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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=538683" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>XI. Written at Ostend</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=538683" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">HOW sweet the tuneful bells' responsive peal! <br>As when, at opening morn, the fragrant breeze <br>Breathes on the trembling sense of wan disease, <br>So piercing to my heart their force I feel! <br>And hark! with lessening cadence now they fall, <br>And now, along the white and level tide, <br>They fling their melancholy music wide, <br>Bidding me many a tender thought recall <br>Of summer-days, and those delightful years, <br>When by my native streams, in life's fair prime, <br>The mournful magic of their mingling chime <br>First wak'd my wond'ring childhood into tears! <br>But seeming now, when all those days are o'er, <br>The sounds of joy, once heard, and heard no more.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><a href="http://poems.citatepedia.com/">poem</a> by <strong><a rel="author" href="http://authors.citatepedia.com/by.php?a=William+Lisle+Bowles">William Lisle Bowles</a></strong></div>

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