English poem
On Her Recovery from Inoculation for the Small Pox, in Her 17Th Year. Written in the Spring
by Anna Seward
Nymph, for the giver’s sake, thy tresses bind With these slight tokens of her wishes kind, Mix’d with her praise for having dared disarm The dread contagion of its power to harm, Furrow the cheeks, and blast their rising bloom, Or prove the loathsome escort to the tomb. Now, blithe as morning larks, thy steps shall stray, Fearless, tho’ beauty’s demon cross thy way. His fell effluvia, when it loads the gale, Thy rosy breath untainted may inhale, And waft thy pious gratitude to Heaven, Who with the bane, the antidote has given.
More by Anna Seward
- Of Trinity College, Cambridge
- On a Modern Epic
- On England’s Naval Triumphs in the Present War
- On Having Read Some of His Compositions on a Rainy Evening, in August, 1789
- On Her Singing in Public,--January 1789
- On His Having Presented the Author’s Picture to Her Father, May 1788
- On His Way Back to England, After Having Visited the Italian Cities with Mr Walpole
- On Leaving Eartham, His Seat in Sussex, Sept. 1782