Odes From Horace. - To [1]Thaliarchus. Book The First, Ode The Ninth.

In dazzling whiteness, lo! Soracte towers,
As all the mountain were one heap of snow!
Rush from the loaded woods the glittering showers;
The frost-bound waters can no longer flow.

Let plenteous billets, on the glowing hearth,
Dissolve the ice-dart ere it reach thy veins;
Bring mellow wines to prompt convivial mirth,
Nor heed th' arrested streams, or slippery plains.

High Heaven, resistless in his varied sway,
Speaks! - The wild elements contend no more;
Nor then, from raging seas, the foamy spray
Climbs the dark rocks, or curls upon the shore.

And peaceful then yon aged ash shall stand;
In breathless calm the dusky cypress rise;
To-morrow's destiny the Gods command,
To-day is thine; - enjoy it, and be wise!

Youth's radiant tide too swiftly rolls away;
Now, in its flow, let pleasures round thee bloom;
Join the gay dance, awake the melting lay,
Ere hoary tresses blossom for the tomb!

Spears, and the Steed, in busy camps impel;
And, when the early darkness veils the groves,
Amid the leafless boughs let whispers steal,
While frolic Beauty seeks the near alcoves.

Soft as thy tip-toe steps the mazes rove,
A laugh, half-smother'd, thy pleas'd ear shall meet,
And, sportive in the charming wiles of love,
Betray the artifice of coy retreat;

And then the ring, or, from her snowy arm,
The promis'd bracelet may thy force employ;
Her feign'd reluctance, height'ning every charm,
Shall add new value to the ravish'd toy.

Anna Seward

Anna Seward was an English Romantic poet often called the 'Swan of Lichfield'. She was known for both her poetry and her extensive letter writing, which provided insight into 18th-century literary life. Seward was a steadfast critic of the neoclassicism that dominated much of the contemporary poetry scene, favoring a Romantic approach that sought to capture emotion and natural beauty. Her works often revolved around themes of love, loss, and nature. She was also a close friend of writers such as Erasmus Darwin and Samuel Johnson.

Anna Seward

Sonnet XLIV.

Anna Seward, Simple Poetry

Sonnet LXI. To Mr. Henry Cary[1], On Reading His Sonnets Written At Sixteen.

Anna Seward, Simple Poetry

Sonnet XXXV. Spring.

Anna Seward, Simple Poetry

Odes From Horace. - To Posthumus. Book The Second, Ode The Fourteenth.

Anna Seward, Simple Poetry

English

Suggested Poems

Explore a curated selection of verses that share themes, styles, and emotional resonance with the poem you've just read.

Odes From Horace. - To Mæcenas. Book The First, Ode The First.

I.

Mæcenas, from Etrurian Princes sprung,
    For whom my golden lyre I strung,
Friend, Patron, Guardian of its rising song,
    O mark the Youth, that towers along,
    With triumph in his air;
    Proud of Olympic dust, that soils
    His burning cheek and tangled hair!
Mark how he spreads the palm, that crown'd his toils!
    Each look the throbbing hope reveals
    That his fleet steeds and kindling wheels,
Swept round the skilfully-avoided goal,
Shall with illustrious Chiefs his echo'd name enrol.


II.

    Who the civic crown obtains,
    Or bears into his granaries large
The plenteous tribute of the Libyan Plains;
Or he, who watches still a rural charge,
    O'er his own fields directs the plough,
    Sees his own fr...

Anna Seward

Odes From Horace. - [1]To Telephus. Book The Third, Ode The Nineteenth.

The number of the vanish'd years
    That mark each famous Grecian reign,
This night, my Telephus, appears
    Thy solemn pleasure to explain;

Or else assiduously to dwell,
    In conscious eloquence elate,
On those who conquer'd, those who fell
    At sacred Troy's devoted gate.

But at what price the cask, so rare,
    Of luscious chian may be ours,
Who shall the tepid baths prepare,
    And who shall strew the blooming flowers;

Beneath what roof we next salute,
    And when shall smile these gloomy skies,
Thy wondrous eloquence is mute,
    Nor here may graver topics rise. -

Fill a bright bumper, - to the Moon!
    She's new! - auspicious be her birth!
One to the Midnight! - 't is our noon
    Of jocund thought, and fes...

Anna Seward

Odes From Horace. - To Lyce, On Her Refusing To Admit His Visits. Book The Third, Ode The Tenth.

Now had you drank cold Tanais' wave,
Whose streams the drear vale slowly lave,
    A barbarous Scythian's Bride,
Yet, Lyce, might you grieve to hear
Your Lover braves the winds severe,
    That pierce his aching side.

O listen to the howling groves,
That labour o'er your proud alcoves,
    And hear the jarring door!
Mark how the star, at eve that rose,
Has brightly glaz'd the settled snows,
    While every leaf is hoar!

Gay Venus hates this cold disdain; -
Cease then its rigors to maintain,
    That sprightly joys impede,
Lest the strain'd cord, with which you bind
The freedom of my amorous mind,
    In rapid whirl recede!

Born of a jocund Tuscan Sire,
Did he transmit his ardent fire
    That, like Ulysses' Queen,
His...

Anna Seward

Odes From Horace. - [1]To Mæcenas. Book The Second, Ode The Twelfth.

Mæcenas, I conjure thee cease
    To wake my harp's enamour'd strings
To tones, that fright recumbent Peace,
    That Pleasure flies on rapid wings!

Slow conquest on Numantia's plain,
    Or Hannibal, that dauntless stood,
Tho' thrice he saw Ausonia's main
    Redden with Carthaginian blood;

The Lapithæ's remorseless pride,
    Hylæus' wild inebriate hours;
The Giants, who the Gods defied,
    And shook old Saturn's splendid towers;

These, dear Mæcenas, thou should'st paint,
    Each glory of thy Cæsar's reign,
In eloquence, that scorns restraint,
    And sweeter than the Poet's strain;

Show captive Kings, who from the fight
    Drag at his wheels their galling chain,
And the pale lip indignant bite
    With mutter...

Anna Seward

Odes From Horace. - To Phyllis. Inviting Her To Celebrate The Birthday Of MÆcenas. Book The Fourth, Ode The Eleventh.

Sweet Phyllis, leave thy quiet home,
For lo! the ides of April come!
    Then hasten to my bower;
A cask of rich Albanian wine,
In nine years mellowness, is mine,
    To glad the festal hour.

My garden-herbs, in fragrance warm,
Our various chaplets wait to form;
    My tender ivies grow,
That, twining in thy amber hair,
Add jocund spirit to thine air,
    And whiteness to thy brow.

My walls with silver vessels shine;
Chaste vervain decks the modest shrine,
    That longs with crimson stains
To see its foliage sprinkled o'er,
When the devoted Lamb shall pour
    The treasure of his veins.

The household Girls, and menial Boy,
From room to room assiduous fly,
    And busy hands extend;
Our numerous fires are quivering br...

Anna Seward

Odes From Horace. - To Melpomene. Book The Fourth, Ode The Third.

Not he, O MUSE! whom thy auspicious eyes
    In his primeval hour beheld,
Shall victor in the Isthmian Contest rise;
    Nor o'er the long-resounding field
Impetuous steeds his kindling wheels shall roll,
Gay in th' Olympic Race, and foremost at the goal.

Nor in the Capitol, triumphant shown,
    The victor-laurel on his brow,
For Cities storm'd, and vaunting Kings o'erthrown; -
    But Tibur's streams, that warbling flow,
And groves of fragrant gloom, resound his strains,
Whose sweet Æolian grace high celebration gains.

Now that his name, her noblest Bards among,
    Th' imperial City loudly hails,
That proud distinction guards his rising song,
    When Envy's carping tongue assails;
In sullen silence now she hears his praise,
Nor sheds her c...

Anna Seward