Poem by Anna Seward

Sonnet 63. Thy Genius, Colebrooke, faithless to his charge

Thy Genius, Colebrooke, faithless to his charge,
    Amid thy woods and vales, thy rocks and streams,
    Form'd for the Train that haunt poetic dreams,
    Naiads, and Nymphs,—now hears the toiling Barge
And the swart Cyclops ever-clanging forge
    Din in thy dells;—permits the dark-red gleams,
    From umber'd fires on all thy hills, the beams,
    Solar and pure, to shroud with columns large
Of black sulphureous smoke, that spread their veils
    Like funeral crape upon the sylvan robe
    Of thy romantic rocks, pollute thy gales,
And stain thy glassy floods;—while o'er the globe
    To spread thy stores metallic, this rude yell
    Drowns the wild woodland song, and breaks the Poet's spell.

1. Sonnet 53. The knell of Whitehead tolls!—his cares are past
2. Sonnet 65. Marcellus, since the ardors of my strain
3. Sonnet 56. What bashful wildness in those crystal eyes
4. Sonnet 98. Since my griev'd mind some energy regains
5. Sonnet 38. If he whose bosom with no transport swells

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