Aside from my regular daily walking regime, yesterday afternoon I “went out” for the first time in a while. Quite a step.
I led a meeting of our local village reading group – on our own local Romantic poet, William Lisle Bowles, now almost totally forgotten.
Bowles was born in 1762 in King’s Sutton and lived his first seven years here, where his father was the vicar. So this year is the 250th anniversary of his birth.
In short, he was one of the earliest pioneers of the move into Romanticism. So his poetry, mainly in sonnet form, influenced many of those who followed – Coleridge, Wordsworth, Southey, Keats etc. In 1794 Coleridge wrote a sonnet in fulsome praise of Bowles.
This is one of William Lisle Bowles’s own sonnets. See what you think.
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)
Stealest the long-forgotten pang 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 many a sorrow past,
And meet life's peaceful evening with a smile --
As some poor bird, at day's departing hour,
Sings in the sunbeam, of the transient shower
Forgetful, tho' its wings are wet the while: --
Yet ah! how much must that poor heart endure,
Which hopes from thee, and thee alone, a cure!
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