The Poetical Works of William Lisle Bowles Vol. 2

GLASTONBURY ABBEY AND WELLS CATHEDRAL

WRITTEN AFTER VIEWING THE RUINS OF THE ONE, AND HEARING THE CHURCH SERVICE IN THE OTHER

 
Glory and boast of Avalon's fair vale,
How beautiful thy ancient turrets rose!
Fancy yet sees them, in the sunshine pale,
Gleaming, or, more majestic, in repose,
When, west-away, the crimson landscape glows,
Casting their shadows on the waters wide.¹⁹⁸
How sweet the sounds, that, at still day-light's close,
Came blended with the airs of eventide,
When through the glimmering aisle faint "Misereres" died!
 
 
But all is silent now! silent the bell,
That, heard from yonder ivied turret high,
Warned the cowled brother from his midnight cell;
Silent the vesper-chant, the litany
Responsive to the organ! – scattered lie
The wrecks of the proud pile, 'mid arches gray,
Whilst hollow winds through mantling ivy sigh!
And even the mouldering shrine is rent away,
Where, in his warrior weeds, the British Arthur lay.
 
 
Now look upon the sister fane of Wells!
It lifts its forehead in the summer air;
Sweet, o'er the champagne, sound its Sabbath bells,
Its roof rolls back the chant, or voice of prayer.
Anxious we ask, Will Heaven that temple spare,
Or mortal tempest sweep it from its state!
Oh! say, – shall time revere the fabric fair,
Or shall it meet, in distant years, thy fate,
Shattered, proud pile, like thee, and left as desolate!
 
 
No! to subdue or elevate the soul,
Our best, our purest feelings to refine,
Still shall the solemn diapasons roll,
Through that high fane! still hues, reflected, shine
From the tall windows on the sculptured shrine,
Tinging the pavement! for He shall afford,
He who directs the storm, his aid divine,
Because its Sion has not left thy word,
Nor sought for other guide than thee, Almighty Lord!
 

SILCHESTER, THE ANCIENT CALEVA. ¹⁹⁹

 
The wild pear whispers, and the ivy crawls,
Along the circuit of thine ancient walls,
Lone city of the dead! and near this mound,²⁰⁰
The buried coins of mighty men are found,
Silent remains of Cæsars and of kings,
Soldiers of whose renown the world yet rings,
In its sad story! These have had their day
Of glory, and have passed, like sounds, away!
 
 
And such their fame! While we the spot behold,
And muse upon the tale that Time has told,
We ask where are they? – they whose clarion brayed,
Whose chariot glided, and whose war-horse neighed;
Whose cohorts hastened o'er the echoing way,
Whose eagles glittered to the orient ray!
 
 
Ask of this fragment, reared by Roman hands,
That, now, a lone and broken column stands!
Ask of that road – whose track alone remains —
That swept, of old, o'er mountains, downs, and plains;
And still along the silent champagne leads;
Where are its noise of cars and tramp of steeds?
Ask of the dead, and silence will reply;
Go, seek them in the grave of mortal vanity!
 
 
Is this a Roman veteran? – look again, —
It is a British soldier, who, in Spain,
At Albuera's glorious fight, has bled;
He, too, has spurred his charger o'er the dead!
Desolate, now – friendless and desolate —
Let him the tale of war and home relate.
His wife (and Gainsborough such a form and mien
Would paint, in harmony with such a scene),
With pensive aspect, yet demeanour bland,
A tottering infant guided by her hand,
Spoke of her own green Erin, while her child,
Amid the scene of ancient glory, smiled,
As spring's first flower smiles from a monument
Of other years, by time and ruin rent!
 
 
Lone city of the dead! thy pride is past,
Thy temples sunk, as at the whirlwind's blast!
Silent – all silent, where the mingled cries
Of gathered myriads rent the purple skies!
Here – where the summer breezes waved the wood —
The stern and silent gladiator stood,
And listened to the shouts that hailed his gushing blood.
And on this wooded mount, that oft, of yore,
Hath echoed to the Lybian lion's roar,
The ear scarce catches, from the shady glen,
The small pipe of the solitary wren.
 

RESTORATION OF MALMESBURY ABBEY. ²⁰¹

 
Monastic and time-consecrated fane!
Thou hast put on thy shapely state again,
Almost august as in thy early day,
Ere ruthless Henry rent thy pomp away.
No more the mass on holidays is sung,
The Host high raised, or fuming censer swung;
No more, in amice white, the fathers, slow,
With lighted tapers, in long order go;
Yet the tall window lifts its arched height,
As to admit heaven's pale, but purer light;
Those massy clustered columns, whose long rows,
Even at noonday, in shadowy pomp repose,
Amid the silent sanctity of death,
Like giants seem to guard the dust beneath.
Those roofs re-echo (though no altars blaze)
The prayer of penitence, the hymn of praise;
Whilst meek Religion's self, as with a smile,
Reprints the tracery of the holy pile,
Worthy its guest, the temple. What remains?
O mightiest Master! thy immortal strains
These roofs demand; listen! with prelude slow,
Solemnly sweet, yet full, the organs blow.
And, hark! again, heard ye the choral chant
Peal through the echoing arches, jubilant?
More softly now, imploring litanies,
Wafted to heaven, and mingling with the sighs
Of penitence from yon altar rise;
Again the vaulted roof "Hosannahs" rings —
"Hosannah! Lord of lords, and King of kings!"
Rent, but not prostrate; stricken, yet sublime;
Reckless alike of injuries or time;
Thou, unsubdued, in silent majesty,
The tempest hast defied and shalt defy!
The temple of our Sion so shall mock
The muttering storm, the very earthquake's shock,
Founded, O Christ, on thy eternal rock!
 

ON THE FUNERAL OF CHARLES THE FIRST, AT NIGHT, IN ST GEORGE'S CHAPEL, WINDSOR

 
1 The castle clock had tolled midnight:
With mattock and with spade,
And silent, by the torches' light,
His corse in earth we laid.
2 The coffin bore his name, that those
Of other years might know,
When earth its secrets should disclose,
Whose bones were laid below.
3 "Peace to the dead" no children sung,
Slow pacing up the nave, —
No prayers were read, no knell was rung,
As deep we dug his grave.
4 We only heard the winter's wind,
In many a sullen gust,
As, o'er the open grave inclined,
We murmured, "Dust to dust!"
5 A moonbeam from the arch's height
Streamed, as we placed the stone;
The long aisles started into light,
And all the windows shone.
6 We thought we saw the banners then,
That shook along the walls,
Whilst the sad shades of mailèd men
Were gazing on the stalls.
7 'Tis gone! again on tombs defaced
Sits darkness more profound;
And only by the torch we traced
The shadows on the ground.
8 And now the chilling, freezing air
Without blew long and loud;
Upon our knees we breathed one prayer,²⁰²
Where he slept in his shroud.
9 We laid the broken marble floor, —
No name, no trace appears, —
And when we closed the sounding door,
We thought of him with tears.
 

ON SEEING PLANTS IN THE WINDOWS OF SETH WARD'S COLLEGE,

ENDOWED FOR WIDOWS OF CLERGYMEN, AT SALISBURY

 
There is but one stage more in life's long way,
O widowed women! Sadly upon your path
Hath evening, bringing change of scenes and friends,
Descended, since the morn of hope shone fair;
And lonely age is yours, whose tears have fallen
Upon a husband's grave, – with whom, long since,
Amid the quietude of village scenes,
We walked, and saw your little children grow
Like lovely plants beside you, or adorned
Your lowly garden-plot with summer flowers;
And heard the bells, upon the Sabbath morn,
Chime to the village church, when he you loved
Walked by your side to prayer. These images
Of days long passed, of love and village life,
You never can forget; and many a plant
Green growing at the windows of your home,
And one pale primrose, in small earthen vase,
And bird-cage in the sunshine at the door,
Remember you, though in a city pent,
Of morning walks along the village lane,
Of the lark singing through the vernal hail,
Of swallows skimming o'er the garden pond, —
Remember you of children and of friends
Parted, and pleasant summers gone! 'Tis meet
To nurse such recollections, not with pain,
But in submission to the will of Heaven;
Thankful that here, as the calm eve of life,
In pious privacy, steals on, one hearth
Of charity is yours; and cold must be
That heart, which, of the changes of the world
Unmindful, could receive you but as guests,²⁰³
Who had seen happier days!
Yet one stage more,
And your long rest will be with him you loved.
Oh! pray to God that each may rest in hope!
 

MORLEY'S FAREWELL TO THE COTTAGE OF ISAAK WALTON

TO KENNA

 
England, a long farewell! a long farewell,
My country, to thy woods, and streams, and hills!
Where I have heard in youth the Sabbath bell,
For many a year now mute: affection fills
Mine eyes with tears; yet resolute to wait,
Whatever ills betide, whatever fate;
Far from my native land, from sights of woe,
From scaffolds drenched in generous blood, I go.²⁰⁴
 
 
Sad, in a land of strangers, when I bend
With grief of heart, without a home or friend,
And chiefly when with weary thoughts oppressed,
I see the sun sink slowly in the west;
Then, doubly feeling my forsaken lot,
I shall remember, far away, this cot
Of humble piety, and prayer, and peace,
And thee, dear friend, till my heart's beatings cease.
Warm from that heart I breathe one parting prayer:
My good old friend, may God Almighty spare —
Spare, for the sake of that poor child,²⁰⁵ thy life, —
Long spare it for thy meek and duteous wife.
Perhaps o'er them, when the hard storm blows loud,
We both may be at rest and in our shroud;
Or we may live to talk of these sad times,
When virtue was reviled, and direst crimes
Faith's awful name usurped. We may again
Hear heavenly truths in the time-hallowed fane,
And the full chant. Oh! if that day arrive,
And we, old friend, though bowed with age, survive,
How happy, whilst our days on earth shall last,
To pray and think of seasons that are past,
Till on our various way the night shall close,
And in one hallowed pile, at last, our bones repose.²⁰⁶
 

THE GRAVE OF BISHOP KEN

 
1 On yonder heap of earth forlorn,
Where Ken his place of burial chose,
Peacefully shine, O Sabbath morn!
And, eve, with gentlest hush, repose.
 
 
2 To him is reared no marble tomb,
Within the dim cathedral fane;
But some faint flowers, of summer bloom,
And silent falls the wintry rain.
 
 
3 No village monumental stone
Records a verse, a date, a name —
What boots it? when thy task is done,
Christian, how vain the sound of fame!
 
 
4 Oh! far more grateful to thy God,
The voices of poor children rise,
Who hasten o'er the dewy sod,
"To pay their morning sacrifice."²⁰⁷
 
 
5 And can we listen to their hymn,
Heard, haply, when the evening knell
Sounds, where the village brow is dim,
As if to bid the world farewell!
 
 
6 Without a thought that from the dust
The morn shall wake the sleeping clay,
And bid the faithful and the just
Upspring to heaven's eternal day!
 

THE LEGEND OF ST CECILIA AND THE ANGEL

 
'Twas when, O meekest eve! thy shadows dim
Were slowly stealing round,
With more impassioned sound
Divine Cecilia sang her vesper hymn,
And swelled the solemn chord
In hallelujahs to thy name, O Lord!
And now I see her raise
Rapt adoration's gaze,
With lips just opening, and with humid eyes
Uplifted; whilst the strain
Now sinks, now swells again;
Now rising, seems to blend with heaven's own harmonies.
But who is that, divinely fair,
With more than mortal beauty in his mien;
With eyes of heavenly hue and glistening hair,
His white and ample wings half seen!
O radiant and immortal guest!
Why hast thou left thy seraph throng,
On earth the triumph to attest
Of Beauty, Piety, and Song!
 

SUPPOSED ADDRESS TO BISHOP KEN. ²⁰⁸

 
1 Though his words might well deceive me,
Though to earth abased I bend,
Christian guide, thou wilt not leave me,
Thus on earth without a friend!
 
 
2 I thought his vows were oaths in heaven,
Nor dare I here my fault deny;
For all my soul to him was given,
God knows how true, how tenderly!
 
 
3 Though wronged and desolate and dying,
His pride, his coldness, I forgot,
And fell upon his bosom, crying,
Forsake me not – forsake me not!
 
 
4 I left my father, and my mother,
Whom I no more on earth may see,
But I have found a father, brother,
And more than every friend, in thee!
 
 
5 Although his words might well deceive me,
Though wronged, and desolate I lie,
Christian guide, thou wilt not leave me,
Oh, teach me to repent and die!
 

ON AN ECLIPSE OF THE MOON AT MIDNIGHT

 
Up, up, into the vast extended space,
Thou art ascending in thy majesty,
Beautiful moon, the queen of the pale sky!
But what is that which gathers on thy face,
A dark mysterious shade, eclipsing, slow,
The splendour of thy calm and steadfast light?
It is the shadow of this world of woe,
Of this vast moving world; portentous sight!
As if we almost stood and saw more near
Its very action – almost heard it roll
On, in the swiftness of its dread career,
As it hath rolled for ages! Hush, my soul!
Listen! there is no sound; but we could hear
The murmur of its multitudes, who toil
Through their brief hour. The heart might well recoil;
But this is ever sounding in His ear
Who made it, and who said, "Let there be light!"
And we, the creatures of a mortal hour,
'Mid hosts of worlds, are ever in his sight,
Catching, as now, dim glimpses of his power.
The time shall come when all this mighty scene
Darkness shall wrap, as it had never been.
O Father of all worlds! be thou our guide,
And lead us gently on, from youth to age,
Through the dark valley of our pilgrimage;
Enough if thus, bending to thy high will,
We hold our Christian course through good or ill,
And to the end with faith and hope abide.
 

TO LADY VALLETORT,
ON HEARING HER SING "GLORIA IN EXCELSIS," WITH THREE OTHER YOUNG LADIES, AT LACOCK ABBEY, OCTOBER 1831

 
Fair inmate of these ivied walls, beneath
Whose silent cloisters Ella sleeps in death,
Let loftier bards, in rich and glowing lays,
Thy gentleness, thy grace, thy virtue praise!
Be mine to breathe one prayer; when all rejoice,
One parting prayer, still mindful of that voice,
And musing on the sacred song which stole,
Sweet as the spell of peace, upon the soul;
In those same scenes, where once the chapel dim
Echoed the cloistered sisters' vesper hymn: —
Live long! live happy! tranquil through the strife
And the loud stir of this tumultuous life!
Live long, live happy! and when many a day
Hath passed in the heart's harmony away;
When Eve's pale hand the gates of life shall close,
And hush the landscape to its last repose;
May sister seraphs meet with welcome song,
And gently say, Why have you stayed so long?
 

ON SEEING A BUST OF R. B. SHERIDAN, FROM A CAST TAKEN AFTER DEATH. ²⁰⁹

 
Alas, poor Sheridan! when first we met,
'Twas 'mid a smiling circle, and thine eye,
That flashed with eloquent hilarity
And playful fancy, I remember yet
Freshly as yesterday. The gay and fair,
The young and beautiful, – now in their graves —
Surrounded us; while on the lucid wave
Of Hampton's waters, to the morning air
The streamer softly played of our light boat,
Which seemed as on a magic sea to float.
 
 
I saw thee after in this crowd of life,
Conflicting, but yet blandly, with its strife.
As the still car of Time rolled on, thy cheek
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! recalls
The pomp of chivalry in bannered halls,
The blaze of beauty, and the gorgeous sights
Of heralds, trophies, steeds, and crested knights;
Not that young Surrey there beguiled the hour
With "eyes upturned unto the maiden's tower;"
Oh! not for these the muse officious brings
Her gratulations to the best of kings;
But that from cities and from crowds withdrawn,
Calm peace may meet him on the twilight lawn;
That here among these gray primeval trees,
He may inhale health's animating breeze;
That these old oaks, which far their shadows cast,
May soothe him while they whisper of the past;
And when from that proud terrace he surveys
Slow Thames devolving his majestic maze
(Now lost on the horizon's verge, now seen
Winding through lawns and woods, and pastures green),
May he reflect upon the waves that roll,
Bearing a nation's wealth from pole to pole;
And own (ambition's proudest boast above)
A king's best glory is his country's love.
 

ON MEETING SOME FRIENDS OF YOUTH AT CHELTENHAM, FOR THE FIRST TIME SINCE WE PARTED AT OXFORD

"And wept to see the paths of life divide." —Shenstone

 
Here the companions of our careless prime,
Whom fortune's various ways have severed long,
Since that fair dawn when Hope her vernal song
Sang blithe, with features marked by stealing time
At these restoring springs are met again!
We, young adventurers on life's opening road,
Set out together; to their last abode
Some have sunk silent, some a while remain,
Some are dispersed; of many, growing old
In life's obscurer bourne, no tale is told.
Here, ere the shades of the long night descend,
And all our wanderings in oblivion end,
The parted meet once more, and pensive trace
(Marked by that hand unseen, whose iron pen
Writes "mortal change" upon the fronts of men)
The creeping furrows in each other's face.
Where shall we meet again? Reflection sighs;
Where? In the dust! Time rushing on replies:
Then hail the hope that lights the pilgrim's way,
Where there is neither change, nor darkness, nor decay!
 

THE LAY OF TALBOT, THE TROUBADOUR. ²¹⁰

A LEGEND OF LACOCK ABBEY

PART FIRST

 
1 At Rouen Richard kept his state,
Released from captive thrall;
And girt with many a warrior guest
He feasted in the hall!
 
 
2 The rich metheglin mantled high,
The wine was berry red,
When tidings came that Salisbury,
His early friend, was dead;
 
 
3 And that his sole surviving child,
The heiress of his wealth,
By crafty kinsmen and allies
Was borne away by stealth;
 
 
4 Was borne away from Normandy,
Where, secretly confined,
She heard no voice of those she loved,
But sighed to the north wind.
 
 
5 Haply from some lone castle's tower
Or solitary strand,
Even now she gazes o'er the deep,
That laves her father's land!
 
 
6 King Richard cries, My minstrel knights,
Who will the task achieve,
To seek through France and Normandy
The orphan left to grieve?
 
 
7 Young William Talbot then did speak,
Betide me weal or woe,
From Michael's castle²¹¹ through the land
A pilgrim I will go.
 
 
8 He clad him in his pilgrim weeds,
With trusty staff in hand,
And scallop shell, and took his way,
A wanderer through the land.
 
 
9 For two long years he journeyed on,
A pilgrim, day by day,
Through many a forest dark and drear,
By many a castle gray.
 
 
10 At length, when one clear morn of frost
Was shining on the main,
Forth issuing from a castle gate
He saw a female train!
 
 
11 With lightsome step and waving hair,
Before them ran a child,
And gathering from the sands a shell,
Ran back to them, and smiled.
 
 
12 Himself unseen among the rocks,
He saw her point her hand;
And cry, I would go home, go home,
To my poor father's land.
 
 
13 The bell tolled from the turret gray,
Cold freezing fell the dew,
To the portcullis hastening back
The female train withdrew.
 
 
14 Those turrets and the battlements,
Time and the storm had beat,
And sullenly the ocean tide
Came rolling at his feet.
 
 
15 Young Talbot cast away his staff,
The harp is in his hand,
A minstrel at the castle gate,
A porter saw him stand.
 
 
16 And who art thou, the porter cried,
Young troubadour, now say,
For welcome in the castle hall
Will be to-night thy lay;
 
 
17 For this the birthday is of one,
Whose father now is cold;
An English maiden, rich in fee,
And this year twelve years old.
 
 
18 I love, myself, now growing old,
To hear the wild harp's sound:
But whence, young harper, dost thou come,
And whither art thou bound?
 
 
19 Though I am young, the harper said,
From Syria's sands I come,
A minstrel warrior of the Cross,
Now poor and wandering home.
 
 
20 And I can tell of mighty deeds,
By bold King Richard done,
King Richard of "the Lion's heart,"
Foes quail to look upon.
 
 
21 Then lead me to the castle hall,
And let the fire be bright,
For never hall nor bower hath heard
A lay like mine to-night.
 
 
22 The windows gleam within the hall,
The fire is blazing bright,
And the young harper's hair and harp
Are shining in the light.
 
 
23 Fair dames and warriors clad in steel
Now gather round to hear,
And oft that little maiden's eyes
Are glistening with a tear.
 
 
24 For, when the minstrel sang of wars,
At times, with softer sound,
He touched the chords, as mourning those
Now laid in the cold ground.
 
 
25 He sang how brave King Richard pined
In a dark tower immured,
And of the long and weary nights,
A captive, he endured.
 
 
26 The faithful Blondel to his harp
One song began to sing;
It ceased; the king takes up the strain;
It is his lord and king!
 
 
27 Of Sarum then, and Sarum's plain,
That poor child heard him speak,
When the first tear-drop in her eye
Fell silent on her cheek.
 
 
28 For, as the minstrel told his tale,
The breathless orphan maid
Thought of the land where, in the grave,
Her father's bones were laid.
 
 
29 Hush, hush! the winds are piping loud,
The midnight hour is sped,
The hours of morn are stealing fast,
Harper, to bed! to bed!
 

PART SECOND

 
1 The two long years had passed away,
When castle Galliard rose,
As built at once by elfin hands,
And scorning time or foes.²¹²
 
 
2 It might be thought that Merlin's imps
Were tasked to raise the wall,
That unheard axes fell the woods,
While unseen hammers fall.
 
 
3 As hung by magic on a rock,
The castle-keep looked down
O'er rocks and rivers, and the smoke
Of many a far off town.
 
 
4 And now, young knights and minstrels gay
Obeyed their masters' call,
And loud rejoicing held the feast
In the new raftered hall.
 
 
5 His minstrels and his mailed peers
Were seated at the board,
And at his side the highest sat
William of the Long Sword.
 
 
6 This youthful knight, of princely birth,
Was dazzling to behold,
For his chain-mail from head to foot
All glistened o'er with gold.
 
 
7 His surcoat dyed with azure blue
In graceful foldings hung,
And there the golden lions ramped,
With bloody claws and tongue.
 
 
8 With crimson belt around his waist
His sword was girded on;
The hilt, a cross to kiss in death,
Radiant with jewels shone.
 
 
9 The names and banners of each knight
It were too long to tell;
Here sat the brave Montgomery,
There Bertrand and Rozell.
 
 
10 Of Richard's unresisted sword
A noble minstrel sung,
Whilst to an hundred answering harps
The blazing gallery rung.
 
 
11 So all within was merriment —
When, suddenly, a shout,
As of some unexpected guest,
Burst from the crowd without.
 
 
12 Now not a sound, and scarce a breath,
Through the long hall is heard,
When, with a young maid by his side,
A vizored knight appeared.
 
 
13 Up the long hall they held their way,
On to the royal seat;
Then both together, hand in hand,
Knelt at King Richard's feet.
 
 
14 Talbot, a Talbot! rang the hall
With gratulation wild,
Long live brave Talbot,²¹³ and long live
Earl William's new found child!
 
 
15 Amid a scene so new and strange,
This poor maid could not speak;
King Richard took her by the hand,
And gently kissed her cheek;
 
 
16 Then placed her, smiling through a tear,
By his brave brother's side:
Long live brave Longspe! rang the hall,
Long live his future bride!
 
 
17 To noble Richard, this fair child,
His ward, was thus restored;
Destined to be the future bride
Of Him of the Long Sword.