Bowles 14: On the Ryne

'Twas morn, and beauteous on the mountain's brow,
(Hung with the blushes of the bending vine)
Stream'd the blue light, when on the sparkling Ryne
We bounded, and the white waves round the prow
In murmurs parted:—varying as we go,
Lo! the woods open, and the rocks retire,
Some Convent's ancient wall, or glist'ning spire,
'Mid the bright landscape's track, unfolding slow.
Here dark with furrowed aspect, like despair,
Hangs the bleak cliff—there on the woodland's side
The shadowy sunshine pours its streaming tide,
Whilst hope, inchanted with the scene so fair,
Would wish to linger many a summer's day,
Nor heeds how fast the prospect winds away.

'Beauteous' is a word Bowles overuses (and all his mountains appear to have brows); but this is otherwise an uncharacteristically lovely and vigorous piece of poetry. I especially like the 'shadowy sunshine': it suggests the sort of bright sunshine that casts clear, distinct shadows, I suppose; but it flirts just enough with a kind of oxymoronic contradiction (sunshine is the opposite of shadow, after all)—almost a Miltonic darkness visible—to spin-off a little spark of proper poetic effectiveness. Plus: I vastly prefer this spelling of Rhine. We should petition Parliament to have it adopted over here. Ryne. Lovely!