John Harris - Cornish Poet

John Harris was born in 1820 in Bolenowe, a small village not far from Camborne, in Cornwall. His father was a miner at Dolcoath Tin Mine where young John also started at the age of 10.He began writing poetry as a child, usually in the open air where he was inspired by nature. He published several volumes of poetry, including his masterpiece, the loco-descriptive poem 'A Story of Carn Brea'. None of his poetry is now in print. John Harris died in 1884.


Johm Harris 'A Story of Carn Brea' Extracts


"How blissful thus to muse where Nature pours
Her incense forth in hollows watch'd with hills,
And roof'd with stars, and floor'd with living flowers!
0 what a temple is the leafy wood,
The rude old carn, the ocean's solemn shore,
The valley's bosom, and the meadow's lap!
I love thee, Nature, with a fire unfeign'd,
And ever at thy feet thy child would sit
In pleasant meditation, where the eye
Of selfish man beholds not my retreat,
In storm or calm, when heaven is blue or black,
Learning thy lore, and treasuring up thy truth." Extract Book One



"HOW often hast thou fed my early Muse,
Crag-heap'd Carn Brea, when from my father's meads
I scann'd thy front, mist-clad or clear, deeming
My mount and thee twin-sisters beautiful!
One bright May morn, when violets were rare,
I trick'd old Labour, and equipp'd myself
With poets' baggage, pencil, sheet, and lyre,
And, walking o'er the moors, I turn'd my face
Towards its summit shining in the dawn,
As't were an old bard welcoming the young.
I cross'd the meadows, follow'd by our dog,
Who snuff'd the air and bark'd among the flowers,
Right happy to be free! The larks were up,
Singing among the cloudlets, and sweet song
Gush'd from a hundred hollows. In the fields
The cottagers were busy with their spades,
And ploughs, and harrows; and perhaps they thought
I was a crazy fellow wandering weird.
I reach'd the mountain's base, where an old man
And a young lad were cutting granite blocks,
Perchance to build a cottage of their own;
And hard enough they work'd. So on I went
To gain the summit of this famous carn,
Which look'd so distant from my father's door,
That oft in childhood I have thought the sun
Stopp'd on the rocks and started forth again,
Renew'd by resting on its ridgy brow;
And in my dreams within my own dear bower
I oft believed, if I could wander there,
I should be sure to see great Phœbus' bed,
And mark the door from whence the moon came out,
And view the' uncover'd stars." Extract Book Two

At the moment, I am revisiting my early love of the Romantic poets and am reading a biography of William Wordsworth. Many poets, artists and writers find their early spiritual experiences in Nature in what Wordsworth describes as 'spots of time'.These moments are transcendent, timeless moments when the individual feels a profound sense of unity with nature and a harmony which can be revisited in the imagination later in life and which acts as a spring of inspiration and healing.Wordsworth began to question why, as a child, he once was able to see an immortal presence within nature but as an adult that was fading away except in these few moments:

'There are in our existence spots of time,
That with distinct pre-eminence retain
A renovating virtue, whence–depressed
By false opinion and contentious thought,
Or aught of heavier or more deadly weight,
In trivial occupations, and the round
Of ordinary intercourse–our minds
Are nourished and invisibly repaired;
A virtue, by which pleasure is enhanced,
That penetrates, enables us to mount,
When high, more high, and lifts us up when fallen.'

The Prelude W.Wordsworth

It is worthwhile pausing for a moment and reflecting on these moments in our own life, particularly early moments in childhood to draw a sense of healing and strength.The power of nature to enable us to overcome the difficulties of our daily 'trivial occupations' is profound. In John Harris's vision of Carn Brea, he resembles Wordsworth as he sets out on an early morning ramble to greet the dawn imagining himself as poet, artist and minstrel with his pencil, sheet and lyre. He feels free from the daily grind of a miner's life as he passes a miner and his son cutting granite blocks for their cottage. The way he describes the 'ridgy brow' of the 'craggy carn' which he views as a mountain personifies it.It is a living entity of mythic and eternal significance to him and he sees it every day. I love the way he sees himself as slightly mad; a 'crazy fellow wandering weird'and in this day and age as he cheats the mundane work day he must have been viewed as such by the community of sombre Methodists. This sense of seeing the carn as a quest and adventure to be enjoyed really moved me as I too have set forth in the same way on a May morning and it is true that still the Carn Brea valley is alive with birdsong and blossom at this time of year.Like Wordworth and many a Romantic he will wonder in his imagination back to this moment when he is dreaming in his 'bower'. Wordsworth says:
'For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;

when he describes his vision of the daffodils in his famous poem. As winter draws in it is comforting to lie on the sofa and dream of those moments of harmony and spiritual inspiration in nature. I like the way Harris walks out from his father's door. He can imbue this carn with the grandeur of a mountain and by climbing it he is closer to the infinite, just as Wordsworth climbed Helvellyn and other Lakeland peaks. Many poets seek their muse in high places like the prophets and bards of ancient Greece sought their Gods and Goddesses on Mount Olympus. Thus each of us can find in ourselves the poet and the pilgrim as we set out from our ordinary front doors in search of these extraordinary moments.

Blessed Be x x x