The Poetical Works of John Critchley Prince Edited by R. A. Douglas Lithgow |
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THE VOICE OF THE PRIMROSE. |
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 | The Poetical Works of John Critchley Prince |  |
139
THE VOICE OF THE PRIMROSE.
The sun's last glances through the clear air trembled,
And died in blushes on the changeful stream,
Till all the features of the scene resembled
The dim remembrance of some blessed dream:
A Bard sat musing by a woodland well,
Wrapt in the chain of Thought's delicious spell.
And died in blushes on the changeful stream,
Till all the features of the scene resembled
The dim remembrance of some blessed dream:
A Bard sat musing by a woodland well,
Wrapt in the chain of Thought's delicious spell.
Far hills, green fields, and shadowy woods before him,
Faded with gradual softness into shade,
And as the veil of twilight gathered o'er him,
Each lingering sound to quiet hush was laid;
And, save a breezy whisper in the bower,
Nought broke the calm of that most tender hour.
Faded with gradual softness into shade,
And as the veil of twilight gathered o'er him,
Each lingering sound to quiet hush was laid;
And, save a breezy whisper in the bower,
Nought broke the calm of that most tender hour.
At length, a voice of fragrant breath, below him,
Pronounced, in silvery syllables, his name:
But there was scarce a gleam of light to show him
From whence the gentle voice and odour came;
Till, stooping down, the murmuring tones to meet,
He saw a Primrose smiling at his feet.
Pronounced, in silvery syllables, his name:
But there was scarce a gleam of light to show him
From whence the gentle voice and odour came;
Till, stooping down, the murmuring tones to meet,
He saw a Primrose smiling at his feet.
Thus spake the flower:—“Oh! Child of Fancy! listen,
While I my sorrows and my hopes unfold;
And ere the dews upon my leaflets glisten,
My weak ambition shall to thee be told;
And when thou minglest with thy kind again,
Tell them that flowers have griefs as well as men.
While I my sorrows and my hopes unfold;
And ere the dews upon my leaflets glisten,
My weak ambition shall to thee be told;
And when thou minglest with thy kind again,
Tell them that flowers have griefs as well as men.
140
“I pine in solitude, unknown, unknowing,
From morn's first blushes to the last of eve,
And as the generous sun is o'er me glowing,
Beneath the splendour of his smile I grieve,—
Opening my bosom to the roving gale,
Far from my fragrant sisters of the vale.
From morn's first blushes to the last of eve,
And as the generous sun is o'er me glowing,
Beneath the splendour of his smile I grieve,—
Opening my bosom to the roving gale,
Far from my fragrant sisters of the vale.
“The burly peasants pass me by unheeding,
As forth they loiter to their toil at morn;
And, as they pass, my little heart is bleeding,
That I should linger in a world of scorn:
And then I hope again that I may be
The simple favourite of one like thee.
As forth they loiter to their toil at morn;
And, as they pass, my little heart is bleeding,
That I should linger in a world of scorn:
And then I hope again that I may be
The simple favourite of one like thee.
“When weeping twilight o'er this valley hovers,
And sheds her tears upon the earth, as now,
Oft do I listen to the talk of lovers,
Beneath the shadow of that hawthorn bough;
And then I sigh to grace the bashful fair,
And be entwined within her braided hair.
And sheds her tears upon the earth, as now,
Oft do I listen to the talk of lovers,
Beneath the shadow of that hawthorn bough;
And then I sigh to grace the bashful fair,
And be entwined within her braided hair.
“Young, happy children, through the woodlands roaming,
Waking the echoes with their joyous play,
Oft cross my path, and as I see them coming,
I wish that they would pluck me by the way:
Alas! regardless of my soft perfume,
They pass me o'er for things of gaudier bloom.
Waking the echoes with their joyous play,
Oft cross my path, and as I see them coming,
I wish that they would pluck me by the way:
Alas! regardless of my soft perfume,
They pass me o'er for things of gaudier bloom.
“I have beheld thee in thy fits of musing,
Thy loose hair lifted by the zephyr's sighs;
And I have seen ecstatic tears suffusing
The dreamy depths of thy soul-speaking eyes;
And I have spread my saffron leaves, perchance
To catch, though briefly, thy delighted glance.
Thy loose hair lifted by the zephyr's sighs;
And I have seen ecstatic tears suffusing
The dreamy depths of thy soul-speaking eyes;
And I have spread my saffron leaves, perchance
To catch, though briefly, thy delighted glance.
141
“Now thou hast seen me—heard me, and my story
Shall fall in sweetness from thy magic tongue;
Oh! shrine me in the halo of thy glory—
Give me a place in thine immortal song;
And when I die in this enchanted spot,
The lowly Primrose will not be forgot!”
Shall fall in sweetness from thy magic tongue;
Oh! shrine me in the halo of thy glory—
Give me a place in thine immortal song;
And when I die in this enchanted spot,
The lowly Primrose will not be forgot!”
| The Poetical Works of John Critchley Prince | |