Sometime afterward Southey took a small house at Westbury, a beautiful village, where, in the society of his beloved wife, he resided about twelve months, and spent some of his most satisfactory days. He then produced more poetry than he ever did in the same space of time before or after; and he enjoyed the particular intimacy of Sir Humphry Davy, whose ardent genius was then making itself felt at Bristol. The rising man of science took a deep interest in, and heard passages read from, “Madoc,” as its composition was proceeded with by the aspiring and painstaking author.
Southey was likewise employed, at this time, in preparing a volume of minor poems, and a new edition of his “Letters from Spain and Portugal,” to which he had paid a second visit; besides editing the “Annual Anthology,” the first portion of which then appeared. His literary occupations were so decidedly and undeniably to his taste, and became so much “the life of his life,” that the idea of being chained to the law, and harassed by the beckonings of conscience in the direction of dry and dusty volumes, was gradually found to be more irksome and intolerable. Thus his attention was wisely and deliberately withdrawn from the concerns of a profession for which he was not calculated, and wholly concentrated on literature. Indeed the law is, of all others, a jealous mistress, and will accept of no divided allegiance; and such a result as that at which the poet arrived might easily have been foretold, in the case of one who commenced the marvelous achievement of “eating terms,” with indulging in the prospective pleasure of burning his law-books after he should, by their aid, have amassed a magnificent fortune, and retired to enjoy it in Christmas festivities among lakes and mountains.
Trusting now chiefly for support and distinction to his literary effusions, Southey speedily became one of the most industrious of living mortals. His devotion to his pursuits was intense and unparalleled, and indeed so great, that he considered the correcting of proof-sheets as a luxury of the highest kind. In fact, he seems to have regarded literature as the most agreeable of worldly concerns, and the fame arising from its successful cultivation as that kind of which a wise man should be principally ambitious, because the most permanent. This principle regulated his conduct and stimulated his exertions in his chosen field. He guided himself by it with singular resolution; his actions became extremely uniform; and the eccentric workings of his youthful spirit having ceased, his life was as calm and cheerful as could have been desired.
In 1801 Southey had the good fortune to obtain the appointment of private secretary to the Irish Chancellor of the Exchequer, whom he accompanied to Dublin; and in the same year published “Thalaba the Destroyer,” an Arabian fiction of considerable power, beauty, and magnificence. Soon after this, a pension was bestowed upon him by Government.
Southey now deemed it advisable to settle on the banks of the Greta, near Keswick, and pursued his avocations with keen and constant diligence. He wrote perpetually. Each day, and each hour of the day, had their appropriate tasks. He secluded himself much from society, but found consolation in the company of his pretty numerous household, and the well-stocked library which it was his fortune to collect and possess. He now sent into the world, from his agreeable retreat, a volume of “Metrical Tales,” and “Madoc.” After them appeared “The Curse of Kehama,” considered as the most meritorious of his poetic works, but founded on the Hindoo mythology, and therefore not peculiarly interesting to general readers. Some years later he published “Roderick, the last of the Goths,” a noble and pathetic poem.
In the mean time, Southey had not disdained the less pretending species of composition. His “Life of Nelson” is considered the best of his admirable prose works. When published, in 1813, it instantly rose into popular favor, and was recognized by the public as a standard biography. It was originally issued in two small volumes, since compressed into one. He subsequently contributed to “Lardner’s Cyclopædia” a series of lives of British admirals. Besides, he again testified his biographic skill by a “Life of Wesley,” the celebrated founder of Methodism. He evinced therein a minute acquaintance with the religious controversies of the day, and presented curious and interesting sketches of field-preachers and their performances. There were successively other works, less generally admired, relating to history, politics, morals, and philosophy. His numerous writings are characterized by an easy and flowing style, yet they did not secure him much real popularity; but this must, in a great measure, be attributed to the nature of the subjects. His prose was described as perfect by Lord Byron, who styled him “the only existing entire man of letters.”
Southey had, long ere this, relinquished the opinions which prompted him to produce “Wat Tyler;” and when the “Quarterly Review” was established in 1809, he became connected with the enterprise which was then entered upon, and furnished several of the prominent articles to that distinguished periodical in the earlier stage of its career.
Though not enjoying that measure of popular favor to which, as an author of merit and a man of worth and prudence, he was justly entitled, Southey ranked high among the writers of his day; and he was fully appreciated by those most capable of judging critically.
In 1821, the degree of LL.D. was conferred on him by the University of Oxford; and other marks of distinction were within his grasp, if he had chosen to accept them. He was unambitious of public celebrity, and cared little for going into the world. In fact, he is pronounced to have mixed too little with his fellow men, and was therefore wanting in that particular kind of intelligence and information which can only be obtained by a free and familiar intercourse with the world. That “the proper study of mankind is man,” is a doctrine with which he appears to have had little or no sympathy, so long as he had it in his power to say with truth:
“Around me I behold,
Where’er these casual eyes are cast,
The mighty minds of old;
My never-failing friends are they,
With whom I converse night and day.”