The Poetical Works of John Critchley Prince Edited by R. A. Douglas Lithgow |
 |
| I. |
|
|
THE ROSE AND THE NIGHTINGALE.
|
|
| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
| VIII. |
|
|
|
|
| II. |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
 | The Poetical Works of John Critchley Prince |  |
118
THE ROSE AND THE NIGHTINGALE.
RESPECTFULLY INSCRIBED TO HYPATIA.
The sun was away in the golden west,
And the lark had returned to his lowly nest;
And a hush and a feeling o'er earth was cast,
Which told that the glory of day was past;—
As I lingered to muse in a valley fair,
Where the Wild-rose blushed in the scented air,
And sighed, as she drooped on her trembling tree—
“My own loved Nightingale, come to me!”
And the lark had returned to his lowly nest;
And a hush and a feeling o'er earth was cast,
Which told that the glory of day was past;—
As I lingered to muse in a valley fair,
Where the Wild-rose blushed in the scented air,
And sighed, as she drooped on her trembling tree—
“My own loved Nightingale, come to me!”
The sun went down, but the summer moon
Rose up from her eastern harem soon,
And flung on the path of approaching Night
Soft gleams from her bosom of pearly light.
Pale Evening paused as she turned and wept
On the folded flowers as they sweetly slept;
But the Rose still sighed on her trembling tree—
“My own loved Nightingale, come to me!”
Rose up from her eastern harem soon,
And flung on the path of approaching Night
Soft gleams from her bosom of pearly light.
Pale Evening paused as she turned and wept
On the folded flowers as they sweetly slept;
But the Rose still sighed on her trembling tree—
“My own loved Nightingale, come to me!”
At length night came,—a mysterious hour,
When silence and gloom have a wondrous power;
And the sky hung o'er my uplifted head,
Like a gem-strewn floor where the angels tread:
The glow-worm shone, and the vesper-star
Looked out from its deep blue home afar,
And the Nightingale sang from his shadowy tree,—
“My own loved Rose, I am come to thee!”
When silence and gloom have a wondrous power;
And the sky hung o'er my uplifted head,
Like a gem-strewn floor where the angels tread:
The glow-worm shone, and the vesper-star
Looked out from its deep blue home afar,
119
“My own loved Rose, I am come to thee!”
The minstrel of solitude sang so well,
That my soul soon caught the melodious spell;
And my fond heart felt what my ear had heard,—
A lesson of love from that lonely bird:
I flew to the maid of my youthful choice,
With a bounding step and an earnest voice,
And cried, as I bent my adoring knee—
“Bright Rose of Truth, I am come to thee!”
That my soul soon caught the melodious spell;
And my fond heart felt what my ear had heard,—
A lesson of love from that lonely bird:
I flew to the maid of my youthful choice,
With a bounding step and an earnest voice,
And cried, as I bent my adoring knee—
“Bright Rose of Truth, I am come to thee!”
| The Poetical Works of John Critchley Prince | |