EYAM Anna Seward Alexander Huber Editor Bodleian Libraries, University of Oxford
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Eighteenth-Century Poetry Archive
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Oxford This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License. T96723 Seward, Anna, 1742-1809. Llangollen Vale, with Other Poems. London Printed for G. Sael, No. 192, Strand 1796 pp. 37-40.

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EYAM This Poem was written August 1788 , on a journey through Derbyshire , to a music-meeting at Sheffield . The Author's Father was Rector of EYAM , an extensive Village , that runs along a mountainous terrace , in one of the highest parts of the Peak . She was born there , and there passed the first seven years of her life , visiting the Place often with her Father in future periods . The middle part of this Village is built on the edge of a deep Dell , which has very picturesque , and beautiful features . FOR one short week I leave , with anxious heart , Source of my filial cares , the FULL OF DAYS ; Lur'd by the promise of harmonic Art To breathe her Handel's soul-exalting lays . Pensive I trace the Derwent's amber wave Amber wave . From the peculiar nature of the clay on the mountains , from which it descends , the River Derwent has a yellow tint , that well becomes the dark foliage on its banks , and the perpetual foam produced by a narrow , and rocky channel . , Foaming thro' sylvan banks , or view it lave The soft romantic vallies , high o'er-peer'd By hills , and rocks , in savage grandeur rear'd Not two short miles from thee , — can I refrain Thy haunts , my native EYAM , long unseen ? Thou , and thy lov'd Inhabitants again Shall meet my transient gaze . — Thy rocky screen , Thy airy cliffs I mount ; and seek thy shade , Thy roofs , that brow the steep , romantic glade ; But , while on me the eyes of Friendship glow , Swell my pain'd sighs , my tears spontaneous flow . In Scenes paternal , not beheld thro' years , Nor view'd , till now , but by a Father's side , Well might the tender tributary tears , From keen regrets of duteous fondness , glide . Its Pastor , to this Human-Flock no more Shall the long flight of future days restore ; Distant he droops — and that once-gladdening eye Now languid gleams , e'en when his Friends are nigh . Thro' this known walk , where weedy gravel lies , Rough , and unsightly ; — by the long coarse grass Of the once smooth , and vivid Green , with sighs , To the deserted Rectory I pass ; — Stray thro' the darken'd chambers naked bound , Where Childhood's earliest , liveliest bliss I found . How chang'd , since erst , the lightsome walls beneath , The social joys did their warm comforts breathe ! Ere yet I go , who may return no more , That sacred Pile , 'mid yonder shadowy trees , Let me revisit ! — ancient , massy door , Thou gratest hoarse ! — my vital spirits freeze Passing the vacant Pulpit to the space Where humble rails the decent Altar grace , And where my infant sister's ashes sleep , Whose loss I left the childish sport to weep . The ancient custom of hanging a garland of white roses , made of writing-paper , and a pair of white gloves , over the pew of the unmarried Villagers , who die in the flower of their age , is observed to this day , in the Village of EYAM , and in most other Villages , and little Towns in the Peak . Now the low beams , with paper garlands hung , In memory of some village Youth , or Maid , Draw the soft tear , from thrill'd remembrance sprung , How oft my childhood mark'd that tribute paid . The gloves suspended by the garland's side , White as its snowy flowers , with ribbands tied ; Dear Village ! long these wreaths funereal spread , Simple memorials of thy early Dead ! But , O ! thou blank , and silent Pulpit ! — thou That with a Father's precepts , just , and bland , Did'st win my ear , as Reason's strengthening glow Show'd their full value — now thou seem'st to stand Before my sad , suffus'd , and trembling gaze , The dreariest relic of departed days ; Of eloquence paternal , nervous , clear , DIM APPARTITION THOU , — and bitter is my tear .