ECHO AND SILENCE.

SIR SAMUEL IN eddying course when leaves began to fly,

EGERTON

BRYDGES.

1762-1837.

And Autumn in her lap the store to strew,

As 'mid wild scenes I chanced the Muse to woo

Through glens untrod, and woods that frowned on high,

Two sleeping Nymphs with wonder mute I spy!

And lo, she's gone! In robe of dark-green hue,
'Twas Echo from her sister Silence flew ;

For quick the hunter's horn resounded to the sky!

In shade affrighted Silence melts away;

Not so her sister :-hark! for onward still

With far-heard step she takes her listening way,

Bounding from rock to rock, and hill to hill!

. Ah, mark the merry maid in mockful play

With thousand mimic tones the laughing forest fill.

WILLIAM
LISLE
BOWLES.

1762- 1850.

WRITTEN AT OSTEND.

How sweet the tuneful bells responsive peal!

As when at opening morn, the fragrant breeze
Breathes on the trembling sense of pale disease,
So piercing to my heart their force I feel!

And hark! with lessening cadence now they fall!
And now along the white and level tide,

They fling their melancholy music wide;

Bidding me many a tender thought recall
Of summer-days, and those delightful years
When from an ancient tower in life's fair prime,
The mournful magic of their mingling chime
First waked my wondering childhood into tears!
But seeming now, when all those days are o'er
The sounds of joy once heard and heard no more.

WILLIAM
LISLE
BOWLES.

1762-1850.

INFLUENCE OF TIME ON 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 thee I rest my only hope at last,

And think, when thou hast dried the bitter tear
That flows in vain o'er all my soul held dear,
I may look back on every sorrow past,

And meet life's peaceful evening with a smile
As some lone bird, at day's departing hour,
Sings in the sunbeam, of the transient shower
Forgetful, though its wings are wet the while;-
Yet, ah! how much must that poor heart endure,
Which hopes from thee, and thee alone, a cure.

WILLIAM
LISLE
BOWLES.

1762-1850.

ABSENCE.

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,
Whose ancient trees on the rough slope reclined
Rock, and at times scatter their tresses sere.

If in such shades beneath their murmuring,

Thou late hast passed the happier hours of spring,
With sadness thou wilt mark the fading year;
Chiefly if one, with whom such sweets at morn
Or evening thou hast shared, afar shall stray.
O Spring, return! return, auspicious May!
But sad will be thy coming, and forlorn,
If She return not with thy cheering ray,

Who from these shades is gone far, far away.

Of heaven he watched, and blamed its lingering flight,

By day the sea-mew screaming round his cave
Drove slumber from his eyes, the chiding wave
And savage howlings chased his dreams by night.
Hope still was his; in each low breeze that sighed
Through his rude grot he heard a coming oar,

In each white cloud a coming sail he spied;

Nor seldom listened to the fancied roar

Of Oeta's torrents, or the hoarser tide

That parts famed Trachis from the Euboic shore.