The Poetical Works of William Lisle Bowles Vol. 2. Bowles William Lisle

Чтение книги онлайн.

      Of different aspects – this, abrupt and high,

      And desolate, and cold, and bleak, uplifts

      Its barren brow – barren, but on its steep

      One native flower is seen, the peony;

      One flower, which smiles in sunshine or in storm,

      There sits companionless, but yet not sad:

      She has no sister of the summer-field,

      None to rejoice with her when spring returns,

      None that, in sympathy, may bend its head,

      When evening winds blow hollow o'er the rock,

      In autumn's gloom! So Virtue, a fair flower,

      Blooms on the rock of Care, and, though unseen,

      So smiles in cold seclusion; while, remote

      From the world's flaunting fellowship, it wears,

      Like hermit Piety, one smile of peace,

      In sickness or in health, in joy or tears,

      In summer days or cold adversity;

      And still it feels Heaven's breath, reviving, steal

      On its lone breast; feels the warm blessedness

      Of Heaven's own light about it, though its leaves

      Are wet with evening tears!

      Yonder island

      Seems not so desolate, nor frowns aloof,

      As if from human kind. The lighthouse there,

      Through the long winter night, shows its pale fire;

      And three forgotten mounds mark the rude graves,

      None knows of whom; but those of men who breathed,

      And bore their part in life, and looked to Heaven,

      As man looks now! – they died and left no name!

      Fancy might think, amid the wilderness

      Of waves, they sought to hide from human eyes

      All memory of their fortunes. Till the trump

      Of doom, they rest unknown. But mark that hill —

      Where Kewstoke seems to creep into the sea,

      Thy abbey, Woodspring, rose.13 Wild is the spot;

      And there three mailed murderers retired,

      To the last point of land. There they retired,

      And there they knelt upon the ground, and cried,

      Bury us 'mid the waves, where none may know

      The whispered secret of a deed of blood!

      No stone is o'er those graves: – the sullen tide,

      As it flows by and sounds along the shore,

      Seems moaningly to say, Pray for our souls!

      Nor other "Miserere" have they had

      At eve, nor other orison at morn.

      Thou hast put on thy mildest look to-day,

      Thou mighty element! Solemn, and still,

      And motionless, and touched with softer light,

      And without noise, lies all thy long expanse.

      Thou seemest now as calm, as if a child

      Might dally with thy playfulness, and stand,

      The weak winds lifting gently its light hair;

      Upon thy margin, watching one by one

      The long waves, breaking slow, with such a sound

      As Silence, in her dreamy mood, might love,

      When she more softly breathed, fearing a breath

      Might mar thy placidness!

      Oh, treachery!

      So still, and like a giant in his strength

      Reposing, didst thou lie, when the fond sire

      One moment looked, and saw his blithsome boys

      Gay on the sands, one moment, and the next,

      Heart-stricken and bereft, by the same surge,

      Stood in his desolation;14– for he looked,

      And thought how he had blessed them in their sleep,

      And the next moment they were borne away,

      Snatched by the circling surge, and seen no more;

      While morning shone, and not a ripple told

      How terrible and dark a deed was done!

      And so the seas were hushed, and not a cloud

      Marred the pale moonlight, save that, here and there,

      Wandering far off, some feathery shreds were seen,

      As the sole orb, above the lighthouse, held

      Its course in loveliness; and not a sound

      Came from the distant deep, save that, at times,

      Amid the noise of human merriment,

      The ear might seem to catch a low faint moan,

      A boding sound, as of a dying dirge,

      From the sunk rocks;15 while all was still beside,

      And every star seemed listening in its watch;

      When the gay packet-bark, to Erin bound,

      Resounding with the laugh and song, went on!

      Look! she is gone! O God! she is gone down,

      With her light-hearted company; gone down,

      And all at once is still, save, on the mast,

      Just peering o'er the waters, the wild shrieks

      Of three, at times, are heard! They, when the dead

      Were round them, floating on the moonlight wave,

      Kept there their dismal watch till morning dawned,

      And to the living world were then restored!

      PART SECOND