The Poetical Works of William Lisle Bowles Volume I Part 16

What various objects strike with various force, Achilles, Hebe, and Sir Watkin's horse!

Here summer scenes, there Pentland's stormy ridge, Lords, ladies, Noah's ark, and Cranford bridge!

Some that display the elegant design, The lucid colours, and the flowing line; Some that might make, alas! Walsh Porter[95] stare, And wonder how the devil they got there!

LADY M----VE.

How clear a strife of light and shade is spread!

The face how touched with nature's loveliest red!

The eye, how eloquent, and yet how meek!

The glow subdued, yet mantling on thy cheek!

M----ve! I mark alone thy beauteous face, But all is nature, dignity, and grace!

HON. MISS MERCER.--HOPNER.

Oh! hide those tempting eyes, that faultless form, Those looks with feeling and with nature warm; The neck, the softly-swelling bosom hide, Nor, wanton gales, blow the light vest aside; For who, when beauties more than life excite Silent applause, can gaze without delight!

But innocence, enchanting maid, is thine; Thine eyes in liquid light unconscious shine; And may thy breast no other feelings prove, Than those of sympathy and mutual love!

[95] A gentleman well known for his taste and fine collection.

EXHIBITION, 1807.

BLIND FIDDLER.--WILKIE.

With mirth unfeigned the cottage chimney rings, Though only vocal with four fiddle-strings: And see, the poor blind fiddler draws his bow, And lifts intent his time-denoting toe; While yonder maid, as blythe as birds in June, You almost hear her whistle to the tune!

Hard by, a lad, in imitative guise, Fixed, fiddle-like, the broken bellows plies; Before the hearth, with looks of honest joy, The father chirrups to the chattering boy, And snaps his lifted thumbs with mimic glee, To the glad urchin on his mother's knee!

MORNING.--TURNER.

Up! for the morning shines with welcome ray, And to the sunny seabeach let us stray.

What orient hues proclaim the master's hand!

How light the wave upon the half-wet sand!

How beautiful the sun, as still we gaze, Streams all diffusive through the opening haze!

Artist--when to the thunder's pealing sound, Fire mixed with hailstones ran upon the ground, When partial darkness the dread prospect hid, And sole aspired the aged pyramid-- Sublimity thy genius seemed to guide O'er Egypt's champaign, desolate and wide; But here delightful beauty reigns alone, And decks the morning scene with graces all her own.

KESWICK.--SIR GEORGE BEAUMONT.

How shall I praise thee, Beaumont, whose nice skill Can mould the soft and shadowy scene at will; Chastise to harmony each gaudy ray, Simple, yet grand, the mountain scene display; The lake where sober evening seems to sleep, Hills far retiring into umbrage deep; Blend all with cla.s.sic, pure, poetic taste, And strike the more with forms and colours chaste!

MARKET-DAY.--CALCOT.

Through the wood's maze our eyes delighted stray, To mark the rustics on the market-day.

Beneath the branches winds the long white road; Here peeps the rustic cottager's abode; There in the morning sun, the children play, Or the crone creeps along the dusty way.

SCENE IN FRANCE.--LOUTHERBOURG.

Artist, I own thy genius; but the touch May be too restless, and the glare too much: And sure none ever saw a landscape shine, Basking in beams of such a sun as thine, But felt a fervid dew upon his phiz, And panting cried, O Lord, how hot it is!

DEATH OF NELSON.--WEST.

Turn to Britannia's triumphs on the main: See Nelson, pale and fainting, 'mid the slain, Whilst Victory sighs, stern in the garb of war, And points through clouds the rocks of Trafalgar!

Here cease the strain; but while thy hulls shall ride, Britain, dark shadowing the tumultuous tide, May other Nelsons, on the sanguine main, Guide, like a G.o.d, the battle's hurricane; And when the funeral's transient pomp is past, High hung the banner, hushed the battle's blast, May the brave character to ages shine, And Genius consecrate the immortal shrine!

SOUTHAMPTON CASTLE.[96]

INSCRIBED TO THE MARQUIS OF LANSDOWNE.

The moonlight is without; and I could lose An hour to gaze, though Taste and Splendour here, As in a l.u.s.trous fairy palace, reign!

Regardless of the lights that blaze within, I look upon the wide and silent sea, That in the shadowy moonbeam sleeps: How still, Nor heard to murmur, or to move, it lies; Shining in Fancy's eye, like the soft gleam, The eve of pleasant yesterdays! 10 The clouds Have all sunk westward, and the host of stars Seem in their watches set, as gazing on; While night's fair empress, sole and beautiful, Holds her ill.u.s.trious course through the mid heavens Supreme, the spectacle, for such she looks, Of gazing worlds!

How different is the scene That lies beneath this arched window's height!

The town, that murmured through the busy day, 20 Is hushed; the roofs one solemn breadth of shade Veils; but the towers, and taper spires above, The pinnets, and the gray embattled walls, And masts that throng around the southern pier, Shine all distinct in light; and mark, remote, O'er yonder elms, St Mary's modest fane.

Oh! if such views may please, to me they shine How more attractive! but few years have pa.s.sed, Since there I saw youth, health, and happiness, All circling round an aged sire,[97] whose hairs 30 Are now in peace gone down; he was to me A friend, and almost with a father's smile Hung o'er my infant Muse. The cheerful voice Of fellowship, the song of harmony, And mirth, and wit,[98] were there.

That scene is pa.s.sed: Cold death and separation have dissolved The evening circle of once-happy friends!

So has it ever fared, and so must fare, With all! I see the moonlight watery tract 40 That shines far off, beneath the forest-shades: What seems it, but the mirror of that tide, Which noiseless, 'mid the changes of the world, Holds its inevitable course, the tide Of years departing; to the distant eye Still seeming motionless, though hurrying on From morn till midnight, bearing, as it flows, The sails of pleasurable barks! These gleam To-day, to-morrow other pa.s.sing sails Catch the like sunshine of the vernal morn. 50 Our pleasant days are as the moon's brief light On the pale ripple, pa.s.sing as it shines!

But shall the pensive bard for this lament, Who knows how transitory are all worlds Before His eye who made them!

Cease the strain; And welcome still the social intercourse That soothes the world's loud jarring, till the hour When, universal darkness wrapping all This nether scene, a light from heaven shall stream 60 Through clouds dividing, and a voice be heard: Here only pure and lasting bliss is found!

[96] Southampton Castle is a magnificent pile, erected by the Marquis of Lansdowne, commanding the most striking views of the river, the Isle of Wight, the New Forest, _et cet._

[97] Late Dean of Winchester, Dr Newton Ogle.

[98] I speak this of Mr Sheridan, who was often of the party.

THE WINDS.

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, With garments streaming light, amid the clouds; From adverse regions of the sky, In dim succession, they went by.

The first, as o'er the billowy deep he pa.s.sed, Blew from its brazen trump a far-resounding blast.

Upon a beaked promontory high, With streaming heart, and cloudy brow severe, 10 Marked ye the father of the frowning year![99]

Dark vapours rolled o'er the tempestuous sky, When creeping WINTER from his cave came forth; Stern courier of the storm, he cried, what from the north?

NORTH WIND.

From the vast and desert deeps, Where the lonely Kraken sleeps, Where fixed the icy mountains high Glimmer to the twilight sky; Where, six lingering months to last, 20 The night has closed, the day is past, Father, lo, I come, I come: I have heard the wizard's drum, And the withered Lapland hag, Seal, with muttered spell, her bag: O'er mountains white, and forests sere, I flew, and with a wink am here.

WINTER.

Spirit of unwearied wing, From the Baltic's frozen main, From the Russ's bleak domain, 30 Say, what tidings dost thou bring!

Shouts, and the noise of battle! and again The winged wind blew loud a deadly blast; Shouts, and the noise of battle! the long main Seemed with hoa.r.s.e voice to answer as he pa.s.sed.

The moody South went by, and silence kept; The cloudy rack oft hid his mournful mien, And frequent fell the showers, as if he wept The eternal havoc of this mortal scene.

He had heard the yell, and cry, 40 And howling dance of Anarchy, Where the Rhone, with rushing flood, Murmured to the main, through blood:-- He seemed to wish he could for ever throw His misty mantle o'er a world of woe.

But rousing him from his desponding trance, Cold Eurus blew his sharp and shrilling horn; In his right hand he bore an icy lance, That far off glittered in the frost of morn; The old man knew the clarion from afar, 50 What from the East? he cried.

EAST WIND.

Shouts, and the noise of war!

Far o'er the land hath been my flight, O'er many a forest dark as night, O'er champaigns where the Tartar speeds, O'er Wolga's wild and giant reeds, O'er the Carpathian summits h.o.a.r, Beneath whose snows and shadows frore, Poland's level length unfolds Her trackless woods and wildering wolds, 60 Like a spirit, seeking rest, I have pa.s.sed from east to west, While sounds of discord and lament Rose from the earth where'er I went.

I care not; hurrying, as in scorn, I shook my lance, and blew my horn; The day shows clear; and merrily Along the Atlantic now I fly.

Who comes in soft and spicy vest, From the mild regions of the West? 70 An azure veil bends waving o'er his head, And showers of violets from his hands are shed.