787. Robert Southey to Grosvenor Charles Bedford, [c. 27 May 1803]*

Ereenia lifted Kalyal from the bank, He placed her in the Vessel of the Gods. The Vessel animate with thought Spreads like a Nautilus its living sail And glides along the sky. Aright, aloft, in wavy tide The clouds of morning roll away, The winds that swept in wild career Grow calm along the path. The winds that loitering laggd in heaven Revive before the living bark And swell & sing beneath the sail.

That living Bark was shaped Like the Primeval Egg When Brama self existent, from its womb Issuing had hung its arch aloft To form the vault of heaven. A milky white its hue. The dews that stood unsullied on its side Seemd there as pearls opaque. From end to end the living sail Oercanopied the Maid, Thin as a bubble, clear & colourless Save where it caught & tinged the rays of morn. Smooth as the Swan when not a breeze Raises one wrinkle on the glassy lake, Thro air & sunshine saild The Vessel of the Gods. Recumbent there the Maiden glides along, How swift she feels not, tho the Eagles wing Had flaggd in flight behind. No fear had Kalyal, for the gales Which wander oer the heights of Hemacost, So heald & tranquillized her heart Fear could not enter there. For sure she deemd the pang of death was past, And that most beautiful of forms Who saild beside her was her guide to heaven.

Eye hath not seen nor thought conceived More perfect shape, more lovely beautiful Than he who floats beside on steady wing. Ereenias form was as the form of man, His wings were plumeless, from the neck Down to the ankle spread their long expanse, Their colour like the dark blue sky When the Moon shines serene. Or like the azure deep Beneath the blaze of day. The pliant bone that thro the membrane branchd Like veins of interwoven silver shone, Or shells of pearly hue. Now with soft stroke he fans the buoyant air Now glides with wings that move not Yet swift he speeds along As the Suns Chariot Wheels career thro heaven.

Thro air & sunshine sails The Vessel of the Gods. Far far beneath her lies The gross & heavy atmosphere of earth. She breathes the Sorgon gales, And every breath is joy. Swift to its haven speeds the living Bark, Swift as the falling meteor it alights And gently as evening dews The bend not the hair-bell-stem. Daughter of Earth alight, Ereenia cried, Lo here thy place of rest!

He furld his azure wings, The happy Kalyal knew not where to gaze. Her eyes in restless pleasure roam, Now fixd upon the lovely Grenthuver Now on that fair abode. It was a marble cavern, high above The rocky mountain rose, The floor was marble, marble were the side Here veind with silver, here with growing gold.

Here rest in peace! Ereenia cried, And I will guard thee; feeble as I am I trust the Rajah will not harm thee here.

Kalyal Alas thou fearest him, Immortal as thou art thou fearest him! I thought that death had saved me from his power. Not even the dead are safe!

Ereenia Long years of life & happiness Fair maiden yet be thine! From death have I preserved thee, so from ills Dwell here by me secured.

Kalyal Not me alone O gentle Deveta! I have a Father suffering upon earth, A persecuted, wretched, poor, good man, For whose strange misery There is no human help. And none but I dare comfort him Beneath Kehamas curse. O gentle Deveta Have mercy upon him!

Ereenia That boon I dare not answer as I would, Plead thou thyself to Indra.

Then to the Garden of the Sorgon God Ereenia led the Maid. In the mid garden towered one giant Tree Whose thousand boughs at every leaf Imbibed the dews of Heaven. Its root was in the rock. A Lake spread round beneath The thousand branches of its parent Tree. For still in one perpetual shower, Like diamond drops from every leaf Etherial waters fell Forth winding from that wonderous Lake A thousand rivers watered Paradise. Full to the brim, yet never overflown, They coold the gales that curld Their silver surface, & the gales bore back Their vapours to the Tree. And thus the etherial Rivers ran For ever renovate, yet still the same.¹

x x x x x x x x x x

The remainder of the Book is still in the World of Ideas. up in some ganglion or chamber of this poor medullary substance of mine – which aches most damnably at this present writing – So God help you –

R S.

You tell me nothing of your fathers removal – as if I did not want to know something of his local habitation & its name.

I am exceedingly delighted with the jealousy displayed by his Majesty² for the Liberty of the Press!³ God a mercy what an odd world do we live in! Huzza! God save the King! the Liberty of the Press <forever> & no Popery nor Wooden Shoes⁴ – By the by the Press Gang lately have abused the Liberty of the Press sadly.