Cold in the earth Prince Hoel lay;
And Llaian listened, fain to speak
But wept as if her heart would break.

In this connection, writing of Southey, soon after intelligence was
received in this country of the decay of his intelligence, from her
coffee estate in Cuba, Mrs. Brooks says:

When a child of ten years old I could admire the poem "Madoc,"
such is the simplicity of its sentiments and the beauty of
its delineations. Looking it over, here, (amidst the woods and
canes of that island where repose the bones of Columbus,) the
song of Prince Hoel attached itself to my thoughts, and has
been (involuntarily) put into rhyme. This song may be found in
the first part of the poem mentioned. The lyric metre in which
it now appears must rather injure than improve the _belle
nature_ of the original. Still I wish it to be published, as
coming from my hand; because it gives me an opportunity of
expressing, in some degree, my unqualified admiration of its
composer. Well may he be called THE POET AND HISTORIAN OF THE
NEW WORLD. To justify this appellation, one has only to look
at Madoc and the History of Brazil. I have heard, from a
friend, of a rumor that Southey is ill; and, as it is feared,
irrecoverably.

This intelligence is unexpected as it is melancholy; for who had
better reason to look forward to a protracted existence upon earth,
than he who has written more than any other man except Voltaire--than
Robert Southey, perfectly proportioned in person, just in mind,
regular in his way of living, and benevolent in all his doings?