Sonnet XCV.

On the damp margin of the sea-beat shore
    Lonely at eve to wander; - or reclin'd
    Beneath a rock, what time the rising wind
    Mourns o'er the waters, and, with solemn roar,
Vast billows into caverns surging pour,
    And back recede alternate; while combin'd
    Loud shriek the sea-fowls, harbingers assign'd,
    Clamorous and fearful, of the stormy hour;
To listen with deep thought those awful sounds;
    Gaze on the boiling, the tumultuous waste,
    Or promontory rude, or craggy mounds
Staying the furious main, delight has cast
    O'er my rapt spirit, and my thrilling heart,
    Dear as the softer joys green vales impart.

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 LXXIV.

Anna Seward, Simple Poetry

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

Anna Seward, Simple Poetry

Sonnet XXXVI. Summer.

Anna Seward, Simple Poetry

Sonnet XXXVII. Autumn.

Anna Seward, Simple Poetry

English

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Sonnet LXXXIX. Subject Continued.

Yon late but gleaming Moon, in hoary light
    Shines out unveil'd, and on the cloud's dark fleece
    Rests; - but her strengthen'd beams appear to increase
    The wild disorder of this troubled Night.
Redoubling Echos seem yet more to excite
    The roaring Winds and Waters! - Ah! why cease
    Resolves, that promis'd everlasting peace,
    And drew my steps to this incumbent height?
I wish! - I shudder! - stretch my longing arms
    O'er the steep cliff! - My swelling spirits brave
    The leap, that quiets all these dire alarms,
And floats me tossing on the stormy wave!
    But Oh! what roots my feet? - what spells, what charms
    The daring purpose of my Soul enslave?

Anna Seward

Sonnet XC. Subject Continued.

My hour is not yet come! - these burning eyes
    Have not yet look'd their last! - else, 'mid the roar
    Of this wild STORM, what gloomy joy to pour
    My freed, exhaling Soul! - sublime to rise,
Rend the conflicting clouds, inflame the skies,
    And lash the torrents! - Bending to explore
    Our evening seat, my straining eye once more
    Roves the wide watry Waste; - but nought descries
Save the pale Flood, o'erwhelming as it strays.
    Yet Oh! lest my remorseless Fate decree
    That all I love, with life's extinguish'd rays
Sink from my soul, to soothe this agony,
    To balm that life, whose loss may forfeit thee,
    COME DEAR REMEMBRANCE OF DEPARTED DAYS!

Anna Seward

Sonnet XVIII. An Evening In November, Which Had Been Stormy, Gradually Clearing Up, In A Mountainous Country.

Ceas'd is the rain; but heavy drops yet fall
    From the drench'd roof; - yet murmurs the sunk wind
    Round the dim hills; can yet a passage find
    Whistling thro' yon cleft rock, and ruin'd wall.
The swoln and angry torrents heard, appal,
    Tho' distant. - A few stars, emerging kind,
    Shed their green, trembling beams. - With lustre small,
    The moon, her swiftly-passing clouds behind,
Glides o'er that shaded hill. - Now blasts remove
    The shadowing clouds, and on the mountain's brow,
    Full-orb'd, she shines. - Half sunk within its cove
Heaves the lone boat, with gulphing sound; - and lo!
    Bright rolls the settling lake, and brimming rove
    The vale's blue rills, and glitter as they flow.

Anna Seward

Sonnet LXXXII.

From a riv'd Tree, that stands beside the grave
    Of the Self-slaughter'd, to the misty Moon
    Calls the complaining Owl in Night's pale noon;
    And from a hut, far on the hill, to rave
Is heard the angry Ban-Dog. With loud wave
    The rous'd and turbid River surges down,
    Swoln with the mountain-rains, and dimly shown
    Appals the Sense. - Yet see! from yonder cave,
Her shelter in the recent, stormy showers,
    With anxious brow, a fond expecting Maid
    Steals towards the flood! - Alas! - for now appears
Her Lover's vacant boat! - the broken oars
    Roll down the tide! - What images invade!
    Aghast she stands, the Statue of her fears!

Anna Seward

Sonnet XI.

How sweet to rove, from summer sun-beams veil'd,
    In gloomy dingles; or to trace the tide
    Of wandering brooks, their pebbly beds that chide;
    To feel the west-wind cool refreshment yield,
That comes soft creeping o'er the flowery field,
    And shadow'd waters; in whose bushy side
    The Mountain-Bees their fragrant treasure hide
    Murmuring; and sings the lonely Thrush conceal'd! -
Then, Ceremony, in thy gilded halls,
    Where forc'd and frivolous the themes arise,
    With bow and smile unmeaning, O! how palls
At thee, and thine, my sense! - how oft it sighs
    For leisure, wood-lanes, dells, and water-falls;
    And feels th' untemper'd heat of sultry skies!

Anna Seward

Sonnet XCI.

On the fleet streams, the Sun, that late arose,
    In amber radiance plays; - the tall young grass
    No foot hath bruis'd; - clear Morning, as I pass,
    Breathes the pure gale, that on the blossom blows;
And, as with gold yon green hill's summit glows,
    The lake inlays the vale with molten glass. -
    Now is the Year's soft youth; - yet me, alas!
    Cheers not as it was wont; - impending woes
Weigh on my heart; - the joys, that once were mine,
    Spring leads not back; - and those that yet remain
    Fade while she blooms. - Each hour more lovely shine
Her crystal beams, and feed her floral Train;
    But ah with pale, and waning fires, decline
    Those eyes, whose light my filial hopes sustain.

Anna Seward