The Poetical Works of Anna Seward With Extracts from her Literary Correspondence. Edited by Walter Scott ... In Three Volumes |
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BLINDNESS,
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 | The Poetical Works of Anna Seward |  |
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BLINDNESS,
A POEM.
WRITTEN AT THE REQUEST OF AN ARTIST, WHO LOST HIS SIGHT BY THE GUTTA SERENA, IN HIS TWENTY-EIGHTH YEAR, AND WHO WAS THEREFORE OBLIGED TO CHANGE HIS PROFESSION FOR THAT OF MUSIC.
Long for my circling years the Lord of Day
Illumed creation with his glorious ray;
And long of youth and health the rosy hours
Saw liberal toil, with promissory powers,
Preparing, against faded age, the peace
Of modest competence, when strength might cease.
Then,—as with cheerful hope my earnest sight
Imbibed the blessings of the sacred light,
Slow on that sight the mists preclusive stole;
Dim and more dim the gathering shadows roll,
Till, with the last thick drop, the visual boon
Sunk into darkness 'mid the blaze of noon!
Illumed creation with his glorious ray;
And long of youth and health the rosy hours
Saw liberal toil, with promissory powers,
Preparing, against faded age, the peace
Of modest competence, when strength might cease.
Then,—as with cheerful hope my earnest sight
Imbibed the blessings of the sacred light,
Slow on that sight the mists preclusive stole;
Dim and more dim the gathering shadows roll,
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Sunk into darkness 'mid the blaze of noon!
How have I loved the changeful year to trace,
Each laughing beauty, each terrific grace;
To see warm Spring her vital influence pour,
Green the bleak field, and gild the balmy shower;
Tint the young foliage with her tenderest hue,
And feed the opening flowers with richest dew!
Each laughing beauty, each terrific grace;
To see warm Spring her vital influence pour,
Green the bleak field, and gild the balmy shower;
Tint the young foliage with her tenderest hue,
And feed the opening flowers with richest dew!
Charm'd did I see bright Summer climb the sky,
Leave half the river's pebbly channel dry,
On breathing meads the fragrant haycocks pile,
Till the ripe Year's consummate glories smile:—
Leave half the river's pebbly channel dry,
On breathing meads the fragrant haycocks pile,
Till the ripe Year's consummate glories smile:—
View'd jocund Autumn rear her rival sheaves,
With gold and purple tip the unfaded leaves;
Crown amber morning with serenest noons,
And night's dark zenith with protracted moons;
Shake the rich fruit from every loaded bough,
And with the wheaten wreath adorn her brow;
Till colder gales the paled horizon roam,
And stain and smear the gold-empurpled bloom,
While sweeping fogs, conglobing as they pass,
Bend with their silent drops the long coarse grass,
And change, as on screen'd plat it timid blows,
To livid hue the lone and lingering rose;
Bare the rude thorns on all the russet hills,
And crust with ice the borders of the rills;—
Pensive I mark'd, when, with reverted eyes,
Disorder'd garments and foreboding sighs,
The last fair season left hill, dale, and plain,
The yielded victims of the iron reign:—
With gold and purple tip the unfaded leaves;
Crown amber morning with serenest noons,
And night's dark zenith with protracted moons;
Shake the rich fruit from every loaded bough,
And with the wheaten wreath adorn her brow;
Till colder gales the paled horizon roam,
And stain and smear the gold-empurpled bloom,
While sweeping fogs, conglobing as they pass,
Bend with their silent drops the long coarse grass,
And change, as on screen'd plat it timid blows,
To livid hue the lone and lingering rose;
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And crust with ice the borders of the rills;—
Pensive I mark'd, when, with reverted eyes,
Disorder'd garments and foreboding sighs,
The last fair season left hill, dale, and plain,
The yielded victims of the iron reign:—
Saw Winter rove the dun and whistling heath,
Swoln floods arresting with petrific breath,
Send round the mountains all his winds to howl,
Pale the slow morn, and bid the long night scowl;
But ah! the glowing hearth, the neat repast,
Derided oft the despot's power to blast,
Since, if without his furious storms might pass,
Boom thro' the vales, and rattle on the glass,
Within was the gay talk, the flowing bowl,
And Friendship's smile, that summer of the soul!
Swoln floods arresting with petrific breath,
Send round the mountains all his winds to howl,
Pale the slow morn, and bid the long night scowl;
But ah! the glowing hearth, the neat repast,
Derided oft the despot's power to blast,
Since, if without his furious storms might pass,
Boom thro' the vales, and rattle on the glass,
Within was the gay talk, the flowing bowl,
And Friendship's smile, that summer of the soul!
Beloved vicissitudes! to me ye live
Only on memory's record;—yet ye give
The retrospective pleasure, ne'er to rise
To the sad few, of ever-rayless eyes,
Whose infant orbs, not opening on the light,
From night maternal sprung to ceaseless night;
Lost to their sense each charm kind Nature shews,
That dawns and spreads, that varies and that glows.
Only on memory's record;—yet ye give
The retrospective pleasure, ne'er to rise
To the sad few, of ever-rayless eyes,
Whose infant orbs, not opening on the light,
From night maternal sprung to ceaseless night;
Lost to their sense each charm kind Nature shews,
That dawns and spreads, that varies and that glows.
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Then grateful let me prove, indulged to find
Exemption from those pangs which rack the mind,
Springing from foil'd solicitude to reach
What Genius cannot paint, nor Wisdom teach;
Pangs which the fruitless thirst to know inspires
With ever-craving, never-fed desires!
Exemption from those pangs which rack the mind,
Springing from foil'd solicitude to reach
What Genius cannot paint, nor Wisdom teach;
Pangs which the fruitless thirst to know inspires
With ever-craving, never-fed desires!
Comparing thus severer with severe,
Arrested by my groan, exhaled my tear!
Yet, yet Creation stands a blank to me,
Her face now cover'd with a sable sea;
Still am I doom'd thro' life's rough paths to stray,
A long, deprived, and desolated way.
Arrested by my groan, exhaled my tear!
Yet, yet Creation stands a blank to me,
Her face now cover'd with a sable sea;
Still am I doom'd thro' life's rough paths to stray,
A long, deprived, and desolated way.
But, to relieve inevitable woes,
To my internal sight auspicious rose
A beauteous pair:—Music, the nymph sublime,
With stores increasing from the morn of Time;
Such melodies as, slowly rising, stole
On Saul's distracted sense with sweet controul,
Till frantic Rage and fell Despair were flown,
And Hope resumed her abdicated throne.
To my internal sight auspicious rose
A beauteous pair:—Music, the nymph sublime,
With stores increasing from the morn of Time;
Such melodies as, slowly rising, stole
On Saul's distracted sense with sweet controul,
Till frantic Rage and fell Despair were flown,
And Hope resumed her abdicated throne.
Thus, Music, it was thine, by high behest,
To charm and tranquillize the stormy breast,
Ere harmony began her mazy rounds,
Blending accordant with discordant sounds,
Till thro' the ear the mingled currents roll,
One sweet, one perfect, one revolving whole;
Its charm with melody and verse combined,
And bade thee, Music, reign o'er every mind.
Rebellious only theirs, who breathe and move,
Palsied to sympathy and dead to love;
Dull as the rank, gross weeds, that feed and sleep,
Where silent Lethe's opiate waters creep.
To charm and tranquillize the stormy breast,
Ere harmony began her mazy rounds,
Blending accordant with discordant sounds,
Till thro' the ear the mingled currents roll,
One sweet, one perfect, one revolving whole;
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And bade thee, Music, reign o'er every mind.
Rebellious only theirs, who breathe and move,
Palsied to sympathy and dead to love;
Dull as the rank, gross weeds, that feed and sleep,
Where silent Lethe's opiate waters creep.
Nymph of all climes by Nature, and thy code,
By Art invented, thro' the wide abode
Of civilized existence, power obtains
Social to spread th' intelligible strains.
While varying language, in each foreign clime,
Is only known by study and by time,
One are thy symbols, and where'er they come,
At once perceived, escape the Bable doom.
“Sphere-born,” thou com'st from black Despair to save,
And sooth me fall'n into a living grave.
By Art invented, thro' the wide abode
Of civilized existence, power obtains
Social to spread th' intelligible strains.
While varying language, in each foreign clime,
Is only known by study and by time,
One are thy symbols, and where'er they come,
At once perceived, escape the Bable doom.
“Sphere-born,” thou com'st from black Despair to save,
And sooth me fall'n into a living grave.
Another comes, of mission more benign,
In mortal semblance, tho' with soul divine!
And whose the form the gentle Seraph wears,
Scattering her roses o'er this vale of tears?
Example bright to these degenerate times,
Dark with the Ethiop stains of female crimes;
She, whom no levity allures to stray
Near e'en the confines of the faithless way;
Who sooths the wretched and the hungry feeds,
Heaven calls her Mercy, but Earth names her Leeds;
This morning star, this fair, diffusive light,
That sparkles by, and gilds my live-long night.
In mortal semblance, tho' with soul divine!
And whose the form the gentle Seraph wears,
Scattering her roses o'er this vale of tears?
Example bright to these degenerate times,
Dark with the Ethiop stains of female crimes;
She, whom no levity allures to stray
Near e'en the confines of the faithless way;
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Heaven calls her Mercy, but Earth names her Leeds;
This morning star, this fair, diffusive light,
That sparkles by, and gilds my live-long night.
| The Poetical Works of Anna Seward | |