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<title type="main">The Collected Letters of Robert Southey. Part 2: 1798-1803 </title>
<title type="subordinate">A Romantic Circles Electronic Edition</title>
<author>
<name>Southey, Robert, 1774-1843</name>
</author>
<editor>Lynda Pratt</editor>
<sponsor>Romantic Circles</sponsor>
<respStmt>
<resp>General Editor, </resp>
<name>Neil Fraistat</name>
</respStmt>
<respStmt>
<resp>General Editor, </resp>
<name>Steven E. Jones</name>
</respStmt>
<respStmt>
<resp>Technical Editor</resp>
<name>Laura Mandell</name>
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<date>2011-08-15</date>
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<idno type="nines">rce363</idno>
<idno type="edition">letterEEd.26.354</idno>
<publisher>Romantic Circles, http://www.rc.umd.edu, University of Maryland</publisher>
<pubPlace>College Park, MD</pubPlace>
<date when="2011-08-15">August 15, 2011</date>
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<addrLine>Department of English</addrLine>
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<sourceDesc>
<p>National Library of Wales, MS
                    4819E.  Not previously published.</p>
<p>These letters were edited with the assistance of Carol Bolton, Tim Fulford and Ian Packer</p>
<p>For permission to publish the text of MSS in their possession, the editor wishes to thank the Beinecke Rare
											Books and Manuscript Library, Yale University; Berg Collection of English and American Literature, The New
											York Public Library, Astor, Lenox and Tilden Foundations; the Bodleian Library Oxford University; the
											British Library; Boston Public Library; the Syndics of Cambridge University Library; the Syndics of the
											Fitzwilliam Museum Cambridge; Haverford College, Connecticut; the Historical Society of Pennsylvania; the
											Hornby Library, Liverpool Libraries and Information Services; the Houghton Library, Harvard University;
											the John Rylands Library, Manchester; the Kenneth Spencer Research Library, University of Kansas; Luton
											Museum (Bedfordshire County Council); Massachusetts Historical Society; McGill University Library; the
											National Library of Scotland; the Newberry Library, Chicago; the New York Public Library (Pforzheimer
											Collections); the Pierpont Morgan Library, New York; the Public Record Offices of Bedford, Suffolk (Bury
											St Edmunds) and Northumberland, the Master and Fellows of Trinity College, Cambridge; the Society of
											Antiquaries of Newcastle upon Tyne; the Trustees of the William Salt Library, Stafford, the Wisbech and
											Fenland Museum; the University of Virginia Library.</p>
<p>A research grant from the British Academy made much of the archival work possible, as did support from the
											English Department of Nottingham Trent University.</p>
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<body>
<div n="354" type="letter">
<head>354. Robert Southey to <ref target="people.html#WynnCharlesWW">Charles Watkin
                        Williams Wynn</ref>, <date when="1798-10-29">29 October 1798</date>
<note place="foot" resp="editors" type="headnote">Address: To/ C W Williams Wynn
                            Esq<hi rend="sup">r</hi>/ Wynnstay/ Wrexham/ Denbighshire<lb/>Stamped:
                        BRISTOL<lb/>MS: National Library of Wales, MS
                    4819E<lb/>Unpublished.</note>
</head>
<epigraph>
<p rend="indent5"> A Ballad</p>
<p rend="indent1"> Shewing how an Old Woman rode double, &amp; who rode before
                        her.</p>
<p rend="indent5"> ________</p>
<p rend="indent1"> the story in the <del rend="strikethrough">xxxxx
                            xxxxxxxxxx</del> &lt;Liber Cronicarum&gt; printed at Nuremberg 1498,
                        with a wood cut; in Olaus Magnus, &amp; more at large in Matthew of
                            Westminster.<note n="1" place="foot" resp="editors">Hartmann Schedel
                            (1440–1514), <title>Liber Chronicorum</title> (popularly known in
                            English as the <title>Nuremberg Chronicle</title>) (1493, but many
                            subsequent editions); Olaus Magnus (1490–1557), Swedish ecclesiastic and
                            writer, <title>Historia de Gentibus Septsentrionalibus</title> (1555),
                            Book III, chapter 20; Matthew of Westminster, alleged author of the
                                <title>Flores Historiarum</title>, the name given to a number of
                            different manuscript chronicles of English history in Latin, from the
                            thirteenth and fourteenth centuries (see C. D. Yonge, <title>The Flowers
                                of History</title>, 2 vols (1853), I, pp. 400–401).</note>
</p>
<p rend="indent5"> ________</p>
<lg type="stanza">
<l rend="indent3"> The Raven croakd as she sate at her meal</l>
<l rend="indent4"> And the Old woman knew what he said,</l>
<l rend="indent3"> And she grew pale at the Ravens tale</l>
<l rend="indent4"> And sickend &amp; went to her bed.</l>
</lg>
<lb/>
<lg type="stanza">
<l rend="indent3"> Now fetch me my children &amp; fetch them with speed</l>
<l rend="indent4"> The Old Woman of Berkeley said,</l>
<l rend="indent3"> The Monk my son &amp; my daughter the Nun,</l>
<l rend="indent4"> Bid them hasten or I shall be dead.</l>
</lg>
<lb/>
<lg type="stanza">
<l rend="indent3"> The Monk her son &amp; her daughter the Nun</l>
<l rend="indent4"> Their way to Berkeley went</l>
<l rend="indent3"> And they have brought to with pious thought</l>
<l rend="indent4"> The holy sacrament.</l>
</lg>
<lb/>
<lg type="stanza">
<l rend="indent3"> The Old Woman shriekd as they enterd her door,</l>
<l rend="indent4"> Twas fearful her shrieks to hear,</l>
<l rend="indent3"> Now take the sacrament away</l>
<l rend="indent4"> For mercy, my children dear!</l>
</lg>
<lb/>
<lg type="stanza">
<l rend="indent3"> Her lip it trembled with agony</l>
<l rend="indent4"> The sweat ran down her brow,</l>
<l rend="indent3"> I have tortures in store for evermore – </l>
<l rend="indent4"> Oh spare me, my children, now!</l>
</lg>
<lb/>
<lg type="stanza">
<l rend="indent3"> Away they sent the sacrament,</l>
<l rend="indent4"> The fit it left her weak,</l>
<l rend="indent3"> She lookd at her children with ghastly eyes,</l>
<l rend="indent4"> And faintly struggled to speak.</l>
</lg>
<lb/>
<lg type="stanza">
<l rend="indent3"> All kind of sin have I rioted in</l>
<l rend="indent4"> And the judgement now must be,</l>
<l rend="indent3"> But I secured my childrens souls, –</l>
<l rend="indent4"> Oh! pray my children for me!</l>
</lg>
<lb/>
<lg type="stanza">
<l rend="indent3"> I have suckd the breath of sleeping babes,</l>
<l rend="indent4"> The fiends have been my slaves,</l>
<l rend="indent3"> I have ‘nointed myself with infants fat,</l>
<l rend="indent4"> And feasted on rifled graves.</l>
</lg>
<lb/>
<lg type="stanza">
<l rend="indent3"> And the fiend will fetch me now in fire</l>
<l rend="indent4"> My witchcrafts to atone,</l>
<l rend="indent3"> And I who have rifled the dead mans grave</l>
<l rend="indent4"> Shall never have rest in my own.</l>
</lg>
<lb/>
<lg type="stanza">
<l rend="indent3"> Bless I intreat my winding sheet,</l>
<l rend="indent4"> My children I beg of you,</l>
<l rend="indent3"> And with holy water sprinkle my shroud,</l>
<l rend="indent4"> And sprinkle my coffin too.</l>
</lg>
<lb/>
<lg type="stanza">
<l rend="indent3"> And let me be chained in my coffin of stone,</l>
<l rend="indent4"> And fasten it strong I implore</l>
<l rend="indent3"> With iron bars &amp; let it be chaind</l>
<l rend="indent4"> With three chains to the church floor.</l>
</lg>
<lb/>
<lg type="stanza">
<l rend="indent3"> And bless the chains &amp; sprinkle them,</l>
<l rend="indent4"> And let fifty priests stand round,</l>
<l rend="indent3"> Who night &amp; day the mass may say</l>
<l rend="indent4"> Where I lie on the ground.</l>
</lg>
<lb/>
<lg type="stanza">
<l rend="indent3"> And let fifty choristers be there</l>
<l rend="indent4"> The funeral dirge to sing,</l>
<l rend="indent3"> Who day &amp; night by the tapers light</l>
<l rend="indent4"> Their aid to me may bring.</l>
</lg>
<lb/>
<lg type="stanza">
<l rend="indent3"> And let the church bells all both great &amp; small</l>
<l rend="indent4"> Be tolld by night &amp; day,</l>
<l rend="indent3"> To drive from thence the fiends who come</l>
<l rend="indent4"> To bear my corpse away.</l>
</lg>
<lb/>
<lg type="stanza">
<l rend="indent3"> And ever have the church door barrd</l>
<l rend="indent4"> After the even-song;</l>
<l rend="indent3"> And I beseech you children dear</l>
<l rend="indent4"> Let the bars &amp; bolts be strong.</l>
</lg>
<lb/>
<lg type="stanza">
<l rend="indent3"> And let this be three days &amp; nights</l>
<l rend="indent4"> My wretched corpse to save,</l>
<l rend="indent3"> Preserve me so long from the fiendish throng</l>
<l rend="indent4"> And then I may rest in my grave.</l>
</lg>
<lb/>
<lg type="stanza">
<l rend="indent3"> The Old Woman of Berkeley laid her down,</l>
<l rend="indent4"> Her eyes grew deadly dim,</l>
<l rend="indent3"> Short came her breath, &amp; the struggle of death</l>
<l rend="indent4"> Distorted every limb.</l>
</lg>
<lb/>
<lg type="stanza">
<l rend="indent3"> They blest the Old Womans winding sheet</l>
<l rend="indent4"> With rites &amp; prayers due,</l>
<l rend="indent3"> With holy water they sprinkled her shroud,</l>
<l rend="indent4"> And they sprinkled her coffin too.</l>
</lg>
<lb/>
<lg type="stanza">
<l rend="indent3"> And they chaind her in her coffin of stone</l>
<l rend="indent4"> And with iron barrd it down. </l>
<l rend="indent3"> And in the church with three strong chains</l>
<l rend="indent4"> They chaind it to the ground.</l>
</lg>
<lb/>
<lg type="stanza">
<l rend="indent3"> And they blest the chains &amp; sprinkled them,</l>
<l rend="indent4"> And fifty priests stood round,</l>
<l rend="indent3"> By night &amp; day the mass to say</l>
<l rend="indent4"> Where she lay on the ground.</l>
</lg>
<lb/>
<lg type="stanza">
<l rend="indent3"> And fifty choristers were there</l>
<l rend="indent4"> To sing the funeral song,</l>
<l rend="indent3"> And a hallowed taper blazed in the hand</l>
<l rend="indent4"> Of all the sacred throng.</l>
</lg>
<lb/>
<lg type="stanza">
<l rend="indent3"> To see the Priests &amp; Choristers </l>
<l rend="indent4"> It was a goodly sight,</l>
<l rend="indent3"> Each holding, as it were a staff,</l>
<l rend="indent4"> A taper burning bright.</l>
</lg>
<lb/>
<lg type="stanza">
<l rend="indent3"> And the church bells all, both great &amp; small</l>
<l rend="indent4"> Did toll so loud &amp; long,</l>
<l rend="indent3"> And they have barrd the church door firm</l>
<l rend="indent4"> After the even-song.</l>
</lg>
<lb/>
<lg type="stanza">
<l rend="indent3"> And the first night the tapers light</l>
<l rend="indent4"> Burnt steadily &amp; clear,</l>
<l rend="indent3"> But they without a hideous rout</l>
<l rend="indent4"> Of angry fiends could hear,</l>
</lg>
<lb/>
<lg type="stanza">
<l rend="indent3"> A hideous roar at the church door</l>
<l rend="indent4"> Like a long thunder peal,</l>
<l rend="indent3"> And the Priests they prayed &amp; the Choristers sung</l>
<l rend="indent4"> Louder in fearful zeal.</l>
</lg>
<lb/>
<lg type="stanza">
<l rend="indent3"> Loud tolld the bell, the priests prayd well,</l>
<l rend="indent4"> The tapers they burnt bright,</l>
<l rend="indent3"> The Monk her son &amp; her daughter the Nun</l>
<l rend="indent4"> They told their beads all night.</l>
</lg>
<lb/>
<lg type="stanza">
<l rend="indent3"> The cock he crew, away they flew</l>
<l rend="indent4"> The fiends from the herald of day,</l>
<l rend="indent3"> And undisturbd the choristers sing</l>
<l rend="indent4"> And the fifty priests they pray.</l>
</lg>
<lb/>
<lg type="stanza">
<l rend="indent3"> The second night the tapers light</l>
<l rend="indent4"> Burnt dismally &amp; blue,</l>
<l rend="indent3"> And every one saw his neighbours face</l>
<l rend="indent4"> Like a dead mans face to view.</l>
</lg>
<lb/>
<lg type="stanza">
<l rend="indent3"> And yells &amp; cries without arise</l>
<l rend="indent4"> That the stoutest heart might shock,</l>
<l rend="indent3"> And a deafening roaring like a cataract pouring</l>
<l rend="indent4"> Over a mountain rock.</l>
</lg>
<lb/>
<lg type="stanza">
<l rend="indent3"> The monk &amp; nun they told their beads</l>
<l rend="indent4"> As fast as they could tell,</l>
<l rend="indent3"> And aye as louder grew the noise,</l>
<l rend="indent4"> The faster went the bell</l>
</lg>
<lb/>
<lg type="stanza">
<l rend="indent3"> Louder &amp; louder the choristers sung</l>
<l rend="indent4"> As they trembled more &amp; more,</l>
<l rend="indent3"> And the fifty Priests prayed to Heaven for aid</l>
<l rend="indent4"> They never had prayed so before.</l>
</lg>
<lb/>
<lg type="stanza">
<l rend="indent3"> The cock he crew, away they flew</l>
<l rend="indent4"> The fiends from the herald of day,</l>
<l rend="indent3"> And undisturbd the choristers sing</l>
<l rend="indent4"> And the fifty priests they pray.</l>
</lg>
<lb/>
<lg type="stanza">
<l rend="indent3"> The third night came, &amp; the tapers flame</l>
<l rend="indent4"> A hideous stench did make,</l>
<l rend="indent3"> And they burnt as tho’ they had been dipt</l>
<l rend="indent4"> In the burning brimstone lake.</l>
</lg>
<lb/>
<lg type="stanza">
<l rend="indent3"> And the loud commotion, like the rushing of ocean</l>
<l rend="indent4"> Grew momently more &amp; more,</l>
<l rend="indent3"> And strokes as of a battering ram</l>
<l rend="indent4"> Did shake the strong church door.</l>
</lg>
<lb/>
<lg type="stanza">
<l rend="indent3"> The bell-men they for very fear </l>
<l rend="indent4"> Could toll the bell no longer,</l>
<l rend="indent3"> And still as louder grew the strokes</l>
<l rend="indent4"> Their terror grew the stronger.</l>
</lg>
<lb/>
<lg type="stanza">
<l rend="indent3"> The monk &amp; nun forgot their beads,</l>
<l rend="indent4"> They fell on the ground dismayed,</l>
<l rend="indent3"> There was not a single Saint in Heaven</l>
<l rend="indent4"> Whom they did not call to aid.</l>
</lg>
<lb/>
<lg type="stanza">
<l rend="indent3"> The choristers song their fear was so strong</l>
<l rend="indent4"> Faltered with trepidation,</l>
<l rend="indent3"> For the church did rock as an earthquake shock</l>
<l rend="indent4"> Uplifted its foundation.</l>
</lg>
<lb/>
<lg type="stanza">
<l rend="indent3"> And a sound was heard like the trumpets blast</l>
<l rend="indent4"> That shall one day wake the dead,</l>
<l rend="indent3"> The strong church door could bear no more,</l>
<l rend="indent4"> And the bolts &amp; the bars they fled.</l>
</lg>
<lb/>
<lg type="stanza">
<l rend="indent3"> And the tapers light was extinguishd quite,</l>
<l rend="indent4"> And the Choristers faintly sung,</l>
<l rend="indent3"> And the Priests dismayed panted &amp; prayed</l>
<l rend="indent4"> Till terror froze every tongue. </l>
</lg>
<lb/>
<lg type="stanza">
<l rend="indent3"> And in He came with eyes of flame,</l>
<l rend="indent4"> The Fiend to fetch the dead,</l>
<l rend="indent3"> And all the church with his presence glowed</l>
<l rend="indent4"> Like a <del rend="strikethrough">burning</del> firey
                            furnace red.</l>
</lg>
<lb/>
<lg type="stanza">
<l rend="indent3"> He laid his hand on the iron chains,</l>
<l rend="indent4"> And like flax they mouldered asunder,</l>
<l rend="indent3"> And the coffin lid that was barrd so firm</l>
<l rend="indent4"> He burst with his voice of thunder.</l>
</lg>
<lb/>
<lg type="stanza">
<l rend="indent3"> And he bade the Old Woman of Berkeley rise</l>
<l rend="indent4"> And come with her master away,</l>
<l rend="indent3"> And the sweat did stand on the cold corpse</l>
<l rend="indent4"> At the voice she was forced to obey.</l>
</lg>
<lb/>
<lg type="stanza">
<l rend="indent3"> She rose on her feet in her winding sheet,</l>
<l rend="indent4"> Her cold flesh quivered with fear,</l>
<l rend="indent3"> And a groan like that which the Old Woman gave</l>
<l rend="indent4"> Never did mortal hear.</l>
</lg>
<lb/>
<lg type="stanza">
<l rend="indent3"> She followed the Fiend to the church door</l>
<l rend="indent4"> There stood a black horse there,</l>
<l rend="indent3"> His breath was red like a furnace smoke,</l>
<l rend="indent4"> His eyes like a meteors glare.</l>
</lg>
<lb/>
<lg type="stanza">
<l rend="indent3"> The Fiend with force flung her on the horse</l>
<l rend="indent4"> And he leapt up before,</l>
<l rend="indent3"> And away like the lightnings speed they went,</l>
<l rend="indent4"> And she was seen no more.</l>
</lg>
<lb/>
<lg type="stanza">
<l rend="indent3"> They saw her no more but her cries &amp; shrieks</l>
<l rend="indent4"> For four miles round they could hear,</l>
<l rend="indent3"> And children at rest at their mothers breast</l>
<l rend="indent4">
<del rend="strikethrough">Startled</del> &lt;Started&gt; &amp; screamd
                            with fear.<note n="2" place="foot" resp="editors">The Raven ... screamd
                                with fear: Verse written in double columns.</note>
</l>
</lg>
<p rend="indent3"> _____________________________________</p>
</epigraph>
<p rend="indent1"> You ask me respecting your brothers inscriptions.<note n="3" place="foot" resp="editors">Presumably either poems written by Sir Watkin
                        Williams Wynn (1772–1840), Charles Wynn’s elder brother, or information
                        about inscriptions the Baronet wished to commission from Southey.</note>
                    they never reached me. I received no letter from you during your stay in
                    Ireland. about Mess<hi rend="sup">rs</hi> Burrows &amp; Armitt<note n="4" place="foot" resp="editors">Unidentified; presumably friends or
                        acquaintances of Charles Watkin Williams Wynn who had requested copies of
                        Southey’s published writings.</note> the blunder was not mine – you sent me
                    only their names. was I to direct Dublin or Cork or Belfast? I could not
                    guess.</p>
<p rend="indent1"> I shall be in town the 13<hi rend="sup">th</hi> of next month.
                    Blackstone Coke &amp; Boote<note n="5" place="foot" resp="editors">William
                        Blackstone (1723–1780; <title>DNB</title>), <title>Commentaries on the Laws
                            of England</title> (1765–1769); Edward Coke (1552–1643;
                            <title>DNB</title>), <title>Institutes of the Laws of England</title>
                        (1628–1644); and Richard Boote (d. 1782), <title>An Historical Treatise of
                            an Action or Suit at Law</title> (1766).</note> are all the Law Books I
                    have &amp; those I have read till I am tired – which however does not
                    necessarily imply much reading. I have read them till I find nothing new strike
                    me, but it does not lay hold of my memory. that see[MS torn] like the King of
                    Portugals sieve,<note n="6" place="foot" resp="editors">Unidentified.</note> it
                    holds large jewels but the rubbish runs thro. I am anxious to be settled, but my
                    views begin again to grow uncertain. <ref target="people.html#FrickerEdith">Edith</ref> is again very unwell. her constitution is very weak indeed,
                    &amp; I dread the effects of London air &amp; London confinement. it will
                    certainly be right to try how she bears London before I <del rend="strikethrough">go</del> enter an office. When I see you I will talk
                    more fully upon the subject. I cannot move freely; <ref target="people.html#SoutheyMargaret">my mother</ref> is with me, &amp; <ref target="people.html#HillMargaret">a cousin</ref>, a poor girl, disabled by
                    the frequent<del rend="strikethrough">e</del> returns of a disease almost as
                    dreadful as the leprosy, from providing for herself. my brother <ref target="people.html#SoutheyHenryHerbert">Harry</ref> too has only me to look
                    to. from <ref target="people.html#HillHerbertUncle">my Uncle</ref> I expect some
                    assistance, but as yet have had none, &amp; he has not much in his power. with
                    these expences I have kept pace, &amp; can support them, but it is only by
                    giving up more time to, to money [MS obscured] scribbling than it would be right
                    in other circumstances to give. on this account I add pieces enough to my Vision
                    to make a second volume,<note n="7" place="foot" resp="editors">
<title>Poems</title> (1799), which included the ‘Vision of the Maid of
                        Orleans’.</note> as I told you. this is in the Press, &amp; will do me
                    credit I think, I calculate my profits at forty pounds.</p>
<p rend="indent1"> My brother <ref target="people.html#SoutheyTom">Tom</ref> is on
                    board <ref target="people.html#HoodAlexanderViscount">Lord Bridports</ref>
                        ship.<note n="8" place="foot" resp="editors">The <title>Royal
                        George</title>.</note> this removal he owes to the engagement, but he
                    expects nothing more as <ref target="people.html#HoodAlexanderViscount">Ld
                        B.</ref> is about to strike his flag. I am certainly very proud of <ref target="people.html#SoutheyTom">my brother</ref>, but not for the
                    engagement. he is a fine, affectionate, spirited young man, who has struggled
                    thro many disadvantages &amp; difficulties, &amp; has all the good parts of a
                    [MS obscured] without any of the bad ones. he will I doubt not do well. my two
                    other brothers<note n="9" place="foot" resp="editors">
<ref target="people.html#SoutheyHenryHerbert">Henry Herbert</ref> and <ref target="people.html#SoutheyEdward">Edward Southey</ref>.</note> will
                    have fewer disadvantages, but I shall be very happy if they <del rend="strikethrough">succeed</del> &lt;turn out&gt; as well. Nature has done
                    much for them</p>
<p rend="indent1"> I think it would be well if I could get a play upon the stage.
                    this is mentioned not as a serious thought yet – but what would be one if you
                    encouraged it. you know with what rapidity I write – after chusing a subject it
                    would not employ me more than a month. this is the only profitable mode of
                    writing – here the profits are more than they ought to be, for every thing else
                    less. the profits of a play are from 2 to 700 pounds. do you think it a lottery
                    worth adventuring in? my name would forward it with a manager, &amp; might be
                    kept secret not to injure it with the Anti Jacobines &amp; English Orange men. I
                    think <del rend="strikethrough">xxxxx</del> a good play would succeed if
                    assisted by spectacle. now here is an egg laid which you may either crush or
                    hatch in a moment.</p>
<p rend="indent1"> You will I think be pleased with my English Eclogues.<note n="10" place="foot" resp="editors">Six ‘English Eclogues’ were published in
                            <title>Poems</title>, 2 vols (Bristol, 1799), II, pp. [181]–232.</note>
                    they are dramatically good, &amp; some of them satisfy me more than most of my
                    smaller pieces. they are all serious, but sufficiently diversif[MS obscured] in
                    subject. I have a fine plan for a romantic poem The Destruction of the Dom
                        Daniel<note n="11" place="foot" resp="editors">
<title>Thalaba the
                            Destroyer</title> (1801). See <title>Common-Place Book</title>, ed. John
                        Wood Warter, 4 series (London, 1849–1850), IV, pp. 181–188 for Southey’s
                        initial plan of the poem.</note> – if I had leisure it should prove that I
                    do not reject machinery in the epic from poverty of invention, but can wield the
                    wand of enchantment at least as ably as Wieland.<note n="12" place="foot" resp="editors">Christoph Martin Wieland (1733–1813), German poet.</note>
</p>
<p rend="indent1"> I thank you for your account of Carnedd,<note n="13" place="foot" resp="editors">Welsh for ‘tomb’, ‘cairn’ or ‘mountain’.</note> the
                    superstition of the flame strikes me as the see[MS obscured] of a ballad.<note n="14" place="foot" resp="editors">In <title>Common-Place Book</title>, ed.
                        John Wood Warter, 4 series (London, 1849–1850), IV, p. 96, Southey records
                        the Welsh superstition that a lambent blue flame would be seen over the
                        burial place of a murder victim.</note> you will be amused with the
                    following proof of <del rend="strikethrough">p</del> peasant ignorance. it is
                    strictly true. A clergyman, a friend of mine, was walking over his fields with
                    one of his parishioners, &amp; noticed some fairy rings on the grass. Ah, said
                    the man, they be what the fairies make<del rend="strikethrough">s</del> ... we
                    do not see em now, but they were seen often enough in the olden times. What do
                    you mean by the olden times? said the clergyman. why olden times – the times of
                    the scriptures. you do read about em in the bible. no, he answerd, I am sure
                    theres nothing said of them in the bible. Oh yes there is. I’ve heard you read
                    about em very often. about the Scribes &amp; Phārisees you know. Must not this
                    man have had fine ideas of the New Testament?</p>
<closer>
<salute rend="indent1"> God bless you</salute>
<salute rend="indent2"> yrs affectionately</salute>
<signed rend="indent4"> Robert Southey.</signed>
</closer>
<postscript>
<p>
<address>
<placeName>
<ref target="places.html#Westbury">Westbury.</ref>
</placeName>
</address>
<date when="1798-10-29">Oct. 29. 98.</date>
</p>
<p>Your last was franked <hi rend="ital">Wrexham</hi> &amp; put into the office
                        at Chester.</p>
</postscript>
</div>
</body>
</text>
</TEI>
