The majesty of the Republic is insulted —
Tyrants are up in arms. An arméd force
Threats the Convention. The Convention swears 45
To die, or save the country!
[Violent applauses from the galleries.
Citizen (from above). We too swear
To die, or save the country. Follow me.
[All the men quit the galleries.
Enter another Messenger.
Fourth Messenger. Henriot is taken! [Loud applauses.
Three of your brave soldiers
Swore they would seize the rebel slave of tyrants,
Or perish in the attempt. As he patroll’d 50
The streets of Paris, stirring up the mob,
They seiz’d him. [Applauses.
Billaud Varennes. Let the names of these brave men
Live to the future day.
Enter BOURDON L’OISE, sword in hand.
Bourdon l’Oise. I have clear’d the Commune.
[Applauses.
Through the throng I rush’d,
Brandishing my good sword to drench its blade 55
Deep in the tyrant’s heart. The timid rebels
Gave way. I met the soldiery — I spake
Of the dictator’s crimes — of patriots chain’d
In dark deep dungeons by his lawless rage —
Of knaves secure beneath his fostering power. 60
I spake of Liberty. Their honest hearts
Caught the warm flame. The general shout burst forth,
‘Live the Convention — Down with Robespierre!’ [Applauses.
(Shouts from without — Down with the Tyrant!)
Tallien. I hear, I hear the soul-inspiring sounds,
France shall be saved! her generous sons attached 65
To principles, not persons, spurn the idol
They worshipp’d once. Yes, Robespierre shall fall
As Capet fell! Oh! never let us deem
That France shall crouch beneath a tyrant’s throne,
That the almighty people who have broke 70
On their oppressors’ heads the oppressive chain,
Will court again their fetters! easier were it
To hurl the cloud-capt mountain from its base,
Than force the bonds of slavery upon men
Determined to be free! [Applauses. 75
Enter LEGENDRE — a pistol in one hand, keys in the other.
Legendre (flinging down the keys). So — let the mutinous Jacobins
meet now
In the open air. [Loud applauses.
A factious turbulent party
Lording it o’er the state since Danton died,
And with him the Cordeliers. — A hireling band
Of loud-tongued orators controull’d the Club, 80
And bade them bow the knee to Robespierre.
Vivier has ‘scaped me. Curse his coward heart —
This fate-fraught tube of Justice in my hand,
I rush’d into the hall. He mark’d mine eye
That beam’d its patriot anger, and flash’d full 85
With death-denouncing meaning. ‘Mid the throng
He mingled. I pursued — but stay’d my hand,
Lest haply I might shed the innocent blood. [Applauses.
Freron. They took from me my ticket of admission —
Expell’d me from their sittings. — Now, forsooth, 90
Humbled and trembling re-insert my name.
But Freron enters not the Club again
‘Till it be purged of guilt:—’till, purified
Of tyrants and of traitors, honest men
May breathe the air in safety. [Shouts from without. 95
Barrere. What means this uproar! if the tyrant band
Should gain the people once again to rise —
We are as dead!
Tallien. And wherefore fear we death?
Did Brutus fear it? or the Grecian friends
Who buried in Hipparchus’ breast the sword, 100
And died triumphant? Caesar should fear death,
Brutus must scorn the bugbear.
(Shouts from without — Live the Convention! — Down with the Tyrants!)
Tallien. Hark! again
The sounds of honest Freedom!
Enter Deputies from the Sections.
Citizen. Citizens! representatives of France!
Hold on your steady course. The men of Paris 105
Espouse your cause. The men of Paris swear
They will defend the delegates of Freedom.
Tallien. Hear ye this, Colleagues? hear ye this, my brethren?
And does no thrill of joy pervade your breasts?
My bosom bounds to rapture. I have seen 110
The sons of France shake off the tyrant yoke;
I have, as much as lies in mine own arm,
Hurl’d down the usurper. — Come death when it will,
I have lived long enough. [Shouts without.
Barrere. Hark! how the noise increases! through the gloom 115
Of the still evening — harbinger of death,
Rings the tocsin! the dreadful generale
Thunders through Paris —
[Cry without — Down with the Tyrant!
Enter LECOINTRE.
Lecointre. So may eternal justice blast the foes
Of France! so perish all the tyrant brood, 120
As Robespierre has perish’d! Citizens,
Caesar is taken. [Loud and repeated applauses.
I marvel not that with such fearless front
He braved our vengeance, and with angry eye
Scowled round the hall defiance. He relied 125
On Henriot’s aid — the Commune’s villain friendship,
And Henriot’s boughten succours. Ye have heard
How Henriot rescued him — how with open arms
The Commune welcom’d in the rebel tyrant —
How Fleuriot aided, and seditious Vivier 130
Stirr’d up the Jacobins. All had been lost —
The representatives of France had perish’d —
Freedom had sunk beneath the tyrant arm
Of this foul parricide, but that her spirit
Inspir’d the men of Paris. Henriot call’d 135
‘To arms’ in vain, whilst Bourdon’s patriot voice
Breathed eloquence, and o’er the Jacobins
Legendre frown’d dismay. The tyrants fled —
They reach’d the Hôtel. We gather’d round — we call’d
For vengeance! Long time, obstinate in despair, 140
With knives they hack’d around them. ‘Till foreboding
The sentence of the law, the clamorous cry
Of joyful thousands hailing their destruction,
Each sought by suicide to escape the dread
Of death. Lebas succeeded. From the window 145
Leapt the younger Robespierre, but his fractur’d limb
Forbade to escape. The self-will’d dictator
Plunged often the keen knife in his dark breast,
Yet impotent to die. He lives all mangled
By his own tremulous hand! All gash’d and gored 150
He lives to taste the bitterness of death.
Even now they meet their doom. The bloody Couthon,
The fierce St. Just, even now attend their tyrant
To fall beneath the axe. I saw the torches
Flash on their visages a dreadful light — 155
I saw them whilst the black blood roll’d adown
Each stern face, even then with dauntless eye
Scowl round contemptuous, dying as they lived,
Fearless of fate! [Loud and repeated applauses.
Barrere mounts the Tribune. For ever hallowed be this glorious
day, 160
When Freedom, bursting her oppressive chain,
Tramples on the oppressor. When the tyrant
Hurl’d from his blood-cemented throne,
by the arm
Of the almighty people, meets the death
He plann’d for thousands. Oh! my sickening heart 165
Has sunk within me, when the various woes
Of my brave country crowded o’er my brain
In ghastly numbers — when assembled hordes,
Dragg’d from their hovels by despotic power,
Rush’d o’er her frontiers, plunder’d her fair hamlets, 170
And sack’d her populous towns, and drench’d with blood
The reeking fields of Flanders. — When within,
Upon her vitals prey’d the rankling tooth
Of treason; and oppression, giant form,
Trampling on freedom, left the alternative 175
Of slavery, or of death. Even from that day,
When, on the guilty Capet, I pronounced
The doom of injured France, has faction reared
Her hated head amongst us. Roland preach’d
Of mercy — the uxorious dotard Roland, 180
The woman-govern’d Roland durst aspire
To govern France; and Petion talk’d of virtue,
And Vergniaud’s eloquence, like the honeyed tongue
Of some soft Syren wooed us to destruction.
We triumphed over these. On the same scaffold 185
Where the last Louis pour’d his guilty blood,
Fell Brissot’s head, the womb of darksome treasons,
And Orleans, villain kinsman of the Capet,
And Hébert’s atheist crew, whose maddening hand
Hurl’d down the altars of the living God, 190
With all the infidel’s intolerance.
The last worst traitor triumphed — triumph’d long,
Secur’d by matchless villainy — by turns
Defending and deserting each accomplice
As interest prompted. In the goodly soil 195
Of Freedom, the foul tree of treason struck
Its deep-fix’d roots, and dropt the dews of death
On all who slumber’d in its specious shade.
He wove the web of treachery. He caught
The listening crowd by his wild eloquence, 200
His cool ferocity that persuaded murder,
Even whilst it spake of mercy! — never, never
Shall this regenerated country wear
The despot yoke. Though myriads round assail,
And with worse fury urge this new crusade 205
Than savages have known; though the leagued despots
Depopulate all Europe, so to pour
The accumulated mass upon our coasts,
Sublime amid the storm shall France arise,
And like the rock amid surrounding waves 210
Repel the rushing ocean. — She shall wield
The thunder-bolt of vengeance — she shall blast
The despot’s pride, and liberate the world!
FINIS
Selected Prose
Southey and his wife Edith made their home at Greta Hall, Keswick, in the Lake District, living on his small income. Also living at Greta Hall, supported by him, were Sara Coleridge and her three children, after Coleridge had abandoned them, as well as the widow of poet Robert Lovell and her son.
The house today
THE LIFE OF HORATIO, LORD NELSON
As well as a distinguished poet, Southey was a prolific letter writer, literary scholar, essay writer, historian and biographer. His biographies included the life and works of John Bunyan, John Wesley, William Cowper, Oliver Cromwell and, most famously of all, Horatio Nelson. The latter work has never been out of print since its publication in 1813 and gives a thorough and engaging portrayal of the hero of Trafalgar.
Horatio Nelson (1758-1805) was a British flag officer famous for his victory in the Battle of Trafalgar in 1805, during which he was shot and killed.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER I. 1758 - 1783
CHAPTER II. 1784 - 1793
CHAPTER III. 1793 - 1795
CHAPTER IV. 1796 - 1797
CHAPTER V. 1798
CHAPTER VI. 1798 - 1800
CHAPTER VII. 1800 - 1801
CHAPTER VIII. 1801 - 1805
CHAPTER IX. 1805
The original frontispiece, depicting the death of Nelson
TO JOHN WILSON CROKER ESQ.,
LL.D., F.R.S.,
SECRETARY OF THE ADMIRALTY;
WHO, BY THE OFFICIAL SITUATION WHICH HE SO ABLY FILLS,
IS QUALIFIED TO APPRECIATE ITS HISTORICAL ACCURACY;
AND WHO,
AS A MEMBER OF THE REPUBLIC OF LETTERS,
IS EQUALLY QUALIFIED TO DECIDE UPON ITS
LITERARY MERITS,
THIS WORK
IS RESPECTFULLY INSCRIBED BY HIS FRIEND,
THE AUTHOR
Many Lives of Nelson have been written; one is yet wanting, clear and concise enough to become a manual for the young sailor, which he may carry about with him till he has treasured it up for example in his memory and in his heart. In attempting such a work I shall write the eulogy of our great national hero, for the best eulogy of NELSON is the faithful history of his actions, and the best history must be that which shall relate them most perspicuously.
CHAPTER I. 1758 - 1783
Nelson’s Birth and Boyhood — He is entered on Board the RAISONABLE — Goes to the West Indies in a Merchant-ship; then serves in the TRIUMPH — He sails in Captain Phipps’ Voyage of Discovery — Goes to the East Indies in the SEAHORSE, and returns in ill Health — Serves as acting Lieutenant in the WORCESTER, and is made Lieutenant into the LOWESTOFFE, Commander into the BADGER Brig, and Post into the HINCHINBROKE — Expedition against the Spanish Main — Sent to the North Seas in the ALBERMARLE — Services during the American War.
HORATIO, son of Edmund and Catherine Nelson, was born September 29, 1758, in the parsonage-house of Burnham Thorpe, a village in the county of Norfolk, of which his father was rector. His mother was a daughter of Dr. Suckling, prebendary of Westminster, whose grandmother was sister of Sir Robert Walpole, and this child was named after his godfather, the first Lord Walpole. Mrs. Nelson died in 1767, leaving eight out of eleven children. Her brother, Captain Maurice Suckling, of the navy visited the widower upon this event, and promised to take care of one of the boys. Three years afterwards, when HORATIO was only twelve years of age, being at home during the Christmas holidays, he read in the county newspaper that his uncle was appointed to the RAISONNABLE, of sixty-four guns. “Do, William,” said he to a brother who was a year and a half older than himself, “write to my father, and tell him that I should like to go to sea with uncle Maurice.” Mr. Nelson was then at Bath, whither he had gone for the recovery of his health: his circumstances were straitened, and he had no prospect of ever seeing them bettered: he knew that it was the wish of providing for himself by which Horatio was chiefly actuated, and did not oppose his resolution; he understood also the boy’s character, and had always said, that in whatever station he might be placed, he would climb if possible to the very top of the tree. Captain Suckling was written to. “What,” said he in his answer, “has poor Horatio done, who is so weak, that he, above all the rest, should be sent to rough it out at sea? — But let him come; and the first time we go into action, a cannon-ball may knock off his head, and provide for him at once.”
It is manifest from these words that Horatio was not the boy whom his uncle would have chosen to bring up in his own profession. He was never of a strong body; and the ague, which at that time was one of the most common diseases in England, had greatly reduced his strength; yet he had already given proofs of that resolute heart and nobleness of mind which, during his whole career of labour and of glory, so eminently distinguished him. When a mere child, he strayed a-birds’-nesting from his grandmother’s house in company with a cowboy: the dinner-hour elapsed; he was absent, and could not be found; and the alarm of the family became very great, for they apprehended that he might have been carried off by gipsies. At length, after search
had been made for him in various directions, he was discovered alone, sitting composedly by the side of a brook which he could not get over. “I wonder, child,” said the old lady when she saw him, “that hunger and fear did not drive you home.” “Fear! grandmama:” replied the future hero, “I never saw fear: — What is it?” Once, after the winter holidays, when he and his brother William had set off on horseback to return to school, they came back, because there had been a fall of snow; and William, who did not much like the journey, said it was too deep for them to venture on. “If that be the case,” said the father, “you certainly shall not go; but make another attempt, and I will leave it to your honour. If the road is dangerous you may return: but remember, boys, I leave it to your honour!” The snow was deep enough to have afforded them a reasonable excuse; but Horatio was not to be prevailed upon to turn back. “We must go on,” said he: “remember, brother, it was left to our honour!” — There were some fine pears growing in the schoolmaster’s garden, which the boys regarded as lawful booty, and in the highest degree tempting; but the boldest among them were afraid to venture for the prize. Horatio volunteered upon this service: he was lowered down at night from the bedroom window by some sheets, plundered the tree, was drawn up with the pears, and then distributed them among his school-fellows without reserving any for himself. “He only took them,” he said, “because every other boy was afraid.”
Early on a cold and dark spring morning Mr. Nelson’s servant arrived at this school, at North Walsham, with the expected summons for Horatio to join his ship. The parting from his brother William, who had been for so many years his playmate and bed-fellow, was a painful effort, and was the beginning of those privations which are the sailor’s lot through life. He accompanied his father to London. The RAISONNABLE was lying in the Medway. He was put into the Chatham stage, and on its arrival was set down with the rest of the passengers, and left to find his way on board as he could. After wandering about in the cold, without being able to reach the ship, an officer observed the forlorn appearance of the boy, questioned him; and happening to be acquainted with his uncle, took him home and gave him some refreshments. When he got on board, Captain Suckling was not in the ship, nor had any person been apprised of the boy’s coming. He paced the deck the whole remainder of the day without being noticed by any one; and it was not till the second day that somebody, as he expressed it, “took compassion on him.” The pain which is felt when we are first transplanted from our native soil — when the living branch is cut from the parent tree is one of the most poignant which we have to endure through life. There are after-griefs which wound more deeply, which leave behind them scars never to be effaced, which bruise the spirit, and sometimes break the heart; but never do we feel so keenly the want of love, the necessity of being loved, and the sense of utter desertion, as when we first leave the haven of home, and are, as it were, pushed off upon the stream of life. Added to these feelings, the sea-boy has to endure physical hardships, and the privation of every comfort, even of sleep. Nelson had a feeble body and an affectionate heart, and he remembered through life his first days of wretchedness in the service.
Complete Poetical Works of Robert Southey Page 203