Sonnet LXXIV.

[1]In sultry noon when youthful MILTON lay,
    Supinely stretch'd beneath the poplar shade,
    Lur'd by his Form, a fair Italian Maid
    Steals from her loitering chariot, to survey
The slumbering charms, that all her soul betray.
    Then, as coy fears th' admiring gaze upbraid,
    Starts; - and these lines, with hurried pen pourtray'd,
    Slides in his half-clos'd hand; - and speeds away. -
"Ye eyes, ye human stars! - if, thus conceal'd
    By Sleep's soft veil, ye agitate my heart,
    Ah! what had been its conflict if reveal'd
Your rays had shone!" - Bright Nymph, thy strains impart
    Hopes, that impel the graceful Bard to rove,
    Seeking thro' Tuscan Vales his visionary Love.

1: This romantic circumstance of our great Poet's juvenility was inserted, as a well known fact, in one of the General Evening Posts in the Spring 1789, and it was there supposed to have formed the first impulse of his Italian journey.

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

Anna Seward, Simple Poetry

Sonnet LXVI.

Anna Seward, Simple Poetry

Sonnet XXI.

Anna Seward, Simple Poetry

Sonnet XCV.

Anna Seward, Simple Poetry

English

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Sonnet LXXV. Subject Continued.

He found her not; - yet much the POET found,
    To swell Imagination's golden store,
    On Arno's bank, and on that bloomy shore,
    Warbling Parthenope; in the wide bound,
Where Rome's forlorn Campania stretches round
    Her ruin'd towers and temples; - classic lore
    Breathing sublimer spirit from the power
    Of local consciousness. - Thrice happy wound,
Given by his sleeping graces, as the Fair
    "Hung over them enamour'd," the desire
    Thy fond result inspir'd, that wing'd him there,
Where breath'd each Roman and each Tuscan Lyre,
    Might haply fan the emulative flame,
    That rose o'er DANTE's song, and rival'd MARO's fame.

Anna Seward

Sonnet XIII.

Thou child of NIGHT, and SILENCE, balmy SLEEP,
    Shed thy soft poppies on my aching brow!
    And charm to rest the thoughts of whence, or how
    Vanish'd that priz'd AFFECTION, wont to keep
Each grief of mine from rankling into woe.
    Then stern Misfortune from her bended bow
    Loos'd the dire strings; - and Care, and anxious Dread
    From my cheer'd heart, on sullen pinion, fled.
But now, the spell dissolv'd, th' Enchantress gone,
    Ceaseless those cruel Fiends infest my day,
    And sunny hours but light them to their prey.
Then welcome Midnight shades, when thy wish'd boon
    May in oblivious dews my eye-lids steep,
    THOU CHILD OF NIGHT, AND SILENCE, BALMY SLEEP!

July 1773.

Anna Seward

Sonnets. I.

O Nightingale, that on yon bloomy Spray
Warbl'st at eeve, when all the Woods are still,
Thou with fresh hope the Lovers heart dost fill,
While the jolly hours lead on propitious May,
Thy liquid notes that close the eye of Day,
First heard before the shallow Cuccoo's bill
Portend success in love; O if Jove's will
Have linkt that amorous power to thy soft lay,
Now timely sing, ere the rude Bird of Hate
Foretell my hopeles doom in som Grove ny:
As thou from yeer to yeer hast sung too late
For my relief; yet hadst no reason why,
Whether the Muse, or Love call thee his mate,
Both them I serve, and of their train am I.

John Milton

Translations of the Italian Poems VI.

Enamour'd, artless, young, on foreign ground,
Uncertain whither from myself to fly,
To thee, dear Lady, with an humble sigh
Let me devote my heart, which I have found
By certain proofs not few, intrepid, sound,
Good, and addicted to conceptions high:
When tempests shake the world, and fire the sky,
It rests in adamant self-wrapt around,
As safe from envy, and from outrage rude,
From hopes and fears, that vulgar minds abuse,
As fond of genius, and fix'd fortitude,
Of the resounding lyre, and every Muse.
Weak you will find it in one only part,
Now pierc'd by Love's immedicable dart.

John Milton

Sonnet XXIII. To Miss E. S.

Do I not tell thee surly Winter's flown,
    That the brook's verge is green; - and bid thee hear,
    In yon irriguous vale, the Blackbird clear,
    At measur'd intervals, with mellow tone,
Choiring [1]the hours of prime? and call thine ear
    To the gay viol dinning in the dale,
    With tabor loud, and bag-pipe's rustic drone
    To merry Shearer's dance; - or jest retail
From festal board, from choral roofs the song;
    And speak of Masque, or Pageant, to beguile
    The caustic memory of a cruel wrong? -
Thy lips acknowledge this a generous wile,
    And bid me still the effort kind prolong;
    But ah! they wear a cold and joyless smile.

1: "While Day arises, that sweet hour of prime." MILTON'S PAR. LOST.

Anna Seward

Sonnet XXXIII.

Last night her Form the hours of slumber bless'd
    Whose eyes illumin'd all my youthful years. -
    Spirit of dreams, at thy command appears
    Each airy Shape, that visiting our rest,
Dismays, perplexes, or delights the breast.
    My pensive heart this kind indulgence cheers;
    Bliss, in no waking moment now possess'd,
    Bliss, ask'd of thee with Memory's thrilling tears,
Nightly I cry, how oft, alas! in vain,
    Give, by thy powers, that airy Shapes controul,
    HONORA to my visions! - ah! ordain
Her beauteous lip may wear the smile that stole,
    In years long fled, the sting from every pain!
    Show her sweet face, ah show it to my soul!

June 1780.

Anna Seward