The Poetical Works of William Lisle Bowles Volume Ii Part 38

Mourn; for the dreadful voice hath pa.s.sed that shrunk Your streams, and withered all your blooming flowers.

And thou, created in G.o.d's image, man!

Go forth into the nether world; "for dust Thou art, and unto dust shalt thou return."

RECITATIVE.

So, led by Sin and Death, and his pale troop, Impatient came, and all this goodly scene, As at the withering of a demon's curse, was blasted.

Then they two went forth, from whom Their children sorrow and sin and death derived: They two went forth into the forlorn world, Heart-struck, but not despairing.

From that hour Death's shadow walks on earth, a hideous form, Saddening the very sun; and giant crimes Have multiplied, till to the throne of G.o.d, And the serene air of untroubled bliss, The noise of violence, and the cries of blood, Have from the ground ascended.

Therefore G.o.d Me hath commissioned to uplift the trump Of doom, and sweep this world of sin away!

WRITTEN AFTER THE CONSECRATION OF THE NEW CHURCH AT KINGSWOOD.

When first the fane, that, white, on Kingswood-Pen, Arrests, far off, the pausing stranger's ken, Echoed the hymn of praise, and on that day, Which seemed to shine with more auspicious ray, When thousands listened to the prelate[214] there, Who called on G.o.d, with consecrating prayer;-- I saw a village-maid, almost a child, 7 Even as a light-haired cherub, undefiled From earth's rank fume, with innocent look, her eye Meekly uplifted to the throne on high, Join in the full choir's solemn harmony.

Oh, then, how many boding thoughts arose, Lest, long ere varied life's uncertain close, Those looks of modesty, that open truth Lighting the forehead of ingenuous youth-- Lest these, as slowly steal maturing years, Should fade, and grief succeed, and dimming tears; Then should the cheek be blanched with early care, Sin mark its first and furrowing traces there, With touch corroding mar the altered mien, 20 And leave a canker where the rose had been; Then the sweet child, whose smiles can now impart Joy overpowering to a mother's heart, Might bring down, when not anxious love could save, That mother's few gray hairs with sorrow to the grave!

But, hark! the preacher's voice, his accents bland, Behold his kindled look, his lifted hand; What holy fervour wakes at his command!

He speaks of faith, of mercy from above, Of heavenly hope, of a Redeemer's love! 30 Hence every thought, but that which shows fair youth Advancing in the paths of peace and truth!

Which shows thy light, O pure religion! shed, Like a faint glory, on a daughter's head, Who shall each parent's love, through life, repay, And add a transport to their dying day!

I saw an old man, on his staff reclined, Who seemed to every human change resigned:-- He, with white locks, and long-descending beard, A patriarch of other years appeared: 40 And thine, O aged, solitary man! 41 Was life's enchanted way, when life began, The sunshine on each mountain, and the strain Of some sweet melody, in every plain; Thine was illusive fortune's transient gleam, And young love's broken, but delicious dream; Those mocking visions of thy youth are flown, And thou dost bend on death's dark brink alone The light a.s.sociates of thy vernal day, 49 Where are they? Blown, like the sere leaves, away; And thou dost seem a trunk, on whose bare head The gray moss of uncounted days is spread!

I know thee not, old man! yet traits like these, Upon thy time-worn features fancy sees.

Another, or another year, for thee, Haply, "the silver cord shall loosed be!"

Then listen, whilst warm eloquence portrays That "better country" to thy anxious gaze, Who art a weary, way-worn "pilgrim here,"

And soon from life's vain masque to disappear. 60 O aged man! lift up thine eyes--behold What brighter views of distant light unfold; What though the loss of strength thou dost deplore, Or broken loves, or friends that are no more?

What though gay youth no more his song renews, And summer-light dies, like the rainbow hues?

The Christian hails the ray that cheers the gloom, And throws its heavenly halo round the tomb.

Who bade the grave its mouldering vault unclose?

"Christ--Christ who died; yea, rather, Christ who rose!"

Hope lifts from earth her tear-illumined eye, 71 She sees, dispersed, the world's last tempest fly; Sees death, arrested 'mid his havoc vast, Lord, at thy feet his broken weapons cast!

In circles, far retiring from the sight, 75 Till, undistinguished, they are lost in light, Admiring seraphim suspend their wings, Whilst, hark! the eternal empyrean rings, Hosannah, Lord of lords, and King of kings!

Such thoughts arose, when from the crowded fane 80 I saw retire the mute, a.s.sembled train; Their images beguiled my homeward way, Which high o'er Lansdowne's lonely summit lay.

There seemed a music in the evening gale, And looking back on the long-spreading vale, Methought a blessing waited on the hour, As the last light from heaven shone on the distant tower.

ON THE DEATH OF DR BURGESS,

THE LATE BISHOP OF SALISBURY.

Sainted old man, for more than eighty years, Thee--tranquilly and stilly-creeping--age, Led to the confines of the sepulchre, And thy last day on earth--but "Father--Lord-- Which art in heaven"--how pure a faith, and heart Unmoved, amid the changes of this life, And tumult of the world,--and oh! what hope,-- What love and constancy of the calm mind, And tears to misery from the inmost heart Flowing--at times, a brief sweet smile and voice How bland, and studies, various and profound, Of learned languages--but, ever first, That learning which the oracles of G.o.d Unfolds, even to the close of life's long day Thy course accompanies!

But, thou, farewell, And live--this mortal veil removed--in bliss; Live with the saints in light, whom Christ had loved.

But pardon us, left in this vale of tears, For one last tear upon thy cold remains-- Pardon, beloved and venerated shade!

LINES WRITTEN ON FONTHILL ABBEY.

The mighty master waved his wand, and, lo!

On the astonished eye the glorious show Burst like a vision! Spirit of the place!

Has the Arabian wizard with his mace Smitten the barren downs, far onward spread, And bade the enchanted palace rise instead?

Bade the dark woods their solemn shades extend, High to the clouds yon spiry tower ascend?

And starting from the umbrageous avenue Spread the rich pile, magnificent to view?

Enter! From the arched portal look again, Back on the lessening woods and distant plain!

Ascend the steps! The high and fretted roof Is woven by some elfin hand aloof; Whilst from the painted windows' long array A mellow light is shed as not of day.

How gorgeous all! Oh, never may the spell Be broken, that arrayed those radiant forms so well!

EPITAPH ON BENJAMIN TREMLYN,

AN OLD SOLDIER, BURIED IN BREMHILL CHURCHYARD AT THE AGE OF 92.

A poor old soldier shall not lie unknown, Without a verse, and this recording stone.

'Twas his in youth o'er distant lands to stray, Danger and death companions of his way.

Here in his native village, drooping, age Closed the lone evening of his pilgrimage.

Speak of the past, of names of high renown, Or his brave comrades long to dust gone down, His eye with instant animation glowed, Though ninety winters on his head had snowed.

His country, whilst he lived, a boon supplied, And faith her shield held o'er him when he died; Hope, Christian, that his spirit lives with G.o.d, And pluck the wild weeds from his lowly sod, Where, dust to dust, beside the chancel's shade, Till the last trumpet sounds, a brave man's bones are laid.

EPITAPH ON ROBERT SOUTHEY.

Christian! for none who scorns that holy name Can gaze with honest eyes on Southey's fame; Christian! bow down thy head in humble fear, And think what G.o.d-given powers lie silenced here: Wit, judgment, memory, patience unsubdued, Conception vast, and pious fort.i.tude.

Learning possessed no steeps, and truth no sh.o.r.e, Beyond his step to tread, his wing to soar; His was the historian's pen, the poet's lyre, The churchman's ardour, and the patriot's fire; While fireside charities, Heaven's gentlest dower, Lent genius all their warmth and all their power.

O Church and State of England! thine was he In living fame, thine be his memory!

Thou saw'st him live, in faith expire, Go, bid thy sons to follow, and admire!

SONNET.

WRITTEN IN A COPY OF FALCONER'S "SHIPWRECK."

What pale and bleeding youth, whilst the fell blast Howls o'er the wreck, and fainter sinks the cry Of struggling wretches ere, o'erwhelmed, they die, Yet floats upborne upon the driving mast!

O poor Arion! has thy sweetest strain, That charmed old ocean's wildest solitude, At this dread hour his waves' dark might subdued!

Let sea-maids thy reclining head sustain, And wipe the blood and briny drops that soil Thy features; give once more the wreathed sh.e.l.l To ring with melody! Ah, fruitless toil!

O'er thy devoted head the tempests swell, More loud relentless ocean claims his spoil: Peace! and may weeping sea-maids sing thy knell!

ON FIRST HEARING CARADORI SING.