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Poem by Anna Seward

Sonnet 52. Long has the pall of Midnight quench'd the scene

Long has the pall of Midnight quench'd the scene,
    And wrapt the hush'd horizon.All around,
    In scatter'd huts, Labor, in sleep profound,
    Lies stretch'd, and rosy Innocence serene
Slumbers;but creeps, with pale and starting mien,
    Benighted Superstition.Fancy-found,
    The late self-slaughter'd Man, in earth yet green
    And festering, burst from his incumbent mound,
Roams!and the Slave of Terror thinks he hears
    A mutter'd groan!sees the sunk eye, that glares
    As shoots the Meteor.But no more forlorn
He strays;the Spectre sinks into his tomb!
    For now the jocund Herald of the Morn
    Claps his bold wings, and sounds along the gloom[1].

1: It faded at the crowing of the cock. Hamlet.

Anna Seward

Anna Seward's other poems:
  1. Sonnet 25. Fortunate Vale! exulting Hill! dear Plain!
  2. Sonnet 71. While Summer Roses all their glory yield
  3. Sonnet 15. The evening shines in May's luxuriant pride
  4. Sonnet 87. Round Cleon's brow the Delphic laurels twine
  5. Sonnet 30. That song again!its sounds my bosom thrill

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