The Poetical Works of William Lisle Bowles Volume Ii Part 36

Up, up, into the vast extended s.p.a.ce, 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 mult.i.tudes, 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 LAc.o.c.k 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 pa.s.sed 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, ill.u.s.trious 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 rus.h.i.+ng 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 LAc.o.c.k 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 castle[211] through the land A pilgrim I will go.

8 He clad him in his pilgrim weeds, With trusty staff in hand, And scallop sh.e.l.l, 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 s.h.i.+ning 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 sh.e.l.l, 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.