Wilt thou float careless down the stream of time,
In sadness borne to dull oblivious shore,
Or shake off grief, and “build the lofty rhyme,”
And live till time shall be no more?
If thy light bark have met the storms,
If threatening cloud the sky deforms,
Let honest truth be vain; look back on me,
Have I been “sailing on a Summer sea”?
Have only zephyrs fill’d my swelling sails,
As smooth the gentle vessel glides along?
Lycon! I met unscar’d the wintry gales,
And sooth’d the dangers with the song:
So shall the vessel sail sublime,
And reach the port of fame adown the stream of time.
Bion [i. e. R. S.].
Compare the following unpublished letter from Southey to Miss Sarah Fricker:—
October 18, 1794.
“Amid the pelting of the pitiless storm” did I, Robert Southey, the Apostle of Pantisocracy, depart from the city of Bristol, my natal place—at the hour of five in a wet windy evening on the 17th of October, 1794, wrapped up in my father’s old great coat and my own cogitations. Like old Lear I did not call the elements unkind,—and on I passed, musing on the lamentable effects of pride and prejudice—retracing all the events of my past life—and looking forward to the days to come with pleasure.
Three miles from Bristol, an old man of sixty, most royally drunk, laid hold of my arm, and begged we might join company, as he was going to Bath. I consented, for he wanted assistance, and dragged this foul animal through the dirt, wind, and rain!...
Think of me, with a mind so fully occupied, leading this man nine miles, and had I not led him he would have lain down under a hedge and probably perished.
I reached not Bath till nine o’clock, when the rain pelted me most unmercifully in the face. I rejoiced that my friends at Bath knew not where I was, and was once vexed at thinking that you would hear it drive against the window and be sorry for the way-worn traveller. Here I am, well, and satisfied with my own conduct....
My clothes are arrived. “I will never see his face again [writes Miss Tyler], and, if he writes, will return his letters unopened;” to comment on this would be useless. I feel that strong conviction of rectitude which would make me smile on the rack.... The crisis is over—things are as they should be; my mother vexes herself much, yet feels she is right. Hostilities are commenced with America! so we must go to some neutral fort—Hambro’ or Venice.
Your sister is well, and sends her love to all; on Wednesday I hope to see you. Till then farewell,
Robert Southey.