“Yesterday I arrived, and found your letters; they did depress me, but I have since reasoned or dreamt myself into more cheerful anticipations. I have persuaded myself that your complaint is gouty; that good living is necessary, and a good climate. I also move to the south; at least so it appears: and if my present prospects ripen, we may yet live under one roof. . . . .
“You may have seen a translation of Persius, by Drummond, an
M.P. This man is going ambassador, first to Palermo and then to Constantinople:
if a married man can go as his secretary, it is probable that I shall accompany
him. I daily expect to know. It is a scheme of Wynn’s to settle me in the south, and I am returned to
look about me. My salary will be small—a very trifle; but after a few
years I look on to something better, and have fixed my mind on a consulship.
Now, if we go, you must join us as soon as we are housed, and it will be
marvellous if we regret England. I shall have so little to do, that my time may
be considered as wholly my own: our joint amusements will easily supply us with
all expenses. So no more of the Azores; for we will see the Great
| 150 | LIFE AND CORRESPONDENCE | Ætat. 27. |
“You know your old Poems are a third time in the press; why not set forth a second volume? . . . . . Your Christabel, your Three Graces, which I remember as the very consummation of poetry. I must spur you to something, to the assertion of your supremacy; if you have not enough to muster, I will aid you in any way—manufacture skeletons that you may clothe with flesh, blood, and beauty; write my best, or what shall be bad enough to be popular;—we will even make plays à-la-mode Robespierre Drop all task-work, it is ever unprofitable; the same time, and one twentieth part of the labour, would produce treble emolument. For Thalaba I received 115l.; it was just twelve months’ intermitting work, and the after-editions are my own. . . . .
“I feel here as a stranger; somewhat of Leonard’s feeling. God bless Wordsworth for that poem! ‘What
* “The Brothers” is the title of this poem. |
| Ætat. 27. | OF ROBERT SOUTHEY. | 151 |
“Time and absence make strange work with our affections; but mine are ever returning to rest upon you. I have other and dear friends, but none with whom, the whole of my being is intimate—with whom every thought and feeling can amalgamate. Oh! I have yet such dreams! Is it quite clear that you and I were not meant for some better star, and dropped, by mistake, into this world of pounds, shillings, and pence? . . . .
“God bless you!
