The Poetical Works of Anna Seward :: :: University of Virginia Library

Bleak winds no longer lowl around the hill,
Nor wildly eddy through the shrinking vale;
No more the grey frost creeps upon the rill,
But kind Favonius breathes the soften'd gale.

And morn arising, from her vermil wing,
'Mid the coy dell, and on the liberal plain,
Showers each luxuriant blessing of the spring,
Her crystal sun-beam, and her balmy rain.

I hail thee, Spring! but my sad eyes o'erflow,
No joy of mine thy soft revival greets;
Yet still, for purposes of tender woe,
Give me to cull thy choicest bosom'd sweets.

Pure lilies, screen'd by your unfolding leaves,
Violets, that breathe your incense on the morn,
Each flower, that from the dewy light receives
Its orient hues, my votive wreath adorn!

And o'er the dear Amintor's early tomb,
Where Friendship pours her tributary tear,
Strewn by the rivals of his youthful bloom,
And O! congenial garland, languish there!

Fade, blossoms, fade! for so each kindred grace
In young Amintor faded in its prime,
When dire disease approach'd with stealing pace,
To antedate the withering power of Time.

Retir'd, like you, no gaudy vain parade
Glanc'd o'er his talents one obtrusive ray;
He woo'd chaste Science in the rural shade,
And won, but shunn'd to lead her into day.

Warm, though unboasted, that ingenuous heart,
Whose every thought was tender, brave, and free,
While all the treasures Knowledge could impart,
Dear soaring Spirit, she prepar'd for thee.

Light of thy parents' eyes!—but now no more
On thy soul's treasures shall they proudly gaze;
Treasures, outweighing far the boasted store
Of many, counting twice thy lapse of days.

Still must the dim eyes of bereaved love
Strain on each bright memorial through their tears:
Ah! how the sick'ning Fancy loves to rove
O'er blasted promises of happy years!

And as the essence of a serpent proves
Potent the venom from its bite to throw,
So thus to feed on perish'd hopes, removes
The mortal influence from their sting of woe.

Yes, in the cause that made our grief extreme,
We see our bane and antidote appear,
Sooth'd to remember Hope's delightful beam,
Though now extinguish'd on the early bier.

We feel how oft illusive shines that ray
When clearest it allures our flatter'd sight,
Shews all the paths of life so bright and gay,
That rise magnetic in its dubious light.

There winds gay Pleasure's track, with roses strewn,
But now we feel that ne'er untorn'd they glow;
On Learning's bays that Envy's blight is thrown,
That stain'd with blood the warrior-laurels blow.

Yet Prudence may extract each wounding thorn,
Fame, strength'ning as sherises, screen from blight;
And chance avert from Valour's radiant morn
The sanguine clouds, that threaten timeless night.

They may,—but who, ah! who can say they shall?
Does no just dread Hope's fairy dreams annoy?
E'en realis'd, yet Wisdom's tear will fall
O'er triumph vain for unenduring joy.

Short since we know the most protracted span
Of pale Longevity's soon number'd years;—
But Hope, contemplating the stinted plan,
Throws it in perspective, and calms our fears.

Now, ere their time, our fairy visions fade,
Relentless Death has quench'd Hope's silver ray!
But O! what form irradiates wide the shade?
What beauteous Daughter of eternal day?

See, she pervades the dense, and mournful gloom!
With radiant smile the vault funereal cheers!
I know thee, Faith, thou only canst illume
The night of sorrow, and the vale of tears.

While warm devotion lifts thy starry eyes,
O'er Death's drear cell thy sacred torch shall wave,
And see! the late extinguish'd fires arise,
In brighter lustre, from the opening grave!

Ah! brighter did I say? the Solar Light,
When from the East his summer's glory pours,
Not more transcends the waning orb of night,
Than heavenly hopes, the hopes of mortal hours.

Immortal Hope on endless pleasure bends
On transport unallay'd her quenchless beam,
Shews their pure fountain free from all that blends
Danger and pain with joy's terrestrial stream.

Beyond life's treacherous rocks and stormy wave,
Reveals the boundless bliss, for us in store,
When past the darksome confines of the grave,
We meet our Angel Friend to part no more.

To part no more!—blest Falth, the sounds are thine!
And at those sounds each fond regret will cease,
Parental Love no longer shall repine,
But all its rebel sighs be hush'd to peace.

Now rise the hopes that only thou canst bring,
Supreme from each repining woe to save;
Resistless Death, O! where is now thy sting?
O! where thy victory, insatiate Grave?