soul returned to taste no more of strife. Thy lot was happy, little sojourner! Thou hast no mother to direct thy ways (Short as <And fortune> And fortune frownd most darkly in thy days, Short as they were: Now far from the low stir Of this dim spot, in Heaven thou dost repose And Look’st & smil’st on this Worlds transient woes.

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