Poem by Edward Woodley Bowling

A Vision

  As hard at work I trimmed the midnight lamp,
    Yfilling of mine head with classic lore,
  Mine hands firm clasped upon my temples damp,
    Methought I heard a tapping at the door;
  'Come in,' I cried, with most unearthly rore,
    Fearing a horrid Dun or Don to see,
  Or Tomkins, that unmitigated bore,
    Whom I love not, but who alas! loves me,
  And cometh oft unbid and drinketh of my tea.

  'Come in,' I rored; when suddenly there rose
    A magick form before my dazzled eyes:
  'Or do I wake,' I asked myself 'or doze'?
    Or hath an angel come in mortal guise'?
  So wondered I; but nothing mote surmise;
    Only I gazed upon that lovely face,
  In reverence yblent with mute surprise:
    Sure never yet was seen such wondrous grace,
  Since Adam first began to run his earthlie race.

  Her hands were folded on her bosom meek;
    Her sweet blue eyes were lifted t'ward the skie;
  Her lips were parted, yet she did not speak;
    Only at times she sighed, or seemed to sigh:
  In all her 'haviour was there nought of shy;
    Yet well I wis no Son of Earth would dare,
  To look with love upon that lofty eye;
    For in her beauty there was somewhat rare,
  A something that repell'd an ordinary stare.

  Then did she straight a snowycloth disclose
    Of samite, which she placed upon a chair:
  Then, smiling like a freshly-budding rose,
    She gazed upon me with a witching air,
  As mote a Cynic anchorite ensnare.
    Eftsoons, as though her thoughts she could not smother,
  She hasted thus her mission to declare:--
    'Please, these is your clean things I've brought instead of brother,
  'And if you'll pay the bill you'll much oblige my mother.'

  (1860).

1. A May Term Memory
2. The Battle of the Pons Trium Trojanorum
3. Athletes and Aesthesis
4. Julia
5. Clio Fatidica

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