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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>
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<name>Southey, Robert, 1774-1843</name>
</author>
<editor>Lynda Pratt</editor>
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<date>2011-08-15</date>
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<idno type="nines">rce735</idno>
<idno type="edition">letterEEd.26.726</idno>
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<sourceDesc>
<p>Houghton Library, bMS Eng
                        265.1(3).  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
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											St Edmunds) and Northumberland, the Master and Fellows of Trinity College, Cambridge; the Society of
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<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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<div n="726" type="letter">
<head>726. Robert Southey to <ref target="people.html#BedfordGrosvenorCharles">Grosvenor
                        Charles Bedford</ref>, <date when="1802-10-07">7 October
                        1802</date>
<note place="foot" resp="editors" type="headnote">Address: To/ Grosvenor Charles Bedford
                            Esq<hi rend="sup">r</hi>/ Exchequer/ Westminster/
                        Single<lb/>Postmarks: 132/ BRISTOL/ OC 8; B/ OCT 9/
                        1802<lb/>MS: Houghton Library, bMS Eng
                        265.1(3)<lb/>Unpublished.</note>
</head>
<p rend="indent5"> The Curse of Kehama</p>
<p rend="indent6"> _____</p>
<lg type="stanza">
<l rend="indent4"> Hark! tis the funeral trumpets tone,</l>
<l rend="indent5"> The long loud blast of death!</l>
<l rend="indent4"> At once the roar of a thousand drums</l>
<l rend="indent3"> Rose, &amp; a thousand voices in one
                        cry</l>
<l rend="indent3"> Pour their wild wailing. drownd amid the
                        din</l>
<l rend="indent4"> You hear no more the song of praise,</l>
<l rend="indent5"> You hear the dirge no more</l>
<l rend="indent5"> Nor the trumpets funeral tone,</l>
<l rend="indent4"> Yet the song &amp; the dirge &amp; the
                        trumpet</l>
<l rend="indent5"> Mingle &amp; swell the sound.</l>
<l rend="indent3"> But over all the uproar louder heard</l>
<l rend="indent5"> Rises the echoed name</l>
<l rend="indent5"> Arvalan! Arvalan!</l>
<l rend="indent3"> It rings distinctly thro the dizzy
                        din,</l>
<l rend="indent5"> Arvalan! Arvalan!</l>
<l rend="indent3"> It peals from house to house, from tower
                        to tower.</l>
</lg>
<lb/>
<lg type="stanza">
<l rend="indent4"> Midnight! &amp; not one eye</l>
<l rend="indent3"> In all the imperial city closed in
                        sleep!</l>
<l rend="indent3"> Her multitudes abroad! her streets
                        ablaze!</l>
<l rend="indent4"> The death procession moves along,</l>
<l rend="indent5"> A thousand torches fling</l>
<l rend="indent3"> (unless your worship chuse to multiply
                        them by ten)</l>
<l rend="indent5"> Their flaring radiance on the gloom</l>
<l rend="indent5"> Blotting the stars from heaven.</l>
<l rend="indent5"> Black clouds of wavy smoke</l>
<l rend="indent4"> Ascending thro the yellow light</l>
<l rend="indent5"> Float visible above.</l>
<l rend="indent4"> Their bare heads shining to the glare</l>
<l rend="indent5"> The Bramins lead the way</l>
<l rend="indent5"> Chaunting the song of praise.</l>
</lg>
<lb/>
<lg type="stanza">
<l rend="indent5"> And now at once they shout</l>
<l rend="indent5"> Arvalan! Arvalan! </l>
<l rend="indent5"> With one accordant voice</l>
<l rend="indent3"> The universal people lift the cry</l>
<l rend="indent5"> Arvalan! Arvalan!</l>
<l rend="indent4"> In vain ye thunder on his ear</l>
<l rend="indent5"> The ineffectual name!</l>
<l rend="indent5"> Would ye awake the dead?</l>
<l rend="indent4"> Borne in his palanquin upright</l>
<l rend="indent5"> Lo Arvalan appears.</l>
<l rend="indent5"> A glow is on his face, . .</l>
<l rend="indent4"> It is the crimson canopy</l>
<l rend="indent4"> That reddens his deathy cheek,</l>
<l rend="indent4"> He moves! it is the bearers step,</l>
<l rend="indent3"> The bodys senseless motion as it
                        yields</l>
<l rend="indent5"> To its own heaviness.</l>
</lg>
<lb/>
<lg type="stanza">
<l rend="indent3"> Close following his dead son Kehama
                        comes,</l>
<l rend="indent4"> He joins not in the hymn of praise,</l>
<l rend="indent4"> He calls not the beloved name,</l>
<l rend="indent5"> From him no groan proceeds, . .</l>
<l rend="indent5"> King of the World, his slave</l>
<l rend="indent3"> Behold &amp; pity now their wretched
                        Lord:</l>
<l rend="indent4"> With self-consoling joy they see</l>
<l rend="indent3"> That Nature in his pride hath smitten
                        him,</l>
<l rend="indent4"> That now the Master of mankind</l>
<l rend="indent5"> Feels he himself is man.</l>
</lg>
<lb/>
<lg type="stanza">
<l rend="indent4"> Woe – woe – the wives of Arvalan</l>
<l rend="indent4"> All gay with gold &amp; bright with
                        gems</l>
<l rend="indent5"> As on the bridal day …</l>
<l rend="indent4"> Young Azla, young Nealine..</l>
<l rend="indent4"> Woe .. woe .. around their palanquin</l>
<l rend="indent4"> With song &amp; symphony &amp; dance</l>
<l rend="indent5"> Their kindred &amp; their friends</l>
<l rend="indent4"> The song, the dance of sacrifice,</l>
<l rend="indent5"> The symphony of death!</l>
<l rend="indent4"> And now the train of victim slaves</l>
<l rend="indent4"> All gorgeous for the pomp arrayed;</l>
<l rend="indent5"> Their robes of woven gold</l>
<l rend="indent3"> Light-lifted, swell upon the
                        trumpet-sound</l>
<l rend="indent3"> Tremulous &amp; glittering to the torches
                        flame.</l>
<l rend="indent4"> And who are these, the man, the maid?</l>
<l rend="indent4"> Like criminals by bowmen hemmd?</l>
<l rend="indent4"> Oh wretched father – child accurst .
                        .</l>
<l rend="indent5"> Them every eye was seeking …</l>
<l rend="indent4"> Is this the man who raisd his hand</l>
<l rend="indent4"> Against the life of Arvalan?</l>
<l rend="indent4"> Is this the man who durst draw down</l>
<l rend="indent5"> Kehamas dreadful wrath?</l>
<l rend="indent4"> Oh wretched father, child accurst . .</l>
<l rend="indent5"> Them every heart was wailing</l>
<l rend="indent4"> For in that mighty multitude </l>
<l rend="indent5"> Was none who loved the deed –</l>
<l rend="indent3"> For who could tell what bitter wrongs</l>
<l rend="indent5"> Had stung the murderers heart –</l>
<l rend="indent3"> (these last six lines .. shall they
                        stand?)</l>
<l rend="indent5"> Far far behind appear</l>
<l rend="indent5"> The torches of the train,</l>
<l rend="indent4"> One ever lengthening line of light!</l>
<l rend="indent5"> Far far behind come on</l>
<l rend="indent4"> The beat of drum the trumpet <hi rend="ital">blair</hi> &lt;an old friend
                        Grosvenor&gt;</l>
<l rend="indent4"> Like the voice of the coming storm.</l>
</lg>
<lb/>
<lg type="stanza">
<l rend="indent3"> And now they pause .. for lo the funeral
                        place</l>
<l rend="indent5"> The trench, the sandal pile.</l>
<l rend="indent5"> Gently they rest the bier,</l>
<l rend="indent4"> They wet the face of Arvalan</l>
<l rend="indent5"> If haply life be left,</l>
<l rend="indent4"> They feel his breast, they feel his
                        lips</l>
<l rend="indent5"> If motion or breath be there,</l>
<l rend="indent4"> But not with weak or erring hand</l>
<l rend="indent5"> The vengeance blow was driven.</l>
<l rend="indent5"> Then with a deeper peal</l>
<l rend="indent4"> The tambours &amp; the trumpets
                        sound,</l>
<l rend="indent4"> And with a last &amp; loudest voice</l>
<l rend="indent5"> They call on Arvalan.</l>
</lg>
<lb/>
<lg type="stanza">
<l rend="indent4"> Woe .. woe .. for Azla takes her seat</l>
<l rend="indent5"> Upon the funeral pile.</l>
<l rend="indent4"> Her eye how dim! her cheek how pale!</l>
<l rend="indent5"> Calmly she takes her seat,</l>
<l rend="indent5"> And calmly on her lap</l>
<l rend="indent3"> She lets the head of Arvalan be laid.</l>
<l rend="indent5"> Woe! Woe! Nealine . .</l>
<l rend="indent5"> The young Nealine …</l>
<l rend="indent5"> You cannot hear her cries.</l>
<l rend="indent5"> But in her face you see</l>
<l rend="indent3"> The supplication &amp; the agony,</l>
<l rend="indent3"> The ineffectual prayer – the frantic
                        shriek</l>
<l rend="indent4"> And in her arms &amp; neck the
                        strength</l>
<l rend="indent5"> That struggles yet for life.</l>
<l rend="indent3"> They force her on, .. they bind her to
                        the dead . .</l>
<l rend="indent3"> Kehama then approached &amp; lit the
                        pile.</l>
</lg>
<lb/>
<lg type="stanza">
<l rend="indent5"> At once on every side</l>
<l rend="indent5"> The circling torches fall,</l>
<l rend="indent5"> At once on every side</l>
<l rend="indent5"> The torrent flames rush up.</l>
<l rend="indent4"> Then hand in hand the victim slaves</l>
<l rend="indent3"> Roll in the dance around the funeral
                        fire,</l>
<l rend="indent5"> Their garments flying folds</l>
<l rend="indent5"> Float inward to the flame.</l>
<l rend="indent4"> In drunken whirl they wheel around,</l>
<l rend="indent4"> One drops .. another plunges now . .</l>
<l rend="indent4"> And still with overwhelming din</l>
<l rend="indent4"> The tambours &amp; the trumpets
                        sound,</l>
<l rend="indent5"> And shouts &amp; yells of praise</l>
<l rend="indent5"> Ring thro the multitude,</l>
<l rend="indent4"> While round &amp; round intoxicate</l>
<l rend="indent3"> The wretched victims reel till all have
                        fallen.</l>
</lg>
<lb/>
<lg type="stanza">
<l rend="indent5"> The drums the clarions cease,</l>
<l rend="indent5"> The multitude are hushd,</l>
<l rend="indent3"> Only the roaring of the flame is
                        heard.</l>
<l rend="indent3"> Home towards the Table of the Dead</l>
<l rend="indent3"> Kehama moved; there on the
                        altar-stone</l>
<l rend="indent5"> The rice &amp; honey strewd,</l>
<l rend="indent3"> There with the efforts of collected
                        voice</l>
<l rend="indent5"> Calld the dead Arvalan.</l>
<l rend="indent5"> Lo! Arvalan appears! . .</l>
<l rend="indent3"> Only Kehamas powerful eye beheld </l>
<l rend="indent5"> The thin etherial form,</l>
<l rend="indent5"> Only the Rajahs ear</l>
<l rend="indent5"> Received his feeble voice.</l>
<l rend="indent3"> ‘And is this is all my father? this the
                        most</l>
<l rend="indent5"> ‘To thy dear Arvalan?</l>
<l rend="indent5"> ‘This unavailing pomp . .</l>
<l rend="indent5"> ‘There common rites of death!</l>
</lg>
<lb/>
<lg type="stanza">
<l rend="indent4"> In bitterness the Rajah heard</l>
<l rend="indent3"> And groand, &amp; bowd his head, &amp;
                        oer his face</l>
<l rend="indent5"> He cowled the mourning robe</l>
<l rend="indent3"> (Q<hi rend="sup">y</hi>. the colour of
                        Hindoo mourning? whether white?)</l>
<l rend="indent3"> ‘Art thou not powerful .. even like a
                        God?</l>
<l rend="indent3"> ‘And must I thro my years of
                        wandering,</l>
<l rend="indent3"> ‘Shivering &amp; naked to the
                        elements,</l>
<l rend="indent4"> ‘In wretchedness await</l>
<l rend="indent4"> ‘The hour of Yamens wrath? . .</l>
<l rend="indent4"> ‘Embody me anew!</l>
<l rend="indent3"> ‘Clothe me again, undying as I am . .</l>
<l rend="indent3"> ‘Yea, re-create me! … father is this all
                        . .</l>
<l rend="indent3"> ‘And thou almighty? ..</l>
<l rend="indent6"> That upbraiding tone</l>
<l rend="indent4"> Aroused Kehamas soul.</l>
<l rend="indent3"> Half healed of anguish by the rising
                        wrath</l>
<l rend="indent5"> ‘Reproach not me! he cried.</l>
<l rend="indent3"> ‘Had I not spell-secured thee from
                        disease</l>
<l rend="indent3"> ‘Fire – sword – the common accidents of
                        man . .</l>
<l rend="indent4"> ‘And thou fool! fool! &amp; by a stake .
                        .</l>
<l rend="indent5"> ‘And by a peasants arm …</l>
<l rend="indent4"> ‘Even now when from reluctant Heaven</l>
<l rend="indent3"> ‘Forcing new gifts &amp; mightier
                        attributes</l>
<l rend="indent3"> ‘So soon I should have quelld the Death
                        Gods power.</l>
</lg>
<lb/>
<lg type="stanza">
<l rend="indent3"> ‘Waste not on me thy rage!’ quoth
                        Arvalan,</l>
<l rend="indent3"> ‘Fall that upon the murderer! give me
                        power</l>
<l rend="indent3"> ‘Kehama! Master of the Elements!</l>
<l rend="indent5"> ‘A portion of thy sway! . .</l>
<l rend="indent3"> ‘My father give me vengeance! not the
                        stroke</l>
<l rend="indent5"> ‘Of sudden punishment,</l>
<l rend="indent5"> ‘The agony that ends,</l>
<l rend="indent5"> ‘But lasting long revenge!’</l>
</lg>
<lb/>
<lg type="stanza">
<l rend="indent3"> ‘Go! said the Rajah, with thy fathers
                        power</l>
<l rend="indent5"> ‘Command the elements! …</l>
<l rend="indent3"> ‘Son of Kehama .. witness thy
                            revenge!’<note n="1" place="foot" resp="editors">Hark! tis … thy revenge: Verse written in double
                            columns. The poem is an early draft of part of Book
                            1 of the <title>Curse of Kehama</title>
                            (1810).</note>
</l>
</lg>
<lb/>
<p rend="indent1"> And there Grosvenor is a good full stop – a
                    half way house on the first days journey. Now then for
                    criticism hactenus.<note n="2" place="foot" resp="editors">The Latin translates as ‘up to this point’.</note>
                    Originally I began at an earlier period – thus. Arvalan is
                    watching a horse .. the last of a horse hecatomb which when
                    perfected would have made the sacrifices equal to Indra the
                    God of the firmament. the horse strayd to Laderlads hut
                    where Kalyal was bathing &amp; Laderlad<del rend="strikethrough">s</del> drives a stake thro Arvalan
                    in defence of his daughter – this I found dull – &amp; yet
                    am apprehensive that the beginning as it now stands is too
                    abrupt – not quoad<note n="3" place="foot" resp="editors">The Latin translates as ‘with respect to’.</note>
                    funeral which is bono<note n="4" place="foot" resp="editors">The Latin translates as ‘good’.</note> – but quoad the
                    superhuman character of Kehama, which is wholly Hindooish.
                    &amp; must perplex by its strangeness without some preluding
                    &amp; palliating matter. a preface may do this – but if a
                    poem requires explanation it is bad so far.</p>
<p rend="indent1"> I shall send the rest of the book right soon
                    – &amp; a letter about the whole plan. it is the plan for
                    which I most wish the aid of other opinions, till that be
                    known, fragments can be but partially judged – the finish is
                    of less import now than the outline.</p>
<closer>
<salute rend="indent1">
<ref target="people.html#SoutheyMargaretEdithdau">Young
                            Margaret</ref> does well – so does <ref target="people.html#FrickerEdith">Edith</ref> – so
                        do I. </salute>
<salute rend="indent2"> God bless you.</salute>
<signed rend="indent3"> RS.</signed>
<lb/>
<date when="1802-10-07">Thursday. Oct. 7. 1802.</date>
</closer>
<postscript>
<p rend="indent1"> Will you be so good when you pass Charing
                        + to enquire at a Print Shop there for certain Plans of
                        the battle of Copenhagen,<note n="5" place="foot" resp="editors">The Battle of Copenhagen, 2 April
                            1801, in which a British fleet had defeated the
                            Danish fleet. Tom Southey had served in the action
                            as a Lieutenant on HMS <hi rend="ital">Bellona</hi>.</note> drawn by Alex. Briarly,<note n="6" place="foot" resp="editors">Alexander Briarly
                            (dates unknown), Master on the <hi rend="ital">Bellona</hi>. He had previously served as
                            Master on the <hi rend="ital">Audacious</hi> at the
                            Battle of the Nile in 1798. The Master was a senior
                            seaman responsible for navigation.</note> Master of
                        the Bellona, to which <ref target="people.html#SoutheyTom">Tom</ref> subscribed
                        a desire they may be sent to his agents Mess<hi rend="sup">rs</hi> Peyton &amp; Grenfell<note n="7" place="foot" resp="editors">Peyton and Grenfell, a
                            firm of Navy Agents.</note> [MS torn]d. Blackfriars
                        – who will pay for them <del rend="strikethrough">if
                            they be un</del> what remains unp[MS torn]</p>
<p rend="indent1"> the print sellers name is Briden.<note n="8" place="foot" resp="editors">John Brydon (fl.
                            c. 1783-1805). His shop was at 7 Charing Cross,
                            London.</note> should the horse kick &amp; lose his
                        shoe, he would break one of M<hi rend="sup">r</hi>
                        Bridens windows</p>
</postscript>
</div>
</body>
</text>
</TEI>
