Anna Seward

W. Fitzthomas, "Lines presented to Anna Seward, upon her saying that she had written her last Verse" Poetical Register and Repository of Fugitive Poetry for 1804 (1806) 50.

Not the last verse! till Death in dread repose
Those honied lips, those beaming eyes shall close:
No! let sweet verse his late approach attend,
Cheer his dark brow; and O! his dart suspend.
Nor then the last; for, Seward, from thy tongue
Shall verse resound, in heavenly mansions sung;
Nor Fancy fond, nor this fond Friendship feigns,
That wish thy life immortal as thy strains;
Strains, that from never-dying Genius flow,
And life, whose days no baneful passions know.
For ne'er did Avarice goad that tender breast,
Envy, or conscious Fraud, forbid to rest;
There faithful Love, and Truth, and Mercy live,
Wrongs to redress, and sooth; and wrong'd forgive;
Fair Fame, that bade to fadeless wreaths aspire,
And generous Praise, that fann'd another's fire;
Now sinking Sorrow clasps the treasur'd urn,
With trembling hands, while pitying angels mourn;
And thou, that ever lov'dst thy Maker's praise,
Grateful shalt join to theirs thy hallow'd lays;
Still then, O Anna, charm us with the past!
Still let no strain of thine be deem'd the last!