The Poetical Works of William Lisle Bowles Volume I Part 8

Thou com'st to say that my once vacant mind 9 Amid those scenes shall never more rejoice; Nor on the day of rest the h.o.a.ry hind Bend o'er his staff, attentive to my voice.

Hast thou not visited that pleasant place 10 Where in this hard world I have happiest been?

And shall I tremble at thy lifted mace That hath pierced all on which life seemed to lean?

But Hope might whisper: Many a smiling day 11 And many a cheerful eve may yet be mine, Ere age's autumn strew my locks with gray, And weary to the dust my steps decline.

I argue not, but uncomplaining bow 12 To Heaven's high 'hest; secure, whate'er my lot, Meek spirit of resigned Content, that thou Wilt smooth my pillow, and forsake me not!

Thou to the turfy hut with pilgrim feet 13 Wanderest, from halls of loud tumultuous joy; Or on the naked down, when the winds beat, Dost sing to the forsaken shepherd boy.

Thou art the sick man's nurse, the poor man's friend, 14 And through each change of life thou hast been mine; In every ill thou canst a comfort blend, And bid the eye, though sad, in sadness shine.

Thee I have met on Cherwell's willowed side, 15 And when our destined road far onward lay, Thee I have found, whatever chance betide, The kind companion of my devious way.

With thee unwearied have I loved to roam, 16 By the smooth-flowing Scheldt, or rushing Rhine; And thou hast gladdened my sequestered home, And hung my peaceful porch with eglantine.

When cares and crosses my tired spirits tried, 17 When to the dust my father I resigned; Amidst the quiet shade unseen I sighed, And, blest with thee, forgot a world unkind.

Ev'n now, while toiling through the sleepless night, 18 A tearful look to distant scenes I cast, And the glad objects that once charmed my sight Remember, like soft views of "faerie" past;

I see thee come half-smiling to my bed, 19 With Fort.i.tude more awfully severe, Whose arm sustaining holds my drooping head, Who dries with her dark locks the tender tear.

O firmer Spirit! on some craggy height 20 Who, when the tempest sails aloft, dost stand, And hear'st the ceaseless billows of the night Rolling upon the solitary strand;

At this sad hour, when no harsh thoughts intrude 21 To mar the melancholy mind's repose, When I am left to night and solitude, And languid life seems verging to its close;

Oh, let me thy pervading influence feel; 22 Be every weak and wayward thought repressed; And hide thou, as with plates of coldest steel, The faded aspect and the throbbing breast!

Silent the motley pageant may retreat, 23 And vain mortality's brief scenes remove; Yet let my bosom, whilst with life it beat, Breathe a last prayer for all on earth I love.

Slow-creeping pain weighs down my heavy eye, 24 A chiller faintness steals upon my breast; "O gentle Muse, with some sweet lullaby"

Rock me in long forgetfulness to rest!

[43] The fall of the river, heard from the Parade.

[44] The aeolian harp.

ON LEAVING WINCHESTER SCHOOL.

WRITTEN IN THE YEAR 1782.

The spring shall visit thee again, Itchin! and yonder ancient fane,[45]

That casts its shadow on thy breast, As if, by many winters beat, The blooming season it would greet, With many a straggling wild-flower shall be dressed.

But I, amid the youthful train That stray at evening by thy side, No longer shall a guest remain, To mark the spring's reviving pride.

I go not unrejoicing; but who knows, When I have shared, O world! thy common woes, Returning I may drop some natural tears; As these same fields I look around, And hear from yonder dome[46] the slow bell sound, And think upon the joys that crowned my stripling years!

[45] St Croix.

[46] The Cathedral.

HOPE, AN ALLEGORICAL SKETCH.

But thou, O Hope! with eyes so fair, What was thy delightful measure?

COLLINS.

I am the comforter of them that mourn; My scenes well shadowed, and my carol sweet, Cheer the poor pa.s.sengers of life's rude bourne, Till they are sheltered in that last retreat, Where human toils and troubles are forgot.

These sounds I heard amid this mortal road, When I had reached with pain one pleasant spot, So that for joy some tears in silence flowed; I raised mine eyes, sickness had long depressed, And felt thy warmth, O sun! come cheering to my breast.

The storm of night had ceased upon the plain, When thoughtful in the forest-walk I strayed, To the long hollow murmur of the main Listening, and to the many leaves that made A drowsy cadence, as the high trees waved; When straight a beauteous scene burst on my sight; Smooth were the waters that the lowland laved: And lo! a form, as of some fairy sprite, Who held in her right hand a budding spray, And like a sea-maid sung her sweetly warbled lay.

Soothing as steals the summer-wave she sung: The grisly phantoms of the night are gone To hear in shades forlorn the death-bell rung; But thou whom sickness hast left weak and wan, Turn from their spectre-terrors the green sea That whispers at my feet, the matin gale That crisps its shining marge shall solace thee, And thou my long-forgotten voice shalt hail, For I am Hope, whom weary hearts confess The soothest sprite that sings on life's long wilderness.

As slowly ceased her tender voice, I stood Delighted: the hard way, so lately pa.s.sed, Seemed smooth; the ocean's bright extended flood Before me stretched; the clouds that overcast Heaven's melancholy vault hurried away, Driven seaward, and the azure hills appeared; The sunbeams shone upon their summits gray, Strange saddening sounds no more by fits were heard, But birds, in new leaves shrouded, sung aloft, And o'er the level seas Spring's healing airs blew soft.

As when a traveller, who many days Hath journeyed 'mid Arabian deserts still, A dreary solitude far on surveys, And met, nor flitting bird, nor gushing rill, But near some marble ruin, gleaming pale, Sighs mindful of the haunts of cheerful man, And thinks he hears in every sickly gale The bells of some approaching caravan; At length, emerging o'er the dim tract, sees Damascus' golden fanes, and minarets, and trees:

So beat my bosom when my winding way Led through the thickets to a sheltered vale, Where the fair syren sat; a smooth clear bay Skirted with woods appeared, where many a sail Went shining o'er the watery surface still, Lessening at last in the gray ocean flood; And yonder, half-way up the fronting hill, Peeping from forth the trees, a cottage stood, Above whose peaceful umbrage, trailing high, A little smoke went up, and stained the cloudless sky.

I turned, and lo! a mountain seemed to rise, Upon whose top a spiry citadel Lifted its dim-seen turrets to the skies, Where some high lord of the domain might dwell; And onward, where the eye scarce stretched its sight, Hills over hills in long succession rose, Touched with a softer and yet softer light, And all was blended as in deep repose; The woods, the sea, the hills that shone so fair, Till woods, and sea, and hills seemed fading into air.

At once, methought, I saw a various throng To this enchanting spot their footsteps bend; All drawn, sweet Hope! by thy inspiring song, Which melodies scarce mortal seem to blend.

First buxom Youth, with cheeks of glowing red, Came lightly tripping o'er the morning dew, He wore a harebell garland on his head, And stretched his hands at the bright-bursting view: A mountain fawn went bounding by his side, Around whose slender neck a silver bell was tied.

Then said I: Mistress of the magic song, Oh, pity 'twere that hearts that know no guile Should ever feel the pangs of truth or wrong!

She heeded not, but sang with lovelier smile: Enjoy, O youth, the season of thy May; Hark, how the throstles in the hawthorn sing!

The h.o.a.ry Time, that resteth night nor day, O'er the earth's shade may speed with noiseless wing; But heed not thou; s.n.a.t.c.h the brief joys that rise, And sport beneath the light of these unclouded skies.

His fine eye flashing an unwonted fire, Then Fancy o'er the glade delighted went; He struck at times a small and silver lyre, Or gazed upon the rolling element; Sometimes he took his mirror, which did show The various landscape lovelier than the life; Beaming more bright the vivid tints did glow, And so well mingled was the colours' strife, That the fond heart, the beauteous shades once seen, Would sigh for such retreats, for vales and woods so green!

Gay was his aspect, and his airy vest, As loose it flowed, such colours did display, As paint the clouds reposing in the west, Or the moist rainbow's radiant arch inlay; And now he tripped, like fairy of the wood, And seemed with dancing spirits to rejoice, And now he hung his head in pensive mood: Meantime, O Hope! he listened to thy voice, And whilst of joy and youth it cheerly sung, He touched his answering harp, and o'er the valley sprung.

Pleasure, a frolic nymph, to the glad sound Came dancing, as all tears she might forget; And now she gazed with a sweet archness round, And wantonly displayed a silken net: She won her way with fascinating air-- Her eyes illumined with a tender light, Her smile's strange blandishment, her shaded hair That lengthening hung, her teeth as ivory white, That peeped from her moist lip, seemed to inspire Tumultuous wishes warm, and dreams of fond desire.

What softer pa.s.sions did thy bosom move, When those melodious measures met thine ear, Child of Sincerity, and virtuous Love!

Thine eyes did shine beneath a blissful tear That still were turned towards the tranquil scene, Where the thin smoke rose from the embowered cot; And thou didst think, that there, with smile serene, In quiet shades, and every pang forgot, Thou mightest sink on pure Affection's breast, And listen to the winds that whispered thee to rest.

I thought, O Love, how seldom art thou found Without annoyance in this earthly state!

For, haply, thou dost feed some rankling wound, Or on thy youth pale poverty doth wait, Till years, on heavy wing, have rolled away; Or where thou most didst hope firm faith to see, Thou meetest fickleness estranged and cold; Or if some true and tender heart there be, On which, through every change, thy soul might trust, Death comes with his fell dart, and smites it to the dust!

But l.u.s.ty Enterprise, with looks of glee, Approached the drooping youth, as he would say, Come to the high woods and the hills with me, And cast thy sullen myrtle-wreath away.

Upon a neighing courser he did sit, That stretched its arched neck, in conscious pride, And champed as with disdain a golden bit, But Hope her animating voice applied, And Enterprise with speed impetuous pa.s.sed, Whilst the long vale returned his wreathed bugle's blast.

Suddenly, lifting high his ponderous spear, A mailed man came forth with scornful pride, I saw him, towering in his proud career, Along the valley with a giant stride: Upon his helm, in letters of bright gold, That to the sun's meridian splendour shone, Ambition's name far off I might behold.

Meantime from earth there came a hollow moan; But Fame, who followed, her loud trumpet blew, And to the murmuring beach with eyes a-flame he flew.