16. Robert Southey to Grosvenor Charles Bedford, [c. 21 June 1792]*

My dear Bedford

This is a damnd world & the sooner I quit it the better. God gave me the happiest disposition ever mortal was blessd with had he not I must have sunk long ago — but all will not do I am tired of life I am disgusted with three parts of mankind — one half are knaves those I detest I despise the fools & where am I to seek the residue! reflection Bedford will not do for me so I fly from it — I roam the fields while my strength lasts & return to my pen or my book — what will conversation do where the only subject is damnable.

not one reproach have I heard concerning Westminster. it does not hurt me for I have not acted improperly — Dr V is a fool & a knave both. forgive me for my hurrying home. to take leave of friends is terrible — particularly so when it is doubtful whether you may ever see them again. if I could get an appointment to the East Indies I should like it. the church is a hypocritical line of life — the law as dishonest one — my friends the Doctors have no interest at Calcutta —

I am at No 9 Duke Street Bath — write to me if you can forgive my neglect — but I am not composed enough to write decently since I left Rye the moment I mounted the coach I smelt London & it sickend me. when I left London I smelt a charnel house & when I got home old Nicks brimstone.

I have been looking for wild flowers & found a beautiful one of an unknown species to me — such employments pass the time. I have begun “an improbable tale”¹ — why it is calld so I will tell you — the world is so bad that any uncommon virtue or tolerant sentiment is unnatural therefore improbable — I will copy some verses which I have just wrote for it

Lo where emerging from the womb of night Yon glorious orb exalts his brightening rayThe clouds assume the livery of light And pearly dewdrops glimmer in the day

The choir of Nature raise their chearing sound The tender stalk uprears its glistening headAwd by the morn each reptile flies around And wolves in grim retreat go seek their secret bed.

Yet now when Natures universal frame Feels the bright joy of life & light & dayStill miserys sable cloud remains the same Still Melancholy glooms the darkling lay

To me the purple radiance of the air To me the choral harmony of songWeak to dispell the shade of deep despair That haunts each culturd plain or forest wild among.

Fixd sullen tyrant still thy iron chain Corrodes my heart & rankles in my breastYouth — Hope — would fly — but ah all hope is vain To seek with thee for happiness or rest.

Sweet are to me the Convents gloomy walls Where Contemplation trims the midnight lampTo rove the high archd solitary halls Or tread the cloyster gloom with weeds oergrown & damp

Sweet is at Nights most secret hour to rise And pour my spirit in energic prayrTill full Devotion soar above the skies And Hope expands her wings & flies beyond Despair —

Sad Memorys hand withdraws the distant viel And points a father to my streaming eyesFriendless & chill as weak & worn & pale Far from his wife his son the captive lies —

No chearing sun there darts his glorious day Nor perfumd morning breathes her orient breathNor Hope emits to him her gladsome ray Nor Freedom voice exalts — she only leads to Death

Spirit of Ella² from yon azure sky Look down support the sorrows of thy childLet Resignation lift my hopes on high With Friendships softer voice & Pitys influence mild.

your brother I hear has tyed his hair — there is a plot to crop & dock him.

if you have heard of the fox without a tail — did you ever hear of the Ass in the same situation —

x Tell Collins my direction — & pray write.