The Poetical Works of William Lisle Bowles Volume Ii Part 39

Spirit of beauty, and of heavenly song!

No longer seek in vain, 'mid the loud throng, 'Mid the discordant tumults of mankind, One spirit, gentle as thyself, to find.

Oh! listen, and suspend thy upward wings, Listen--for, hark! 'tis Caradori sings; Hear, on the cadence of each thrilling note, Airs scarce of earth, and sounds seraphic float!

See, in the radiant smile that lights her face; See, in that form, a more than magic grace; And say (repaid for every labour past) Beautiful spirit, thou art found at last!

SALISBURY CATHEDRAL.

Here stood the city of the dead; look round-- Dost thou not mark a visionary band, Druids and bards upon the summits stand, Of the majestic and time-hallowed mound?

Hark! heard ye not at times the acclaiming word Of harps, as when those bards, in white array, Hailed the ascending lord of light and day!

Here, o'er the clouds, the first cathedral rose, Whose prelates now in yonder fane repose, Among the mighty of years pa.s.sed away; For there her latest seat Religion chose, There still to heaven ascends the holy lay, And never may those shrines in dust and silence close!

_April 1834._

LOCKSWELL.

Pure fount, that, welling from this wooded hill, Dost wander forth, as into life's wide vale, Thou to the traveller dost tell no tale Of other years; a lone, unnoticed rill, In thy forsaken track, unheard of men, Melting thy own sweet music through the glen.

Time was when other sounds and songs arose; When o'er the pensive scene, at evening's close, The distant bell was heard; or the full chant, At morn, came sounding high and jubilant; Or, stealing on the wildered pilgrim's way, The moonlight "Miserere" died away, Like all things earthly.

Stranger, mark the spot; No echoes of the chiding world intrude.

The structure rose and vanished; solitude Possessed the woods again; old Time forgot, Pa.s.sing to wider spoil, its place and name.

Since then, even as the clouds of yesterday, Seven hundred years have well-nigh pa.s.sed away; No wreck remains of all its early pride; Like its own orisons, its fame has died.

But this pure fount, through rolling years the same, Yet lifts its small still voice, like penitence, Or lowly prayer. Then pa.s.s admonished hence, Happy, thrice happy, if, through good or ill, Christian, thy heart respond to this forsaken rill.

ON MOZART.

Oh! still, as with a seraph's voice, prolong The harmonies of that enchanting song, Till, listening, we might almost think we hear, Beyond this cloudy world, in the pure sphere Of light, acclaiming hosts the throne surrounding, The long hosannahs evermore resounding, Soft voices interposed in pure accord, Breathing a holier charm. Oh! every word Falls like a drop of silver, as the strain, In winding sweetness, swells and sinks again.

Sing ever thus, beguiling life's long way, As here, poor pilgrims of the earth, we stray; And, lady, when thy pilgrimage shall end, And late the shades of the long night descend, May sister seraphs welcome with a song, And gently say, Why have you stayed so long?

EPITAPH ON JOHN HARDING,

IN THE CHURCHYARD OF BREMHILL.

Lay down thy pilgrim staff upon this heap, And till the morning of redemption sleep, Old wayfarer of earth! From youth to age, Long, but not weary, was thy pilgrimage, Thy Christian pilgrimage; for faith and prayer Alone enabled thee some griefs to bear.

Lone, in old age, without a husband's aid, Thy wife shall pray beside thee to be laid; For more than a kind father didst thou prove To fourteen children of her faithful love.

May future fathers of the village trace The same sure path to the same resting-place; And future sons, taught in their strength to save, Learn their first lesson from a poor man's grave!

_April 1835._

ON THE DEATH OF WILLIAM LINLEY, ESQ.,

THE COMPOSER OF THE MUSIC OF "THE DUENNA," ETC.

Poor Linley! I shall miss thee sadly, now Thou art not in the world; for few remain Who loved like thee the high and holy strain Of harmony's immortal master.

Thou Didst honour him; and none I know, who live, Could even a shadow, a faint image give, With chord and voice, of those rich harmonies, Which, mingled in one mighty volume, rise, Glorious, from earth to heaven, so to express Choral acclaim to Heaven's almightiness, As thou! Therefore, amid the world's deep roar, When the sweet visions of young Hope are fled, And many friends dispersed, and many dead, I grieve that I shall hear that voice no more.

INSCRIBED TO THE MARCHIONESS OF LANSDOWNE

Go to a.s.semblies of the rich and gay, The blazing hall of grandeur, and the throng Of cities, and there listen to the song Of festive harmony; then pause, and say, Where is _she_ found, who in her sphere might shine, Attracting all? Where is _she_ found, whose place And dignity the proudest court might grace?

Go, where the desolate and dying pine On their cold bed; open the cottage door; Ask of that aged pair, who feebly bend O'er their small evening fire, who is their friend; Ask of these children of the village poor; For this, at the great judgment, thou shalt find Heaven's mercy, Lady, merciful and kind.

HYMN FOR MUSIC,

AFTER THE BATTLE OF WATERLOO.

Perish! Almighty Justice cried, And struck the avenging blow, And Europe shouts from side to side, The tyrant is laid low!

Said not his heart, More blood shall stream Around my sovereign throne?

He wakes from dire ambition's dream, Pale, trembling, and alone.

ARIA WITH CHORUS.

Triumph! the rescued nations cry, Triumph! ten thousand hearts reply.

Sad mother, weep no more thy children slain; The trumpets and the battle clangours cease: Uplift to heaven the loud, the grateful strain, And hail the dawn of Freedom and of Peace.

CHORUS.

Triumph! the rescued nations cry, Triumph! ten thousand hearts reply.

ARIA.

For joy returned, for peace restored, Lord of all worlds, to thee we raise, While Slaughter drops his weary sword, To thee the hymn of grat.i.tude and praise.

CHORUS.

Triumph! the rescued nations cry, Triumph! ten thousand hearts reply.