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

What awful light invests the day?
Not less unlike proud summer's ray
Than pallid gleams of cold December's noon.
The myrtles glow with liveliest green,
The mystic vase seems plainer seen,
Though all ungilded by the lavish sun.

With clear, yet sober beauty shine
The verdant bower, the classic shrine,
As when, in calmest hour of silent night,
In soft perspective rise the vales,
The silvered lawns, the shadowy dales,
Beneath the full-orb'd moon's unclouded light.

Behold a beauteous form appears,
Inhabitant of happier spheres,
Whose charms divine all human charms transcend!
Does then, to grace this Delphic grove,
Bright Clio leave the courts above,
And, glorying in its tuneful powers, descend?

Ah, no! for o'er the placid shrine
Nor solar emanations shine,
Nor lyres Aonian pour the liquid strain;
The tender limbs, the angel face
Have female, but celestial grace,
And yet no Nymph she seems of Phœbus' train.

In that mild eye's translucent ray
No frolic pleasures idly play,
Nor raptur'd fancy lifts their sacred ball;
No purple robe redundant flows,
No gemm'd tiara brightly glows;
All snowy white the decent garments fall.

And to her veil'd and spotless breast
A sacred book is fervent press'd,
With red drops stain'd the hallow'd leaves appear;
Now gently o'er the shrine she bends,
Her arm, with modest grace, extends,
And silver sweet the accents meet our ear.

“Attend, ye Fair,—ye Learn'd,—ye Gay;
“To peace I point the certain way,
“To all the happiness your state may claim;
“Ne'er shall ye find its sweet, coy stores
“On Luxury's voluptuous shores,
“Nor rise they on th' Icarian wings of fame.

“That to be blest is to be good,
“These leaves proclaim, with martyr-blood
“Seal'd is their truth—and awful when they sung
“Me Charity, by power divine,
“First Priestess of the Christian shrine,
“The vault of Heaven with seraph-pæans rung.

“Once more my power, my mission learn,
“And know;—could ye events discern,
“As yet dim embryos in the womb of time;
“Though ye were grac'd with every art
“That Wisdom, Science, Wit, impart,
“Though Faith were your's unswerving and sublime;

“For virtuous purpose, though ye pour
“The votive strain beneath this bower,
“Where blest Benevolence the garland weaves;
“If not for me ye wake the string,
“With tongues of angels though ye sing,
“No ear divine the tinkling sound perceives:

“And though ye smooth the thorny bed,
“Where Sickness leans her languid head,
“And pining Want, with fainting step, retires;
“Though e'en to the devouring flames
“Ye patient yield your mortal frames
“When superstition lights demoniac pyres;

“If in the proud and rigid breast
“My soft, my generous behest
“Each seeming-virtuous action fails to inspire,
“Then are they fruitless in the eye
“That lights the earth, and glads the sky,
“Of Wisdom,Truth,and Love,th'Almighty Sire.

“He bade me bend the stubborn mind
“To all that's patient, soft, and kind,
“Suspicion pale, and red-ey'd anger chace;
“The vaunt of Pride, and Envy's stings;
“Th' envenom'd dart that Slander flings,
“Cruel Assassin of the Human Race!

“When prophecies are heard no more,
“When vanish'd Wisdom's priceless lore,
“And cold, and silent every mortal tongure,
“These blest unerring leaves ordain
“That I shall range yon azure plain,
“Immortal as the source from whence I sprung.

“And when, amid the falling spheres,
“With me unswerving Faith appears,
“And Hope triumphant rises o'er the storm,
“Great as they are, yet more sublime
“The Omnific Voice will hail me prime,
“Who his benign commands did best on earth perform.

She spake—she smil'd!—The Vision, heavenly bright,
Melted in purest rays of liquid light.

The institution of Bath-Easton was a charitable one.

Lady Miller, patrouess of that poetic institution, at her villa, near Bath, always appointed the subject of the verses written for the festival. A description of its ceremonies will be found prefixed to the Author's Monoday on Lady Miller.