The Swamp Fox by William Gilmore Simms
WE follow where the Swamp Fox guides, His friends and merry men are we; And when the troop of Tarleton rides, We burrow in the cypress tree. The turfy hammock is our bed, Our home is in the red deer’s den, Our roof, the tree-top overhead, For we are wild and hunted men. We fly […]
The Lost Pleiad by William Gilmore Simms
NOT in the sky, Where it was seen So long in eminence of light serene,— Nor on the white tops of the glistering wave, Nor down in mansions of the hidden deep, Though beautiful in green And crystal, its great caves of mystery,— Shall the bright watcher have Her place, and, as of old, high […]
The Decay Of A People by William Gilmore Simms
THIS the true sign of ruin to a race— It undertakes no march, and day by day Drowses in camp, or, with the laggard’s pace, Walks sentry o’er possessions that decay; Destined, with sensible waste, to fleet away;— For the first secret of continued power Is the continued conquest;—all our sway Hath surety in the […]
The Bard by William Gilmore Simms
Where dwells the spirit of the Bard–what sky Persuades his daring wing,– Folded in soft carnation, or in snow Still sleeping, far o’er summits of the cloud, And, with a seeming, sweet unconsciousness, Wooing his plume, through baffling storms to fly, Assured of all that ever yet might bless The spirit, by love and loftiest […]
The Angel Of The Church by William Gilmore Simms
I. Aye, strike with sacrilegious aim The temple of the living God; Hurl iron bolt and seething flame Through aisles which holiest feet have trod; Tear up the altar, spoil the tomb, And, raging with demoniac ire, Send down, in sudden crash of doom, That grand, old, sky-sustaining spire. II. That spire, for full a […]
Sumter In Ruins by William Gilmore Simms
I. Ye batter down the lion’s den, But yet the lordly beast g’oes free; And ye shall hear his roar again, From mountain height, from lowland glen, From sandy shore and reedy fen– Where’er a band of freeborn men Rears sacred shrines to liberty. II. The serpent scales the eagle’s nest, And yet the royal […]
Song In March by William Gilmore Simms
NOW are the winds about us in their glee, Tossing the slender tree; Whirling the sands about his furious car, March cometh from afar; Breaks the sealed magic of old Winter’s dreams, And rends his glassy streams; Chafing with potent airs, he fiercely takes Their fetters from the lakes, And, with a power by queenly […]
William Gilmore Simms – William Gilmore Simms
“author”: { “@type”: “Person”, “name”: “William Gilmore Simms” }, “publisher”: { “@type”: “Organization”, “name”: “Poetry Monster Encyclopedia”, “logo”: { “@type”: “ImageObject”, “url”: “https://www.best-poems.net/images/logo.png”, “width”: 233, “height”: 73 } } } var _gaq = _gaq || []; _gaq.push([‘_setAccount’, ‘UA-23275927-1’]); _gaq.push([‘_setDomainName’, ‘.best-poems.net’]); _gaq.push([‘_trackPageview’]); (function() { var ga = document.createElement(‘script’); ga.type = ‘text/javascript’; ga.async = true; ga.src = […]
Ode–Shell The Old City! Shell! by William Gilmore Simms
I. Shell the old city I shell! Ye myrmidons of Hell; Ye serve your master well, With hellish arts! Hurl down, with bolt and fire, The grand old shrines, the spire; But know, your demon ire Subdues no hearts! II. There, we defy ye still, With sworn and resolute will; Courage ye cannot kill While […]
Morris Island by William Gilmore Simms
Oh! from the deeds well done, the blood well shed In a good cause springs up to crown the land With ever-during verdure, memory fed, Wherever freedom rears one fearless band, The genius, which makes sacred time and place, Shaping the grand memorials of a race! The barren rock becomes a monument, The sea-shore sands […]
Hast Thou A Song For A Flower by William Gilmore Simms
I. HAST thou a song for a flower, Such as, if breathed in its ear, Would waken in beauty’s own bower The spirit most fit to be there? Then, minstrel, I challenge thy power– Such song, if thou hast, sing it here!– Here, where the breeze o’erwearied, With his travel o’er ocean creeps, And on […]
Flight To Nature by William Gilmore Simms
SICK of the crowd, the toil, the strife, Sweet Nature, how I turn to thee, Seeking for renovated life, By brawling brook and shady tree! I knew thy rocks had spells of old, To soothe the wanderer’s woe to calm, And in thy waters, clear and cold, My fev’rish brow would seek for balm. I’ve […]
Blessings On Children by William Gilmore Simms
Blessings on the blessing children, sweetest gifts of Heaven to earth, Filling all the heart with gladness, filling all the house with mirth; Bringing with them native sweetness, pictures of the primal bloom, Which the bliss for ever gladdens, of the region whence they come; Bringing with them joyous impulse of a state with outen […]
Hymn To Woden by William Lisle Bowles
God of the battle, hear our prayer! By the lifted falchion’s glare; By the uncouth fane sublime, Marked with many a Runic rhyme; By the “weird sisters” dread, That, posting through the battle red, Choose the slain, and with them go To Valhalla’s halls below, Where the phantom-chiefs prolong Their echoing feast, a giant throng, […]
Hope, An Allegorical Sketch by William Lisle Bowles
I am the comforter of them that mourn; My scenes well shadowed, and my carol sweet, Cheer the poor passengers of life’s rude bourne, Till they are sheltered in that last retreat, Where human toils and troubles are forgot. These sounds I heard amid this mortal road, When I had reached with pain one pleasant […]
Epitaph On H. Walmsley, Esq., by William Lisle Bowles
IN ALVERSTOKE CHURCH, HANTS. Oh! they shall ne’er forget thee, they who knew Thy soul benevolent, sincere, and true; The poor thy kindness cheered, thy bounty fed, Whom age left shivering in its dreariest shed; Thy friends, who sorrowing saw thee, when disease Seemed first the genial stream of life to freeze, Pale from thy […]
Elegy Written At Hotwells, Bristol by William Lisle Bowles
INSCRIBED TO THE REV. W. HOWLEY. The morning wakes in shadowy mantle gray, The darksome woods their glimmering skirts unfold, Prone from the cliff the falcon wheels her way, And long and loud the bell’s slow chime is tolled. The reddening light gains fast upon the skies, And far away the glistening vapours sail, Down […]
Distant View Of England From The Sea by William Lisle Bowles
Yes! from mine eyes the tears unbidden start, As thee, my country, and the long-lost sight Of thy own cliffs, that lift their summits white Above the wave, once more my beating heart With eager hope and filial transport hails! Scenes of my youth, reviving gales ye bring, As when erewhile the tuneful morn of […]
Death Of Captain Cooke, by William Lisle Bowles
OF “THE BELLEROPHON,” KILLED IN THE SAME BATTLE. When anxious Spain, along her rocky shore, From cliff to cliff returned the sea-fight’s roar; When flash succeeding flash, tremendous broke The haze incumbent, and the clouds of smoke, As oft the volume rolled away, thy mien, Thine eye, serenely terrible, was seen, My gallant friend.–Hark! the […]
Battle Of Corruna by William Lisle Bowles
The tide of fate rolls on!–heart-pierced and pale, The gallant soldier lies, nor aught avail, The shield, the sword, the spirit of the brave, From rapine’s armed hand thy vales to save, Land of illustrious heroes, who, of yore, Drenched the same plains with the invader’s gore, Stood frowning, in the front of death, and […]
Avenue In Savernake Forest by William Lisle Bowles
How soothing sound the gentle airs that move The innumerable leaves, high overhead, When autumn first, from the long avenue, That lifts its arching height of ancient shade, Steals here and there a leaf! Within the gloom, In partial sunshine white, some trunks appear, Studding the glens of fern; in solemn shade Some mingle their […]
At Tynemouth Priory by William Lisle Bowles
AFTER A TEMPESTUOUS VOYAGE. 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, Pleased I look back, and view the tranquil tide That laves the pebbled shore: and now the beam Of evening smiles on the gray battlement, And […]
At Oxford by William Lisle Bowles
Bereave me not of Fancy’s shadowy dreams, Which won my heart, or when the gay career Of life begun, or when at times a tear Sat sad on memory’s cheek–though loftier themes Await the awakened mind to the high prize Of wisdom, hardly earned with toil and pain, Aspiring patient; yet on life’s wide plain […]
At Malvern by William Lisle Bowles
I shall behold far off thy towering crest, Proud mountain! from thy heights as slow I stray Down through the distant vale my homeward way, I shall behold upon thy rugged breast, The parting sun sit smiling: me the while Escaped the crowd, thoughts full of heaviness May visit, as life’s bitter losses press Hard […]
At Dover by William Lisle Bowles
Thou, whose stern spirit loves the storm, That, borne on Terror’s desolating wings, Shakes the high forest, or remorseless flings The shivered surge; when rising griefs deform Thy peaceful breast, hie to yon steep, and think,– When thou dost mark the melancholy tide Beneath thee, and the storm careering wide,– Tossed on the surge of […]
Approach Of Summer by William Lisle Bowles
How shall I meet thee, Summer, wont to fill My heart with gladness, when thy pleasant tide First came, and on the Coomb’s romantic side Was heard the distant cuckoo’s hollow bill! Fresh flowers shall fringe the margin of the stream, As with the songs of joyance and of hope The hedge-rows shall ring loud, […]
Abba Thule’s Lament For His Son Prince Le Boo by William Lisle Bowles
I climb the highest cliff; I hear the sound Of dashing waves; I gaze intent around; I mark the gray cope, and the hollowness Of heaven, and the great sun, that comes to bless The isles again; but my long-straining eye, No speck, no shadow can, far off, descry, That I might weep tears of […]
A Rustic Seat Near The Sea by William Lisle Bowles
To him, who, many a night upon the main, At mid-watch, from the bounding vessel’s side, Shivering, has listened to the rocking tide, Oh, how delightful smile thy views again, Fair Land! the sheltered hut, and far-seen mill That safe sails round and round; the tripping rill That o’er the gray sand glitters; the clear […]
A Garden-Seat At Home by William Lisle Bowles
Oh, no; I would not leave thee, my sweet home, Decked with the mantling woodbine and the rose, And slender woods that the still scene inclose, For yon magnificent and ample dome That glitters in my sight! yet I can praise Thee, Arundel, who, shunning the thronged ways Of glittering vice, silently dost dispense The […]
“Young England–What Is Then Become Of Old” by William Wordsworth
YOUNG ENGLAND–what is then become of Old Of dear Old England? Think they she is dead, Dead to the very name? Presumption fed On empty air! That name will keep its hold In the true filial bosom’s inmost fold For ever.–The Spirit of Alfred, at the head Of all who for her rights watched, toiled […]
Yew-Trees by William Wordsworth
There is a Yew-tree, pride of Lorton Vale, Which to this day stands single, in the midst Of its own darkness, as it stood of yore: Not loathe to furnish weapons for the Bands Of Umfraville or Percy ere they marched To Scotland’s heaths; or those that crossed the sea And drew their sounding bows […]
“Yes! Thou Art Fair, Yet Be Not Moved” by William Wordsworth
YES! thou art fair, yet be not moved To scorn the declaration, That sometimes I in thee have loved My fancy’s own creation. Imagination needs must stir; Dear Maid, this truth believe, Minds that have nothing to confer Find little to perceive. Be pleased that nature made thee fit To feed my heart’s devotion, By […]
Yes, It Was The Mountain Echo by William Wordsworth
YES, it was the mountain Echo, Solitary, clear, profound, Answering to the shouting Cuckoo, Giving to her sound for sound! Unsolicited reply To a babbling wanderer sent; Like her ordinary cry, Like–but oh, how different! Hears not also mortal Life? Hear not we, unthinking Creatures! Slaves of folly, love, or strife– Voices of two different […]
Yarrow Visited by William Wordsworth
And is this -Yarrow? -This the stream Of which my fancy cherished So faithfully, a waking dream, An image that hath perished? O that some minstrel’s harp were near To utter notes of gladness And chase this silence from the air, That fills my heart with sadness! Yet why? -a silvery current flows With uncontrolled […]
Yarrow Unvisited by William Wordsworth
. From Stirling castle we had seen The mazy Forth unravelled; Had trod the banks of Clyde, and Tay, And with the Tweed had travelled; And when we came to Clovenford, Then said my “winsome Marrow ,” “Whate’er betide, we’ll turn aside, And see the Braes of Yarrow.” “Let Yarrow folk, frae Selkirk town, Who […]
Yarrow Revisited by William Wordsworth
The gallant Youth, who may have gained, Or seeks, a “winsome Marrow,” Was but an Infant in the lap When first I looked on Yarrow; Once more, by Newark’s Castle-gate Long left without a warder, I stood, looked, listened, and with Thee, Great Minstrel of the Border! Grave thoughts ruled wide on that sweet day, […]
Written With A Slate Pencil On A Stone, On The Side Of The Mountain Of Black Comb by William Wordsworth
STAY, bold Adventurer; rest awhile thy limbs On this commodious Seat! for much remains Of hard ascent before thou reach the top Of this huge Eminence,–from blackness named, And, to far-travelled storms of sea and land, A favourite spot of tournament and war! But thee may no such boisterous visitants Molest; may gentle breezes fan […]
Written Upon A Blank Leaf In “The Complete Angler.” by William Wordsworth
WHILE flowing rivers yield a blameless sport, Shall live the name of Walton: Sage benign! Whose pen, the mysteries of the rod and line Unfolding, did not fruitlessly exhort To reverend watching of each still report That Nature utters from her rural shrine. Meek, nobly versed in simple discipline, He found the longest summer day […]
Written In Very Early Youth by William Wordsworth
CALM is all nature as a resting wheel. The kine are couched upon the dewy grass; The horse alone, seen dimly as I pass, Is cropping audibly his later meal: Dark is the ground; a slumber seems to steal O’er vale, and mountain, and the starless sky. Now, in this blank of things, a harmony, […]
Written in March by William Wordsworth
The cock is crowing, The stream is flowing, The small birds twitter, The lake doth glitter The green field sleeps in the sun; The oldest and youngest Are at work with the strongest; The cattle are grazing, Their heads never raising; There are forty feeding like one! Like an army defeated The snow hath retreated, […]