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 ... more »
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William Lisle Bowles Poems
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.
Thou, whose stern spirit loves the storm, That, borne on Terror's desolating wings, Shakes the high forest, or remorseless flings
Age, thou the loss of health and friends shalt mourn! But thou art passing to that night-still bourne,
Approach Of Summer
How shall I meet thee, Summer, wont to fill My heart with gladness, when thy pleasant tide First came, and on the Coomb's romantic side
Art And Nature
Frown ever opposite, the angel cried, Who, with an earthquake's might and giant hand,
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;
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,
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!
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
When I lie musing on my bed alone, And listen to the wintry waterfall;
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,
Avenue In Savernake Forest
How soothing sound the gentle airs that move The innumerable leaves, high overhead, When autumn first, from the long avenue,
At Tynemouth Priory
As slow I climb the cliff's ascending side, Much musing on the track of terror past,
Comments about William Lisle Bowles
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
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(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
(31 October 1795 – 23 February 1821)
Sonnet: Languid, And Sad, And Slow, From Day To Day
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.
So fares it with the children of the earth:
For when life's goodly prospect opens round,
Their spirits beat to tread that fairy ground,
Where every vale sounds to the pipe of mirth.
But them vain hope and easy youth beguiles,
And soon a longing look, like me, they cast
Back on the pleasing prospect of the past:
Yet Fancy points where still far onward smiles
Some sunny spot, and...