82 
NATURE NOTES. 
He sings the graces of nature with all the courteous ardour and 
delicacy of an old poet celebrating his mistress ; and his tone, 
among the fields and thickets of spring, is that of other men 
among the wonders of art. Not that he is euphuistic, affected, 
artificial in his praise of nature, but, if the phrase be not too 
foolish, he seems careful not to hurt her feelings. Most men 
of any generous instincts are courteous, as well as kind, to their 
horse or dog. Mr. Bridges is courteous to a flower, a stream, 
a wood. He has a certain reticence in his speech, a certain 
restraint and reverential moderation ; it is more than the instinct 
of the artist, it is the instinct of the man, deep in his nature. 
He writes never at random, but always in response to some 
appeal from the earth about him ; some rare beauty of early 
spring, some waft of wind over the downs, some shadow flying 
along the sea, comes as a strain of music, waking accordant 
thoughts. His poems seem always to thank nature, and the 
Lord of nature, for this beauty, this delight ; a poet of the nine- 
teenth century, with subtleties of his own, he yet has a portion 
of the spirit of Saint Francis, who gave thanks, blessing, and 
praise for his “ sisters and brothers,” moon and sun, water and 
wind. It is a delicacy to be noted also in all Celtic peoples, 
with their “natural magic.” In Mr. Bridges it does not pass 
into a faith or a superstition directly expressed, but it is the 
very soul of his loveliest lyrics, making them things of distinc- 
tion and of grace. 
It is not in single phrases that this poet of nature makes his 
power felt, but in the key of joyousness or pensiveness, to 
which each poem is set. The naturalist, who loves poetry, can 
hardly quote from him Tennysonian felicities of expression : the 
felicity of Mr. Bridges is a simpler thing, and he has no purple 
patches. He gives us less a number of brilliant pictures than 
the sentiment of a scene. His visions of spring, his praises of 
clear streams, and river banks, and glowing gardens, and open 
country, contain few positive details which any man might not 
have noted. It is his evocation from each scene or season of its 
individual spirit, its charm for the imagination, that is his dis- 
tinctive mark : he is a connoisseur in the dainties and delicacies of 
nature, he can taste the quality of each, and assign to it its 
value. Here is a snatch of song, which shows us something of 
his mind, something akin to that of the nobler Epicureans : — 
“ The idle life I lead 
Is like a pleasant sleep. 
Wherein I rest and heed 
The dreams that by me sweep. 
“ And still of all my dreams 
In turn so swiftly past. 
Each in its fancy seems 
A nobler than the last. 
“ And every eve I say. 
Noting my step in bliss. 
That I have known no day 
In all my life like this.” 
