The Poetical Works of William Lisle Bowles Volume I Part 15

So am I sadly soothed, yet do I cast A wishful glance upon the seasons past, And think how different was the happy tide, When thou, with looks of love, wert smiling by my side.

[91] Summer-Lees, near Knoyle.

FAIRY SKETCH.

SCENE--NETLEY ABBEY.

There was a morrice on the moonlight plain, And music echoed in the woody glade, For fay-like forms, as of t.i.tania's train, Upon a summer eve, beneath the shade Of Netley's ivied ruins, to the sound Of sprightly minstrelsy did beat the ground:-- Come, take hands! and lightly move, While our boat, in yonder cove, Rests upon the darkening sea; Come, take hands, and follow me!

Netley! thy dim and desolated fane Hath heard, perhaps, the spirits of the night Shrieking, at times, amid the wind and rain; Or haply, when the full-orbed moon shone bright, Thy glimmering aisles have echoed to the song Of fairy Mab, who led her shadowy masque along.

Now, as to the sprightly sound Of moonlight minstrelsy we beat the ground; From the pale nooks, in accent clear, Now, methinks, her voice I hear, Sounding o'er the darksome sea; Come, take hands, and follow me!

Here, beneath the solemn wood, When faintly-blue is all the sky, And the moon is still on high, To the murmurs of the flood, To the glimpses of the night, We perform our airy rite;-- Care and pain to us unknown, To the darkening seas are flown.

Hear no more life's fretful noise, Heed not here pale Envy's sting, Far from life's distempered joys; To the waters murmuring, To the shadows of the sky, To the moon that rides on high, To the glimpses of the night, We perform our airy rite, While care and pain, to us unknown, To the darkening seas are flown.

INSCRIPTION.

Come, and where these runnels fall, Listen to my madrigal!

Far from all sounds of all the strife, That murmur through the walks of life; From grief, inquietude, and fears, From scenes of riot, or of tears; From pa.s.sions, cankering day by day, That wear the inmost heart away; From pale Detraction's envious spite, That worries where it fears to bite; From mad Ambition's worldly chase, Come, and in this shady place, Be thine Contentment's humble joys, And a life that makes no noise, Save when fancy, musing long, Turns to desultory song;[92]

And wakes some lonely melody, Like the water dripping by.

Come, and where these runnels fall, Listen to my madrigal!

BREMHILL GARDEN, _Sept. 1808._

[92] "And Fancy, void of sorrow, turns to song."--_Parnell._

PICTURES FROM THEOCRITUS.

FROM IDYL I.

[Greek: Ady ti to psthyrisma], _etc._

Goat-herd, how sweet above the lucid spring The high pines wave with breezy murmuring!

So sweet thy song, whose music might succeed To the wild melodies of Pan's own reed.

THYRSIS.

More sweet thy pipe's enchanting melody Than streams that fall from broken rocks on high.

Say, by the nymphs, that guard the sacred scene, Where lowly tamarisks shade these hillocks green, At noontide shall we lie?

No; for o'erwearied with the forest chase, Pan, the great hunter G.o.d, sleeps in this place.

Beneath the branching elm, while thy sad verse, O Thyrsis! Daphnis' sorrows shall rehea.r.s.e, Fronting the wood-nymph's solitary seat, Whose fountains flash amid the dark retreat; Where the old statue leans, and brown oaks wave Their ancient umbrage o'er the pastoral cave; There will we rest, and thou, as erst, prolong The sweet enchantment of the Doric song!

FROM THE SAME IDYL.

Mark, where the beetling precipice appears, The toil of the old fisher, gray with years; Mark, as to drag the laden net he strains, The labouring muscle and the swelling veins!

There, in the sun, the cl.u.s.tered vineyard bends, And s.h.i.+nes empurpled, as the morn ascends!

A little boy, with idly-happy mien, To guard the grapes upon the ground is seen; Two wily foxes creeping round appear,-- The scrip that holds his morning meal is near,-- One breaks the bending vines; with longing lip, And look askance, one eyes the tempting scrip.

He plats and plats his rushy net all day, And makes the vagrant gra.s.shopper his prey; He plats his net, intent with idle care, Nor heeds how vineyard, grape, or scrip may fare.

FROM THE SAME.

Where were ye, nymphs, when Daphnis drooped with love?

In fair Peneus' Tempe, or the grove Of Pindus! Nor your pastimes did ye keep, Where huge Anapus' torrent waters sweep; On aetna's height, ah! impotent to save, Nor yet where Akis winds his holy wave!

FROM THE SAME.

Pan, Pan, oh mighty hunter! whether now, Thou roamest o'er Lyceus' s.h.a.ggy brow, Or Moenalaus, outstretched in amplest shade, Thy solitary footsteps have delayed; Leave Helice's romantic rock a while, And haste, oh haste, to the Sicilian isle; Leave the dread monument, approached with fear, That Lycaonian tomb the G.o.ds revere.

Here cease, Sicilian Muse, the Doric lay;-- Come, Forest King, and bear this pipe away; Daphnis, subdued by love, and bowed with woe, Sinks, sinks for ever to the shades below.

FROM IDYL VII.

He left us;--we, the hour of parting come, To Prasidamus' hospitable home, Myself and Eucritus, together wend, With young Amynticus, our blooming friend: There, all delighted, through the summer day, On beds of rushes, pillowed deep, we lay; Around, the lentils, newly cut, were spread; Dark elms and poplars whispered o'er our head; A hallowed stream, to all the wood-nymphs dear, Fresh from the rocky cavern murmured near; Beneath the fruit-leaves' many-mantling shade, The gra.s.shoppers a coil incessant made; From the wild th.o.r.n.y thickets, heard remote, The wood-lark trilled his far-resounding note; Loud sung the thrush, musician of the scene, And soft and sweet was heard the dove's sad note between; Then yellow bees, whose murmur soothed the ear, Went idly flitting round the fountain clear.

Summer and Autumn seemed at once to meet, Filling with redolence the blest retreat, While the ripe pear came rolling to our feet.

FROM IDYL XXII.

When the famed Argo now secure had pa.s.sed The crus.h.i.+ng rocks,[93] and that terrific strait That guards the wintry Pontic, the tall s.h.i.+p Reached wild Bebrycia's sh.o.r.es; bearing like G.o.ds Her G.o.d-descended chiefs. They, from her sides, With scaling steps descend, and on the sh.o.r.e, Savage, and sad, and beat by ocean winds, Strewed their rough beds, and on the casual fire The vessels place. The brothers, by themselves, CASTOR and red-haired POLLUX, wander far Into the forest solitudes. A wood Immense and dark, s.h.a.gging the mountain side, Before them rose; a cold and sparkling fount Welled with perpetual lapse, beneath its feet, Of purest water clear; scattering below, Streams as of silver and of crystal rose, Bright from the bottom: Pines, of stateliest height, Poplar, and plane, and cypress, branching wide, Were near, thick bordered by the scented flowers That lured the honeyed bee, when spring declines, Thick swarming o'er the meadows. There all day A huge man sat, of savage, wild aspect; His breast stood roundly forward, his broad back Seemed as of iron, such as might befit A vast Colossus sculptured. Full to view The muscles of his brawny shoulders stood, Like the round mountain-stones the torrent wave Has polished; from his neck and back hung down A lion's skin, held by its claws. Him first The red-haired youth addressed: Hail, stranger, hail, And say, what tribes unknown inhabit here!

Take to the seas thy Hail: I ask it not, Who never saw before, or thee, or thine.

Courage! thou seest not men that are unjust Or cruel.

Courage shall I learn from thee!

Thy heart is savage; thou art pa.s.sion's slave.

Such as I am thou seest; but land of thine I tread not.

Come, these hospitable gifts Accept, and part in peace.

No: not from thee.

My gifts are yet in store.

Say, may we drink Of this clear fount?

Ask, when wan thirst has parched Thy lips.

What present shall I give to thee?

None. Stand before me as a man; lift high Thy brandished arms, and try, weak pugilist, Thy strength.

But say, with whom shall I contend?

Thou seest him here; nor in his art unskilled.

Then what shall be the prize of him who wins?

Or thou shalt be my slave, or I be thine.

The crested birds so fight.

Whether like birds Or lions, for no other prize fight we!

He said: and sounded loud his hollow conch; The gaunt Bebrycian brethren, at the sound, With long lank hair, come flocking to the shade Of that vast plain.

Then Castor hied, and called The hero chiefs from the Magnesian[94] s.h.i.+p.

[93] Rocks which were supposed to strike one against the other, and so crush the s.h.i.+p that attempted to pa.s.s between.

[94] So called, from the country where it was built.

SKETCHES IN THE EXHIBITION, 1805.