SOUTHEY was born in Bristol, August and Don Rode ick," of which the last is perHis father, a linen-draper, had be-haps the best. barrassed in business, and Robert was i by his uncle, who sent him to West, and then to Oxford, intending him for ch. But he had revolutionary and het notions, refused to take orders, and left rsity in 1704, having been there but In 1793 he had published with Robla small volume of poems, and soon peblisher gave his £50 for his "Joan He wrote and compiled all sorts of books, and contributed maltitudinous reviews to the quarterlles. Of his prose works, his blographies are considered the best, and especially the "Life of Nolen," which has survived thes in popular apportation. Enter shall thy bonor'd name g the wildren of mankind be bless'd; by the skill hast taught us how to tame license, the lamentable pest ir Africa sent forth to scourge the West, in vengeance for her sable brood Vainly the wretched sufferer look'd for aid; ROBERT SOUTHEY. ROBERT SOUTHEY was born in Bristol, August 12, 1774. His father, a linen-draper, had become embarrassed in business, and Robert was educated by his uncle, who sent him to Westminster and then to Oxford, intending him for the church. But he had revolutionary and heterodox notions, refused to take orders, and left the university in 1794, having been there but one year. In 1793 he had published with Robert Lovell a small volume of poems, and soon after a publisher gave him £50 for his "Joan of Arc." He made the acquaintance of Coleridge, and in November, 1795, they married sisters. He passed some time in Portugal, studying the language, and then entered as a student at Gray's Inn; but he had no taste for the law, and soon abandoned it. Meanwhile he had been at work on his poem of "Madoc," and after some futile attempts to get into business, he devoted himself wholly to literature, at which he wrought with untiring diligence during the remainder of his life. In 1804 he settled near Keswick, in Cumberland, which became thenceforth his home. Besides the poems mentioned above, he published "Thalaba," "The Curse of Kehama,' and "Don Roderick," of which the last is perhaps the best. He wrote and compiled all sorts of books, and contributed multitudinous reviews to the quarterlies. Of his prose works, his biographies are considered the best, and especially the "Life of Nelson," which has survived them all in popular appreciation. In 1807 Southey received a literary pension of £160. In 1813 he succeeded Pye as Poet Laureate. In 1835 he received another pension of £300 and the offer of a baronetcy. Meanwhile he had become as conservative in his politics as he had once been radical. In 1837 his wife died, and in 1839 he married Caroline Bowles, one or two of whose poems maintain a place in all the popular collections. He died March 21, 1843, having passed several years in a sort of stupor. The great defect in Southey's poetry is, that it is not poetical. He had scholarship enough, and industry enough, and rhythmical skill enough; but the essential difference between prose and poetry was something beyond him. Consequently his epics are rapidly passing to oblivion, and it is doubtful if fifty years hence he will be reckoned among the poets at all. Shall swathe the sleeper for his bed of earth, Now tractable as when a babe at birth? Who now the ample funeral urn shall knead, And, burying it beneath his proper hearth, Deposit there with careful hands the dead, And lightly then relay the floor above his head 11. Unwept, unshrouded, and unsepulchred, The hammock, where they hang, for winding sheet And grave suffices the deserted dead: There from the armadillo's searching feet Safer than if within the tomb's retreat. The carrion birds obscene in vain essay To find that quarry: round and round they beat The air, but fear to enter for their prey, And from the silent door the jaguar turns away. 12. But nature for her universal law Hath other, surer instruments in store, On the white bones the mouldering roof will fall; Seeds will take root, and spring in sun and shower; And Mother Earth ere long with her green pall, Resuming to herself the wreck, will cover all. 13. Oh! better thus with earth to have their part, Age after age preserved by horrid art, Strange pride that with corruption thus would vie! And strange delusion that would thus maintai The fleshly form, till cycles shall pass by, And in the series of the eternal chain, The spirit come to seek its old abode again. 14. One pair alone survived the general fate; Left in such drear and mournful solitude, That death might seem a preferable state. Not more depress'd the Arkite patriarch stood, When landing first on Ararat he view'd, Where all around the mountain summits lay, Like islands seen amid the boundless flood: Nor our first parents more forlorn than they, Through Eden when they took their solitary way. 15. Alike to them it seem'd, in their despair, Whither they wander'd from the infected spot. Chance might direct their steps: they took no care; Come well or ill to them, it matter'd not! In this resignment to their hopeless case, Indifferent to all choice or circumstance of place. 16. That palsying stupor past away ere long, And as the spring of health resumed its power, |