The Poetical Works of John Critchley Prince Edited by R. A. Douglas Lithgow |
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WELCOME TO SPRING. |
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 | The Poetical Works of John Critchley Prince |  |
1
WELCOME TO SPRING.
Hail, jubilant Spring! thou bringer of bright hours!
Thou poem, pictured to my grateful gaze,
With all thy wealth of constellated flowers,
Thy lessening shadows, and thy lengthening days!
Thy gleesome voices and thy genial smile
Have drawn the Dreamer from his sombre room,
To drink the spirit of thy breeze awhile—
Thy breeze imbued with healing and perfume—
Amid the quiet fields, that kindle into bloom.
Thou poem, pictured to my grateful gaze,
With all thy wealth of constellated flowers,
Thy lessening shadows, and thy lengthening days!
Thy gleesome voices and thy genial smile
Have drawn the Dreamer from his sombre room,
To drink the spirit of thy breeze awhile—
Thy breeze imbued with healing and perfume—
Amid the quiet fields, that kindle into bloom.
Oh! I have dreamt of thy glad coming long,
Through many a weary day and wakeful night,
When the wild winds did shout their Winter song,
When the sad sun shed ineffectual light;
When the sharp scourge of pain was on my brow,
When the harsh hand of worldly care oppressed;
But thy blithe presence disenthrals me now,
And I am with thee, a rejoicing guest,
Pacing thy flowery floors, where I was ever blest.
Through many a weary day and wakeful night,
When the wild winds did shout their Winter song,
When the sad sun shed ineffectual light;
When the sharp scourge of pain was on my brow,
When the harsh hand of worldly care oppressed;
But thy blithe presence disenthrals me now,
And I am with thee, a rejoicing guest,
Pacing thy flowery floors, where I was ever blest.
2
I banquet on thy beauties, rich and rife,
Flung without measure from thy lavish hand,—
Shapes, hues, and motions, redolent of life,
And glorious promise to the glowing land;
Odours and harmonies on every side
Refresh the sense, regale the raptured ear;
My heart is soothed, my soul is satisfied,
My faith exalted, and my joy sincere,
Because all Nature breathes—“Beneficence is here.”
Flung without measure from thy lavish hand,—
Shapes, hues, and motions, redolent of life,
And glorious promise to the glowing land;
Odours and harmonies on every side
Refresh the sense, regale the raptured ear;
My heart is soothed, my soul is satisfied,
My faith exalted, and my joy sincere,
Because all Nature breathes—“Beneficence is here.”
'Tis joy to feel this sunlight, soft and warm,
Touch with a golden flow my pallid face;
To see these trees, unconquered by the storm,
Greening, and growing into ampler grace;
To watch the lark careering up the sky,
Bathing his wings the billowy clouds among,
While the calm earth, uplooking, seems to lie
Listening, enamoured of that passionate song
Which birds of kindred voice symphoniously prolong.
Touch with a golden flow my pallid face;
To see these trees, unconquered by the storm,
Greening, and growing into ampler grace;
To watch the lark careering up the sky,
Bathing his wings the billowy clouds among,
While the calm earth, uplooking, seems to lie
Listening, enamoured of that passionate song
Which birds of kindred voice symphoniously prolong.
Lo! the rich Rainbow, with prismatic beams,
Builds up the splendours of its braided bridge,
Strides o'er the valleys, glows upon the streams,
Leans on the shoulder of the mountain ridge;
While the quick coming of the twinkling rain
Takes the lone rambler with a sweet surprise,
And bough and blossom, now refreshed and fain,
With flowers that ope their many-coloured eyes,
Droop with a blessed boon—the largess of the skies.
Builds up the splendours of its braided bridge,
Strides o'er the valleys, glows upon the streams,
Leans on the shoulder of the mountain ridge;
While the quick coming of the twinkling rain
Takes the lone rambler with a sweet surprise,
And bough and blossom, now refreshed and fain,
With flowers that ope their many-coloured eyes,
Droop with a blessed boon—the largess of the skies.
The bow expires with weeping; woods resound,
Heaven's cloudy curtain fades and flits away;
Breaks into brighter smiles the landscape round,
Glad in the sun-god's renovating ray;
Each flowery cup, a living censer, flings
Spontaneous perfume in the grateful air;
Thanksgiving from a thousand voices springs,
(Hear, thankless Man! what Heaven and Earth declare!)
And what is silent seems to stir with inward prayer.
Heaven's cloudy curtain fades and flits away;
Breaks into brighter smiles the landscape round,
Glad in the sun-god's renovating ray;
3
Spontaneous perfume in the grateful air;
Thanksgiving from a thousand voices springs,
(Hear, thankless Man! what Heaven and Earth declare!)
And what is silent seems to stir with inward prayer.
There the pale primrose, lone and lovely, peeps
From the green gloom of that thorn-shadowed nook;
Brightens the bank where fresher verdure creeps
Along the sinuous borders of the brook;
Here crowd the daisies with a silvery smile,
And gleam (Earth's “milky way”) o'er vale and lea,—
Daisies, like daughters of my native isle,
Like the true woman, wheresoe'er she be—
Serene, yet cheerful all, lovely, erect, and free.
From the green gloom of that thorn-shadowed nook;
Brightens the bank where fresher verdure creeps
Along the sinuous borders of the brook;
Here crowd the daisies with a silvery smile,
And gleam (Earth's “milky way”) o'er vale and lea,—
Daisies, like daughters of my native isle,
Like the true woman, wheresoe'er she be—
Serene, yet cheerful all, lovely, erect, and free.
Here the wild woodlands build umbrageous halls,
A sylvan realm of shifting lights and shades,
Where the lone streamlet leaps in tiny falls,
Striving with brakes, and singing through the glades.
On every bough—through which the kindly skies,
Flecked with loose clouds, look sweetly from above—
The light leaves quiver when the Zephyr sighs,
Glancing like changeful plumage of the dove,
As with the stir of youth, the ecstasy of love.
A sylvan realm of shifting lights and shades,
Where the lone streamlet leaps in tiny falls,
Striving with brakes, and singing through the glades.
On every bough—through which the kindly skies,
Flecked with loose clouds, look sweetly from above—
The light leaves quiver when the Zephyr sighs,
Glancing like changeful plumage of the dove,
As with the stir of youth, the ecstasy of love.
Hail, careless cuckoo! whose far call awakes
Some sad, sweet memories of Boyhood's hours;
Hail, merry thrush! whose cheerful music makes,
From dawn till dark, enchantment in the bowers;
Hail, joyous skylark! whose aspiring wing
Soars bravely heavenward from the dewy sod,
Eager to meet the morn, so thou mayst sing—
Even on the threshold by Aurora trod—
Thy greeting to the sun, thy anthem unto God!
Some sad, sweet memories of Boyhood's hours;
Hail, merry thrush! whose cheerful music makes,
From dawn till dark, enchantment in the bowers;
Hail, joyous skylark! whose aspiring wing
Soars bravely heavenward from the dewy sod,
Eager to meet the morn, so thou mayst sing—
Even on the threshold by Aurora trod—
Thy greeting to the sun, thy anthem unto God!
4
Hail, happy Spring! whose resurrection-day,
To the prime law of steadfast Nature true,
Delights the loving, makes the gloomiest gay,—
Moves the low pulse of languid life anew;
Unlocks the heart, gives thought a brighter dream,
Opes a fresh fountain in the fainting soul,
Wakes us to worship of that one Supreme,
That sleepless Spirit of the wondrous whole,
By Whose august decree Suns—Systems—Seasons roll!
To the prime law of steadfast Nature true,
Delights the loving, makes the gloomiest gay,—
Moves the low pulse of languid life anew;
Unlocks the heart, gives thought a brighter dream,
Opes a fresh fountain in the fainting soul,
Wakes us to worship of that one Supreme,
That sleepless Spirit of the wondrous whole,
By Whose august decree Suns—Systems—Seasons roll!
Oh! mother Earth! of Love and Wisdom born,
Nurse of all placid thoughts, all pure desires,
Consoler of the weary heart forlorn,
Creator of the Poet's chastest fires;—
How sweet to 'scape the thraldom of the town,
Whose feverish air with sin, strife, sorrow rings,
On thy maternal breast to lay me down,
Swathed in the joys thy unsoiled beauty brings—
And catch rare glimpses thence of God's diviner things!
Nurse of all placid thoughts, all pure desires,
Consoler of the weary heart forlorn,
Creator of the Poet's chastest fires;—
How sweet to 'scape the thraldom of the town,
Whose feverish air with sin, strife, sorrow rings,
On thy maternal breast to lay me down,
Swathed in the joys thy unsoiled beauty brings—
And catch rare glimpses thence of God's diviner things!
| The Poetical Works of John Critchley Prince | |