Works
He produced several volumes of his own. Malvern Hills was published in 1798, John the Baptist, a Poem, in 1801, Alfred, an Epic Poem, in the same year, The Fall of Cambria in 1809, Messiah in 1815. These pieces exposed him to the sarcasm of Lord Byron.
Against advice from Thomas Poole and James Gillman, Cottle, in his Early Recollections, chiefly relating to Samuel Taylor Coleridge (1837), enumerated his generosities to Coleridge and Southey, and entered into details of Coleridge's opium habit. ‘The confusion in Cottle's “Recollections” is greater than any one would think possible,’ said Southey; the book is inaccurate in its dates, and documents quoted are garbled. It has details on others such as Robert Lovell and William Gilbert. It has youthful portraits of Coleridge, Southey, Wordsworth, and Charles Lamb. A second edition was published in 1847 under the title of Reminiscences of Coleridge and Southey.
The appendix to the fourth edition of his Malvern Hills (1829) contains several essays, including an account of his tutor Henderson, a discussion of the authenticity of the Rowley poems, and a description of the Oreston Caves, near Plymouth, and their fossils. His correspondence with Joseph Haslewood on the Rowley manuscripts is preserved in the British Museum.
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Famous quotes containing the word works:
“Again we mistook a little rocky islet seen through the drisk, with some taller bare trunks or stumps on it, for the steamer with its smoke-pipes, but as it had not changed its position after half an hour, we were undeceived. So much do the works of man resemble the works of nature. A moose might mistake a steamer for a floating isle, and not be scared till he heard its puffing or its whistle.”
—Henry David Thoreau (18171862)
“Tis too plain that with the material power the moral progress has not kept pace. It appears that we have not made a judicious investment. Works and days were offered us, and we took works.”
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“His works are not to be studied, but read with a swift satisfaction. Their flavor and gust is like what poets tell of the froth of wine, which can only be tasted once and hastily.”
—Henry David Thoreau (18171862)