William Lisle Bowles
Biography of William Lisle Bowles
Bowles was born at Northamptonshire and educated at Trinity College, Oxford, receiving his Batchelor of Arts in 1786 and Master of Arts in 1792. He was ordained deacon in 1788. He served as curate at Wiltshire (1788), rector at Chicklade (1795), Dumbleton (1797) and Bremhill, Wiltshire (1804). He became prebendary (1804) and canon residentiary (1828) at Salisbury Cathedral. Though he mostly led a city life as a clergyman and magistrate, his writings reveal a longing for rural retirement. Though his first work was well received by the early romantic poets, most of his work is no longer read. He is remembered for his long public argument with Byron, known as the "Pope-Bowles controversy", in which Byron, along with others like Thomas Campbell, ardently defended Pope's greatness and true rank among poets.
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William Lisle Bowles Poems
Thou, whose stern spirit loves the storm, That, borne on Terror's desolating wings, Shakes the high forest, or remorseless flings
O stay, harmonious and sweet sounds, that die In the long vaultings of this ancient fane! Stay, for I may not hear on earth again Those pious airs--that glorious harmony;
There is strange music in the stirring wind, When lowers the autumnal eve, and all alone To the dark wood's cold covert thou art gone,
Sonnet: Languid, And Sad, And Slow, From...
Languid, and sad, and slow, from day to day I journey on, yet pensive turn to view (Where the rich landscape gleams with softer hue) The streams and vales, and hills, that steal away.
As o'er these hills I take my silent rounds, Still on that vision which is flown I dwell, On images I loved, alas, too well!
On A Beautiful Landscape
Beautiful landscape! I could look on thee For hours,--unmindful of the storm and strife, And mingled murmurs of tumultuous life. Here, all is still as fair--the stream, the tree,
Art And Nature
Frown ever opposite, the angel cried, Who, with an earthquake's might and giant hand,
When I lie musing on my bed alone, And listen to the wintry waterfall;
Time And Grief
O TIME! who know'st a lenient hand to lay Softest on sorrow's wound, and slowly thence (Lulling to sad repose the weary sense) The faint pang stealest unperceived away;
Battle Of Corruna
The tide of fate rolls on!--heart-pierced and pale, The gallant soldier lies, nor aught avail,
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,
Dirge Of Nelson
Toll Nelson's knell! a soul more brave Ne'er triumphed on the green-sea wave! Sad o'er the hero's honoured grave, Toll Nelson's knell!
Whose was that gentle voice, that, whispering sweet, Promised methought long days of bliss sincere! Soothing it stole on my deluded ear, Most like soft music, that might sometimes cheat
Ix. O Poverty! Though From Thy Haggard E...
O POVERTY! though from thy haggard eye, Thy cheerless mein, of every charm bereft, Thy brow, that hope's last traces long have left,
To A Friend
Go, then, and join the murmuring city's throng!
Me thou dost leave to solitude and tears;
To busy phantasies, and boding fears,
Lest ill betide thee; but 't will not be long
Ere the hard season shall be past; till then
Live happy; sometimes the forsaken shade
Remembering, and these trees now left to fade;
Nor, mid the busy scenes and hum of men,
Wilt thou my cares forget: in heaviness