AS slow I climb the cliff's ascending side, 
Much musing on the track of terror past 
When o'er the dark wave rode the howling blast 
Pleas'd I look back, and view the tranquil tide, 
That laves the pebbled shore; and now the beam 
Of evening smiles on the grey battlement, 
And yon forsaken tow'r, that time has rent. 
The lifted oar far off with silver gleam 
Is touch'd and the hush'd billows seem to sleep. 
Sooth'd by the scene, ev'n thus on sorrow's breast 
A kindred stillness steals and bids her rest; 
Whilst the weak winds that sigh along the deep, 
The ear, like lullabies of pity, meet, 
Singing the saddest notes of farewell sweet. 

Added: Mar 14 2005 | Viewed: 378 times | Comments (0)

Poet: William Lisle Bowles
Poem: I. Written at Tinemouth, Northumberland, after a Tempestuous Voyage.

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