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Poem by Anna Seward

Sonnet 68. Well it becomes thee, Britain, to avow


Well it becomes thee, Britain, to avow
    Johnson's high claims!Чyet boasting that his fires
    Were of unclouded lustre, Truth retires
    Blushing, and Justice knits her solemn brow;
The eyes of Gratitude withdraw the glow
    His moral strain inspir'd.ЧTheir zeal requires
    That thou should'st better guard the sacred Lyres,
    Sources of thy bright fame, than to bestow
Perfection's wreath on him, whose ruthless hand,
    Goaded by jealous rage, the laurels tore,
    That Justice, Truth, and Gratitude demand
Should deck those Lyres till Time shall be no more.Ч
    A radiant course did Johnson's Glory run,
    But large the spots that darken'd on its Sun.

Anna Seward

Anna Seward's other poems:
  1. Sonnet 45. From Possibility's dim chaos sprung
  2. Sonnet 15. The evening shines in May's luxuriant pride
  3. Sonnet 87. Round Cleon's brow the Delphic laurels twine
  4. Sonnet 56. What bashful wildness in those crystal eyes
  5. Sonnet 28. O, Genius! does thy Sun-resembling beam

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