The Poetical Works of John Critchley Prince Edited by R. A. Douglas Lithgow |
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VERSES,
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 | The Poetical Works of John Critchley Prince |  |
196
VERSES,
SUGGESTED BY THE RHAIDR MAWR; OR, THE GREAT WATERFALL, IN THE VALE OF CONWAY.
Thou splendid thing of beauty and of power,
Fed by the mountain rill—the fitful shower,
From spring to winter, and from day to day;
Fain would I build me a domestic bower,
Where I might share love, solitude, and thee,
From toilsome cities and their vices free,
And far away!
Fed by the mountain rill—the fitful shower,
From spring to winter, and from day to day;
Fain would I build me a domestic bower,
Where I might share love, solitude, and thee,
From toilsome cities and their vices free,
And far away!
Thy voice came to me as I mused below,
Where silvery Conway's tranquil billows flow
Through the rich windings of his fair domain;
And I have laboured up the hill to know
Thine awful features, and to rest awhile,
My world-afflicted spirit to beguile
From care and pain.
Where silvery Conway's tranquil billows flow
Through the rich windings of his fair domain;
And I have laboured up the hill to know
Thine awful features, and to rest awhile,
My world-afflicted spirit to beguile
From care and pain.
I see thee, hear thee, feel thee, but thy face
Hath more of rugged grandeur than of grace,
Which fills the soul and fascinates the eye;
And as I linger in thy “pride of place”
'Tis sweet to watch thee in thy motions stern
Sprinkle with constant baptism the fern
That trembles by.
Hath more of rugged grandeur than of grace,
Which fills the soul and fascinates the eye;
And as I linger in thy “pride of place”
'Tis sweet to watch thee in thy motions stern
Sprinkle with constant baptism the fern
That trembles by.
At first, soft, warbling like a summer bird,
Gushing from verdant darkness, thou art heard,
Falling like strings of pearl from many a steep;
But soon thy tall and tearful trees are stirred
By the rough chidings of thy waters hoarse,
Which, waxing wilder in their downward course,
Flash, writhe, and leap.
Gushing from verdant darkness, thou art heard,
Falling like strings of pearl from many a steep;
197
By the rough chidings of thy waters hoarse,
Which, waxing wilder in their downward course,
Flash, writhe, and leap.
And now I see thee boiling, bounding under
Umbrageous arches, and I hear thy thunder,
As fierce thou fallest from thy rock of pride!
Anon, escaping from thy home of wonder
By channels branching down the mountain's breast,
Thou findest, after all thy troubles, rest
In Conway's tide.
Umbrageous arches, and I hear thy thunder,
As fierce thou fallest from thy rock of pride!
Anon, escaping from thy home of wonder
By channels branching down the mountain's breast,
Thou findest, after all thy troubles, rest
In Conway's tide.
So have I travelled o'er the waste of life
A weary journey, with afflictions rife,
Which stung and tortured me along the way;
But after waging this unequal strife,
May I go down in quietude, like thee,
And find, in regions which I cannot see,
A calmer day!
A weary journey, with afflictions rife,
Which stung and tortured me along the way;
But after waging this unequal strife,
May I go down in quietude, like thee,
And find, in regions which I cannot see,
A calmer day!
Yet thou art beautiful, in spite of all
Which waits to hold thee in unwelcome thrall,
Or break the even course of thy career:
The mixed complainings of thy frequent fall,
Thy stern impatience of the rifted rock,
And thine impetuous plunge and startling shock,
Have brought me here.
Which waits to hold thee in unwelcome thrall,
Or break the even course of thy career:
The mixed complainings of thy frequent fall,
Thy stern impatience of the rifted rock,
And thine impetuous plunge and startling shock,
Have brought me here.
Even so it seemeth with the child of song,
His very fretfulness doth make him strong—
Awaking fancies which he must reveal;
And as he strives with wretchedness and wrong,
Enduring agony without a choice,
He gains a power, a grandeur, and a voice
Which myriads feel!
His very fretfulness doth make him strong—
Awaking fancies which he must reveal;
And as he strives with wretchedness and wrong,
Enduring agony without a choice,
He gains a power, a grandeur, and a voice
Which myriads feel!
| The Poetical Works of John Critchley Prince | |