Anna Seward (Анна Сьюард)

Sonnet 52. Long has the pall of Midnight quench'd the scene

Long has the pall of Midnight quench'd the scene,
    And wrapt the hush'd horizon.—All around,
    In scatter'd huts, Labor, in sleep profound,
    Lies stretch'd, and rosy Innocence serene
Slumbers;—but creeps, with pale and starting mien,
    Benighted Superstition.—Fancy-found,
    The late self-slaughter'd Man, in earth yet green
    And festering, burst from his incumbent mound,
Roams!—and the Slave of Terror thinks he hears
    A mutter'd groan!—sees the sunk eye, that glares
    As shoots the Meteor.—But no more forlorn
He strays;—the Spectre sinks into his tomb!
    For now the jocund Herald of the Morn
    Claps his bold wings, and sounds along the gloom[1].

1: “It faded at the crowing of the cock.” Hamlet.

1. Sonnet 2. The Future, and its gifts, alone we prize
2. Sonnet 58. Not the slow Hearse, where nod the sable plumes
3. Sonnet 25. Fortunate Vale! exulting Hill! dear Plain!
4. Sonnet 24. Behold the Day an image of the Year!
5. Sonnet 41. Since dark December shrouds the transient day

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