Sonnet LXXXVI. To The Lake Of Killarney[1].

Pride of Ierne's Sea-encircled bound,
    Rival of all Britannia's Naiads boast,
    Magnificent Killarney! - from thy coast
    Tho' mountains rise with noblest woods embrown'd;
Tho' ten-voiced Echos send the cannon's sound
    In thunders bursting the vast rocks around,
    Till startled Wonder and Delight exhaust
    In countless repercussion - Isles embost
Upon thy liquid glass; their bloomy veil
    Sorbus and [=a]rbutus; - yet not for thee
    So keenly wakes our local ecstacy,
As o'er the narrow, barren, silent Dale,
    Where deeply sleeps, rude circling Rocks among,
    The Love-devoted Fount enamour'd PETRARCH sung.

1: This Sonnet was written on having read a description of the Killarney Scenery immediately after that of the Vale of Vaucluse, uncultivated and comparatively desert as the latter has been through more than the present Century.

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 XI.

Anna Seward, Simple Poetry

Sonnet LXXXII.

Anna Seward, Simple Poetry

Odes From Horace. - To Apollo. Book The First, Ode The Thirty-First.

Anna Seward, Simple Poetry

English

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Sonnet LX.[1]

Why view'st thou, Edwy, with disdainful mien
    The little Naiad of the Downton Wave?
    High 'mid the rocks, where her clear waters lave
    The circling, gloomy basin. - In such scene,
Silent, sequester'd, few demand, I ween,
    That last perfection Phidian chisels gave.
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    To aid the magic of her watry shrine.

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Anna Seward

Sonnet VII.

By Derwent's rapid stream as oft I stray'd,
    With Infancy's light step and glances wild,
    And saw vast rocks, on steepy mountains pil'd,
    Frown o'er th' umbrageous glen; or pleas'd survey'd
The cloudy moonshine in the shadowy glade,
    Romantic Nature to th' enthusiast Child
    Grew dearer far than when serene she smil'd,
    In uncontrasted loveliness array'd.
But O! in every Scene, with sacred sway,
    Her graces fire me; from the bloom that spreads
    Resplendent in the lucid morn of May,
To the green light the little Glow-worm sheds
    On mossy banks, when midnight glooms prevail,
    And softest Silence broods o'er all the dale.

Anna Seward

By That Lake, Whose Gloomy Shore.[1]

By that Lake, whose gloomy shore
Sky-lark never warbles o'er,^[2]
Where the cliff hangs high and steep,
Young St. Kevin stole to sleep.
"Here, at least," he calmly said,
"Woman ne'er shall find my bed."
Ah! the good Saint little knew
What that wily sex can do."

'Twas from Kathleen's eyes he flew,--
Eyes of most unholy blue!
She had loved him well and long
Wished him hers, nor thought it wrong.
Wheresoe'er the Saint would fly,
Still he heard her light foot nigh;
East or west, where'er he turned,
Still her eyes before him burned.

On the bold cliff's bosom cast,
Tranquil now, he sleeps at last;
Dreams of heaven, nor thinks that e'er
Woman's smile can haunt him there.
But nor earth nor heaven is free,
From her power, ...

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Ah! Little Lake

    Ah! little lake, though fair thou art,
        A sapphire flashing to the sky,
        Thy charm is only for the eye,
    Thy beauty cannot hold my heart.

    Green hill-sides bending to thy shore
        Gleam clear in the autumnal light,
        While far above, Monadnock's height
    Keeps rugged guard thy waters o'er.

    And yet these very beauties cloy;
        As in a prison I am bound,
        Though fair the walls that gird me round,
    My housemate is no longer joy.

    Thy loveliness breeds discontent,
        For far my foolish heart would be,
        It longs for the unquiet sea,
    And with desire is sorely rent.

    Hateful the walls that me debar
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The Mountain and the Lake

    I know a mountain thrilling to the stars,
    Peerless and pure, and pinnacled with snow;
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    Flaunting the vanisht sunset's garnet glow;
    Proudly patrician, passionless, serene;
    Soaring in silvered steeps where cloud-surfs break;
    Virgin and vestal - Oh, a very Queen!
    And at her feet there dreams a quiet lake.

    My lake adores my mountain - well I know,
    For I have watched it from its dawn-dream start,
    Stilling its mirror to her splendid snow,
    Framing her image in its trembling heart;
    Glassing her graciousness of greening wood,
    Kissing her throne, melodiously mad,
    Thrilling responsive to her every mood,
    Gloomed with her sadness, gay when she is glad.

    ...

Robert William Service