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 beauteous Daughter still should prove
Relentless to the sighs of Love,
    With frozen heart and mien? -

If nor blue cheek of shivering Swain,
Nor yet his richest gifts obtain
    Your smile, and soft'ning brow;
Nor if a faithless Husband's rage
For a gay Syren of the stage,
    And broken nuptial vow;

If weak e'en Jealousy should prove
To bend your heart to truer love,
    Yet pity these my pains,
O Nymph, than oaks more hard, and fierce
As snakes, that Afric's thickets pierce,
    Those terrors of the plains!

When heavy falls the pattering shower,
And streaming spouts their torrents pour
    Upon my shrinking head,
Not always shall wild Love command
These limbs obsequiously to stand
    Beneath your dropping shed.

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

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

Anna Seward, Simple Poetry

Sonnet XCV.

Anna Seward, Simple Poetry

Sonnet V. To A Friend, Who Thinks Sensibility A Misfortune.

Anna Seward, Simple Poetry

Sonnet VI. Written At Lichfield, In An Eastern Apartment Of The Bishop's Palace, Which Commands A View Of Stow Valley.

Anna Seward, Simple Poetry

English

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Odes From Horace. - To Lydia. Book The First, Ode The Eighth.

    O, Lydia! I conjure thee tell
Why, with persisting zeal, thou dost employ
    The strongest power of amorous spell
    On Sybaris, belov'd too well,
Wounding his fame amid voluptuous joy?

    Why shuns he now the noon-tide glare,
Inur'd to whirling dust, and scorching heat?
    Ceases the Warrior-vest to wear
    In which he us'd, with graceful air,
Aspiring Youths, all emulous, to meet?

    Why is it now no more his pride
To rein the ardent horse with agile arm?
    With new-strung sinews to divide
    The yellow Tyber's angry tide,
When the tempestuous showers its rage alarm?

    Why hates he, as the viper's gore,
The Wrestler's oil, that supples every vein?
    Why do we see his arms no more
    With livid bruises spotted o'e...

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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...

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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. - [1]To Titus Valgius. Book The Second, Ode The Ninth.

Not ceaseless falls the heavy shower
    That drenches deep the furrow'd lea;
Nor do continual tempests pour
    On the vex'd [2]Caspian's billowy sea;
Nor yet the ice, in silent horror, stands
Thro' all the passing months on pale [3]Armenia's Lands.

Fierce storms do not for ever bend
    The Mountain's vast and labouring oak,
Nor from the ash its foliage rend,
    With ruthless whirl, and widowing stroke;
But, Valgius, thou, with grief's eternal lays
Mournest thy vanish'd joys in MYSTES' shorten'd days.

When [4]Vesper trembles in the west,
    Or flies before the orient sun,
Rise the lone sorrows of thy breast. -
    Not thus did aged Nestor shun
Consoling strains, nor always sought the tomb,
Where sunk his [5]filial Hopes, in l...

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 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