Public Domain Poetry And Stories - Cadland,[1] Southampton River. by William Lisle Bowles
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Cadland,[1] Southampton River.

    By William Lisle Bowles



    If ever sea-maid, from her coral cave,
    Beneath the hum of the great surge, has loved
    To pass delighted from her green abode,
    And, seated on a summer bank, to sing
    No earthly music; in a spot like this,
    The bard might feign he heard her, as she dried
    Her golden hair, yet dripping from the main,
    In the slant sunbeam.
    So the pensive bard
    Might image, warmed by this enchanting scene,
    The ideal form; but though such things are not,
    He who has ever felt a thought refined;
    He who has wandered on the sea of life,
    Forming delightful visions of a home
    Of beauty and repose; he who has loved,
    With filial warmth his country, will not pass
    Without a look of more than tenderness
    On all the scene; from where the pensile birch
    Bends on the bank, amid the clustered group
    Of the dark hollies; to the woody shore
    That steals diminished, to the distant spires
    Of Hampton, crowning the long lucid wave.
    White in the sun, beneath the forest-shade,
    Full shines the frequent sail, like Vanity,
    As she goes onward in her glittering trim,
    Amid the glances of life's transient morn,
    Calling on all to view her!
        Vectis[2] there,
    That slopes its greensward to the lambent wave,
    And shows through softest haze its woods and domes,
    With gray St Catherine's[3] creeping to the sky,
    Seems like a modest maid, who charms the more
    Concealing half her beauties.
        To the East,
    Proud, yet complacent, on its subject realm,
    With masts innumerable thronged, and hulls
    Seen indistinct, but formidable, mark
    Albion's vast fleet, that, like the impatient storm,
    Waits but the word to thunder and flash death
    On him who dares approach to violate
    The shores and living scenes that smile secure
    Beneath its dragon-watch!
        Long may they smile!
    And long, majestic Albion (while the sound
    From East to West, from Albis[4] to the Po,
    Of dark contention hurtles), may'st thou rest,
    As calm and beautiful this sylvan scene
    Looks on the refluent wave that steals below.



Extra Info:
[1] A beautiful seat of Henry Drummond, Esq.

[2] The Isle of Wight.

[3] The highest slowly-rising eminence in the Isle of Wight, seen from the river.

[4] The Elbe.


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