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

Ere ten shor months have ran their swift career,
Three lovely sisters press the untimely bier!
Last of the fallen blossoms! griev'd I pay,
At thy pure shrine, this tributary lay.

If ever dwelt with mortal woman's mind
Angelic worth, from sin's dark stains refin'd,
O gentle Hannah! in thy beauteous frame
From Heaven to Earth the soft perfection came.

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Unhappy Husband, who art doom'd to mourn
The lamp of joy extinguish'd in her urn,
May thy torn breast congenial meekness prove,
O, live to emulate thy sainted love!
So shalt thou, passing a few destin'd years,
With pious hope illume thy falling tears,
And when thy clay this sacred dust shall join,
Be ever hers who transiently was thine.

183

ON LADY MILLER

INSCRIBED ON HER MONUMENT IN THE ABBEY CHURCH, BATH.

Once, in this now cold breast, those virtues shone,
Which tender thought, and lasting record claim;
Then, 'mid the wrecks of time, devoted stone,
Uninjur'd bear thy Miller's spotless name!

When clos'd the numerous eyes, that round her bier
Have wept the loss of wide-extended worth,
O, gentle Stranger! may one generous tear
Drop, as thou bendest o'er this hallow'd earth!

Are truth, and science, love, and pity thine,
With liberal charity and faith sincere?
Then rest thy wandering step beneath this shrine,
And greet a kindred Spirit hovering near!

184

ON ELIZA JONES,

WIFE OF THE REVEREND JOHN JONES.

O, pure of spirit! that hast soar'd away
To thy congenial realms of cloudless day,
Eliza, Angel! wilt thou hover near,
And teach his soul thy wounding loss to bear,
Sorrowing who saw thy cypress garland wove,
Ere time had dimm'd one hue of life, or love?
Then o'er the darkness, gather'd round his head,
Thy guardian care the light of hope will shed,
Shewing the harbour bright, religion forms
For the heart wreck'd by griefs o'er-whelming storms.
So shall that heart, from fruitless anguish free,
Teach thy lov'd children to resemble thee;
And when, in future years, they pious turn
The moistened eye of duty on this urn,
Here shall its consecrated tablet prove
Their Mother's virtue, and their Father's love.

185

ON MISS ANNE LAWLEY,

DAUGHTER OF SIR ROBERT LAWLEY, OB. 1790. ÆTAT. 11.

Sweet transient Object of incessant cares,
Snatch'd from thy parents' hopes, and fears, and prayers,
Let them, reflecting on life's thorny ways,
Change groans of anguish to submissive praise,
That thy much favour'd, and yet spotless soul,
Thus early reaches the triumphant goal;
Obtains the prize at the appointed place,
Without the toil and danger of the race!

186

ON DAVID GARRICK, Esq.

While on this marble bends thy pensive eye,
Here, Stranger, breathe the tributary sigh!
Beneath these groves their Garrick nurs'd the art,
That reign'd resistless o'er each feeling heart;
And here those virtues dawn'd, whose power benign
Bids Faith, for him, celestial palms entwine.
Oft had his bounty, with pervading ray,
Chas'd the dark clouds from want's tempestuous day,
And oft his silence, generous as his aid,
Hid from the world the noblest part he play'd.

This epitaph on Mr Garrick was requested and written in the year 1792, for his monument in Lichfield Cathedral, but not used, the sculptor not having left a space large enough for its insertion.

187

ON MRS BENNET,

OB. SEPTEMBER 1792, ÆTAT. 73.

The pale cold form these gates of death inclose,
When warm with life, the gem of women rose.
Immortal Richardson, through many a year,
Watch'd her pure soul along its bright career,
Saw it arise, collected, and sedate,
O'er the oppressive gloom of wayward fate.

188

Her friendship taught his eagle-glance to find
Each perfect model rising in her mind,
When female virtues from his hallow'd page
In cloudless glory school'd a thoughtless age.
Bennet, tho' set thy earthly sun, whose ray
Pour'd all the fires of intellectual day,
Yet its sunk orb on every heart has spread,
That living honour'd, and that mourn'd thee dead,
A glow celestial, potent to illume
The mists of grief, the shadows of the tomb.

This lady had a personal friendship with Richardson, the well-known author of Clarissa Harlowe, &c. which, beginning in her youth, continued till his death. Her destiny was uncommon as her merit. Deserted by her husband before she was sixteen, she knew not, through the remainder of her days, whether she was a wife, or widow. She had to struggle with the mortifications of dependence, and a narrow fortune, considering her birth and education. When, in declining life, the latter was augmented from fifty to eighty pounds per ann. she spared twenty annually to the distressed daughter of a deceased gentleman, who during his life had been a generous and protecting friend to herself.

189

ON ELIZA WHATELEY,

WHO DIED MAY 1793, AGED NINE YEARS.

Mild as the dew, that cheers the drooping flowers,
Bright as its drops, Eliza's infant hours.
Ah! scarce less transiently their influence given,
They shone, but soon exhaling, rose to Heaven.
Ye dawning talents, virtues soft and kind,
That lighted and adorn'd her opening mind,
Ye leave her parents' wounded hearts to mourn
Their hopes, their comforts, perish'd in her urn.
Religion, harbinger of endless life,
Calm thou their sorrow's unavailing strife,
And, with blest hope that they shall meet her there,
Gild the short hours of lone privation here!

190

ON ELIZABETH,

WIFE OF J. B. SIMPSON, ESQ. OF BABWORTH, IN YORKSHIRE.

[_]

She was celebrated for her skill in Painting and Music.

Though breathing tints, wak'd by this now cold hand,
To widow'd love's admiring gaze remain,
No more Eliza's melting tones expand,
Till choiring with the seraph's kindred strain.

Yet, while the mourner wails his years forlorn,
In floods of anguish, o'er her early doom,
Sky-towering Hope, on Faith's strong pinion borne,
Bursts the dark portals of the ruthless tomb.

191

ON ELIZABETH,

WIFE OF THE REV. MICHAEL BAXTER, OF TAMWORTH.

In the dire list of agonizing woes,
Severest grief the human bosom knows,
Is the fond husband's lot, ordain'd to lead
His infants round their mother's clay-cold bed.

Youth, beauty, virtue, modesty's mild grace,
Charms of the mind irradiating the face,
Could they, Eliza, have revers'd thy doom,
Love had not quench'd his torch upon thy tomb.

Too early Angel! be thy bliss the balm
This wound to heal, these rebel griefs to calm,
Till the resigning heart shall cease to mourn
A blighted lily, and a timeless urn!

192

ON THE HON. HENRIETTA BAGOT,

OB. JAN. 13, 1797, AGED 16.

Ye, who in sprightly health, and strength, and bloom,
By choice, or chance, view Henrietta's tomb,
Of vanish'd virtues while you mourn the fate,
Ponder the warning of this early date!
Her mortal lot, in youth, in beauty's prime,
What was,—what is,—think!—and redeem the time!
Gay converse!—facile smiles!—Hope's rising light!—
Eternal silence!—and a mornless night!—

O! late the solace of thy parents' eyes,
Balm of their rest, and day-star of their joys!
Sunk from this orb of error, loss, and woe,
Risen 'mid the spheres that change, nor sorrow know,
If grief, if faith, bend mutual o'er thy shrine,
The pang is human—but the trust divine.

193

ON MISS WINGFIELD, of SHREWSBURY,

OB. DECEMBER 1797, ÆT. 25.

O! perish'd flower!—O! early darken'd day!
Deplor'd eclipse of youth's meridian ray!
Maria, she who mourns thy wither'd bloom,
And weaves her cypress garland o'er thy tomb,
Well knew the worth this now cold form enshrin'd,
Pure in the last recesses of the mind;
Each shaded excellence, that shunn'd the crowd,
Devote to Friendship, Wisdom, and to God.

Spirit benign, implore, from Mercy's Throne,
Meekness resign'd and holy as thine own,
To sooth their bosoms, whose parental woe
They, who have lost an Angel, only know,
And wake consoling thoughts of that blest clime,
Where smiles eternal shame the tears of time.