The Poetical Works of John Critchley Prince Edited by R. A. Douglas Lithgow |
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THE STUDENT OF NATURE.
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 | The Poetical Works of John Critchley Prince |  |
211
THE STUDENT OF NATURE.
A FRAGMENT.
Books are a blessed dower, when they enshrine
Thoughts, words, and feelings of immortal men;—
Gushes of glory from a fount divine,
Flashes of freedom from the chainless pen;
Mirrors of mental light, condensed and strong,
Pure treasures of philosophy and song;
Records of truth which all should understand,
Voices of wisdom heard in every land:
I have a passion for each page of power,
And love to try its spells at midnight's quiet hour!
Thoughts, words, and feelings of immortal men;—
Gushes of glory from a fount divine,
Flashes of freedom from the chainless pen;
Mirrors of mental light, condensed and strong,
Pure treasures of philosophy and song;
Records of truth which all should understand,
Voices of wisdom heard in every land:
I have a passion for each page of power,
And love to try its spells at midnight's quiet hour!
But my chief study is in Nature's halls,
For ever fair, magnificent, sublime;
The everlasting mountains are its walls,
Which rarely shrink beneath the touch of time.
Pictured with clouds that o'er its surface roam,
Its ceiling is vast heaven's eternal dome;
By day sun-lit with splendour, and by night
Hung with a myriad lamps of never-dying light.
For ever fair, magnificent, sublime;
The everlasting mountains are its walls,
Which rarely shrink beneath the touch of time.
Pictured with clouds that o'er its surface roam,
Its ceiling is vast heaven's eternal dome;
By day sun-lit with splendour, and by night
Hung with a myriad lamps of never-dying light.
My study hath an ever-open door,
Stretching away from golden east to west;
It hath a broad and variegated floor,
The loveliest human foot hath ever pressed;
'Tis pranked with flowers of every form and hue,
Woven with streams of living crystal through;
Studded with silvery lakes and shadowy woods,
Glassed with the green expanse of Ocean's restless floods!
Stretching away from golden east to west;
It hath a broad and variegated floor,
The loveliest human foot hath ever pressed;
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Woven with streams of living crystal through;
Studded with silvery lakes and shadowy woods,
Glassed with the green expanse of Ocean's restless floods!
On every spot beneath the embracing skies,
In every season, and in every place,
Some page of beauty lingers on my eyes,
A blending of sublimity and grace;
Some living odour hangs upon the air,
From clustered leaves, fresh herbs, and blossoms fair;
Tones of strange melody, from sources dim,
Mingle to greet me with a choral hymn;
All air-born sounds, birds, bees, and gushing springs,
Breathe to my listening soul a thousand happy things!
In every season, and in every place,
Some page of beauty lingers on my eyes,
A blending of sublimity and grace;
Some living odour hangs upon the air,
From clustered leaves, fresh herbs, and blossoms fair;
Tones of strange melody, from sources dim,
Mingle to greet me with a choral hymn;
All air-born sounds, birds, bees, and gushing springs,
Breathe to my listening soul a thousand happy things!
If I go down to the unconquered deep,
On the frail ship where man embarks his life,
When horror-wingèd storms around me sweep,
Trampling the briny waters into strife—
Tossed upward to the lightning-riven clouds,
Dashed downward even to the topmost shrouds;—
I feel, or could feel, glory in the rout
Of angry waves, a language in the shout
Of wind to wind, of thunder unto thunder—
A wild and dreamy sense of danger and of wonder!
On the frail ship where man embarks his life,
When horror-wingèd storms around me sweep,
Trampling the briny waters into strife—
Tossed upward to the lightning-riven clouds,
Dashed downward even to the topmost shrouds;—
I feel, or could feel, glory in the rout
Of angry waves, a language in the shout
Of wind to wind, of thunder unto thunder—
A wild and dreamy sense of danger and of wonder!
And then to loiter on the shell-paved shore,
When calm broods o'er the billows like a dove,—
Are there not things around me as before,
To see, to feel, to dream upon and love?
Pensive to wander on the sandy verge,
And watch the snow-fringed and advancing surge
Come rolling up from out the tranquil sea,
Is peace, is joy, is luxury to me!
While the far murmur of the waves at play
Sounds like a grateful voice for troubles passed away.
When calm broods o'er the billows like a dove,—
Are there not things around me as before,
To see, to feel, to dream upon and love?
Pensive to wander on the sandy verge,
And watch the snow-fringed and advancing surge
Come rolling up from out the tranquil sea,
Is peace, is joy, is luxury to me!
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Sounds like a grateful voice for troubles passed away.
Away on Fancy's world-exploring pinions,
To Araby's wide wilderness—away;
Where the high sun hangs o'er his dread dominions,
With looks that make intolerable day,
Save when the swift and terrible simoom
Covers the face of heaven with burning gloom;
Walks o'er the surface of the sandy sea,
A formless fiend of dark sublimity;
Builds baseless mountains by his sultry breath,
And reigns, the scourge of life, the minister of death!
To Araby's wide wilderness—away;
Where the high sun hangs o'er his dread dominions,
With looks that make intolerable day,
Save when the swift and terrible simoom
Covers the face of heaven with burning gloom;
Walks o'er the surface of the sandy sea,
A formless fiend of dark sublimity;
Builds baseless mountains by his sultry breath,
And reigns, the scourge of life, the minister of death!
'Tis eve—and hark! the camel-bell is ringing;
The caravan, with perilous toils oppressed,
Stays where the tree-girt well is sweetly springing,
To snatch some fleeting hours of blessed rest.
The sun is set, and twilight, like a veil,
Floats o'er the cooling skies; the stars are pale,
But ere another hour the breath of night
Shall fan them till they burn intensely bright;
While the lone wanderers of that desert plain
Shall dream of hope and home till morn return again.
The caravan, with perilous toils oppressed,
Stays where the tree-girt well is sweetly springing,
To snatch some fleeting hours of blessed rest.
The sun is set, and twilight, like a veil,
Floats o'er the cooling skies; the stars are pale,
But ere another hour the breath of night
Shall fan them till they burn intensely bright;
While the lone wanderers of that desert plain
Shall dream of hope and home till morn return again.
In thought I sojourn in the solitudes,
The silent regions of the western star,—
The awful, dark, interminable woods,
The level prairies, stretching fair and far;
The uninvaded mountain peaks, that stand
Like the stern barriers to an unknown land;
And mighty hollows, where the Storm alone
Hath dared to plant his footsteps and his throne,—
Caverns of gloomy grandeur, where the power
Of Art hath never triumphed to this hour;
And all the thousand mysteries sublime
Which rose when Earth began,—the co-mates of old Time.
The silent regions of the western star,—
The awful, dark, interminable woods,
The level prairies, stretching fair and far;
The uninvaded mountain peaks, that stand
Like the stern barriers to an unknown land;
And mighty hollows, where the Storm alone
Hath dared to plant his footsteps and his throne,—
Caverns of gloomy grandeur, where the power
Of Art hath never triumphed to this hour;
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Which rose when Earth began,—the co-mates of old Time.
I come once more unto the milder charms
Of calm, green England, the enlightened Isle
Which lies encircled by old Ocean's arms,
And wears upon its face a placid smile;
I come unto her pastoral vales to dream
Beneath the sylvan shadows, where the stream
Twinkles with chequered radiance, as it singeth
Through grassy dingles where the wild-flower springeth,
Bent by the butterfly and gorgeous bee;
Where birds from sunny sky and trembling tree
Fill the bright summer with melodious voice;
So that my spirit cannot but rejoice
That heaven hath dropped such pleasures from above,
To cheer the human soul with poesy and love!
Of calm, green England, the enlightened Isle
Which lies encircled by old Ocean's arms,
And wears upon its face a placid smile;
I come unto her pastoral vales to dream
Beneath the sylvan shadows, where the stream
Twinkles with chequered radiance, as it singeth
Through grassy dingles where the wild-flower springeth,
Bent by the butterfly and gorgeous bee;
Where birds from sunny sky and trembling tree
Fill the bright summer with melodious voice;
So that my spirit cannot but rejoice
That heaven hath dropped such pleasures from above,
To cheer the human soul with poesy and love!
| The Poetical Works of John Critchley Prince | |