William Lisle Bowles Poems

On these white cliffs, that calm above the flood
Uprear their shadowing heads, and at their feet
Hear not the surge that has for ages beat,
...

I shall behold far off thy towering crest,
Proud mountain! from thy heights as slow I stray
Down through the distant vale my homeward way,
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If ever sea-maid, from her coral cave,
Beneath the hum of the great surge, has loved
To pass delighted from her green abode,
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The morning wakes in shadowy mantle gray,
The darksome woods their glimmering skirts unfold,
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Bereave me not of Fancy's shadowy dreams,
Which won my heart, or when the gay career
Of life begun, or when at times a tear
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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
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Oh, hadst thou fall'n, brave youth! on that proud day,
When our victorious fleet o'er the red surge
Rolled in terrific glory, thou hadst fall'n
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When anxious Spain, along her rocky shore,
From cliff to cliff returned the sea-fight's roar;
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When last we parted, thou wert young and fair--
How beautiful let fond remembrance say!
Alas! since then old Time has stol'n away
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Oh, no; I would not leave thee, my sweet home,
Decked with the mantling woodbine and the rose,
And slender woods that the still scene inclose,
...