Who sung a doleful song about green fields, How sweet it were on lake or wild savannah To hunt for food, and be a naked man, And wander up and down at liberty. He always doated on the youth, and now His love grew desperate; and defying death, He made that cunning _entrance_ I described: And the young man escaped. MARIA. 'Tis a sweet tale: Such as would lull a listening child to sleep, His rosy face besoiled with unwiped tears. And what became of him? FOSTER-MOTHER. He went on ship-board With those bold voyagers, who made discovery Of golden lands: Leoni's younger brother Went likewise, and when he returned to Spain, He told Leoni, that the poor mad youth, Soon after they arrived in that new world, In spite of his dissuasion, seized a boat, And all alone set sail by silent moonlight, Up a great river, great as any sea, And ne'er was heard of more: but 'tis supposed, He lived and died among the savage men. The following letter of Mr. C. was in answer to a request for some long-promised copy, and for which the printer importuned. "Stowey, 1797. My dear, dear Cottle, Have patience, and everything shall be done. I think now entirely of your brother:[34] in two days I will think entirely for you. By Wednesday next you shall have Lloyd's other Poems, with all Lamb's, &c. &c.... S. T. C." A little before this time, a singular occurrence happened to Mr. C. during a pedestrian excursion into Somersetshire, as detailed in the following letter to Mr. Wade. "My dear friend, I am here after a most tiresome journey; in the course of which, a woman asked me if I knew one Coleridge, of Bristol, I answered, I had heard of him. 'Do you know, (quoth she) that that vile jacobin villain drew away a young man of our parish, one Burnet' &c. and in this strain did the woman continue for near an hour; heaping on me every name of abuse that the parish of Billingsgate could supply. I listened very particularly; appeared to approve all she said, exclaiming, 'dear me!' two or three times, and, in fine, so completely won the woman's heart by my civilities, that I had not courage enough to undeceive her.... S. T. Coleridge. P. S. You are a good prophet. Oh, into what a state have the scoundrels brought this devoted kingdom. If the House of Commons would but melt down their faces, it would greatly assist the copper currency--we should have brass enough." To refer now to another subject. Robert Burns had died in 1796. Finding that his family had little more than their father's fame to support them, I consulted with Mr. Coleridge, whether it would not be possible to add to the fund then being raised, by promoting a subscription in Bristol, in furtherance of such design. It being deemed feasible, while Mr. C. undertook to write a Poem on the subject for a Bristol paper, I sent the following advertisement to the same vehicle. TO THE CITIZENS OF BRISTOL.