At the close of a sonnet of Miss Seward's are two fine verse:
Come, that I may not hear the winds of night,
Nor count the heavy eave-drops as they fall.
You have well characterized the poetic powers of this Lady — but after all, her verses please me with all their faults better than those of Mrs. Barbauld, who, with much higher powers of mind, was spoiled as a poetess by being a dissenter, and concerned with a dissenting academy. One of the most pleasing passages in her poetry is the close of the lines upon "Life," written, I believe, when she was not less than eighty years of age:
Life, we have been long together, etc.
You have given a specimen of that ever-to-be pitied victim of Swift, Vanessa. I have somewhere a short piece of hers upon her passion for Swift, which well deserves to be added. But I am becoming tedious, which you will ascribe to a well-meant endeavour to make you some return for your obliging attentions.
I remain, dear sir,