Poem by Anna Seward

Sonnet 63. Thy Genius, Colebrooke, faithless to his charge

Thy Genius, Colebrooke, faithless to his charge,
    Amid thy woods and vales, thy rocks and streams,
    Form'd for the Train that haunt poetic dreams,
    Naiads, and Nymphs,—now hears the toiling Barge
And the swart Cyclops ever-clanging forge
    Din in thy dells;—permits the dark-red gleams,
    From umber'd fires on all thy hills, the beams,
    Solar and pure, to shroud with columns large
Of black sulphureous smoke, that spread their veils
    Like funeral crape upon the sylvan robe
    Of thy romantic rocks, pollute thy gales,
And stain thy glassy floods;—while o'er the globe
    To spread thy stores metallic, this rude yell
    Drowns the wild woodland song, and breaks the Poet's spell.

1. Sonnet 30. That song again!—its sounds my bosom thrill
2. Sonnet 28. O, Genius! does thy Sun-resembling beam
3. Sonnet 25. Fortunate Vale! exulting Hill! dear Plain!
4. Sonnet 84. While one sere leaf, that parting Autumn gilds
5. Sonnet 52. Long has the pall of Midnight quench'd the scene

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