Poem by Anna Seward

Sonnet 65. Marcellus, since the ardors of my strain

      TO THE SAME.

Marcellus, since the ardors of my strain
    To thy young eyes and kindling fancy, gleam
    With somewhat of the vivid hues, that stream
    From Poesy's bright orb, each envious stain
Shed by dull Critics, venal, vex'd and vain,
    Seems recompens'd at full;—and so wou'd seem
    Did not maturer Sons of Phœbus deem
    My verse Aonian.—Thou, in time, shalt gain,
Like them, amid the letter'd World, that sway
    Which makes encomium fame;—so thou adorn,
    Extend, refine and dignify thy lay,
And Indolence, and Syren Pleasure scorn;
    Then, at high noon, thy Genius shall display
    The splendors promis'd in its shining morn.

1. Sonnet 53. The knell of Whitehead tolls!—his cares are past
2. Sonnet 56. What bashful wildness in those crystal eyes
3. Sonnet 98. Since my griev'd mind some energy regains
4. Sonnet 38. If he whose bosom with no transport swells
5. Sonnet 83. Here, from laborious Art, proud Towns, ye rose!

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