William Lisle Bowles

William Lisle Bowles Poems

  • 101.  
    When I was sitting, sad, and all alone,
    Remembering youth and love for ever fled, And many friends now resting with the dead,
  • 102.  
    Oh for a view, as from that cloudless height
    Where the great Patriarch gazed upon the world, His offspring's future seat, back on the vale
  • 103.  
    No, I never, till life and its shadows shall end,
    Can forget the sweet sound of the bells of Ostend! The day set in darkness, the wind it blew loud,
  • 104.  
    O THOU, whose stern command and precepts pure
    (Tho' agony in every vein should start, And slowly drain the blood-drops from the heart)
  • 105.  
    Bereave me not of Fancy's shadowy dreams,
    Which won my heart, or when the gay career Of life begun, or when at times a tear
  • 106.  
    The second moon had now begun to wane,
    Since bold Valdivia left the southern plain; Goal of his labours, Penco's port and bay,
  • 107.  
    On these white cliffs, that calm above the flood
    Uprear their shadowing heads, and at their feet Hear not the surge that has for ages beat,
  • 108.  
    WRITTEN DURING SICKNESS AT BATH.
    When I lie musing on my bed alone,
  • 109.  
    God of the battle, hear our prayer!
    By the lifted falchion's glare; By the uncouth fane sublime,
  • 110.  
    O, Poverty! though from thy haggard eye,
    Thy cheerless mien, of every charm bereft, Thy brow that Hope's last traces long have left,
  • 111.  
    Oh, no; I would not leave thee, my sweet home,
    Decked with the mantling woodbine and the rose, And slender woods that the still scene inclose,
  • 112.  
    The morn returns, and, reddening, seems to shed
    One ray of glory on the patriot-dead. Round the dark stone, the victor-chiefs behold!
  • 113.  
    When dark November bade the leaves adieu,
    And the gale sung amid the sea-boy's shrouds, Methought I saw four winged forms, that flew,
  • 114.  
    I am the comforter of them that mourn;
    My scenes well shadowed, and my carol sweet, Cheer the poor passengers of life's rude bourne,
  • 115.  
    I turn these leaves with thronging thoughts, and say,
    Alas! how many friends of youth are dead; How many visions of fair hope have fled,
  • 116.  
    How cheering are thy prospects, airy hill,
    To him who, pale and languid, on thy brow Pauses, respiring, and bids hail again
  • 117.  
    Why mourns the ingenuous Moralist, whose mind
    Science has stored, and Piety refined, That fading Chivalry displays no more
  • 118.  
    Oh, Mary, when distress and anguish came,
    And slow disease preyed on thy wasted frame; When every friend, ev'n like thy bloom, was fled,
  • 119.  
    If rich designs of sumptuous art may please,
    Or Nature's loftier views, august and old, Stranger! behold this spreading scene;--behold
  • 120.  
    O Time! who know'st a lenient hand to lay
    Softest on sorrow's wound, and slowly thence (Lulling to sad repose the weary sense)
  • 121.  
    Yes! from mine eyes the tears unbidden start,
    As thee, my country, and the long-lost sight Of thy own cliffs, that lift their summits white
  • 122.  
    IF chance some pensive stranger, hither led,
    His bosom glowing from majestic views, The gorgeous dome, or the proud landscape's hues,
  • 123.  
    It was a high and holy sight,
    When Baldwin and his train, With cross and crosier gleaming bright,
  • 124.  
    I trust the happy hour will come,
    That shall to peace thy breast restore; And that we two, beloved friend,
  • 125.  
    Stranger, stay, nor wish to climb
    The heights of yonder hills sublime; For there strange shapes and spirits dwell,
  • 126.  
    Beneath aerial cliffs, and glittering snows,
    The rush-roof of an aged warrior rose, Chief of the mountain tribes: high overhead,
  • 127.  
    The night was still and clear, when, o'er the snows,
    Andes! thy melancholy Spirit rose,-- A shadow stern and sad: he stood alone,
  • 128.  
    Sweet bard, whose tones great Milton might approve,
    And Shakspeare, from high Fancy's sphere, Turning to the sound his ear,
  • 129.  
    Mortal! who, armed with holy fortitude,
    The path of good right onward hast pursued; May HE, to whose eternal throne on high
  • 130.  
    Smooth went our boat upon the summer seas,
    Leaving, for so it seemed, the world behind, Its sounds of mingled uproar: we, reclined
  • 131.  
    So passes silent o'er the dead thy shade,
    Brief Time; and hour by hour, and day by day, The pleasing pictures of the present fade,
  • 132.  
    God said, Let there be light, and there was light!
    At once the glorious sun, at his command, From space illimitable, void and dark,
  • 133.  
    Awake a louder and a loftier strain!
    Beloved harp, whose tones have oft beguiled My solitary sorrows, when I left
  • 134.  
    'Twas morn, and beauteous on the mountain's brow
    (Hung with the clusters of the bending vine) Shone in the early light, when on the Rhine
  • 135.  
    Look, Christian, on thy Bible, and that glass
    That sheds its sand through minutes, hours, and days, And years; it speaks not, yet, methinks, it says,
  • 136.  
    If I could bid thee, pleasant shade, farewell
    Without a sigh, amidst whose circling bowers My stripling prime was passed, and happiest hours,
  • 137.  
    Oh! I should ill thy generous cares requite
    Thou who didst first inspire my timid Muse, Could I one tuneful tear to thee refuse,
  • 138.  
    How sweet the tuneful bells' responsive peal!
    As when, at opening morn, the fragrant breeze Breathes on the trembling sense of wan disease,
  • 139.  
    O TIME! who know'st a lenient hand to lay
    Softest on sorrow's wound, and slowly thence, (Lulling to sad repose the weary sense)
  • 140.  
    If ever sea-maid, from her coral cave,
    Beneath the hum of the great surge, has loved To pass delighted from her green abode,
  • 141.  
    I never hear the sound of thy glad bells,
    Oxford, and chime harmonious, but I say, Sighing to think how time has worn away,
  • 142.  
    Toll Nelson's knell! a soul more brave
    Ne'er triumphed on the green-sea wave! Sad o'er the hero's honoured grave,
  • 143.  
    IN ALVERSTOKE CHURCH, HANTS.
    Oh! they shall ne'er forget thee, they who knew
  • 144.  
    As o'er these hills I take my silent rounds,
    Still on that vision which is flown I dwell, On images I loved, alas, too well!
  • 145.  
    While slowly wanders thy sequestered stream,
    WAINSBECK, the mossy-scattered rocks among, In fancy's ear making a plaintive song
  • 146.  
    Since last I saw that countenance so mild,
    Slow-stealing age, and a faint line of care, Had gently touched, methought, some features there;
Total 146 poems written by William Lisle Bowles

Poem of the day

Song I
 by Charlotte Smith

FROM THE FRENCH OF CARDINAL BERNIS.
I.
FRUIT of Aurora's tears, fair rose,
On whose soft leaves fond zephyrs play,
Oh! queen of flowers, thy buds disclose,
And give thy fragrance to the day;
Unveil thy transient charms:--ah, no!
A little be thy bloom delay'd,
...

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