Sonnet 52: Long Has The Pall Of Midnight Quench'd The Scene

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Title:     Sonnet 52: Long Has The Pall Of Midnight Quench'd The Scene
Author: Anna Seward [More Titles by Seward]

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].

[Footnote 1: "It faded at the crowing of the cock." HAMLET.]

[The end]
Anna Seward's poem: Sonnet 52: Long Has The Pall Of Midnight Quench'd The Scene

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