Author: William Lisle Bowles

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    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 delight, and say,
    It is the bark that bore my child away!
    Sun, that returnest bright, beneath whose eye
    The worlds unknown, and out-stretched waters lie,
    Dost thou behold him now! On some rude shore,
    Around whose crags the cheerless billows roar,
    Watching the unwearied surges doth he stand,
    And think upon his father's distant land!
    Or has his heart forgot, so far away,
    These native woods, these rocks, and torrents gray,
    The tall bananas whispering to the breeze,
    The shores, the sound of these encircling seas,
    Heard from his infant days, and the piled heap
    Of holy stones, where his forefathers sleep!
    Ah, me! till sunk by sorrow, I shall dwell
    With them forgetful in the narrow cell,
    Never shall time from my fond heart efface
    His image; oft his shadow I shall trace
    Upon the glimmering waters, when on high
    The white moon wanders through the cloudless sky.
    Oft in my silent cave, when to its fire
    From the night's rushing tempest we retire,
    I shall behold his form, his aspect bland;
    I shall retrace his footsteps on the sand;
    And, when the hollow-sounding surges swell,
    Still think I listen to his echoing shell.
    Would I had perished ere that hapless day,
    When the tall vessel, in its trim array,
    First rushed upon the sounding surge, and bore
    My age's comfort from this sheltering shore!
    I saw it spread its white wings to the wind,
    Too soon it left these hills and woods behind,
    Gazing, its course I followed till mine eye
    No longer could its distant track descry;
    Till on the confines of the billows hoar
    A while it hung, and then was seen no more,
    And only the blue hollow cope I spied,
    And the long waste of waters tossing wide.
    More mournful then each falling surge I heard,
    Then dropt the stagnant tear upon my beard.
    Methought the wild waves said, amidst their roar
    At midnight, Thou shalt see thy son no more!
    Now thrice twelve moons through the mid heavens have rolled
    And many a dawn, and slow night, have I told:
    And still as every weary day goes by,
    A knot recording on my line I tie;[1]
    But never more, emerging from the main,
    I see the stranger's bark approach again.
    Has the fell storm o'erwhelmed him! Has its sweep
    Buried the bounding vessel in the deep!
    Is he cast bleeding on some desert plain!
    Upon his father did he call in vain!
    Have pitiless and bloody tribes defiled
    The cold limbs of my brave, my beauteous child!
    Oh! I shall never, never hear his voice;
    The spring-time shall return, the isles rejoice,
    But faint and weary I shall meet the morn,
    And 'mid the cheering sunshine droop forlorn!
    The joyous conch sounds in the high wood loud,
    O'er all the beach now stream the busy crowd;
    Fresh breezes stir the waving plantain grove;
    The fisher carols in the winding cove;
    And light canoes along the lucid tide
    With painted shells and sparkling paddles glide.
    I linger on the desert rock alone,
    Heartless, and cry for thee, my son, my son.

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Type of Poem: Elegy

Date Written:

Date Published:

Language: English

Keywords: Public Domain

Source: Public Domain Collection

Publisher:

Rights/Permissions: Public Domain

Comments/Notes: This poem explores themes of longing, loss, and the passage of time, all set against a backdrop of vivid natural imagery. The speaker's grief for his lost son is palpable, and the poem treats this emotion with a sense of profound respect and solemnity. The poem maintains a consistent tone of melancholy and longing, reinforcing its meditative reflections on the painful inescapability of loss.

The structure of the poem is rhythmic, with a steady flow of emotion that is heightened by the strategic use of enjambment. This allows the reader to feel the speaker's desperation, as thoughts and sentiments spill over from one line to another without pause. The poet uses vivid, evocative imagery to bring the landscape to life, from the "highest cliff" and "dashing waves" to the "tall bananas whispering to the breeze" and "the long waste of waters tossing wide." These descriptions serve to emphasize the speaker's isolation and despair.

A standout literary device is the personification of the sun and the sea, which seem to share in the speaker's sorrow and longing. The poet also uses powerfully emotive language to evoke the speaker's profound sense of loss and longing for his son. The repetition of phrases such as "my son, my son" also adds to the emotional weight of the poem. The poignant ending leaves the reader with a profound sense of the depth of the speaker's grief. Despite the beauty and vibrancy of his surroundings, the speaker is consumed by his loss, rendering these elements of his environment meaningless without the presence of his child.