Anna Seward Poems

For one short week I leave, with anxious heart,
Source of my filial cares, the Full of Days,
Lur'd by the promise of Harmonic Art
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THEE, STANLEY , thee, our gladden'd spirit hails,
Since Life's first good for us thy efforts gain,
Who, Habitants of Albion's inland vales,
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Behold that tree in autumn's dim decay,
Stripped by the frequent chill and eddying wind;
Where yet some yellow lonely leaves we find
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I write, Honora, on the sparkling sand!-
The envious waves forbid the trace to stay:
HONORA'S name again adorns the strand!
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I love to rise ere gleams the tardy light,
Winter's pale dawn; and as warm fires illume,
And cheerful tapers shine around the room,
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O THOU soft Hope, that once with lustre gay
Didst gild the hours of Love's delicious day!
What, though no more the lively joy remains,
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WRITTEN ON RISING GROUND,
NEAR LICHFIELD.
The Evening shines in May's luxuriant pride,
And all the sunny hills at distance glow,
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Yes, thou shalt smile again!--Time always heals,
In Youth, the wounds of sorrow.--O! survey
Yon now subsided Deep, thro' night a prey
To warring winds, and to their furious peals
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Now, young-ey'd Spring, on gentle breezes borne,
'Mid the deep woodlands, hills, and vales, and bowers,
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INVITATION TO A FRIEND.
Since dark December shrouds the transient day,
And stormy Winds are howling in their ire,
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