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 7. By Derwent's rapid stream as oft I stray'd
2. Sonnet 1. When Life's realities the Soul perceives
3. Sonnet 31. O, EVER DEAR! thy precious, vital powers
4. Sonnet 58. Not the slow Hearse, where nod the sable plumes
5. Sonnet 44. Rapt Contemplation, bring thy waking dreams

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