And preach’d of penitence by Jordan’s flood:
On war; or else the legendary lays,
In simplest measures hymn’d to Alla’s praise;
Or what the Bard from his heart’s inmost stores,
O’er his friend’s grave in loftier numbers pours:
Yes, Bard polite! you but obey’d the laws
Of justice, when the thimble you had sent;
What wounds your thought-bewildering muse might cause,
’Tis well, your finger-shielding gifts prevent.
SARA.”
“Dear Cottle,
I have heard nothing of my Tragedy, except some silly remarks of Kemble’s, to whom a friend showed it; it does not appear to me that there is a shadow of probability that it will be accepted. It gave me no pain, and great pleasure, in finding that it gave me no pain.
I had rather hoped than believed that I was possessed of so much philosophical capability. Sheridan most certainly has not used me with common justice. The proposal came from himself, and although this circumstance did not bind him to accept the tragedy, it certainly bound him to every, and that the earliest, attention to it. I suppose it is snugly in his green bag, if it have not emigrated to the kitchen.
I sent to the Monthly Magazine, (1797) three mock Sonnets, in ridicule of my own Poems, and Charles Lloyd’s, and Lamb’s, &c. &c. exposing that affectation of unaffectedness, of jumping and misplaced accent, in common-place epithets, flat lines forced into poetry by italics, (signifying how well and mouthishly the author would read them) puny pathos, &c. &c. the instances were almost all taken from myself, and Lloyd, and Lamb.
I signed them ‘Nehemiah Higginbotham.’ I think they may do good to our young Bards.
God love you,
S. T. C.”
P. S. I am translating the ‘Oberon’ of Wieland; it is a difficult language, and I can translate at least as fast as I can construe. I have made also a very considerable proficiency in the French language, and study it daily, and daily study the German; so that I am not, and have not been idle….
SONNETS.
ATTEMPTED IN THE MANNER OP CONTEMPORARY WRITERS.
* * * * *
SONNET I.
Pensive, at eve, on the hard world I mus’d,
And my poor heart was sad: so at the moon
I gazed, and sigh’d, and sigh’d! for ah! how soon
Eve darkens into night! Mine eye perus’d
With tearful vacancy the dampy grass,
Which wept and glitter’d in the paly ray:
And I did pause me on my lonely way,
And muse me on those wretched ones, who pass
O’er the black heath of sorrow. But alas!
Most of MYSELF I thought: when it befel
That the sooth SPIRIT of the breezy wood
Breath’d in mine ear—”All this is very well;
But much of one thing is for no-thing good.”
Ah! my poor heart’s inexplicable swell!
NEHEMIAH HIGGINBOTHAM.
SONNET II.
TO SIMPLICITY.
O! I do love thee, meek simplicity!
For of thy lays, the lulling simpleness
Goes to my heart, and soothes each small distress,
Distress, though small, yet haply great to me!
’Tis true, on lady fortune’s gentlest pad,
I amble on; yet, though I know not why,
So sad I am! — but should a friend and I
Grow cool and miff, oh, I am very sad!
And then with sonnets, and with sympathy.
My dreamy bosom’s mystic woes I pall;
Now of my false friend ‘plaining plaintively,
Now raving at mankind in gener-al
But whether sad or fierce, ’tis simple all,
All very simple, meek SIMPLICITY!
NEHEMIAH HIGGINBOTHAM.
SONNET III.
ON A RUINED HOUSE WHICH JACK BUILT.
And this reft house is that, the which he built,
Lamented Jack! and here his malt he piled,
Cautious in vain! These rats that squeak’d so wild,
Squeak, not unconscious of their fathers’ guilt.
Did ye not see her gleaming through the glade?
Belike ’twas she, the Maiden all forlorn.
What though she milk no cow with crumpled horn,
Yet, aye she haunts the dale where erst she stray’d:
And, aye beside her stalks her amorous knight!
Still on his thighs his wonted brogues are worn,
And through those brogues, still tatter’d and betorn,
His hindward charms gleam an unearthly white;
As when through broken clouds, at night’s high moon.
Peeps in fair fragments forth — the full-orb’d harvest moon!
NEHEMIAH HIGGINBOTHAM.
The moralist rightly says, “There is nothing permanent in this uncertain world;” and even most friendships do not partake of the “Munition of Rocks.”
Alas! the spirit of impartiality now compels me to record, that the inseparable Trio; even the three “Groscolliases” themselves, had, somehow or other, been touched with the negative magnet, and their particles, in opposition, flew off “as far as from hence to the utmost pole.” I never rightly understood the cause of this dissension, but shrewdly suspected that that unwelcome and insidious intruder, Mr. Nehemiah Higginbotham, had no inconsiderable share in it.
Mr. C. even determined in his third projected edition, (1798) that the production of his two late friends should be excluded. The three next letters refer to this unpleasant affair. It is hardly necessary to add, that the difference was of short continuance.
The Latin motto, prefixed to the second edition of Mr. C.’s poems, puzzled everybody to know from what author it was derived. One and another inquired of me, to no purpose, and expressed a wish that Mr. C. had been clearer in his citation, as “no one could understand it.” On my naming this to Mr. Coleridge, he laughed heartily, and said, “It was all a hoax.” “Not meeting” said he, “with a suitable motto, I invented one, and with references purposely obscure,” as will be explained in the next letter.
“March 8th, 1798.
My dear Cottle,
I have been confined to my bed for some days, through a fever occasioned by the stump of a tooth, which baffled chirurgical efforts to eject, and which, by affecting my eye, affected my stomach, and through that my whole frame. I am better, but still weak, in consequence of such long sleeplessness and wearying pains; weak, very weak. I thank you, my dear friend, for your late kindness, and in a few weeks will either repay you in money, or by verses, as you like. “With regard to Lloyd’s verses, it is curious that I should be applied to, ‘to be persuaded to resign’ and in hopes that I might ‘consent to give up’ (unknown by whom) a number of poems which were published at the earnest request of the author, who assured me, that the circumstance was of ‘no trivial import to his happiness’!
Times change and people change; but let us keep our souls in quietness! I have no objection to any disposal of Lloyd’s poems except that of their being republished with mine. The motto which I had prefixed—”Duplex, &c.” from Groscollias, has placed me in a ridiculous situation, but it was a foolish and presumptuous start of affectionateness, and I am not unwilling to incur the punishment due to my folly. By past experiences we build up our moral being. God bless you,
S. T. Coleridge.”
A reference to this “stump of a tooth.” was more particularly made, in the following letter to Mr. Wade.
“March 21st, 1798.
My very dear friend,
I have even now returned from a little excursion that I have taken for the confirmation of my health, which had suffered a rude assault from the anguish of the stump of a tooth which had baffled the attempts of our surgeon here, and which confined me to my bed. I suffered much from the disease, and more from the doctor; rather than again put my mouth into his hands, I wou
ld put my hands into a lion’s mouth. I am happy to hear of, and should be most happy to see, the plumpness and progression of your dear boy; but-yes, my dear Wade, it must be a but, much as I hate the word but. Well, — but I cannot attend the chemical lectures. I have many reasons, but the greatest, or at least the most ostensible reason, is, that I cannot leave Mrs. C. at that time; our house is an uncomfortable one; our surgeon may be, for aught I know, a lineal descendant of Esculapius himself, but if so, in the repeated transfusion of life from father to son, through so many generations, the wit and knowledge, being subtle spirits, have evaporated….
Ever your grateful and affectionate friend,
S. T. Coleridge.”
“1798.
My dear Cottle,
I regret that aught should have disturbed our tranquillity; respecting Lloyd, I am willing to believe myself in part mistaken, and so let all things be as before. I have no wish respecting these poems, either for or against re-publication with mine. As to the third edition, if there be occasion for it immediately, it must be published with some alterations, but no additions or omissions. The Pixies, Chatterton, and some dozen others, shall be printed at the end of the volume, under the title of Juvenile Poems, and in this case I will send you the volume immediately. But if there be no occasion for the volume to go to press for ten weeks, at the expiration of that time, I would make it a volume worthy of me, and omit utterly near one-half of the present volume — a sacrifice to pitch black oblivion.
Whichever be the case, I will repay you the money you have paid for me, in money, and in a few weeks; or if you should prefer the latter proposal, i. e. the not sending me to the press for ten weeks, I should insist on considering the additions, however large, as my payment to you for the omissions, which, indeed, would be but strict justice.
I am requested by Wordsworth, to put to you the following questions. What could you, conveniently and prudently, and what would you give for — first, our two Tragedies, with small prefaces, containing an analysis of our principal characters? Exclusive of the prefaces, the tragedies are, together, five thousand lines; which, in printing, from the dialogue form, and directions respecting actors and scenery, are at least equal to six thousand. To be delivered to you within a week of the date of your answer to this letter; and the money which you offer, to be paid to us at the end of four months from the same date; none to be paid before, all to be paid then.
Second. — Wordsworth’s ‘Salisbury Plain,’ and ‘Tale of a Woman’; which two poems, with a few others which he will add, and the notes, will make a volume. This to be delivered to you within three weeks of the date of your answer, and the money to be paid as before, at the end of four months from the present date.
Do not, my dearest Cottle, harass yourself about the imagined great merit of the compositions, or be reluctant to offer what you can prudently offer, from an idea that the poems are worth more. But calculate what you can do, with reference simply to yourself, and answer as speedily as you can; and believe me your sincere, grateful, and affectionate friend and brother,
S. T. Coleridge.”
I offered Mr. Coleridge and Mr. Wordsworth, thirty guineas each, as proposed, for their two tragedies; but which, after some hesitation, was declined, from the hope of introducing one, or both, on the stage. The volume of Poems was left for some future arrangement.
“My dear Cottle,
I never involved you in the bickering, and never suspected you, in any one action of your life, of practising guile against any human being, except yourself.
Your letter supplied only one in a link of circumstances, that informed me of some things, and perhaps deceived me in others. I shall write to-day to Lloyd. I do not think I shall come to Bristol for these lectures of which you speak. I ardently wish for the knowledge, but Mrs. Coleridge is within a month of her confinement, and I cannot, I ought not to leave her; especially as her surgeon is not a John Hunter, nor my house likely to perish from a plethora of comforts. Besides, there are other things that might disturb that evenness of benevolent feeling, which I wish to cultivate.
I am much better, and at present at Allfoxden, and my new and tender health is all over me like a voluptuous feeling. God bless you,
S. T. Coleridge.”
When the before noticed dissension occurred, Charles Lamb and Charles Lloyd, between whom a strong friendship had latterly sprung up, became alienated from Mr. Coleridge, and cherished something of an indignant feeling. Strange as it may appear, C. Lamb determined to desert the inglorious ground of neutrality, and to commence active operations against his late friend; but the arrows were taken from his own peculiar armoury; tipped, not with iron, but wit. He sent Mr. Coleridge the following letter. Mr. Coleridge gave me this letter, saying, “These young visionaries will do each other no good.” The following is Charles Lamb’s letter to Mr. C.
“THESES QUAEDAM THEOLOGICAE.
1st. Whether God loves a lying angel better than a true man?
2nd. Whether the archangel Uriel could affirm an untruth, and if he could, whether he would?
3rd. Whether honesty be an angelic virtue, or not rather to be reckoned among those qualities which the school-men term ‘Virtutes minus splendidae’?
4th. Whether the higher order of Seraphim illuminati ever sneer?
5th. Whether pure intelligences can love?
6th. Whether the Seraphim ardentes do not manifest their virtues, by the way of vision and theory; and whether practice be not a sub-celestial and merely human virtue?
7th. Whether the vision beatific be anything more or less than a perpetual representment, to each individual angel, of his own present attainments, and future capabilities, somehow in the manner of mortal looking-glasses, reflecting a perpetual complacency and self satisfaction?
8th. and last. Whether an immortal and amenable soul may not come to be condemned at last, and the man never suspect it beforehand?
Learned Sir, my friend,
Presuming on our long habits of friendship, and emboldened further by your late liberal permission to avail myself of your correspondence, in case I want any knowledge, (which I intend to do, when I have no Encyclopedia, or Ladies Magazine at hand to refer to, in any matter of science,) I now submit to your enquiries the above theological propositions, to be by you defended or oppugned, or both, in the schools of Germany, whither, I am told, you are departing, to the utter dissatisfaction of your native Devonshire, and regret of universal England; but to my own individual consolation, if, through the channel of your wished return, learned sir, my friend, may be transmitted to this our island, from those famous theological wits of Leipsic and Gottingen, any rays of illumination, in vain to be derived from the home growth of our English halls and colleges. Finally wishing, learned sir, that you may see Schiller, and swing in a wood, (vide poems) and sit upon a tun, and eat fat hams of Westphalia,
I remain,
Your friend and docile pupil, to instruct,
Charles Lamb.”
Mr. Coleridge, at first, appeared greatly hurt at this letter; an impression which I endeavoured to counteract, by considering it as a slight ebullition of feeling that would soon subside; and which happily proved to be the case. I also felt concern, not only that there should be a dissension between old friends, but lest Mr. Coleridge should be inconvenienced in a pecuniary way by the withdrawal of C. Lloyd from his domestic roof. To restore and heal, therefore, I wrote a conciliatory letter to Charles Lloyd, to which he thus replied.
“Birmingham, 7th June, 1798.
My dear Cottle,
I thank you many times for your pleasing intelligence respecting Coleridge. I cannot think that I have acted with, or from, passion towards him. Even my solitary night thoughts have been easy and calm when they have dwelt on him…. I love Coleridge, and can forget all that has happened.
At present, I could not well go to Stowey. I could scarcely excuse so sudden a removal from my parents. Lamb quitted me yesterday, after a fortnight’s visit. I have been
much interested in his society. I never knew him so happy in my life. I shall write to Coleridge today.
God bless you, my dear friend,
C. Lloyd, Jun.”
Mr. C. up to this day, Feb. 18th, 1798, held, though laxly, the doctrines of Socinus. On the Rev. Mr. Rowe, of Shrewsbury, the Unitarian minister, coming to settle in Bristol, Mr. Coleridge was strongly recommended by his friends of that persuasion, to offer himself as Mr. R.’s successor; and he accordingly went on probation to Shrewsbury.
It is proper here to mention, in order that this subject may be the better understood, that Mr. Poole, two or three years before, had introduced Mr. Coleridge to Mr. Thomas Wedgewood. This gentleman formed a high opinion of Mr. C.’s talents, and felt an interest in his welfare. At the time Mr. Coleridge was hesitating whether or not he should persist in offering himself to the Shrewsbury congregation, and so finally settle down into an Unitarian minister, Mr. T. Wedgewood having heard of the circumstance, and fearing that a pastoral engagement might operate unfavourably on his literary pursuits, interfered, as will appear by the following letter of Mr. Coleridge to Mr. Wade.
“Stowey,
My very dear friend,
This last fortnight has been very eventful. I received one hundred pounds from Josiah Wedgewood, in order to prevent the necessity of my going into the ministry. I have received an invitation from Shrewsbury, to be minister there; and after fluctuations of mind, which have for nights together robbed me of sleep, and I am afraid of health, I have at length returned the order to Mr. Wedgwood, with a long letter, explanatory of my conduct, and accepted the Shrewsbury invitation….”
Mr. T. Wedgewood still adhering to his first opinion that Mr. Coleridge’s acceptance of the proposed engagement, would seriously obstruct his literary efforts; sent Mr. C. a letter, in which himself and his brother, Mr. Josiah Wedgwood, promised, conjointly, to allow him for his life, one hundred and fifty pounds a year. This decided Mr. Coleridge to reject the Shrewsbury invitation. He was oppressed with grateful emotions to these his liberal benefactors, and always spoke, in particular, of the late Mr. Thomas Wedgewood as being one of the best talkers, and as possessing one of the acutest minds, of any man he had known.
Complete Poetical Works of Robert Southey Page 327