We parted in my garden last year, when stealing time and sorrow had marked his still manly, but most interesting countenance.[5]--Therefore, TO ROBERT SOUTHEY, WHO HAS EXHIBITED IN HIS PROSE WORKS, AS IN HIS LIFE, THE PURITY AND VIRTUES OF ADDISON AND LOCKE, AND IN HIS POETRY THE IMAGINATION AND SOUL OF SPENSER, THESE POEMS, WITH EVERY AFFECTIONATE PRAYER, ARE INSCRIBED BY HIS SINCERE FRIEND, WILLIAM LISLE BOWLES.
[2] I confined myself to fourteen lines, because fourteen lines seemed best adapted to unity of sentiment.

I thought nothing about the strict Italian model; the verses naturally flowed in unpremeditated harmony, as my ear directed, but the slightest inspection will prove they were far from being mere elegiac couplets.

The subjects were chiefly from river scenery, and the reader will recollect what Sir Humphrey Davy has said on this subject so beautifully; it will be recollected, also, that they were published ten years before those of Mr Wordsworth on the river Duddon, Yarrow, _et cet._ There have been many claimants, among modern poets, for the laurel of the sonnet, but, in picturesque description, sentiment, and harmony, I know none superior to those of my friend the Rev.Charles Hoyle, on scenery in Scotland, the mountains of Ben Nevis, Loch Lomond, _et cet._ [3] To account for the present variations, some remained as originally with their natural pauses, others for the press I thought it best to correct into verse less broken, and now, after fifty years, they are recorrected, and restored, I believe, more nearly to the original shape in which they were first meditated.
[4] I hoped by my Sonnets to pay this vast debt.
[5] His companion, Mr Lovel, died in youth.
SONNETS, ETC.
AT TYNEMOUTH PRIORY,[6] 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 yon forsaken tower that time has rent:-- The lifted oar far off with transient gleam Is touched, and hushed is all the billowy deep! Soothed by the scene, thus on tired Nature's breast A stillness slowly steals, and kindred rest; While sea-sounds lull her, as she sinks to sleep, Like melodies that mourn upon the lyre, Waked by the breeze, and, as they mourn, expire! [6] The remains of this monastery are situated on a lofty point, on the north side of the entrance into the river Tyne, about a mile and a half below North Shields.

The rock on which the monastery stood rendered it visible at sea a long way off, in every direction, whence it presented itself as if exhorting the seamen in danger to make their vows, and promise masses and presents to the Virgin Mary and St Oswin for their deliverance.
BAMBOROUGH CASTLE.[7] Ye holy Towers that shade the wave-worn steep, Long may ye rear your aged brows sublime, Though, hurrying silent by, relentless Time Assail you, and the winds of winter sweep Round your dark battlements; for far from halls Of Pride, here Charity hath fixed her seat, Oft listening, tearful, when the tempests beat With hollow bodings round your ancient walls; And Pity, at the dark and stormy hour Of midnight, when the moon is hid on high, Keeps her lone watch upon the topmost tower, And turns her ear to each expiring cry; Blessed if her aid some fainting wretch may save, And snatch him cold and speechless from the wave.
[7] This ancient castle, with its extensive domains, heretofore the property of the family of Forster, whose heiress married Lord Crewe, Bishop of Durham, is appropriated by the will of that pious prelate to many benevolent purposes; particularly to that of administering instant relief to such shipwrecked mariners as may happen to be cast upon this dangerous coast; for whose preservation and that of their vessels every possible assistance is contrived, and is at all times ready.

The estate is in the hands of trustees appointed under the Bishop's will.
THE RIVER WAINSBECK.[8] While slowly wanders thy sequestered stream, WAINSBECK, the mossy-scattered rocks among, In fancy's ear making a plaintive song To the dark woods above, that waving seem To bend o'er some enchanted spot, removed From life's vain coil; I listen to the wind, And think I hear meek Sorrow's plaint, reclined O'er the forsaken tomb of him she loved!-- Fair scenes, ye lend a pleasure, long unknown, To him who passes weary on his way;-- Yet recreated here he may delay A while to thank you; and when years have flown, And haunts that charmed his youth he would renew, In the world's crowd he will remember you.
[8] The Wainsbeck is a sequestered river in Northumberland, having on its banks "Our Lady's Chapel," three-quarters of a mile west of Bothal.
It has been commemorated by Akenside.
THE TWEED VISITED.
O Tweed! a stranger, that with wandering feet O'er hill and dale has journeyed many a mile, (If so his weary thoughts he might beguile), Delighted turns thy stranger-stream to greet.
The waving branches that romantic bend O'er thy tall banks a soothing charm bestow; The murmurs of thy wandering wave below Seem like the converse of some long-lost friend.
Delightful stream! though now along thy shore, When spring returns in all her wonted pride, The distant pastoral pipe is heard no more;[9] Yet here while laverocks sing could I abide, Far from the stormy world's contentious roar, To muse upon thy banks at eventide.
[9] Alluding to the simple and affecting pastoral strains for which Scotland has been so long celebrated.