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 87. Round Cleon's brow the Delphic laurels twine
2. Sonnet 13. Thou child of Night, and Silence, balmy Sleep
3. Sonnet 53. The knell of Whitehead tolls!—his cares are past
4. Sonnet 15. The evening shines in May's luxuriant pride
5. Sonnet 45. From Possibility's dim chaos sprung

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