Water-Party On Beaulieu River, In The New Forest

    I thought 'twas a toy of the fancy, a dream
    That leads with illusion the senses astray,
    And I sighed with delight as we stole down the stream,
    While the sun, as he smiled on our sail, seemed to say,
    Rejoice in my light, ere it fade fast away!

    We left the loud rocking of ocean behind,
    And stealing along the clear current serene,
    The Phædria^[1] spread her white sails to the wind,
    And they who divided had many a day been,
    Gazed with added delight on the charms of the scene.

    Each bosom one spirit of peace seemed to feel;
    We heard not the tossing, the stir, and the roar
    Of the ocean without; we heard only the keel,
    The keel that went whispering along the green shore,
    And the stroke, as it dipped, of the feathering oar.

    Beneath the dark woods now, as winding we go,
    What sounds of rich harmony burst on the ear!
    Hark, cheer'ly the loud-swelling clarionets blow;
    Now the tones gently die, now more mellow we hear
    The horns through the high forest echoing clear!

    They cease; and no longer the echoes prolong
    The swell of the concert; in silence we float,
    In silence! Oh, listen! 'tis woman's^[2] sweet song,
    The bends of the river reply to each note,
    And the oar is held dripping and still from the boat.

    Mark the sun that descends o'er the curve of the flood!
    Seize, Wilmot,^[3] the pencil, and instant convey
    To the tablet the water, the banks, and the wood,
    That their colours may live without change or decay,
    When these beautiful tints die in darkness away.

    So when we are parted, and tossed on the deep,
    And no longer the light on our prospect shall gleam,
    The semblance of one lovely scene we may keep,
    And remember the day, and the hour, like a dream,
    When we sighed with delight as we stole down the stream!

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

Poor Man's Grave. (From The Villager's Verse-Book.)

William Lisle Bowles, Simple Poetry

At Oxford, 1786

William Lisle Bowles, Simple Poetry

Summer Evening At Home

William Lisle Bowles, Simple Poetry

On Leaving A Village In Scotland

William Lisle Bowles, Simple Poetry

English

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Southampton Water

Smooth went our boat upon the summer seas,
Leaving, for so it seemed, the world behind,
Its sounds of mingled uproar: we, reclined
Upon the sunny deck, heard but the breeze
That o'er us whispering passed, or idly played
With the lithe flag aloft. A woodland scene
On either side drew its slope line of green,
And hung the water's shining edge with shade.
Above the woods, Netley! thy ruins pale
Peered as we passed; and Vecta's^[1] azure hue
Beyond the misty castle^[2] met our view;
Where in mid channel hung the scarce seen sail.
So all was calm and sunshine as we went
Cheerily o'er the briny element.
Oh! were this little boat to us the world,
As thus we wandered far from sounds of care,
Circled by friends and gentle maidens fair,
Whilst m...

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

Voyage Of The Jettie

A shallow stream, from fountains
Deep in the Sandwich mountains,
Ran lake ward Bearcamp River;
And, between its flood-torn shores,
Sped by sail or urged by oars
No keel had vexed it ever.

Alone the dead trees yielding
To the dull axe Time is wielding,
The shy mink and the otter,
And golden leaves and red,
By countless autumns shed,
Had floated down its water.

From the gray rocks of Cape Ann,
Came a skilled seafaring man,
With his dory, to the right place;
Over hill and plain he brought her,
Where the boatless Beareamp water
Comes winding down from White-Face.

Quoth the skipper: Ere she floats forth;
Im sure my pretty boats worth,
At least, a name as pretty.
On her painted side he wrote it,
And the flag that o...

John Greenleaf Whittier

Fairy Sketch - Scene - Netley Abbey

There was a morrice on the moonlight plain,
And music echoed in the woody glade,
For fay-like forms, as of Titania's train,
Upon a summer eve, beneath the shade
Of Netley's ivied ruins, to the sound
Of sprightly minstrelsy did beat the ground:
Come, take hands! and lightly move,
While our boat, in yonder cove,
Rests upon the darkening sea;
Come, take hands, and follow me!

Netley! thy dim and desolated fane
Hath heard, perhaps, the spirits of the night
Shrieking, at times, amid the wind and rain;
Or haply, when the full-orbed moon shone bright,
Thy glimmering aisles have echoed to the song
Of fairy Mab, who led her shadowy masque along.
Now, as to the sprightly sound
Of moonlight minstrelsy we beat the ground;
From the pale nooks, in accent clea...

William Lisle Bowles

To The Marchioness Dowager Of Donegall.

FROM BERMUDA, JANUARY, 1804.


Lady! where'er you roam, whatever land
Woos the bright touches of that artist hand;
Whether you sketch the valley's golden meads,
Where mazy Linth his lingering current leads;^[1]
Enamored catch the mellow hues that sleep,
At eve, on Meillerie's immortal steep;
Or musing o'er the Lake, at day's decline,
Mark the last shadow on that holy shrine,^[2]
Where, many a night, the shade of Tell complains
Of Gallia's triumph and Helvetia's chains;
Oh! lay the pencil for a moment by,
Turn from the canvas that creative eye,
And let its splendor, like the morning ray
Upon a shepherd's harp, illume my lay.

Yet, Lady, no--for song so rude as mine,
Chase not the wonders of your art divine;
Still, radiant...

Thomas Moore

The Spirit Of Navigation.[1]

    Stern Father of the storm! who dost abide
    Amid the solitude of the vast deep,
    For ever listening to the sullen tide,
    And whirlwinds that the billowy desert sweep!
    Thou at the distant death-shriek dost rejoice;
    The rule of the tempestuous main is thine,
    Outstretched and lone; thou utterest thy voice,
    Like solemn thunders: These wild waves are mine;
    Mine their dread empire; nor shall man profane
    The eternal secrets of my ancient reign.

    The voice is vain: secure, and as in scorn,
    The gallant vessel scuds before the wind;
    Her parting sails swell stately to the morn;
    She leaves the green earth and its hills behind;
    Gallant before the wind she goes, her prow
    High bearing, and disparting the blue tide

William Lisle Bowles