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 25. Fortunate Vale! exulting Hill! dear Plain!
2. Sonnet 58. Not the slow Hearse, where nod the sable plumes
3. Sonnet 11. How sweet to rove, from summer sun-beams veil'd
4. Sonnet 71. While Summer Roses all their glory yield
5. Sonnet 15. The evening shines in May's luxuriant pride

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