Robert Southey

Robert Southey was an English poet, biographer, essayist, and historian. Born on August 12, 1774, he was associated with the Romantic school of poetry and is well known for his works such as 'The Story of the Three Bears', which is the origin of the famous Goldilocks tale. He served as Poet Laureate of the United Kingdom from 1813 until his death in 1843. His prolific output included not just poetry, but also significant biographical and historical works.

August 12, 1774

March 21, 1843

English

Robert Southey

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Pig, The

                    A COLLOQUIAL POEM


Jacob! I do not like to see thy nose
Turn'd up in scornful curve at yonder pig,
It would be well, my friend, if we like him,
Were perfect in our kind!... And why despise
The sow-born grunter?... He is obstinate,
Thou answerest; ugly, and the filthiest beast
That banquets upon offal.... Now I pray you
Hear the pig's counsel.
                        Is he obstinate?
We must not, Jacob, be deceived by words;
We must not take them as unheeding hands
Receive base money at the current worth
But with a just suspicion try their sound,
And in the even balance weight them well
See now to what this obstinacy comes:
A poor, mistreated, democratic beast,
He knows that his unmerciful drivers seek
Their profit, and ...

Robert Southey

Rudiger.

Divers Princes and Noblemen being assembled in a beautiful and fair Palace, which was situate upon the river Rhine, they beheld a boat or small barge make toward the shore, drawn by a Swan in a silver chain, the one end fastened about her neck, the other to the vessel; and in it an unknown soldier, a man of a comely personage and graceful presence, who stept upon the shore; which done, the boat guided by the Swan left him, and floated down the river. This man fell afterward in league with a fair gentlewoman, married her, and by her had many children. After some years, the same Swan came with the same barge into the same place; the soldier entering into it, was carried thence the way he came, left wife, children and family, and was never seen amongst them after.

Now who can judge this to be other than one of those spirits that a...

Robert Southey

Sappho. A Monodrama.

Argument.

To leap from the promontory of LEUCADIA was believed by the Greeks to be a remedy for hopeless love, if the self-devoted victim escaped with life. Artemisia lost her life in the dangerous experiment: and Sappho is said thus to have perished, in attempting to cure her passion for Phaon.


SAPPHO

(Scene the promontory of Leucadia.)

This is the spot:--'tis here Tradition says
That hopeless Love from this high towering rock
Leaps headlong to Oblivion or to Death.
Oh 'tis a giddy height! my dizzy head
Swims at the precipice--'tis death to fall!

Lie still, thou coward heart! this is no time
To shake with thy strong throbs the frame convuls'd.
To die,--to be at rest--oh pleasant thought!
Perchance to leap and live; the soul all still,
And...

Robert Southey

Sonnet I

Hold your mad hands! for ever on your plain
    Must the gorged vulture clog his beak with blood?
    For ever must your Nigers tainted flood
Roll to the ravenous shark his banquet slain?
Hold your mad hands! what daemon prompts to rear
    The arm of Slaughter? on your savage shore
    Can hell-sprung Glory claim the feast of gore,
With laurels water'd by the widow's tear
Wreathing his helmet crown? lift high the spear!
    And like the desolating whirlwinds sweep,
    Plunge ye yon bark of anguish in the deep;
For the pale fiend, cold-hearted Commerce there
Breathes his gold-gender'd pestilence afar,
And calls to share the prey his kindred Daemon War.

Robert Southey

Sonnet I.

Go Valentine and tell that lovely maid
    Whom Fancy still will pourtray to my sight,
How her Bard lingers in this sullen shade,
    This dreary gloom of dull monastic night.
Say that from every joy of life remote
    At evening's closing hour he quits the throng,
Listening alone the ring-dove's plaintive note
    Who pours like him her solitary song.
Say that her absence calls the sorrowing sigh,
    Say that of all her charms he loves to speak,
In fancy feels the magic of her eye,
    In fancy views the smile illume her cheek,
Courts the lone hour when Silence stills the grove
And heaves the sigh of Memory and of Love.

Robert Southey

Sonnet II

Why dost thou beat thy breast and rend thine hair,
    And to the deaf sea pour thy frantic cries?
    Before the gale the laden vessel flies;
The Heavens all-favoring smile, the breeze is fair;
Hark to the clamors of the exulting crew!
    Hark how their thunders mock the patient skies!
    Why dost thou shriek and strain thy red-swoln eyes
As the white sail dim lessens from thy view?
Go pine in want and anguish and despair,
    There is no mercy found in human-kind--
Go Widow to thy grave and rest thee there!
    But may the God of Justice bid the wind
Whelm that curst bark beneath the mountain wave,
And bless with Liberty and Death the Slave!

Robert Southey

Sonnet II.

    Think Valentine, as speeding on thy way
        Homeward thou hastest light of heart along,
    If heavily creep on one little day
        The medley crew of travellers among,
    Think on thine absent friend: reflect that here
        On Life's sad journey comfortless he roves,
    Remote from every scene his heart holds dear,
        From him he values, and from her he loves.
    And when disgusted with the vain and dull
        Whom chance companions of thy way may doom,
    Thy mind, of each domestic comfort full,
        Turns to itself and meditates on home,
    Ah think what Cares must ache within his breast
Who loaths the lingering road, yet has no home of rest!

Robert Southey

Sonnet III

Oh he is worn with toil! the big drops run
    Down his dark cheek; hold--hold thy merciless hand,
    Pale tyrant! for beneath thy hard command
O'erwearied Nature sinks. The scorching Sun,
As pityless as proud Prosperity,
    Darts on him his full beams; gasping he lies
    Arraigning with his looks the patient skies,
While that inhuman trader lifts on high
    The mangling scourge. Oh ye who at your ease
    Sip the blood-sweeten'd beverage! thoughts like these
Haply ye scorn: I thank thee Gracious God!
    That I do feel upon my cheek the glow
Of indignation, when beneath the rod
    A sable brother writhes in silent woe.

Robert Southey

Sonnet III.

    Not to thee Bedford mournful is the tale
        Of days departed. Time in his career
        Arraigns not thee that the neglected year
    Has past unheeded onward. To the vale
    Of years thou journeyest. May the future road
        Be pleasant as the past! and on my friend
        Friendship and Love, best blessings! still attend,
    'Till full of days he reach the calm abode
    Where Nature slumbers. Lovely is the age
        Of Virtue. With such reverence we behold
        The silver hairs, as some grey oak grown old
    That whilome mock'd the rushing tempest's rage
    Now like the monument of strength decayed
With rarely-sprinkled leaves casting a trembling shade.

Robert Southey

Sonnet IV

'Tis night; the mercenary tyrants sleep
    As undisturb'd as Justice! but no more
    The wretched Slave, as on his native shore,
Rests on his reedy couch: he wakes to weep!
Tho' thro' the toil and anguish of the day
    No tear escap'd him, not one suffering groan
    Beneath the twisted thong, he weeps alone
In bitterness; thinking that far away
Tho' the gay negroes join the midnight song,
    Tho' merriment resounds on Niger's shore,
She whom he loves far from the chearful throng
    Stands sad, and gazes from her lowly door
With dim grown eye, silent and woe-begone,
    And weeps for him who will return no more.

Robert Southey

Sonnet IV.

What tho' no sculptur'd monument proclaim
    Thy fate-yet Albert in my breast I bear
Inshrin'd the sad remembrance; yet thy name
    Will fill my throbbing bosom. When DESPAIR
The child of murdered HOPE, fed on thy heart,
    Loved honored friend, I saw thee sink forlorn
Pierced to the soul by cold Neglect's keen dart,
    And Penury's hard ills, and pitying Scorn,
And the dark spectre of departed JOY
    Inhuman MEMORY. Often on thy grave
Love I the solitary hour to employ
Thinking on other days; and heave the sigh
    Responsive, when I mark the high grass wave
Sad sounding as the cold breeze rustles by.

Robert Southey

Sonnet IX.

Fair is the rising morn when o'er the sky
    The orient sun expands his roseate ray,
And lovely to the Bard's enthusiast eye
    Fades the meek radiance of departing day;
But fairer is the smile of one we love,
    Than all the scenes in Nature's ample sway.
And sweeter than the music of the grove,
    The voice that bids us welcome. Such delight
    EDITH! is mine, escaping to thy sight
From the hard durance of the empty throng.
    Too swiftly then towards the silent night
Ye Hours of happiness! ye speed along,
    Whilst I, from all the World's cold cares apart,
    Pour out the feelings of my burthen'd heart.

Robert Southey

Sonnet V

Did then the bold Slave rear at last the Sword
    Of Vengeance? drench'd he deep its thirsty blade
In the cold bosom of his tyrant lord?
    Oh! who shall blame him? thro' the midnight shade
Still o'er his tortur'd memory rush'd the thought
    Of every past delight; his native grove,
    Friendship's best joys, and Liberty and Love,
All lost for ever! then Remembrance wrought
His soul to madness; round his restless bed
    Freedom's pale spectre stalk'd, with a stern smile
    Pointing the wounds of slavery, the while
She shook her chains and hung her sullen head:
No more on Heaven he calls with fruitless breath,
But sweetens with revenge, the draught of death.

Robert Southey

Sonnet V.

Hard by the road, where on that little mound
    The high grass rustles to the passing breeze,
    The child of Misery rests her head in peace.
Pause there in sadness. That unhallowed ground
Inshrines what once was Isabel. Sleep on
    Sleep on, poor Outcast! lovely was thy cheek,
    And thy mild eye was eloquent to speak
The soul of Pity. Pale and woe-begone
Soon did thy fair cheek fade, and thine eye weep
    The tear of anguish for the babe unborn,
    The helpless heir of Poverty and Scorn.
She drank the draught that chill'd her soul to sleep.
I pause and wipe the big drop from mine eye,
Whilst the proud Levite scowls and passes by.

Robert Southey

Sonnet VI

                    to a brook near the village of Corston.

    As thus I bend me o'er thy babbling stream
        And watch thy current, Memory's hand pourtrays
        The faint form'd scenes of the departed days,
    Like the far forest by the moon's pale beam
    Dimly descried yet lovely. I have worn
        Upon thy banks the live-long hour away,
        When sportive Childhood wantoned thro' the day,
    Joy'd at the opening splendour of the morn,
    Or as the twilight darken'd, heaved the sigh
        Thinking of distant home; as down my cheek
        At the fond thought slow stealing on, would speak
    The silent eloquence of the full eye.
    Dim are the long past days, yet still they please
As thy soft sounds half heard, borne on the inconstant breeze...

Robert Southey

Sonnet VI

High in the air expos'd the Slave is hung
    To all the birds of Heaven, their living food!
He groans not, tho' awaked by that fierce Sun
    New torturers live to drink their parent blood!
He groans not, tho' the gorging Vulture tear
    The quivering fibre! hither gaze O ye
    Who tore this Man from Peace and Liberty!
Gaze hither ye who weigh with scrupulous care
The right and prudent; for beyond the grave
    There is another world! and call to mind,
    Ere your decrees proclaim to all mankind
Murder is legalized, that there the Slave
Before the Eternal, "thunder-tongued shall plead
"Against the deep damnation of your deed."

Robert Southey

Sonnet VII. To The Evening Rainbow.

Mild arch of promise! on the evening sky
    Thou shinest fair with many a lovely ray
Each in the other melting. Much mine eye
    Delights to linger on thee; for the day,
Changeful and many-weather'd, seem'd to smile
Flashing brief splendor thro' its clouds awhile,
    That deepen'd dark anon and fell in rain:
But pleasant is it now to pause, and view
Thy various tints of frail and watery hue,
    And think the storm shall not return again.
Such is the smile that Piety bestows
    On the good man's pale cheek, when he in peace
Departing gently from a world of woes,
    Anticipates the realm where sorrows cease.

Robert Southey

Sonnet VIII.

With many a weary step, at length I gain
    Thy summit, Lansdown; and the cool breeze plays,
    Gratefully round my brow, as hence the gaze
Returns to dwell upon the journeyed plain.
    'Twas a long way and tedious! to the eye
Tho fair the extended vale, and fair to view
The falling leaves of many a faded hue,
    That eddy in the wild gust moaning by.
Even so it fared with Life! in discontent
Restless thro' Fortune's mingled scenes I went,
    Yet wept to think they would return no more!
But cease fond heart in such sad thoughts to roam,
For surely thou ere long shall reach thy home,
    And pleasant is the way that lies before.

Robert Southey

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