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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=538546" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Abba Thule's Lament For His Son Prince Le Boo</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">I climb the highest cliff; I hear the sound<br>Of dashing waves; I gaze intent around;<br>I mark the gray cope, and the hollowness<br>Of heaven, and the great sun, that comes to bless<br>The isles again; but my long-straining eye,<br>No speck, no shadow can, far off, descry,<br>That I might weep tears of delight, and say,<br>It is the bark that bore my child away!<br>Sun, that returnest bright, beneath whose eye<br>The worlds unknown, and out-stretched waters lie, <br>Dost thou behold him now! On some rude shore,<br>Around whose crags the cheerless billows roar,<br>Watching the unwearied surges doth he stand,<br>And think upon his father's distant land!<br>Or has his heart forgot, so far away,<br>These native woods, these rocks, and torrents gray,<br>The tall bananas whispering to the breeze,<br>The shores, the sound of these encircling seas,<br>Heard from his infant days, and the piled heap<br>Of holy stones, where his forefathers sleep! <br>Ah, me! till sunk by sorrow, I shall dwell<br>With them forgetful in the narrow cell,<br>Never shall time from my fond heart efface<br>His image; oft his shadow I shall trace<br>Upon the glimmering waters, when on high<br>The white moon wanders through the cloudless sky.<br>Oft in my silent cave, when to its fire<br>From the night's rushing tempest we retire,<br>I shall behold his form, his aspect bland;<br>I shall retrace his footsteps on the sand; <br>And, when the hollow-sounding surges swell,<br>Still think I listen to his echoing shell.<br>Would I had perished ere that hapless day,<br>When the tall vessel, in its trim array,<br>First rushed upon the sounding surge, and bore<br>My age's comfort from this sheltering shore!<br>I saw it spread its white wings to the wind,<br>Too soon it left these hills and woods behind,<br>Gazing, its course I followed till mine eye<br>No longer could its distant track descry; <br>Till on the confines of the billows hoar<br>A while it hung, and then was seen no more,<br>And only the blue hollow cope I spied,<br>And the long waste of waters tossing wide.<br>More mournful then each falling surge I heard,<br>Then dropt the stagnant tear upon my beard.<br>Methought the wild waves said, amidst their roar<br>At midnight, Thou shalt see thy son no more!<br>Now thrice twelve moons through the mid heavens have rolled<br>And many a dawn, and slow night, have I told: <br>And still as every weary day goes by,<br>A knot recording on my line I tie;<br>But never more, emerging from the main,<br>I see the stranger's bark approach again.<br>Has the fell storm o'erwhelmed him! Has its sweep<br>Buried the bounding vessel in the deep!<br>Is he cast bleeding on some desert plain!<br>Upon his father did he call in vain!<br>Have pitiless and bloody tribes defiled<br>The cold limbs of my brave, my beauteous child! <br>Oh! I shall never, never hear his voice;<br>The spring-time shall return, the isles rejoice,<br>But faint and weary I shall meet the morn,<br>And 'mid the cheering sunshine droop forlorn!<br>The joyous conch sounds in the high wood loud,<br>O'er all the beach now stream the busy crowd;<br>Fresh breezes stir the waving plantain grove;<br>The fisher carols in the winding cove;<br>And light canoes along the lucid tide<br>With painted shells and sparkling paddles glide. <br>I linger on the desert rock alone,<br>Heartless, and cry for thee, my son, my son.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=William+Lisle+Bowles">William Lisle Bowles</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=538546" data-title="Abba Thule's Lament For His Son Prince Le Boo de William Lisle Bowles" data-description="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..."></div>
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