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Poem by Anna Seward

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


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.

Anna Seward

Anna Seward's other poems:
  1. Sonnet 87. Round Cleon's brow the Delphic laurels twine
  2. Sonnet 56. What bashful wildness in those crystal eyes
  3. Sonnet 45. From Possibility's dim chaos sprung
  4. Sonnet 80. As lightens the brown Hill to vivid green
  5. Sonnet 15. The evening shines in May's luxuriant pride

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