THIS very voluminous and highly talented writer was born at Bristol, on the 12th of August, 1774. During his boyhood he was educated in several private schools, and in consequence of the early talent he displayed, he was sent, in 1787, to Westminster School. Even during these early years he had shown his natural bent, not only by a predilection for the works of our poets, but by attempts to write in verse, which the partiality of his friends, as usual, flattered into a habit. After having studied for some years at Westminster School, Southey was entered at Baliol College, Oxford, in 1792, where he became acquainted with Coleridge, in consequence of the escapade of the latter from Cambridge. Southey was so completely overwhelmed by the irresistible clo. quence of his friend, that he became a convert to the wild theory of Pantisocracy, and resolved to become one of its apostles in the wilds of America. But a different destiny, as well as a complete change in his political creed, awaited him-he became an affectionate husband, and a most thorough-going Tory. This alteration in his political sentiments formed a theme of declamation and abuse with all who envied and hated him; and changes were rung, for the best part of two generations, upon the titles of “turn-coat" and "renegade,” which were unsparingly heaped upon him. And perhaps these reproaches of his enemies were embittered by the circumstance, that no other charge could be fastened upon him, whether of a moral or literary character. An accusation of immoral conduct, or the charge of dulness, would have been equally hopeless-he had written down the one, and lived down the other, so that nothing but the sem. blance of political apostacy remained upon which malice could fix her talons. But are the rash opinions of youth to be immutable? Is the scholar to retain the prejudices of the cloister after he has entered the world, and acquired the experience which active life alone can bestow?

The first distinguished exhibition of Southey's poetical talents was given in 1796, by the publication of his Joan of Arc. In this work all his early ideas of liberty, which were still unchanged, appear in full freshness and vigour, and the noble creature whom he selected as his heroine was well qualified to embody them. His next production was the "wild and wondrous song" of Thalaba, the Destroyer, which appeared at the close of 1800. This work astounded the critics, as it was so much out of the usual path; but in spite of their learned declamations upon the established laws of epic poetry, the public persisted in believing that it was a work full of interest and poetical beauty. His next poetical publications were two volumes of miscellaneous poetry, which appeared at intervals, and were read with that interest which his previous works had already excited. Madoc appeared in 1805, The Curse of Kehama în 1810, and Roderick, the Last of the Goths, in 1814. These are his principal poetical works; but to enumerate the publications, both in prose and verse, which have proceeded from his fertile pen since his commencement of authorship, till that melancholy recent period, when the intellectual world became to him a universal blank, would be to give a catalogue composing in itself a whole library. No man, perhaps, was ever more systematically a student and an author than Robert Southey. He sat down to his desk at stated hours of each day, like a clerk in his counting-house: he had his hours for poetry and prose, and his hours for reading; he shifted from the one labour to the other, with the same facility which others display in removing one book to give place to another; and he found in this change the same recreation which students experience in passing from intellectual toil to mere amusement. In mastering the contents of a book, also, he had that facility of perusal which Napoleon, who possessed it more than other men, called "reading with his thumb ;" and thus he obtained, by the skimming of a few minutes, the information which others could only obtain by spelling the whole volume. In this manner he has been enabled to write, and write so well upon such a vast variety of subjects, pouring into cach a mass of information, as if it alone had constituted the sole subject of his investigation for years. Beautiful, however, as is Southey's poetry, in which he is inferior to no writer of the age, his prose will probably outlive it. In this he displays the full force of his genius, and his complete mastery of our language.

So he said, and frown'd

Dark as the form who at Mahommed's door

Knock'd fierce and frequent; from whose fearful look, Bathed with cold damps, every beholder fled.

Even the prophet, almost terrified,

Endured but half to view him, for he knew
Azrael, the dreadful messenger of Fate,

And his death-day was come.

From Joan of Arc.

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CORONATION OF CHARLES BY THE MAID OF ORLEANS

The morn was fair

When Rheims re-echoed to the busy hum

Of multitudes, for high solemnity

Assembled. To the holy fabric moves

The long procession, through the streets bestrewn
With flowers and laurel boughs.

By the king
The delegated Damsel pass'd along,
Clad in her batter'd arms. She bore on high
Her hallow'd banner to the sacred pile,
And fix'd it on the altar, whilst her hand
Pour'd on the monarch's head the mystic oil,
Wafted of yore by milk-white dove from heaven
(So legends say) to Clovis, when he stood

At Rheims for baptism; dubious since that day,
When Tolbiac plain reek'd with his warrior's blood,
And fierce upon their flight the Almanni press'd,
And rear'd the shout of triumph; in that hour
Clovis invoked aloud the Christian God,

And conquer'd: waked to wonder thus, the chief
Became love's convert, and Clotilda led

Her husband to the font.

The mission'd Maid

Then placed on Charles's brow the crown of France;
And back retiring, gazed upon the king
One moment, quickly scanning all the past,
Till in a tumult of wild wonderment
She wept aloud. The assembled multitude
In awful stillness witness'd: then at once,
As with a tempest-rushing noise of winds,
Lifted their mingled clamours. Now the Maid
Stood as prepared to speak, and waved her hand,
And instant silence follow'd:

"King of France!"

She cried, "at Chinon, when my gifted eye
Knew thee disguised, what inwardly the spirit
Prompted, I spake; arm'd with the sword of God
To drive from Orleans far the English wolves,
And crown thee in the rescued walls of Rheims.
All is accomplish'd. I have here this day
Fulfill'd my mission, and anointed thee
Chief servant of the people. Of this charge,
Or well perform'd or wickedly, high Heaven
Shall take account. If that thine heart be good,

I know no limit to the happiness

Thou mayst create. I do beseech thee, King!"
The Maid exclaim'd, and fell upon the ground
And clasp'd his knees, "I do beseech thee, King!
By all the millions that depend on thee,

For weal or woe-consider what thou art,
And know thy duty! If thou dost oppress

Thy people; if to aggrandize thyself

Thou tear'st them from their homes, and sendest them To slaughter, prodigal of misery!

If when the widow and the orphan groan

In want and wretchedness, thou turnest thee
To hear the music of the flatterer's tongue;
If when thou hear'st of thousands massacred,
Thou say'st, 'I am a king! and fit it is

That these should perish for me;' if thy realm
Should, through the counsels of thy government,
Be fill'd with woe, and in thy streets be heard
The voice of mourning and the feeble cry
Of asking hunger; if at such a time
Thou dost behold thy plenty-cover'd board,
And shroud thee in thy robes of royalty,
And say that all is well-Oh, gracious God!
Be merciful to such a monstrous man,
When the spirits of the murder'd innocent
Cry at thy throne for justice!

"King of France!

Protect the lowly, feed the hungry ones,

And be the orphan's father! thus shalt thou
Become the representative of Heaven,

And gratitude and love establish thus

Thy reign. Believe me, King! that hireling guards,
Though flesh'd in slaughter, will be weak to save
A tyrant on the blood-cemented throne

That totters underneath him."

Thus the Maid

Redeem'd her country. Ever may the All-just
Give to the arms of freedom such success.

From Joan of Arc.

THE LOCUST CLOUD.

Onward they came, a dark continuous cloud
Of congregated myriads numberless,
The rushing of whose wings was as the sound
Of a broad river, headlong in its course

N

Plunged from a mountain summit; or the roar Of a wild ocean in the autumn storm, Shattering its billows on a shore of rocks. Onward they came, the winds impell'd them on, Their work was done, their path of ruin past, Their graves were ready in the wilderness.

"Behold the mighty army!" Moath cried,
"Blindly they move, impell'd
By the blind element.

And yonder birds, our welcome visitants,
Lo! where they soar above the embodied host,
Pursue their way, and hang upon their rear,
And thin their spreading flanks,

Rejoicing o'er their banquet! Deemest thou The scent of water on some Syrian mosque Placed with priest-mummery, and the jargon-rites Which fool the multitude, hath led them here From far Khorassan? Allah, who decreed Yon tribe the plague and punishment of man, These also hath he doom'd to meet their way: Both passive instruments

Of his all-acting will,

Sole mover he, and only spring of all."

From Thalaba the Destroyer.

THE RUINS OF BABYLON.

Once from her lofty walls the charioteer Look'd down on swarming myriads; once she flung Her arches o'er Euphrates' conquer'd tide, And through her brazen portals when she pour'd Her armies forth, the distant nations look'd As men who watch the thunder-cloud in fear, Lest it should burst above them. She was fallen, The Queen of Cities, Babylon, was fallen, Low lay her bulwark; the black scorpion bask'd In the palace courts; within the sanctuary The she-wolf hid her whelps.

Is yonder huge and shapeless heap, what once Hath been the aerial gardens, height on height Rising like Medea's mountains crown'd with wood, Work of imperial dotage? where the fane Of Belus? where the Golden Image now,