Sonnet LXIV. To Mr. Henry Cary, On The Publication Of His Sonnets.

Prais'd be the Poet, who the Sonnet's claim,
    Severest of the orders that belong
    Distinct and separate to the Delphic Song,
    Shall venerate, nor its appropriate name
Lawless assume. Peculiar is its frame,
    From him deriv'd, who shunn'd the City Throng,
    And warbled sweet thy rocks and streams among,
    Lonely Valclusa! - and that Heir of Fame,
Our greater MILTON, hath, by many a lay
    Form'd on that arduous model, fully shown
    That English Verse may happily display
Those strict energic measures, which alone
    Deserve the name of Sonnet, and convey
    A grandeur, grace and spirit, all their own.

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 LXXXIV.

Anna Seward, Simple Poetry

Sonnet XL. December Morning[1].

Anna Seward, Simple Poetry

Sonnet LXXXVII. To A Young Lady, Addressed By A Gentleman Celebrated For His Poetic Talents.

Anna Seward, Simple Poetry

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

Anna Seward, Simple Poetry

English

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

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

Disciple of the bright Aonian Maid
    In thy life's blossom, a resistless spell
    Amid the wild wood, and irriguous dell,
    O'er thymy hill, and thro' illumin'd glade,
Led thee, for her thy votive wreaths to braid,
    Where flaunts the musk-rose, and the azure bell
    Nods o'er loquacious brook, or silent well. -
    Thus woo'd her inspirations, their rapt aid
Liberal she gave; nor only thro' thy strain
    Breath'd their pure spirit, while her charms beguil'd
    The languid hours of Sorrow, and of Pain,
But when Youth's tide ran high, and tempting smil'd
    Circean Pleasure, rescuing did she stand,
    Broke the Enchantress' cup and snapt her wand.

1: Then of Sutton Coldfield.

Anna Seward

Sonnet LXV. To The Same.

Marcellus, since the ardors of my strain
    To thy young eyes and kindling fancy, gleam
    With somewhat of the vivid hues, that stream
    From Poesy's bright orb, each envious stain
Shed by dull Critics, venal, vex'd and vain,
    Seems recompens'd at full; - and so wou'd seem
    Did not maturer Sons of Phoebus deem
    My verse Aonian. - Thou, in time, shalt gain,
Like them, amid the letter'd World, that sway
    Which makes encomium fame; - so thou adorn,
    Extend, refine and dignify thy lay,
And Indolence, and Syren Pleasure scorn;
    Then, at high noon, thy Genius shall display
    The splendors promis'd in its shining morn.

Anna Seward

Sonnet C. Written December 1790.

Lyre of the Sonnet, that full many a time
    Amus'd my lassitude, and sooth'd my pains,
    When graver cares forbade the lengthen'd strains,
    To thy brief bound, and oft-returning chime
A long farewell! - the splendid forms of Rhyme
    When Grief in lonely orphanism reigns,
    Oppress the drooping Soul. - DEATH's dark domains
    Throw mournful shadows o'er the Aonian clime;
For in their silent bourne my filial bands
    Lie all dissolv'd; - and swiftly-wasting pour
    From my frail glass of life, health's sparkling sands.
Sleep then, my LYRE, thy tuneful tasks are o'er,
    Sleep! for my heart bereav'd, and listless hands
    Wake with rapt touch thy glowing strings no more!

Anna Seward

Sonnet XXI.

Proud of our lyric Galaxy, I hear
    Of faded Genius with supreme disdain;
    As when we see the Miser bend insane
    O'er his full coffers, and in accents drear
Deplore imagin'd want; - and thus appear
    To me those moody Censors, who complain,
    As [1]Shaftsbury plain'd in a now boasted reign,
    That "POESY had left our darken'd sphere."
Whence may the present stupid dream be traced
    That now she shines not as in days foregone?
    Perchance neglected, often shine in waste
Her LIGHTS, from number into confluence run,
    More than when thinly in th' horizon placed
    Each Orb shone separate, and appear'd a Sun.

1: Of the Poets, who were cotemporary with Lord Shaftsbury, Dryden, Cowley, Pope, Prior, Congreve, Gay, Addison, &c. in th...

Anna Seward

Sonnet LXXXVII. To A Young Lady, Addressed By A Gentleman Celebrated For His Poetic Talents.

Round Cleon's brow the Delphic laurels twine,
    And lo! the laurel decks Amanda's breast!
    Charm'd shall he mark its glossy branches shine
    On that contrasting snow; shall see express'd
Love's better omens, in the green hues dress'd
    Of this selected foliage. - Nymph, 't is thine
    The warning story on its leaves to find,
    Proud Daphne's fate, imprison'd in its rind,
And with its umbrage veil'd, great Phoebus' power
    Scorning, and bent, with feet of wind, to foil
    His swift pursuit, till on Thessalian shore
Shot into boughs, and rooted to the soil. -
    Thus warn'd, fair Maid, Apollo's ire to shun,
    Soon may his Spray's and VOTARY's lot be one.

Anna Seward

A Sonnet, To The Noble Lady, The Lady Mary Wroth

I that have been a lover, and could show it,
Though not in these, in rhymes not wholly dumb,
Since I exscribe your sonnets, am become
A better lover, and much better poet.
Nor is my Muse, or I ashamed to owe it
To those true numerous graces; whereof some
But charm the senses, others overcome
Both brains and hearts; and mine now best do know it:
For in your verse all Cupid's armory,
His flames, his shafts, his quiver, and his bow,
His very eyes are yours to overthrow.
But then his mother's sweets you so apply,
Her joys, her smiles, her loves, as readers take
For Venus' ceston, every line you make.

Ben Jonson