So now, — the hour that first with light inspired
An eye that deep in Nature's heart doth look,
Comes with the power of deathless genius fired,
To stamp with signet-ring our household book:
Oh, Bard of tuneful soul! may health be thine,
And ever-cloudless peace illume thy day's decline.
It was during my visit to Wordsworth, that I first received intelligence of the melancholy declension of health and intellect which had befallen Southey. With reluctance I resigned my intention of going to Keswick, having been extremely desirous to see him, and being provided with letters of introduction from mutual friends. How mournful, that such a rayless cloud should envelop that genius which has so long thrown a bridge of light and beauty across the Atlantic. Sometimes I have thought his prolific and versatile powers well symbolized in one of his own descriptive passages:—
"The stream's perpetual flow,
That with its shadows and its glancing lights,
Dimples, and threadlike motions infinite,
Forever varying, and yet still the same,
Like Time towards Eternity, glides on."
A letter from the successor of his beloved Edith, mentions, feelingly, the state of unconsciousness that overshadows him, and says: "In the blackness of this darkness we still live, and shall pass from under it,
