With Coleridge, Southey wrote "The Fall of Robespierre," and, by himself, an epic in blank verse on Jeanne d'Arc. Of this boyish effort—ambitious, and, in history, ill-informed—he had a high opinion, writing, in 1800, "my Joan of Arc has revived the epic mania... but it is not every one who can shoot with the bow of Ulysses, and the gentlemen who think they can bend the bow because I made the string twang will find themselves disappointed". Southey was always twanging the string of epic poetry. Even at school he had contemplated a series of epics, to be written at the fate of one a year; on the mythological legends of the world. In 1795 he married Miss Edith Fricker, a sister of the wife of Coleridge, and visited Portugal, acquiring, then and on a later visit, an unusual knowledge of the languages and literatures of the Peninsula.
After an attempt to study law, he went to live at Westbury, near Bristol, began "Madoc," an epic in blank verse on a legendary Welsh prince who discovered America, and fought the Aztecs, and he also began "Kehama," an epic on Hindoo mythology, and "Thalaba, the Destroyer," an epic based on the mythology of Islam; while "Madoc" deals largely with the sanguinary religion of Anahuac.
In "Madoc," which was not completed till after Southey settled at Keswick, near Wordsworth, but not too near, he had chosen for a theme perhaps the most romantic adventure in human history. He assigns to his fabulous Welsh prince the part actually taken by Cortes, the Cymri defeated the Aztecs as did the Spaniards.
Southey's blank verse is somewhat Miltonic, though he was no such "inventor of harmonies" as Milton, while in descriptions of adventure among unknown peoples, and fighting with Aztec weapons, he reminds the reader of some of the romances of Mr. Rider Haggard. Books XIV.-XV. ("The Stone of Sacrifice" and "The Battle") cannot but delight any boy who reads them, they are full of spirit and abundantly picturesque; while the notes are as rich as Scott's in the charm of strange lore, and delightful passages from forgotten books. Thus from the Jesuit missionary, Lafitau (for Southey fully appreciated the virtues of Jesuit missionaries), he culls a Red Indian legend, one of the world-wide variants of the tale of Orpheus and Eurydice. Sir Walter Scott, in 1807, wrote to Southey "I have read 'Madoc' three times since my first cursory perusal, and each time with an increasing admiration. But a poem whose merits are of that high tone does not immediately take with the public at large."
In fact "Thalaba," written in a strange unrhymed measure, devised by Dr. Sayres, deals with topics of no earthly interest, the feud of Thalaba and the demons of Domdaniel. Southey himself said that "Thalaba" was like highly seasoned turtle soup, while Wordsworth's poems were like asparagus and artichokes, wholesome, and edible with the aid of melted butter. But the world did not care for "Thalaba," nor for the monstrosities of Hindoo mythology in the eccentric measures of "Kehama". Landor, whose "Gebir" Southey heartily admired, offered to pay for the printing of as many epics as Southey chose to write; he cast a longing eye on Zoroaster; but Southey had a wife and family, "a sacrifice was made," "Kehama" was his last epic, unless we reckon "Roderick" as an epic poem. Southey was not destitute of poetic genius; passages in his epics, and among his lyrics, "My Days among the Dead are Past," and "The Holly Tree," attest his gift, but the Epic has seldom indeed been written with success, and never anywhere in such measures as those of "Kehama" and "Thalaba".
It was necessary for Southey to turn his hand to prose, and he supported his family and bought his books by reviewing and political writing, first in "The Annual Register," then in "The Quarterly Review," though it was against the grain that he wrote in a political serial. He was a friend of his country as against Bonaparte; he was a friend of order, while he was clear-sighted about the oppression and abuses which sheltered themselves under the shield of order; and he was a religious man. Like Scott he was anxious that the "Quarterly" reviewers "should keep their swords clean as well as sharp," but the political blades of both the "Quarterly" and the "Edinburgh" were dirty and poisoned, and were wont to slash about in literary criticism. Southey was the common butt of abuse from Liberal reviewers, and was supposed by Shelley and Byron to have attacked them in criticisms to which he was a perfect stranger: though of "the new morality" of both poets he expressed his opinion privately, and publicly struck back at Byron for his brilliant assault on Southey's English hexameters concerning the admission of George III. to heaven. Southey must have been deserted by the sense of humour when he wrote that astonishing piece of verse in the capacity of Poet Laureate. This little piece of preferment Southey obtained in 1813. Sir Walter, to whom it was offered, despite the "rapacity" of which Macaulay accused him, had declined the laurels, and, believing that the post was much better paid than it is, had suggested the appointment of Southey. The little salary, under a hundred pounds, enabled Southey to provide for his family by insuring his life. In answering Scott's letter—"I am not such an ass as not to know that you are my better in poetry"; Southey said "there has been no race; we have both got to the top of the hill by different paths".
There is something very winning in Southey's noble simplicity of nature. Neither he nor Scott had won to the top of Parnassus hill, and Scott was well aware of it. But Southey to the last, in spite of public neglect, believed in his own success as a supreme poet; yet abandoned his epics for the homely task of winning a poor competence for his family by reviewing, and by doing job-work for the publishers. As his prose was of the first quality he was able to earn £300 by his masterpiece, the immortal "Life of Nelson". As an article for the "Quarterly" it brought a hundred, another hundred when enlarged, a third when published in "The Family Library". His "Life of John Wesley" was only second to his "Nelson" in merit. His "History of Brazil" could not expect a due reward; his general writings, though full of pleasant erudition and fanciful humour, were not popular; towards the end of his life the revenues which he derived from a score of books amounted only to £26. He mentions the fact without bitterness, without complaint. His long and noble life of industry ended in 1843; for some time he had sat in the library which he had made without the power to read his books.
Shelley.
Percy Bysshe Shelley (born 4 August, 1792, at Field Place, Horsham, the seat of his father, Sir Timothy Shelley, Bart.) seems to have incarnated the spirit of the Revolution. He had no brothers to check his tastes and impulses; he ruled his sisters, was lonely at a private school, but at Eton, where he already defied tyrants,—boys and masters,—he seems to have become popular, despite his eccentricities. Like many other boys he made chemical smells and explosions in place of mastering his Greek grammar. He read Godwin, in whom he invested his great natural powers of belief to the neglect of more orthodox securities, and he combined Godwinism with the romantic mechanism of Mrs. Radcliffe's novels in two schoolboy romances, "Zastrozzi," the more amusing of the pair, and "St. Irvyne". He is said to have received some money for "Zastrozzi"; if he did the case was unparalleled in his later experience. When at University College, Oxford, he published "Poems by Victor and Cazire" (his sister Elizabeth) and a little incoherent volume, "Posthumous Fragments of Margaret Nicholson," a maniac who aimed at murdering George III.
He had no intimate friend except his future biographer, Thomas Hogg, a sceptic, but a Tory; and his studies were desultory, self-directed, and much concerned with efforts to retain or ruin some remnants of belief. His little thesis on "The Necessity of Atheism," and his distribution of the paper, were perhaps as much inspired by his humourless love of practical jokes and aversion to the authorities as by conviction. His expulsion, which Hogg insisted on sharing, was the rash reply of dons who were tired of being baited; and Shelley, now a martyr, rejoiced in proclaiming the ideas for which he and Hogg had suffered.