35. Robert Southey to Grosvenor Charles Bedford, 26 December 1792*

Wednesday Dec. 26. 92 BristolMy dear friend

I hoped to have seen you before this day. that hope like most of mine is disappointed. my father is now in heaven. on Monday week I attended him to the grave. who knows but my next visit thither may be final — I ought to have written to you before but the subject was painful & you will excuse me. he had been long declining. evident however as this was I still deceived myself. when I passed thro Bath to Oxford I staid at my fathers & saw him in his bed — he prest my hand with affection & for the only time in his life blest me. why it was I know not but it struck me that I never should see him more. I never did. in a better world I shall.

Of this no more — the subject is painful to me & cannot be agreable to you. to his loss I am resigned. I am even thankful for it when I consider how grievous a burden is a heart opprest by injustice & misfortune. our meeting you see is thus deferrd & the melancholy silence of sorrow wears away with me that season appropriated to festivity. I have however resources in my own reflexions & solitude I have never found irksome — one book succeeds another — I take the pen for relaxation & at least possess negative happiness.

you will visit me at Baliol at the Installation¹ I hope. there will be a great chair a good fire & a bottle & I flatter myself with the hope of introducing you to the only man upon earth whom I at once love & respect.² he has half promised me his company. I depend upon yours — the opportunities of happiness are so rare that we ought to snatch them eagerly ere they disappear. where is young Wynn? he never will write to me & I am tired with expostulating. I asked him to send Collins’s letter long before the end of term & he has never noticed the letter perhaps he never received the letter. this government trick of opening private correspondence is very unpleasant. next come lettres de cachet Bastille & good night to poor Basil³ —

Collins’ last I have, & thank him for. your postscript did not surprize. but you have a sad trick of keeping letters long after they are wrote. the Miller⁴ was a true Philosopher & I wish I was of his school — such doctrines are far more calculated for promoting happiness than the abstruse wisdom of the Samian.⁵ the metaphysics of Plato the dry reason of Aristotle or the grossly-interpreted tenets of Epicurus.⁶ I might add the witty impiety of Voltaire & the artful infidelity of Hume.⁷ the man who destroys religion deprives us of the only substantial happiness. you will believe me. I cannot write. my intention was to fill the sheet but it impossible to command attention when one particular subject engrosses the mind. do write me & believe me in every situation

most sincerely yours

Robert Southey

I send you this merely to fill up — you will it no ways equal to the former

Titus⁸ to Berenice⁹

“The Sun shall from the West his course pursueEer Titus prove to Berenice untrueEer that ill fated hour Nights shadowy swayShall mantle oer the full meridian dayAll oaths all vows all love itself be vainOr Fortune rear Jerusalem¹⁰ again.

Lovd of my soul still Memory calls to viewThese vows which Love & Titus breathd to you.As now thy lines thy characters I traceSwift flies the mantling transport to my faceThe well known seal I kist & instant prestWith more than mortal transport to my breastAs high the glowing tide of rapture flowsFor one short moment I forget my woesTrembling I broke the seal — my name appearsHalf blotted out with Berenices tears —She wept on Titus name — nor Titus fliesTo kiss the tear away from Beautys eyes!And couldst thou weep for me & I delayTo dry those tears one hour my eager way?Ah Berenice still oer this hapless headMust Fate her heaviest clouds relentless spreadLike Aprils opening morn my life begunClear smild the sky & favouring shone the sunStill as he rose he brightend on my viewStill still alluring till eclipsed by you.Vespasians¹¹ humble offspring first in armsI rushd to follow Glorys glittring charmsFearless of wounds & prodigal of lifeThere Titus strove where fiercest ragd the strifeOn as I rushd to Fames attractive callI saw thy face & disregarded all —Sorrowing I found myself in chieftain stateBlind to the splendour but perceivd the weightOft as I fled to thee my eager speedHas curst the slowness of the jaded steedOer mountains but the base to hills as highTheir summits lost amid the pendant skyOer these by Hope & Love impatient ledWith unabating course thy Titus sped.As oer the neighbouring mountain swift he wentHope wingd the glance adown the steep descentImpatient Fancy saw the spot appearThan worlds or wealth of worlds to me more dearThence have I seen thy hand or seemd to seeSupport that Face which Love had turnd to me.

And canst thou think that Fortunes power can wrestEach dear-belovd remembrance from my breastCan days or years of anguish mantle oerThose blissful moments which are now no more —Those moments when each melting eye ball stroveTo express the fierce emotions of my love High beat each heart to passions flowing tideAnd Love forgot there was a world beside.

Again methinks adown the hill I flyAgain I seem to catch the mutual eyeAgain beats high this breast to Loves alarmsAgain I rush — I clasp thee in my arms —Fond scene away — unman my soul no moreAlas Those hours of ecstasy are oer —Yes Berenice too weak the voice of PowerTo call forth Pleasure from her blissful bowerWhere from the sight of courts retird she liesAnd hears affrayd the harsh command & fliesTo her in happier solitude unknownEach hourly peril that attends a throne —The throng incensd — grave Wisdoms saw severeDangers gaunt form & wildly glancing FearDark browd Deceit that drugs the honeyd bowlMeet not her eye nor terrify her soul —Yet these on courts & monarchs still attendTo guard weak Caution to partake no friend.Lovd of my soul these perils still awaitIn grim attendance round thy Titus stateThe fawning courtier on each word attendsThe weal of nations on each act dependsSuspicion stalks around with jaundiced mienAnd poisons every prospect round the scene.

Still still Remembrance paints that cruel dayWhen from thy arms harsh Fortune calld away —Twas Evenings closing hour — the sky sereneNo gloomy cloud nor harsher Fate was seenWe sat together in the jasmine bowrAnd watchd the silent step of Twilights powerThis better hand in thine intwind — I pastThe other gently round thy yielding wasteWe talkd of days of future love & blissNor knew the last of Love & Bliss was this

I heard the couriers speed — swift oer my frameA deadly chill presaging misery cameThe hand unlockd its grasp — the eye that gazdOn thee with rapture bent to earth defacdTrembling I took the scroll — oh fatal dayThat forcd me from the scene of joys awayAccursed hour that swiftly gliding sawThe hapless Titus yield to Fortunes lawNo Time the wounds you made from hence can wearNo Time no Splendour can efface Despair.

Inhuman Fortune why decrees the handTo stretch its sway oer every subject landOer others every bliss of life bestow —Yet doom the heart to pine with endless woeWhy rather Nature didst thou not more kindOrdain me offspring of some rustic hindTeach me to bow the neck of labouring oxImpress the furrow guide my fathers flocksThen might some country lass my heart have wonMate not unequal for a peasants son —Willing perhaps might one my vows receiveNor then could Fortune force me to deceiveUpon each act would hang no Empire’s weig[MS torn]No soulless Stoics interrupt my fateBut at eves leisure hour we’d walkAnd there unspied & unmolested talkTalk of our future joys — & every friendFor such I then should have — around attendWhen crownd with garlands of each rustic flowerWe bowd beneath the Priest to Hymens¹² powerTill at the length secure from Envys rageAnd bent beneath the gentle hand of ageWe saw around our sons a hardy trainManure the glebe & furrow all the plainGain with their restless hands old ages store& till that land their fathers tilld beforeTill Time at length mature should bring the doom& sons & grandsons wait us to the tomb.

Yet een than this was Titus once more blestBliss more unsullied filld his faithful breastEen then when tyrant Neros¹³ iron handDelugd with patriot blood the servile landWhen virtuous Seneca¹⁴ bowd down his headWhen first of Bards immortal Lucan¹⁵ bledFar from the guilty scene to me each dayBut witnessd Love & Pleasures softning swayMethinks each blissful room each spot I viewThe bower the palace hallow’d all by youThat sacred bower the seat of every blissWhere first I dard to seize the glowing kissThat bower where oft fatigued with Wars red fightI gazd on thee & only felt delightHide Memory hide the rest — that fatal bowerThat sent me from the arms of Love to powerOh come my Love with all thy heavn of charmsOh come once more to Love & Titus armsCome thou most fair most lovely most divineCome let thy heart responsive beat to mineI see I see thee now — those eyes no moreLike gems bedimmd this perjurd man deploreNo longer sad shall wear the hour awayNo longer Sorrow mark the livelong dayI see thee now high flows my hearts warm tideI see but thee, nor heed the world besideAh no avoid me — fly me farther yet} these lines I think are Popes¹⁶ Avoid me hate me if thou canst forget} if so scratch them out & put two in their place — Fly — hate this wretch — unblest unkind unjust} I have no book to see.This wretch most wretched vainly stild augustWeak would be Dutys shield to fence this heartTo guard this breast from Loves resistless dartPride Prejudice would instant quit the fieldAnd Nature & the Man be proud to yield.In vain I’d fly thee best belovd — in vainWould lose thy visage mid the courtier trainAmid the gaudy show the fawning throngThe weight of empire & of cares amongThat form appears so fair so lovd of thineSo fair so lovely & which once was mine.Was! what dire imports on that word attendCan Love so blest so heavenly find an end Must such ecstatic moments haste awayWill nought avail Times fatal course to stay?Rapid he fled when Titus viewd that faceNow slow he lags along with leaden paceNow heavy laden with a weight of woeLonger than years of bliss the minutes go —

No joys no peaceful moments eer awaitThe hapless Titus mid the pomp of state.Can Pomp assuage these burning pangs? or eerTeach Memory to forget that thou art fair?Can Splendor eer efface from Titus breastThat Berenice was kind & he was blest?Ah no. in vain the tempting harlots facePuts on each smile & each alluring graceEach smile each grace alluring but recallHow much my Berenice exceeds them all.How blest would Titus (best belovd) to theeFly from this weight of cares & miseryThe noise of courts the voice of Fame despiseAnd seek for favor only in thy eyes!Hid in obscurity in silence blestOf all that heavn can give in thee possestNo hovering clouds of care would interveneNo Fear no Jealousies pollute the sceneContent & Bliss should seek our secret grove& every joy be centerd found in LovePerhaps sweet offspring of connubial blissOur children climb to gain the fathers kissAway sweet scene — no more torment this breastBe all the senseless store now confestCome rigid Duty triumph in thy swayI must be wretched but I will obeyRome spacious streets red drenchd with Roman goreTitus Vespasians love shall neer deploreNo widows heartfelt groans for him ariseNo orphans curses pierce the avenging skiesIf Titus died Domitian¹⁷ must succeedBut neer will I resign for Rome to bleed.Supremely wretched as supremely greatStill will I drag along this load of stateOppressd with Miserys weight I still will bearBane of each hour the image of my fairWith Roman Pride will seek to steel my mindAnd most unhappy strive to bless mankind.

————¹⁸

<Of these epistles a few words. four years back I wrote one from B. to Titus & began an answer. the only copy I had was with all my earliest pieces in a foul book, I lent this to one whom I conceivd would take care of it. the book was lost to my eternal sorrow for all in it is bad. & I have reason to think it is still preservd — so some time hence these cursed rhymes will rise up in judgement against me. the epistle was very bad & I could only recollect the beginning — the two first lines as they now stand are all that remain of it.

you now have both & if you will add alter & correct them — by continual correction they may in time be good. the first is best. this last hardly tolerable. I will hint some topics which I could wish you to touch upon. some lines in answer to those “the silent lute &c. wish of Titus to place Berenice upon the throne. unwilling to hold her in any other rank than that of partner in his throne. you will find many others. Beaumont & Fletcher¹⁹ wrote plays together. — surely it more practicable to write poems.

you will wonder at this crammd sheet after last nights inability to proceed. but idleness is the worst of companions. I want employment & know you like a long letter.

you will let me hear from you soon & do say how affairs go on in London & send me the names of the prisoners in the tower.²⁰ surely it is better to run mad with politics than to turn maniac or frantic. next Tuesday begins a new year. I expect a good epistle from you upon that day & promise you one which I shall set about immediately upon concluding this. remember however that I hope to hear from by return of Post. will you send me the ode you did for your brother quique pii vates & Phœbo digna locuti.²¹ you shall have plenty in return of all sorts. I have a tolerable Satire addrest to you but cannot send it by the Post upon this levelling subject — another in embrio upon the grand Leveller Death. say what you will he puts all upon an equality & may one day (no matter how soon) level me with the well wiggd Doctors & well titled champions of Aristocracy. it is very seldom I hear from you — so I remain like a solitary oyster feeding upon thought — a most unsubstantial diet. in this hoggish city my acquaintances are few my friends fewer. friends however I have elsewhere & what need to care for the world beside? let the world wag how it will — let Despotism triumph or Freedom prevail I will still use my pen if I can in peace — if I must quit it for the musquet it is but cutting off a few years perhaps of disappointed hopes.>²²

<For your friendly invitation & that of Collins accept my best thanks & make my excuse to them. remember me to your Brother likewise — 1792 is expiring — good god how many events have transpird — from the fall of Gualbertus²³ to that of Louis!²⁴ from my libel upon rod to Paines upon sceptres! ²⁵ of all this more by Tuesday. my letter shall reach you then. are you in any of these tremendous associations? our church wardens have devised a curious test all loyal subjects are desird to sign their names to an address. such is their artifice that to my knowledge they made a child of ten years old write his name. thus they mean to know those who believe not in the divine right &c. never shall the name of your friend be prostituted so basely.>²⁶