O NORTH! as thy romantic vales I leave,
And bid farewell to each retiring hill,
Where thoughtful fancy seems to linger still,
Tracing the broad bright landscape; much I grieve
That mingled with the toiling croud, no more
I shall return, your varied views to mark,
Of rocks winding wild, and mountains hoar,
Or castle gleaming on the distant steep.
Yet not the less I pray your charms may last,
And many a soften'd image of the past
Pensive combine; and bid remembrance keep
To cheer me with the thought of pleasure flown,
When I am wand'ring on my way alone.
More verses by William Lisle Bowles
- On The Death Of Rev. William Benwell, M.A.
- On Mr. Howard's Account Of Lazarettos
- On Entering Switzerland
- Sonnet: At Dover Cliffs, July 20th 1787
- In Memoriam