Greenwich Hospital

Come to these peaceful seats, and think no more
Of cold, of midnight watchings, or the roar
Of Ocean, tossing on his restless bed!
Come to these peaceful seats, ye who have bled
For honour, who have traversed the great flood,
Or on the battle's front with stern eye stood,
When rolled its thunder, and the billows red
Oft closed, with sudden flashings, o'er the dead!
Oh, heavy are the sorrows that beset
Old age! and hard it is, hard to forget
The sunshine of our youth, our manhood's pride!
But here, O aged men! ye may abide
Secure, and see the last light on the wave
Of Time, which wafts you silent to your grave;
Like the calm evening ray, that smiles serene
Upon the tranquil Thames, and cheers the sinking scene.

William Lisle Bowles

William Lisle Bowles was an English cleric, poet, and critic who was born on 24th September 1762 and died on 7th April 1850. He is best known for his sonnets, which were highly praised by the Romantic poets. Bowles's work significantly influenced Samuel Taylor Coleridge and William Wordsworth. Besides his poetry, he wrote extensively on literary criticism and editing. Bowles spent much of his clerical career in Wiltshire and Gloucestershire.

William Lisle Bowles

Hymn For Music, After The Battle Of Waterloo.

William Lisle Bowles, Simple Poetry

The Blind Man Of Salisbury Cathedral. (From The Villager's Verse-Book.)

William Lisle Bowles, Simple Poetry

The Spirit Of Discovery By Sea: A Descriptive And Historical Poem. - Introduction.[1]

William Lisle Bowles, Simple Poetry

On Miss Fitzgerald And Lord Kerry Planting Two Cedars In The Churchyard Of Bremhill.

William Lisle Bowles, Simple Poetry

English

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The Greenwich Pensioners.

When evening listened to the dipping oar,
Forgetting the loud city's ceaseless roar,
By the green banks, where Thames, with conscious pride,
Reflects that stately structure on his side,

Within whose walls, as their long labours close,
The wanderers of the ocean find repose,
We wore, in social ease, the hours away,
The passing visit of a summer's day.

Whilst some to range the breezy hill are gone,
I lingered on the river's marge alone,
Mingled with groups of ancient sailors gray,
And watched the last bright sunshine steal away.

As thus I mused amidst the various train
Of toil-worn wanderers of the perilous main,
Two sailors, - well I marked them, as the beam
Of parting day yet lingered on the stream,
And the sun sank behind the shady reach, -<...

William Lisle Bowles

Southampton Castle.[1] - 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 lustrous 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!
    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 illustrious 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 throu...

William Lisle Bowles

At Oxford, 1786

Bereave me not of Fancy's shadowy dreams,
Which won my heart, or when the gay career
Of life begun, or when at times a tear
Sat sad on memory's cheek--though loftier themes
Await the awakened mind to the high prize
Of wisdom, hardly earned with toil and pain,
Aspiring patient; yet on life's wide plain
Left fatherless, where many a wanderer sighs
Hourly, and oft our road is lone and long,
'Twere not a crime should we a while delay
Amid the sunny field; and happier they
Who, as they journey, woo the charm of song,
To cheer their way; till they forget to weep,
And the tired sense is hushed, and sinks to sleep.

William Lisle Bowles

Dover Cliffs

On these white cliffs, that calm above the flood
Uprear their shadowing heads, and at their feet
Hear not the surge that has for ages beat,
How many a lonely wanderer has stood!
And, whilst the lifted murmur met his ear,
And o'er the distant billows the still eve
Sailed slow, has thought of all his heart must leave
To-morrow; of the friends he loved most dear;
Of social scenes, from which he wept to part!
Oh! if, like me, he knew how fruitless all
The thoughts that would full fain the past recall,
Soon would he quell the risings of his heart,
And brave the wild winds and unhearing tide
The World his country, and his GOD his guide.

William Lisle Bowles

A Rustic Seat Near The Sea

To him, who, many a night upon the main,
At mid-watch, from the bounding vessel's side,
Shivering, has listened to the rocking tide,
Oh, how delightful smile thy views again,
Fair Land! the sheltered hut, and far-seen mill
That safe sails round and round; the tripping rill
That o'er the gray sand glitters; the clear sky,
Beneath whose blue vault shines the village tower,
That high elms, swaying in the wind, embower;
And hedge-rows, where the small birds' melody
Solace the lithe and loitering peasant lad!
O Stranger! is thy pausing fancy sad
At thought of many evils which do press
On wide humanity! Look up; address
The GOD who made the world; but let thy heart
Be thankful, though some heavy thoughts have part,
That, sheltered from the human storms' career,

William Lisle Bowles

Elegiac Stanzas - Written During Sickness At Bath.

    When I lie musing on my bed alone,
    And listen to the wintry waterfall;^[1]
    And many moments that are past and gone,
    Moments of sunshine and of joy, recall;

    Though the long night is dark and damp around,
    And no still star hangs out its friendly flame;
    And the winds sweep the sash with sullen sound,
    And freezing palsy creeps o'er all my frame;

    I catch consoling phantasies that spring
    From the thick gloom, and as the night airs beat,
    They touch my heart, like wind-swift wires^[2] that ring
    In mournful modulations, strange and sweet.

    Was it the voice of thee, my buried friend?
    Was it the whispered vow of faithful love?
    Do I in Knoyle's green shades thy steps attend,
    An...

William Lisle Bowles