William Lisle Bowles

“ The fainting and the slain!
39 Of fifty thousand, who at morn
Came forth in armour bright,
Scarce fifteen thousand souls were left,
To tell the tale at night.
[273]
40 The Cid then wiped his bloody brow,
And thus was heard to say:
Well, Bavieca, hast thou sped,
My noble horse, to-day!
41 If thousands then escaped the sword,
Let none the Cid condemn;
For they were swept into the sea,
And the surge went over them.
42 There's many a maid of Tetuan,
All day shall sit and weep,
But never see her lover's sail
Shine on the northern deep. ”

“ Mingled with tears and prayer to God in heaven.
So dream; and never, never may those eyes
Awake suffused with tears, as mine are now,
To think that life's best hopes are such a dream!
Now sleeps the city through its vast extent,
That, restless as the ocean-waves, at morn,
With its ten thousand voices shall awake,
Lifting the murmur of its multitude
To heaven's still gate! Now all is hushed as death;
None are awake, save those who wake to weep,
Like me; save those who meditate revenge,
Or beckon muttering Murder. God of heaven! ”

“ THE BLIND MAN OF SALISBURY CATHEDRAL.
There is a poor blind man, who, every day,
In summer sunshine, or in winter's rain,
Duly as tolls the bell, to the high fane
Explores, with faltering footsteps, his dark way,
[260] To kneel before his Maker, and to hear
The chaunted service, pealing full and clear.
Ask why alone in the same spot he kneels
Through the long year. Oh, the wide world is cold,
As dark, to him! Here he no longer feels
His sad bereavement. Faith and Hope uphold
His heart; he feels not he is poor and blind,
Amid the unpitying tumult of his mind. ”

“ Wore the same smile, yet with a trace more weak.
Lone sorrow came as life declined, and care,
And age, with slowly furrowing line, was there.
I could have spared this fearful sight! Most strange
Is the eventful tale of mortal change,
Inevitable; but death, brought so nigh,
In form so tangible, harrows the eye.
As all the past floats like a cloud away,
Alas, poor Sheridan! I turn and say,
Not without feelings which such sights impart,
Sad, but instructive, to the Christian's heart!
May 18, 1826.
RETURN OF GEORGE III. TO WINDSOR CASTLE.
Not that thy name, illustrious dome! ”

“ William some years survived, but years no trace
Of his sick heart's deep anguish could erase.
Still the dread spectre seemed to rise, and, worse,
Still in his ears rang the appalling curse!20
While loud he cries, despair upon his look,
Oh! shut the book, my Mary, shut the book!
The sun is slowly westering now, and lo,
How beautiful steals out the humid bow,
A radiant arch! Listen, whilst I relate
William's dread judgment, and poor Mary's fate.
I think I see the pine, that, heavily
Swaying, yet seems as for the dead to sigh. ”

“ At Waltham Abbey, o'er King Harold's grave
A requiem was chanted; for last night
A passing spirit shook the battlements,
And the pale monk, at midnight, as he watched
The lamp, beheld it tremble; whilst the shrines
Shook, as the deep foundations of the fane
Were moved. Oh! pray for Harold's soul! he cried.
And now, at matin bell, the monks were met,
And slowly pacing round the grave, they sang:
DIRGE.
Peace, oh! ”

“ Shot far into the cave.
John gazed with awe
On that majestic man, he knew not why;
And well might he have gazed with reverence,
For here, in this rude spot, he only saw
Men the most dark and savage of their kind,
Murderers, and ruthless criminals in chains.160
He spoke to them of truth and righteousness—
He spoke of an offended God! Some looked
To the bright sun, defying; others turned
Muttering. He spoke of pity, and they heard,
Even as the relentless hurricane
Hears the last prayer of the faint mariner,
Whom wintry waves had dashed upon the rocks. ”

“ Steals from the clouds, to rest upon that tower,
I turn a parting look, and lift to Heaven
A parting prayer, that our own Zion, thus,—
With sober splendour, yet not gorgeous,178
[75] Her mitred brow tempered with lenity
And apostolic mildness—in her mien
No dark defeature, beautiful as mild,
And gentle as the smile of charity,—
Thus on the Rock of Ages may uplift
Her brow majestic, pointing to the spires
That grace her village glens, or solemn fanes
In cities, calm above the stir and smoke,
And listening to deep harmonies that swell
From all her temples! ”

“ 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!
[320] In circles, far retiring from the sight,75
Till, undistinguished, they are lost in light,
Admiring seraphim suspend their wings,
Whilst, hark! ”

“ ST JOHN IN PATMOS.
War, and the noise of battle, and the hum Of armies, by their watch-fires, in the night, And charging squadrons, all in harness bright, The sword, the shield, the trumpet, and the drum— Themes such as these, too oft, in lofty song Have been resounded, while the poet strung His high heroic lyre, and louder sung Of chariots flashing through the armed throng:— But other sights and other sounds engage, Fitlier, the thoughts of calm-declining age, More worthy of the Christian and the sage ”

“ Streamed out its folds, on which the Saxon horse
Ramped, as impatient on the land to leap,
To which the winds still bore it bravely on;
Whilst the red cross on the front banner shone,
The hoar deep crimsoning.170
Winds, bear us on;
Bear us as cheerily, till white Albion's cliffs
Resound to our triumphant shouts; till there,
On his own Tower, that frowns above the Thames,
Even there we plant these banners and this cross,
And stamp the Conqueror and his crown to dust! ”

“ Her eyes, or raised them to the light of morn,
Without a prayer to Him who "bade the sun
Go forth," a giant, from his eastern gate!
No art, no bribe, could lure her steps astray
From the plain path, and lessons she had learned,
A village child. She is a mother now,
And lives to prove the blessings and the fruits
Of moral duty, on the poorest child,
When duty, and when sober piety,250
Impressing the young heart, go hand in hand. ”

“ Know ye those cliffs, towering in giant state!
But, hark! along the shores alarum-bells
Ring out more loud, blast answers blast, the swords
Of hurrying horsemen, and projected spears,
Flash to the sun. On yonder castle walls
A thousand bows are bent; again our course
Back to the north is turned. Now twilight veiled
The sinking sands of Yarmouth, and we heard200
A long deep toll from many a village tower
On shore—and, lo! the scattered inland lights,
That sprinkled winding ocean's lowly verge,
At once are lost in darkness. God in heaven,
It is the curfew! ”

“ Yes! every nation shall confess the Lord;
Till all shall be fulfilled, and there shall be,
Through the wide world, "one Shepherd and one fold."
For deem not this small frith, called "the Great Sea," [159]
That girds yon promontories, girds the world:
Without is the great ocean, the main sea,
Rocking in tempest and in solitude;
Ten thousand isles are scattered o'er the waste
Of those dark waters, and each isle and land,350
All earth, shall be one altar; and from earth
To heaven one flame of incense, and one voice
Of prayer and praise and harmony shall rise! ”

“ Pensive, they both retired into the cave.
The eyes of John were heavy, and ere long
He sank into deep slumber, like a child,
Hushed by the ocean sounds; and now arose
Visions more dark and terrible. He saw
The Lamb of God open the book. Hark! hark!
The thunder and the tempest roll! John saw
Four cherubims, and they said, Come and see!20
He looked, and, behold! on a white horse
Sat one who had a bow, and he there was crowned;
And with his bow, and crowned, he went forth,
"Conquering and to conquer."
Hark! a moan
Comes up from all the earth! ”

“ Perish the Norman! Soldiers, on!—to York!
CANTO FIRST.
Castle of Ravenspur, on the Humber—Daughter of Harold—Ailric, the monk.
Let us go up to the west turret's top,
Adela cried; let us go up—the night
Is still, and to the east great ocean's hum
Is scarcely heard. If but a wandering step,
Or distant shout, or dip of hastening oar,
Or tramp of steed, or far-off trumpet, break
The hushed horizon, we can catch the sound
When breathless expectation watches there. ”

“ 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 ”

“ Earth's very shadows are too gay, too bright,—
Hide me for ever in forgetful night!
In vain—that form, the cause of all his woes,
More sternly terrible in darkness rose!
Nearer he saw, with its pale waving hand,
The phantom in appalling stillness stand;
The letters of the book shone through the night,
More blasting! Hide, oh hide me from the sight!
Ocean, to thee and to thy storms I bring360
A heart, that not the music of the spring,
Nor summer piping on the rural plain,
Shall ever wake to happiness again! ”

“ I'd rather be a bird to fly away,
Or sing—
Eliz. The serpent's eye of fire,
With slow and deadly glare, poor bird, I fear,
Is fixed on thee and Edward—God avert it!
Rich. And therefore must not I go out to play?
Eliz. Go, play among the tombs—I will go too;
Go, play with skulls and bones; or see the train
Of sceptred kings come slowly through the gloom,
And widowed queens move in the shroud of death
Along the glimmering aisles and hollow vaults.
Would I were with them—I shall be so soon!
Rich. Mother, methought I saw him yesterday—
Eliz. ”

“ WORKS OF THE REV. W. L. BOWLES.
The poetry of each age may be considered as vitally connected with, and as vividly reflective of, its character and progress, as either its politics or its religion. You see the nature of the soil of a garden in its tulips and roses, as much as in its pot-herbs and its towering trees. We purpose, accordingly, to compare briefly the poetry of the past and of the present centuries, as indices of some of the points of contrast between the two, and to show also how, and through what causes, the one grew into the other. ”

“ In England, there was no Burns to cast a gleam of poetry even on the orgies of dissipation; all was as coarse as it was corrupt; it was a drunken dance of naked satyrs: and disgust at this state of things, we believe, principally made Burke, contrasting the Continent with England, to utter the paradox, that vice, by losing all its grossness, lost half its evil. Foreigners were then, as they are still, more depraved in morals and filthier in personal habits than we; but they had, and have, a grace, a politeness, a reticence, and an ease, which gilded, if they did not lessen, the abominations. ”

“ As calmer prospects rose within his view.
And why not, ere the long night of the dead,
The slow descent of life together tread?
The day is fixed; William no more shall roam,
William and Ruth shall have one heart—one home:
The world shut out, both shall together pray:
Both wait the evening of life's changeful day:500
She shall his anguish soothe, when he is wild,
And he shall be a father to her child. ”

“ That sweeps his native cliffs, harries the land!
What terror strode before his track of blood!160
What hamlets mourned his desultory march,
When on the circling hills, along the sea,
The beacon-flame shone nightly! He has passed!
Now frowns the Norman victor on his throne,
And every cottage shrouds its lonely fire,
As the sad curfew sounds. Yet Piety,
With new-inspiring energies, awoke,
And ampler polity: in woody vales,
In unfrequented wilds, and forest-glens,
The towers of the sequestered abbey shone,170
As when the pinnacles of Glaston-Fane
First met the morning light. ”

“ With rolling smoke, that the winds warp away
In surges, when the miserable man
Blackened and half-consumed appears; not these,
Nor famine, nor the sword, nor death, nor hell,
Shall move the Christian's heart or hope, or fray
Him, steadfast and victorious, though he die.
Farther and farther yet the light is spread: [158]
And thou hast lived to see this gospel-dawn
Kindling from Asia, like a beacon-flame320
Through darkness—oh! more cheering than the morn,
With all its lovely hues, on sea or shore,
As now it shines around us! ”

“ Thou art the Christian's hope! but most of me—
Of me, whom thou hast visited, and cheered
Through life's long pilgrimage; of me, of me,
In age and solitude; I, too, shall live
When all the clouds of time are rolled away,
For ever live in glory where thou art!360
Retiring to the cave, pausing, he turned
To his companion, but he was not there;
The moon shone, but there was no form or shape
Of living thing ”

“ The Cid, he raised his sword, and cried,
All this is for your good:
14 Ere fifteen days are gone and past,
If God assist the right,
Those tambours that now sound to scare,
Shall sound for your delight.
15 The Moors who pressed beneath the towers,
Now Allah! Allah! sung;
Each Christian knight his broadsword drew,
And loud the trumpets rung.
16 Then up, the noble Cid bespoke,
Let each brave warrior go,
And arm himself, in dusk of morn,
Ere chanticleer shall crow ”

“ Adversity; even in thy morn of life,
The springtide rainbow fades, and many days,260
And many years, perchance, of weal or woe
Hang o'er thee! happy, if through every change
Thy constant heart, thy steadfast view, be fixed
Upon that better kingdom, where the crown
Immortal is held out to holy hope,
Beyond the clouds that rest upon the grave.
Oh! I remember when King Harold stood
Blooming in youth like thee ”

“ She watched the sunshine on the thatch; again
Her mother turns the hour-glass; now, the pane
The westering sun has left—the long May-day
So Mary wore in hopes and fears away.
Slow twilight steals. By the small garden gate180
She stands: Oh! William never came so late!
Her mother's voice is heard: Good child, come in;
Dream not of bliss on earth—it is a sin:
Come, take the Bible down, my child, and read;
In sickness, and in sorrow, and in need,
By friends forsaken, and by fears oppressed,
There only can the weary heart find rest. ”