Poem by Anna Seward

Sonnet 52. Long has the pall of Midnight quench'd the scene

Long has the pall of Midnight quench'd the scene,
    And wrapt the hush'd horizon.—All around,
    In scatter'd huts, Labor, in sleep profound,
    Lies stretch'd, and rosy Innocence serene
Slumbers;—but creeps, with pale and starting mien,
    Benighted Superstition.—Fancy-found,
    The late self-slaughter'd Man, in earth yet green
    And festering, burst from his incumbent mound,
Roams!—and the Slave of Terror thinks he hears
    A mutter'd groan!—sees the sunk eye, that glares
    As shoots the Meteor.—But no more forlorn
He strays;—the Spectre sinks into his tomb!
    For now the jocund Herald of the Morn
    Claps his bold wings, and sounds along the gloom[1].

1: “It faded at the crowing of the cock.” Hamlet.

1. Sonnet 15. The evening shines in May's luxuriant pride
2. Sonnet 93. Yon soft Star, peering o'er the sable cloud
3. Sonnet 65. Marcellus, since the ardors of my strain
4. Sonnet 90. My hour is not yet come!—these burning eyes
5. Sonnet 17. Ah! why have I indulg'd my dazzled sight

Print

1625 Views

Last Poems

To Russian version