The Blind Grandfather. (From The Villager's Verse-Book.)

Though grandfather has long been blind,
And his few locks are gray,
He loves to hear the summer wind
Round his pale temples play.

We'll lead him to some quiet place,
Some unfrequented nook,
Where winds breathe soft, and wild-flowers grace
The borders of the brook.

There he shall sit, as in a dream,
Though nought can he behold,
Till the brook's murmuring flow shall seem
The voice of friends of old.

Think no more of them, aged man,
For here thou hast no friend;
Think, since this life is but a span,
Of joys that have no end.

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

Translation{D} Of A Latin Poem - By The Rev. Newton Ogle, Dean Of Manchester.

William Lisle Bowles, Simple Poetry

Hope

William Lisle Bowles, Simple Poetry

Sunrise. (From The Villager's Verse-Book.)

William Lisle Bowles, Simple Poetry

To Sir Walter Scott. -

William Lisle Bowles, Simple Poetry

English

Suggested Poems

Explore a curated selection of verses that share themes, styles, and emotional resonance with the poem you've just read.

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

My Father's Grave. (From The Villager's Verse-Book.)

    My father's grave, I heard her say,
And marked a stealing tear;
Oh, no! I would not go away,
My father's grave is here!

    A thousand thronging sympathies
The lonely spot endear,
And every eve remembrance sighs,
My father's grave is here!

    Some sudden tears unbidden start,
As spring's gay birds I hear,
For all things whisper to my heart,
My father's grave is here!

    Young hope may blend each colour gay,
And fairer views appear;
But, no! I will not go away,
My father's grave is here!

William Lisle Bowles

On William Sommers Of Bremhill.

When will the grave shelter thy few gray hairs,
O aged man! Thy sand is almost run,
And many a year, in vain, to meet the sun,
Thine eyes have rolled in darkness; want and cares
Have been thy visitants from morn to morn.
While trembling on existence thou dost live,
Accept what human charity can give;
But standing thus, time-palsied, and forlorn,
Like a scathed oak, of all its boughs bereft,
God and the grave are thy best refuge left.
When the bells rung, and summer's smiling ray
Welcomed again the merry Whitsuntide,
And all my humble villagers were gay;
I saw thee sitting on the highway side,
To feel once more the warm sun's blessed beam:
Didst thou then think upon thy own gay prime,
On such a holiday, and the glad time
When thou wert young and happy, lik...

William Lisle Bowles

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

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,
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.
As through the aisles the choral anthems roll,
His soul is in the choirs above the skies,
And songs far off of angel companies,
When this dim earth hath perished like a scroll.
Oh! happy if the rich, the vain, the proud -
The plumed actors in l...

William Lisle Bowles

The Blind Soldier And His Daughter. (From The Villager's Verse-Book.)

Old soldier! old soldier! the beams of the day,
That shone on thy sabre, have long passed away,
And thy sun is gone down, and thy few hairs are gray,
    Old soldier!

The drum and the hurrahs, where victory led,
No longer are heard on the battle-field red;
Thy comrades in glory are scattered or dead,
    Old soldier!

Perhaps thou wert foremost of some gallant band,
By Acre's white walls, or in that ancient land
Where the sphynx and gray pyramid shaded the sand,
    Old soldier!

Left lonely and poor, but to fortune resigned,
Forgetting the trumpet that clanged in the wind,
Thou turnest thy organ unnoticed and blind,
    Old soldier!

That faded red jacket still speaks of some pride,
And a dutiful daughter is seen at thy side,
To...

William Lisle Bowles

Picture Of An Old Man

Old man, I saw thee in thy garden chair
Sitting in silence 'mid the shrubs and trees
Of thy small cottage-croft, whilst murmuring bees
Went by, and almost touched thy temples bare,
Edged with a few flakes of the whitest hair.
And, soothed by the faint hum of ebbing seas,
And song of birds, and breath of the young breeze,
Thus didst thou sit, feeling the summer air
Blow gently; with a sad still decadence,
Sinking to earth in hope, but all alone.
Oh! hast thou wept to feel the lonely sense
Of earthly loss, musing on voices gone!
Hush the vain murmur, that, without offence,
Thy head may rest in peace beneath the churchyard stone.

William Lisle Bowles