ANNA SEWARD.. SPRING. IN April's gilded morn when south winds blow, And gently shake the hawthorn's silver crown, The dewy shelter of the bounding doe, Then, under trees, soft tufts of primrose show The larks loud carols in the wilds of air. O! not to Nature's glad enthusiast cling Avarice and pride. Through her now blooming sphere ANNA SEWARD. DECEMBER MORNING. I LOVE to rise ere gleams the tardy light, By whose blest use we lengthen life, and free From drear decays of age, outlive the old! ANNA SEWARD. INVITATION TO A FRIEND. SINCE dark December shrouds the transient day, The soul of cheerfulness, and best array ANNA SEWARD. Lo, the year's Final Day! Nature performs But man is jocund. Hark, th' exultant strain Right merrily, its scant and tuneless peal Rings round. Ah, joy ungrateful, mirth insane! Of health and night-rest? none that saw the smile Will the next pass? ye pause-yet careless hear Strike these last clocks, that knell th' Expiring Year! ANNA SEWARD. RAPT Contemplation, bring thy waking dreams To this umbrageous vale at noon-tide hour, Youth, beauty, kindness, shone; what time she wore To soothe each painful passion's wild extremes. That brings, in all its interest, all its grace, The dear, persuasive, visionary Form. Can real life a rival blessing boast, When thou canst thus restore Honora early lost? |