Odes From Horace. - To Barine. Book The Second, Ode The Eighth.

BARINE, to thy always broken vows
    Were slightest punishment ordain'd;
    Hadst thou less charming been
By one grey hair upon thy polish'd brows;
    If but a single tooth were stain'd,
    A nail discolour'd seen,
Then might I nurse the hope that, faithful grown,
The FUTURE might, at length, the guilty PAST atone.

But ah! no sooner on that perjur'd head,
    With pomp, the votive wreaths are bound,
    In mockery of truth,
Than lovelier grace thy faithless beauties shed;
    Thou com'st, with new-born conquest crown'd,
    The care of all our Youth,
Their public care; - and murmur'd praises rise
Where'er the beams are shot of those resistless eyes.

Thy Mother's buried dust; - the midnight train,
    Of silent stars, - the rolling spheres,
    Each God, that list'ning bows,
With thee it prospers, false-One! to profane.
    The Nymphs attend; - gay Venus hears,
    And all deride thy vows;
And Cupid whets afresh his burning darts
On the stone, moist with blood, that dropt from wounded hearts.

For thee our rising Youth to Manhood grow,
    Ordain'd thy powerful chains to wear;
    Nor do thy former Slaves
From the gay roof of their false Mistress go,
    Tho' sworn no more to linger there;
    Triumphant BEAUTY braves
The wise resolve; - and, ere they reach the door,
Fixes the faltering step to thy magnetic floor.

Thee the sage Matron fears, intent to warn
    Her Striplings; - thee the Miser dreads,
    And, of thy power aware,
Brides from the Fane with anxious sighs return,
    Lest the bright nets thy beauty spreads,
    Their plighted Lords ensnare,
Ere fades the marriage torch; nay even now,
While undispers'd the breath, that form'd the nuptial vow!

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 XIII.

Anna Seward, Simple Poetry

Sonnet LII.

Anna Seward, Simple Poetry

Odes From Horace. - To Pyrrha. Book The First, Ode The Fifth.

Anna Seward, Simple Poetry

Odes From Horace. - To Phidyle. Exhorting Her To Be Content With A Frugal Sacrifice. Book The Third, Ode The Twenty-Third.

Anna Seward, Simple Poetry

English

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Odes From Horace. - To Nea[=E]ra. Book The Fifth, Epode The Fifteenth.

'T was night - the moon, upon her sapphire throne,
High o'er the waning stars serenely shone,
When thou, false Nymph, determin'd to prophane
Them, and each Power that rules the earth, and main,
As thy soft, snowy arms about me twin'd,
Close as round oaks the clasping ivies wind,
Swore, while the gaunt wolf shall infest the lea,
And red Orion vex the wintry sea,
While gales shall fan Apollo's floating locks,
That shed their golden light o'er hills and rocks,
So long thy breast should burn with purest fires,
With mutual hopes, and with unchang'd desires.

    Perjur'd Nea[=e]ra! thou shalt one day prove
The worth, the vengeance of my slighted love;
For O! if Manhood steels, if Honor warms,
Horace shall fly, shall scorn thy faithless charms;
Seek some bright...

Anna Seward

To Barine

If for your oath broken, or word lightly spoken,
A plague comes, Barine, to grieve you;
If on tooth or on finger a black mark shall linger
Your beauty to mar, I'll believe you.

But no sooner, the fact is, you bind, as your tact is,
Your head with the vows of untruth,
Than you shine out more charming, and, what's more alarming,
You come forth beloved of our youth.

It is advantageous, but no less outrageous,
Your poor mother's ashes to cheat;
While the gods of creation and each constellation
You seem to regard as your meat.

Now Venus, I own it, is pleased to condone it;
The good-natured nymphs merely smile;
And Cupid is merry,--'t is humorous, very,--
And sharpens his arrows the while.

Our boys you are making the slaves for your taking,

Eugene Field

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 swif...

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. - 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 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