The Poetical Works of John Critchley Prince :: :: University of Virginia Library

Grieved at the crimes and sorrows of mankind,
My soul grows sick of this unquiet world:
When shall the links of Error be untwined,
And withering Falsehood from her seat be hurled?
When shall pure Truth pour sunshine on the mind,
And Love's unspotted pinions be unfurled?
When shall Oppression's blood-stained sceptre fall,
And Freedom's wide embrace encircle all?

Celestial Hope! on thine eternal wings,
Through all thy boundless regions let me fly:
Remembrance of the past no comfort brings,
Oh, give the future to my anxious eye!

'Tis done! and lo, some prophet-spirit flings
The mantle of its power, and I descry,
Through the vast shadows of advancing time,
A cheering vision, lovely and sublime.

Enchanting picture of that happy scheme,
Whose blessings few have known, yet all shall know!
I hail thy coming, for thy dawning beam
Shall fill the world with its unclouded glow!
Ere long the patriot's hope, the poet's dream,
Shall change to sweet reality below;
And man, the slave of ignorance and strife,
Wake to a birth of intellectual life.

In fancy I behold the home of love,
Bathed in the sunlight of an azure June,
Where the rich mountains lift their forms above
The crystal calmness of the bright lagoon;
Where timid Peace, like some domestic dove,
Broods in the lap of Joy, and every boon
That harmonising Liberty can give,
Clings round a spot on which 'tis heaven to live!

I see no splendid tyrant on a throne,
Extorting homage with a bauble rod:
No senate, heedless of a people's moan,
Cursing the produce of the fertile sod;
No sensual priest, with pampered pride o'erblown,
Shielding oppression in the name of God;
No pensioned concubine—no pauper peer,
To scorn the widow's or the orphan's tear.

I see no bondsman at his brother's feet,
The weak one fearing what the strong one saith;
No biass'd wealth upon the judgment-seat,
Urging its victims to disgrace or death;
No venal pleaders, privileged to cheat,
With truth and falsehood in the self-same breath;
No dungeon glooms,—no prisons for the poor—
No partial laws to render power secure.

I see no human prodigy of war,
Borne on the wings of slaughter unto fame,—
The special favourite of some evil star,
Sent forth to gather curses on his name;—
Like him whose grave is o'er the ocean far,
At once his country's idol and her shame,
The bloody vulture of Imperial Gaul,
Whose loftiest flight sustained a fatal fall.

I see no honest toil, unpaid, unfed—
No idler revelling in lust and wine;
No sweat and blood unprofitably shed,
To answer every rash and dark design;
No violation of the marriage bed—
The worst transgression of a law divine—
No tempting devil in the shape of gold,
For which men's hearts and minds are bought and sold.

Instead of these I see a graceful hill,
On whose green sides unnumbered flocks are leaping;
I see the sparkling sheen of flood and rill,
Through cultured vales their tuneful mazes keeping;
And human habitations, too, that fill
A pleasant space, from leafy coverts peeping;
And blithesome swains upon their homeward way,
Singing the burden of some moral lay.

Beneath a lovely and unbounded sky,
Which wears its evening livery the while,
What scenes of beauty captivate the eye!
What spots of bloom—what fields of promise smile!
And where yon calm and peopled dwellings lie,
There breathes no slave, there beats no heart of guile;
But all is freedom, happiness, and quiet,
Far from the world, its restlessness, and riot.

To healthful, moderate, and mutual toil,
Yon sons of Industry go forth at morn,—
Take from indulgent earth a lawful spoil
Of juicy fruitage and nutritious corn.
Thus all the children of the common soil
Draw rich supplies from Plenty's flowing horn;
There is no bondage, no privation there,
To heave the breast, and dim the eye with care.

There Woman moves, with beauty-moulded form,
First inspiration of the Poet's song,
Her heart with fondest, purest feelings warm—
Soul in her eyes, and music on her tongue;
Esteemed and taught, she lives above the storm
Of social discord, poverty, and wrong;
Graceful and good, intelligent and kind,
The loveliest temple of the mighty mind!

Her offspring, too, unfettered as the fawn,
With elfin eyes, and cheeks that mock the rose,
Chase the wild bees o'er many a flowery lawn,
Or gather pebbles where the brooklet flows;
A little world of purity is drawn
Around their steps; a moral grandeur glows,
Serene in majesty, before their eyes,
Moulding their thoughts and feelings as they rise.

Oh, blest Community! calm spot of earth!
Where Love encircles all in his embrace;
Where generous deeds and sentiments have birth,
Warming each heart, and brightening every face;
Where pure Philosophy, and temperate Mirth,
The lore of Science, and the witching grace
Of never-dying Poesy, combine
To feed the hungry soul with food divine!

My flight is finished, and my fitful muse
Descends to cold reality again!
Yet she hath dipped her garments in the hues
Of hope and love, and she shall aid my pen,

With firm though feeble labour to diffuse
The love of truth among the sons of men;
And when her powers shall tremble and decay,
May loftier harps sustain the hallowed lay!

A thousand systems have been formed and wrought,
Where man hath looked for good, but looked in vain;
A thousand doctrines writ, diffused, and taught,
Adding new links to Error's tangled chain:
But, oh! the Apostles of unfettered thought—
Unwearied foes of Falsehood and her train—
Shall lift the veil of mystery at last,
And future times atone for all the past!