Poem by Anna Seward

Sonnet 16. Apollo, at his crowded altars, tir'd

      TRANSLATED FROM BOILEAU.

Apollo, at his crowded altars, tir'd
    Of Votaries, who for trite ideas thrown
    Into loose verse, assume, in lofty tone,
    The Poet's name, untaught, and uninspir'd,
Indignant struck the Lyre.—Straight it acquir'd
    New powers, and complicate. Then first was known
    The rigorous Sonnet, to be fram'd alone
    By duteous Bards, or by just Taste admir'd.—
Go, energetic Sonnet, go, he cried,
    And be the test of skill!—For rhymes that flow
    Regardless of thy rules, their destin'd guide,
Yet take thy name, ah! let the boasters know
    That with strict sway my jealous laws preside,
    While I no wreaths on rebel verse bestow.

1. Sonnet 30. That song again!—its sounds my bosom thrill
2. Sonnet 28. O, Genius! does thy Sun-resembling beam
3. Sonnet 63. Thy Genius, Colebrooke, faithless to his charge
4. Sonnet 25. Fortunate Vale! exulting Hill! dear Plain!
5. Sonnet 84. While one sere leaf, that parting Autumn gilds

Print

1266 Views

Last Poems

To Russian version