Odes From Horace. - To Liguria. Book The Fourth, Ode The Tenth.

O thou! exulting in the charms,
    Nature, with lavish bounty, showers,
When youth no more thy spirit warms,
And stealing age thy pride alarms,
    For fleeting graces, and for waning powers;

When all the shining locks, that now
    Adown those ivory shoulders bound,
With deaden'd colour shade thy brow,
And fall as from th' autumnal bough
    Leaves, that rude winds have scatter'd on the ground;

And on that cheek the tints, that shame
    May's orient light and Summer's rose,
Dim as yon taper's sullen flame,
Shall, in a dusky red, proclaim
    That not one hue in wonted lustre glows;

When wrinkles o'er LIGURIA's face
    Their daily strengthening furrows lead;
When faithful mirrors cease to place
In her charm'd sight each blooming grace,
    And will no more her heart's proud triumph feed;

Then the chang'd Maid, with secret shame,
    Shall thus the past, and present chide;
O! why, amid the loud acclaim,
That gave my rising charms to Fame,
    Swell'd this coy bosom with disdainful pride?

Or why, since now the wish to yield
    Steals pensive thro' each melting vein,
The ice dissolv'd, that scorn congeal'd,
And every tender thought reveal'd,
    Why, vanish'd BEAUTY, com'st not thou again?

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 XXVI.

Anna Seward, Simple Poetry

Sonnet LIV. A Persian King To His Son.

Anna Seward, Simple Poetry

Sonnet LXXVII.

Anna Seward, Simple Poetry

Sonnet XCIX. On The Violent Thunder Storms.

Anna Seward, Simple Poetry

English

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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 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

Odes From Horace. - To William Hayley, Esq. Book The Fourth, Ode The Seventh, Imitated.

The snows dissolve, the rains no more pollute,
Green are the sloping fields, and uplands wide,
And green the trees luxuriant tresses shoot,
And, in their daisied banks, the shrinking rivers glide.

Beauty, and Love, the blissful change have hail'd,
While, in smooth mazes, o'er the painted mead,
[1]Aglaia ventures, with her limbs unveil'd,
Light thro' the dance each Sister-Grace to lead.

But O! reflect, that Sport, and Beauty, wing
Th' unpausing Hour! - if Winter, cold and pale,
Flies from the soft, and violet-mantled Spring,
Summer, with sultry breath, absorbs the vernal gale.

Reflect, that Summer-glories pass away
When mellow Autumn shakes her golden sheaves;
While she, as Winter reassumes his sway,
Speeds, with disorder'd vest, thro' rustling lea...

Anna Seward

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 s...

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