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The harbour-bay was clear as glass, So smoothly it was strewn ! And on the bay the moonlight lay, And the shadow of the moon. The rock shone bright, the kirk no less That stands above the rock : The moonlight steeped in silentness The steady weathercock. And the bay was white with silent light, Till rising from the same, Full many shapes, that shadows were, In crimson colours came. A little distance from the prow Those crimson shadows were : I turned my eyes upon the deckOh Christ! what saw I there! Each corse lay flat, lifeless and flat ; And, by the holy rood ! A man all light, a seraph-man, On every corse there stood. This seraph-band, each waved his hand: It was a heavenly sight! They stood as signals to the land, Each one a lovely light. This seraph-band, each waved his hand, No voice did they impartNo voice; but oh! the silence sank Like music on my heart. But soon I heard the dash of oars, I heard the pilot's cheer; My head was turned perforce away, And I saw a boat appear. The pilot and the pilot's boy, I heard them coming fast : Dear Lord in heaven! it was a joy The dead men could not blast. I saw a third-I heard his voice: It is the hermit good! He singeth loud his godly hymns That he makes in the wood. He'll shrieve my soul, he'll wash away The albatross's blood.

Dear Lord ! it hath a fiendish look(The pilot made reply) I am a-feared'-'push on, push on! Said the hermit cheerily. The boat came closer to the ship, But I nor spake nor stirred; The boat came close beneath the ship, And straight a sound was heard. Under the water it rumbled on, Still louder and more dread : It reached the ship, it split the bay; The ship went down like lead. Stunned by that loud and dreadful sound, Which sky and ocean smote, Like one that hath been seven days drowned My body lay afloat; But swift as dreams, myself I found Within the pilot's boat. Upon the whirl, where sank the ship, The boat spun round and round; And all was still, save that the hill Was telling of the sound. I moved my lips—the pilot shrieked, And fell down in a fit; The holy hermit raised his eyes, And prayed where he did sit. I took the oars; the pilot's boy, Who now doth crazy go, Laughed loud and long, and all the while His eyes went to and fro. “Ha! ha!' quoth he, 'full plain I see, The devil knows how to row.' And now, all in my own countree, I stood on the firm land! The hermit stepped forth from the boat, And scarcely he could stand.

O shrieve me, shrieve me, holy man!'
The hermit crossed his brow.
“Say quick,' quoth he, 'I bid thee say
What manner of man art thou ?'
Forthwith this frame of mine was wrenched
With a woful agony,
Which forced me to begin my tale;
And then it left me free.
Since then, at an uncertain hour
That agony returns;
And till my ghastly tale is told,
This heart within me burns.

pass, like night, from land to land;
I have strange power of speech;
That moment that his face I see,
I know the man that must hear me:
To him my tale I teach.
What loud uproar bursts from that door!
The wedding-guests are there :
But in the garden-bower the bride
And bridemaids singing are :
And hark! the little vesper bell
Which biddeth me to prayer.
O wedding-guest ! this soul hath been
Alone on a wide wide sea :
So lonely 'twas, that God himself
Scarce seemed there to be.
O sweeter than the marriage-feast,
'Tis sweeter far to me,
To walk together to the kirk
With a goodly company!

PART VII. This hermit good lives in that wood Which slopes down to the sea. How loudly his sweet voice he rears! He loves to talk with marineres That come from a far countree. He kneels at morn, and noon and eveHe hath a cushion plump : It is the moss that wholly hides The rotted old oak-stump. The skiff-boat neared : I heard them talk, "Why, this is strange, I trow! Where are those lights so many and fair That signal made but now ! 'Strange, by my faith!' the hermit said, ' And they answered not our cheer! The planks looked warped! and see those sails, How thin they are and sere! I never saw aught like to them, Unless perchance it were Brown skeletons of leaves that lag My forest-brook along; When the ivy-tod is heavy with snow, And the owlet whoops to the wolf below, That eats the she-wolf's young.'

IV.

1.

To walk together to the kirk,

Manes of the unnumbered slain! And all together pray,

Ye that gasped on Warsaw's plain! While each to his great Father bends,

Ye that erst at Ismail's towet, Old men, and babes, and loving friends,

When human ruin choked the streams, And youths and maidens gay!

Fell in conquest's glutted hour,

'Mid women's shrieks and infants' screams! Farewell, farewell ; but this I tell To thee, thou wedding-guest :

Spirits of the uncofined slain,

Sudden blasts of triumph swelling, He prayeth well who loveth well

Oft, at night, in misty train, Both man and bird and beast.

Rush around her narrow dwelling! He prayeth best who loveth best

The exterminating fiend is filed All things both great and small;

(Foul her life, and dark her doom) For the dear God who loveth us,

Mighty armies of the dead He made and loveth all.

Dance like death-fires round her tomb! The mariner, whose eye is bright,

Then with prophetic song relate
Whose beard with age is hoar,

Each some tyrant-murderer's fate !
Is gone: and now the wedding-guest
Turned from the bridegroom's door.

Departing year! 'twas on no earthly shore
He went like one that hath been stunned,

My soul beheld thy vision! Where alone, And is of sense forlorn :

Voiceless and stern, before the cloudy throne, A sadder and a wiser man

Aye Memory sits: thy robe inscribed with gore, He rose the morrow morn.

With many an unimaginable groan

Thou storied'st thy sad hours ! Silence ensued,
Ode to the Departing Year [1795.]

Deep silence o'er the ethereal multitude,
Whose locks with wreaths, whose wreaths with glories

shone. Spirit who sweepest the wild harp of time!

Then, his eye wild ardours glancing, It is most hard, with an untroubled ear

From the choirëd gods advancing, Thy dark inwoven harmonies to hear !

The Spirit of the earth made reverence meet, Yet, mine eye fixed on heaven's unchanging clime And stood up, beautiful, before the cloudy seat. Long when I listened, free from mortal fear,

With inward stillness, and submitted mind;
When lo! its folds far waving on the wind,

Throughout the blissful throng
I saw the train of the departing year!

Hushed were harp and song: Starting from my silent sadness,

Till wheeling round the throne the Lampads seven Then with no unholy madness,

(The mystic words of Heaven) Ere yet the entered cloud foreclosed my sight,

Permissive signal make: I raised the impetuous song, and solemnised his flight. The fervent Spirit bowed, then spread his wings and

spake: Hither, from the recent tomb;

'Thou in stormy blackness throning From the prison's direr gloom,

Love and uncreated Light, From Distemper's midnight anguish;

By the Earth's unsolaced groaning, And thence, where Poverty doth waste and languish;

Seize thy terrors, Arm of might!
Or where, his two bright torches blending,

By Peace with proffered insult scared,
Love illumines manhood's maze;

Maskëd Hate and envying Scorn!
Or where, o'er cradled infants bending,

By years of havoc yet unborn!
Hope has fixed her wishful gaze,

And Hunger's bosom to the frost-winds bared!

But chief by Afric's wrongs,
Hither, in perplexed dance,
Ye Woes ! ye young-eyed Joys! advance!

Strange, horrible, and foul!
By Time's wild harp, and by the hand

By what deep guilt belongs
Whose indefatigable sweep

To the deaf Synod, “full of gifts and lies!"
Raises its fateful strings from sleep,

By Wealth's insensate laugh! by Torture's howl! I bid you haste, a mixed tumultuous band!

Avenger, rise!
From every private bower,

For ever shall the thankless island scowl,
And each domestic hearth,

Her quiver full, and with unbroken bow !
Haste for one solemn hour;

Speak ! from thy storm-black heaven, O speak aloud ! And with a loud and yet a louder voice,

And on the darkling foe O'er Nature struggling in portentous birth

Open thine eye of fire from some uncertain cloud ! Weep and rejoice!

O dart the flash ! O rise and deal the blow! Still echoes the dread name that o'er the earth

The past to thee, to thee the future cries ! Let slip the storm, and woke the brood of hell :

Hark! how wide Nature joins her groans below! And now advance in saintly jubilee

Rise, God of Nature ! rise.' Justice and Truth! They, too, have heard thy spell,

VI. They, too, obey thy name, divinest Liberty!

The voice had ceased, the vision fled;

Yet still I gasped and reeled with dread.
I marked Ambition in his war-array!

And ever, when the dream of night
I heard the mailed monarch's troublous cry“ Renews the phantom to my sight,
• Ah! wherefore does the northern conqueress stay! Cold sweat-drops gather on my limbs ;
Groans not her chariot on its onward way?'

My ears throb hot; my eyeballs start;
Fly, mailëd monarch, fly!

My brain with horrid tumult swims;
Stunned by Death's twice mortal mace,

Wild is the tempest of my heart ;
No more on Murder's lurid face

And my thick and struggling breath
The insatiate hag shall gloat with drunken eye! Imitates the toil of death!

II.

III.

VII.

VIII.

No stranger agony confounds

Yet, like some sweet beguiling melody, The soldier on the war-field spread,

So sweet we know not we are listening to it, When all foredone with toil and wounds,

Thou, the meanwhile, wast blending with my thought, Death-like he dozes among heaps of dead ! Yea, with my life and life's own secret joy ; (The strife is o'er, the daylight fled,

Till the dilating soul, enrapt, transfused, And the night-wind clamours hoarse!

Into the mighty vision passing--there, See! the starting wretch's head

As in her natural form, swelled vast to heaven! Lies pillowed on a brother's corse !)

Awake, my soul! not only passive praise

Thou owest! not alone these swelling tears, Not yet enslaved, not wholly vile,

Mute thanks and secret ecstacy. Awake, O Albion! O my mother isle!

Voice of sweet song! awake, my heart, awake!
Thy valleys, fair as Eden's bowers,

Green vales and icy cliffs, all join my hymn.
Glitter green with sunny showers;
Thy grassy uplands' gentle swells

Thou first and chief, sole sovran of the vale !
Écho to the bleat of flocks

O struggling with the darkness all the night, (Those grassy hills, those glittering dells

And visited all night by troops of stars, Proudly ramparted with rocks) ;

Or when they climb the sky, or when they sink! And Ocean, 'mid his uproar wild,

Companion of the morning star at dawn, Speaks safety to his island-child!

Thyself earth's rosy star, and of the dawn Hence, for many a fearless age

Co-herald ! wake, ( wake, and utter praise ! Has social Quiet loved thy shore !

Who sank thy sunless pillars deep in earth? Nor ever proud invader's rage

Who filled thy countenance with rosy light ? Or sacked thy towers, or stained thy fields with gore.

Who made thee parent of perpetual streams?

And you, ye five wild torrents fiercely glad ! Abandoned of Heaven ! mad Avarice thy guide,

Who called you forth from night and utter death,

From dark and icy caverns called you forth, At cowardly distance, yet kindling with pride'Mid thy herds and thy corn-fields secure thou hast For ever shattered, and the same for ever ?

Down those precipitous, black, jagged rocks, stood, And joined the wild yelling of Famine and Blood !

Who gave you your invulnerable life, The nations curse thee! They with eager wondering Unceasing thunder and eternal foam ?

Your strength, your speed, your fury, and your joy, Shall hear Destruction, like a vulture, scream! Strange-eyed Destruction ! who with many a dream Here let the billows stiffen, and have rest!

And who commanded (and the silence came), Of central fires through nether seas upthundering

Soothes her fierce solitude ; yet as she lies By livid fount or red volcanic stream,

Ye ice-falls ! ye that from the mountain's brow If ever to her lidless dragon-eyes,

Adown enormous ravines slope amain0 Albion! thy predestined ruins rise,

Torrents, methinks, that heard a mighty voice, The fiend-hag on her perilous couch doth leap,

And stopped at once amid their maddest plunge!

Motionless torrents! silent cataracts ! Muttering distempered triumph in her charmëd sleep. Who made you glorious as the gates of heaven

Beneath the keen full moon? Who bade the sun Away, my soul, away!

Clothe you with rainbows? Who, with living flowers In vain, in vain the birds of warning sing

Of loveliest blue, spread garlands at your feet ? And hark! I hear the famished brood of prey

God ! let the torrents, like a shout of nations,
Flap their lank pennons on the groaning wind !

Answer! and let the ice-plains echo, God!
Away, my soul, away!

God! sing ye meadow-streams with gladsome voice! I, unpartaking of the evil thing,

Ye pine groves, with your soft and soul-like sounds! With daily prayer and daily toil

And they, too, have a voice, yon piles of snow,
Soliciting for food my scanty soil,

And in their perilous fall shall thunder, God !
Have wailed my country with a loud lament.
Now I recentre my immortal mind

Ye living flowers that skirt the eternal frost ! In the deep sabbath of meek self-content;

Ye wild goats sporting round the eagle's nest ! Cleansed from the vaporous passions that bedim

Ye eagles, playmates of the mountain storm!
God's image, sister of the seraphim.

Ye lightnings, the dread arrows of the clouds !
Ye signs and wonders of the element !

Utter forth God, and fill the hills with praise !
Hymn before Sunrise in the Vale of Chamouni.

Once more, hoar mount! with thy sky-pointing Hast thou a charm to stay the morning star

peaks, In his steep course? So long he seems to pause

Oft from whose feet the avalanche, unheard, On thy bald awful head, O sovran Blanc !

Shoots downward, glittering through the pure serene, The Arve and Arveiron at thy base

Into the depth of clouds that veil thy breastRave ceaselessly; but thou, most awful form! Thou too, again, stupendous mountain ! thou, Risest from forth thy silent sea of pines,

That as I raise my head, awhile bowed low How silently! Around thee and above,

In adoration, upward from thy base, Deep is the air and dark, substantial, black,

Slow travelling with dim eyes suffused with tears, An ebon mass ; methinks thou piercest it,

Solemnly seemest, like a vapoury cloud,
As with a wedge! But when I look again,

To rise before me-Rise, O ever rise;
It is thine own calm home, thy crystal shrine, Rise, like a cloud of incense, from the earth!
Thy habitation from eternity!

Thou kingly spirit throned among the hills, odread and silent mount ! I gazed upon thee,

Thou dread ambassador from earth to heaven, Till thou, still present to the bodily sense,

Great Hierarch! tell thou the silent sky, Did'st vanish from my thought: entranced in prayer, And tell the stars, and tell yon rising sun, I worshipped the Invisible alone.

Earth, with her thousand voices, praises God.

IX.

Love.

All thoughts, all passions, all delights,
Whatever stirs this mortal frame,
Are all but ministers of love,

And feed his sacred flame.
Oft in my waking dreams do I
Live o'er again that happy hour,
When midway on the mount I lay,

Beside the ruined tower.
The moonshine, stealing o'er the scene,
Had blended with the lights of eve;
And she was there, my hope, my joy,

My own dear Genevieve!
She leaned against the armed man,
The statue of the armed knight ;
She stood and listened to my lay

Amid the lingering light.
Few sorrows bath she of her own,
My hope, my joy, my Genevieve!
She loves me best whene'er I sing

The songs that make her grieve.
I played a soft and doleful air,
I sang an old and moving story-
An old rude song that suited well

That ruin wild and hoary.
She listened with a flitting blush,
With downcast eyes and modest grace;
For well she knew I could not choose

But gaze upon her face.
I told her of the knight that wore
Upon his shield a burning brand ;
And that for ten long years he wooed

The lady of the land.
I told her how he pined ; and ah!
The deep, the low, the pleading tone
With which I sang another's love,

Interpreted my own.
She listened with a flitting blush,
With downcast eyes and modest grace ;
And she forgave me that I gazed

Too fondly on her face.
But when I told the cruel scorn
Which crazed this bold and lovely knight,
And that he crossed the mountain-woods,

Nor rested day nor night ;
But sometimes from the savage den,
And sometimes from the darksome shade,
And sometimes starting up at once,

In green and sunny glade,
There came and looked him in the face
An angel beautiful and bright;
And that he knew it was a fiend,

This miserable knight !
And that, unknowing what he did,
He leaped amid a murderous band,
And saved from outrage worse than death

The lady of the land ;
And how she wept and clasped his knees,
And how she tended him in vain-
And ever strove to expiate

The scorn that crazed his brain.
And that she nursed him in a cave ;
And how his madness went away,
When on the yellow forest leaves

A dying man he lay;

His dying words—but when I reached
That tenderest strain of all the ditty,
My faltering voice and pausing harp

Disturbed her soul with pity!
All impulses of soul and sense
Had thrilled my guileless Genevieve-
The music and the doleful tale,

The rich and balmy eve ;
And hopes, and fears that kindle hope,
An undistinguishable throng ;
And gentle wishes long subdued,

Subdued and cherished long!
She wept with pity and delight,
She blushed with love and virgin shame;
And like the murmur of a dream

I heard her breathe my name.
Her bosom heaved, she stept aside ;
As conscious of my look she stept-
Then suddenly, with timorous eye,

She fled to me and wept.
She half enclosed me with her arms,
She pressed me with a meek embrace,
And bending back her head, looked up

And gazed upon my face.
'Twas partly love, and partly fear,
And partly 'twas a bashful art,
That I might rather feel than see

The swelling of her heart.
I calmed her fears; and she was calm,
And told her love with virgin pride;
And so I won my Genevieve,
My bright and beauteous bride !

[Picture of a Dungeon.]

[From the tragedy of Remorse.'] And this place our forefathers made for man ! This is the process of our love and wisdom To each poor brother who offends against usMost innocent, perhaps--and what if guilty ? Is this the only cure? Merciful God! Each pore and natural outlet shrivelled up By ignorance and parching poverty, His energies roll back upon his heart And stagnate and corrupt, till, changed to poison, They break on him like a loathsome plague-spot! Then we call in our pampered mountebanksAnd this is their best cure ! uncomforted And friendless solitude, groaning and tears, And savage faces at the clanking hour, Seen through the steam and vapours of his dungeon By the lamp's dismal twilight! So he lies 'Circled with evil, till his very soul Unmoulds its essence, hopelessly deformed By sights of evermore deformity! With other ministrations thou, O Nature, Healest thy wandering and distempered child : Thou pourest on him thy soft influences, Thy sunny hues, fair forms, and breathing sweets ; Thy melodies of woods, and winds, and waters ; Till he relent, and can no more endure To be a jarring and a dissonant thing Amid this general dance and minstrelsy; But, bursting into tears, wins back his way, His angry spirit healed and harmonised By the benignant touch of love and beauty.

[From · Frost at Midnight.'] Dear babe, that sleepest cradled by my side, Whose gentle breathings heard in this deep calm Fill up the interspersed vacancies And momentary pauses of the thought ! My babe so beautiful! it thrills my heart

With tender gladness thus to look at thee,
And think that thou shalt learn far other lore,
And in far other scenes! For I was reared
In the great city, pent ’mid cloisters dim,
And saw nought lovely but the sky and stars.
But thou, my babe, shalt wander like a breeze
By lakes and sandy shores, beneath the crags
Of ancient mountain, and beneath the clouds,
Which image in their bulk both lakes and shores
And mountain crags : so shalt thou see and hear
The lovely shapes and sounds intelligible
Of that eternal language which thy God
Utters, who from eternity doth teach
Himself in all, and all things in himself.
Great universal teacher! he shall mould
Thy spirit, and, by giving, making it ask.

Therefore all seasons shall be sweet to thee,
Whether the summer clothe the general earth
With greenness, or the redbreast sit and sing
Betwixt the tufts of snow on the bare branch
Of mossy apple-tree, while the nigh thatch
Smokes in the sun-thaw; whether the evedrops fall,
Heard only in the trances of the blast,
Or if the secret ministry of frost
Shall hang them up in silent icicles,
Quietly shining to the quiet moon.

Flowers are lovely; Love is flower-like;
Friendship is a sheltering tree;
0! the joys that came down shower-like,
Of Friendship, Love, and Liberty,

Ere I was old !
Ere I was old ? Ah, woful ere,
Which tells me Youth's no longer here!
0 Youth! for years so many and sweet,
'Tis known that thou and I were one;
I'll think it but a fond conceit-
It cannot be that thou art gone!
Thy vesper-bell hath not yet tolled,
And thou wert aye a masker bold !
What strange disguise hast now put on,
To make believe that thou art gone?
I see these locks in silvery slips,
This drooping gait, this altered size ;
But springtide blossoms on thy lips,
And tears take sunshine from thine eyes !
Life is but thought; so think I will
That Youth and I are housemates still.
Dewdrops are the gems of morning,
But the tears of mournful eve!
Where no hope is, life's a warning
That only serves to make us grieve,

When we are old : That only serves to make us grieve With oft and tedious taking leave; Like some poor nigh-related guest, That may not rudely be dismissed, Yet hath outstayed his welcome while, And tells the jest without the smile.

REV. WILLIAM LISLE BOWLES.

Love, Hope, and Patience in Education. O'er wayward childhood wouldst thou hold firm rule, And sun thee in the light of happy faces; Love, Hope, and Patience, these must be thy graces, And in thine own heart let them first keep school. For as old Atlas on his broad neck places Heaven's starry globe, and there sustains it, so Do these upbear the little world below Of education-Patience, Love, and Hope. Methinks I see them grouped in seemly show, The straitened arms upraised, the palms aslope, And robes that touching as adown they flow, Distinctly blend, like snow embossed in snow. O part them never! If Hope prostrate lie,

Love too will sink and die. But Love is subtle, and doth proof derive From her own life that Hope is yet alive; And bending o’er, with soul-transfusing eyes, And the soft murmurs of the mother dove, Woos back the fleeting spirit, and half supplies; Thus Love repays to Hope what Hope first gave to Love. Yet haply there will come a weary day,

When overtasked at length Both Love and Hope beneath the load give way. Then with a statue's smile, a statue's strength, Stands the mute sister, Patience, nothing loath, And both supporting, does the work of both.

[merged small][graphic]

Youth and Age.
Verse, a breeze 'mid blossoms straying,
Where Hope clung feeding like a bee-
Both were mine! Life went a-Maying
With Nature, Hope, and Poesy,

When I was young!
When I was young? Ah, woful when!
Ah, for the change 'twixt now and then !
This breathing house not built with hands,
This body that does me grievous wrong,
O'er airy cliffs and glittering sands,
How lightly then it Aashed along :
Like those trim skiffs, unknown of yore,
On winding lakes and rivers wide,
That ask no aid of sail or oar,
That fear no spite of wind or tide!
Nought cared this body for wind or weather,
When Youth and I lived in't together.

Bremhill Rectory, in Wiltshire. style of poetry at once tender and manly. The pupil outstripped his master in richness and luxuriance, though not in elegance or correctness. In 1805 Mr Bowles published another volume of poetry, The Spirit of Discovery by Sea, a narrative poem of

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