Poem by Anna Seward

Sonnet 75. He found her not;—yet much the Poet found

       SUBJECT CONTINUED.

He found her not;—yet much the Poet found,
    To swell Imagination's golden store,
    On Arno's bank, and on that bloomy shore,
    Warbling Parthenope; in the wide bound,
Where Rome's forlorn Campania stretches round
    Her ruin'd towers and temples;—classic lore
    Breathing sublimer spirit from the power
    Of local consciousness.—Thrice happy wound,
Given by his sleeping graces, as the Fair
    “Hung over them enamour'd,” the desire
    Thy fond result inspir'd, that wing'd him there,
Where breath'd each Roman and each Tuscan Lyre,
    Might haply fan the emulative flame,
    That rose o'er Dante's song, and rival'd Maro's fame.

1. Sonnet 1. When Life's realities the Soul perceives
2. Sonnet 20. Ah! might I range each hallow'd bower and glade
3. Sonnet 85. March, tho' the Hours of promise with bright ray
4. Sonnet 44. Rapt Contemplation, bring thy waking dreams
5. Sonnet 9. Seek not, my Lesbia, the sequester'd dale

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