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diff --git a/old/bkwye10.txt b/old/bkwye10.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..050f0eb --- /dev/null +++ b/old/bkwye10.txt @@ -0,0 +1,2484 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Banks of Wye, by Robert Bloomfield + +Copyright laws are changing all over the world. Be sure to check the +copyright laws for your country before downloading or redistributing +this or any other Project Gutenberg eBook. + +This header should be the first thing seen when viewing this Project +Gutenberg file. Please do not remove it. Do not change or edit the +header without written permission. + +Please read the "legal small print," and other information about the +eBook and Project Gutenberg at the bottom of this file. Included is +important information about your specific rights and restrictions in +how the file may be used. You can also find out about how to make a +donation to Project Gutenberg, and how to get involved. + + +**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts** + +**eBooks Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971** + +*****These eBooks Were Prepared By Thousands of Volunteers!***** + + +Title: The Banks of Wye + +Author: Robert Bloomfield + +Release Date: October, 2005 [EBook #9047] +[Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule] +[This file was first posted on September 1, 2003] + +Edition: 10 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE BANKS OF WYE *** + + + + +Produced by Jonathan Ingram, Charles Bidwell +and Online Distributed Proofreaders + + + + +[Illustration: View of the Wye through a Gateway at Crickhowel.] + + +THE BANKS OF WYE; + +A POEM. + +In Four Books. + +By ROBERT BLOOMFIELD, + +Author of _The Farmer's Boy_. + +London: +Printed for the Author; Vernor, Hood, and Sharpe, Poultry; +and Longman, Hurst, Rees, Orme, and Brown, Paternoster Row; + +1811. + +Printed by T. Hood and Co., St. John's Square, London. + + + + +To THOMAS LLOYD BAKER, ESQ. +Of Stout's Hill, Uley, And His Excellent Lady; +And +ROBERT BRANSBY COOPER, ESQ. +Of Ferwey Hill, Dursley, In The County Of Gloucester, +And All The Members Of His Family, +THIS JOURNAL IS DEDICATED, +With Sentiments Of High Esteem, +And A Lively Recollection Of Past Pleasures, +By Their Humble Servant, +THE AUTHOR. + + + +PREFACE. + +In the summer of 1807, a party of my good friends in Gloucestershire +proposed to themselves a short excursion down the Wye, and through part of +South Wales. + +While this plan was in agitation, the lines which I had composed on +"Shooter's Hill," during ill health, and inserted in my last volume, +obtained their particular attention. A spirit of prediction, as well as +sorrow, is there indulged; and it was now in the power of this happy party +to falsify such predictions, and to render a pleasure to the writer of no +common kind. An invitation to accompany them was the consequence; and the +following Journal is the result of that invitation. + +Should the reader, from being a resident, or frequent visitor, be well +acquainted with the route, and able to discover inaccuracies in distances, +succession of objects, or local particulars, he is requested to recollect, +that the party was out but ten days; a period much too short for correct +and laborious description, but quite sufficient for all the powers of +poetry which I feel capable of exerting. The whole exhibits the language +and feelings of a man who had never before seen a mountainous country; and +of this it is highly necessary that the reader should be apprized. + +A Swiss, or perhaps a Scottish Highlander, may smile at supposed or real +exaggerations; but they will be excellent critics, when they call to mind +that they themselves judge, in these cases, as I do, by comparison. + +Perhaps it may be said, that because much of public approbation has fallen +to my lot, it was unwise to venture again. I confess that the journey left +such powerful, such unconquerable impressions on my mind, that embodying +my thoughts in rhyme became a matter almost of necessity. To the parties +concerned I know it will be an acceptable little volume: to whom, and to +the public, it Is submitted with due respect. + +ROBERT BLOOMFIELD. + +City Road, London, + +June 30,1811 + + + +THE BANKS OF WYE. + + +BOOK I. + + +CONTENTS OF BOOK I. + +The Vale of Uley.--Forest of Dean.--Ross.--Wilton Castle.--Goodrich +Castle.--Courtfield, Welch Bicknor, Coldwell.--Gleaner's Song.--Coldwell +Rocks.--Symmon's Yat.--Great Doward.--New Wier.--Arthur's Hall.--Martin's +Well.--The Coricle.--Arrival at Monmouth. + + + +THE BANKS OF THE WYE. + + +BOOK I. + + +"Rouse from thy slumber, pleasure calls, arise, +Quit thy half-rural bower, awhile despise +The thraldom that consumes thee. We who dwell +Far from thy land of smoke, advise thee well. +Here Nature's bounteous hand around shall fling, +Scenes that thy Muse hath never dar'd to sing. +When sickness weigh'd thee down, and strength declin'd; +When dread eternity absorb'd thy mind, +Flow'd the predicting verse, by gloom o'erspread, +That 'Cambrian mountains' thou should'st never tread, +That 'time-worn cliff, and classic stream to see,' +Was wealth's prerogative, despair for thee. +Come to the proof; with us the breeze inhale, +Renounce despair, and come to Severn's vale; +And where the COTSWOLD HILLS are stretch'd along, +Seek our green dell, as yet unknown to song: +Start hence with us, and trace, with raptur'd eye, +The wild meanderings of the beauteous WYE; +Thy ten days leisure ten days joy shall prove, +And rock and stream breathe amity and love." + +Such was the call; with instant ardour hail'd. +The syren Pleasure caroll'd and prevail'd; +Soon the deep dell appear'd, and the clear brow +Of ULEY BURY [A] smil'd o'er all below, +[Footnote A: Bury, or Burg, the Saxon name for a hill, particularly for +one wholly or partially formed by art.] +Mansion, and flock, and circling woods that hung +Round the sweet pastures where the sky-lark sung. +O for the fancy, vigorous and sublime, +Chaste as the theme, to triumph over time! +Bright as the rising day, and firm as truth, +To speak new transports to the lowland youth, +That bosoms still might throb, and still adore, +When his who strives to charm them beats no more! + +One August morn, with spirits high, +Sound health, bright hopes, and cloudless sky, +A cheerful group their farewell bade +To DURSLEY tower, to ULEY'S shade; +And where bold STINCHCOMB'S greenwood side. +Heaves in the van of highland pride, +Scour'd the broad vale of Severn; there +The foes of verse shall never dare +Genius to scorn, or bound its power, +There blood-stain'd BERKLEY'S turrets low'r, +A name that cannot pass away, +Till time forgets "the Bard" of GRAY. + +Quitting fair Glo'ster's northern road, +To gain the pass of FRAMELODE, +Before us DEAN'S black forest spread, +And MAY HILL, with his tufted head, +Beyond the ebbing tide appear'd; +And Cambria's distant mountains rear'd +Their dark blue summits far away; +And SEVERN, 'midst the burning day, +Curv'd his bright line, and bore along +The mingled _Avon_, pride of song. + +The trembling steeds soon ferry'd o'er, +Neigh'd loud upon the forest shore; +Domains that once, at early morn, +Rang to the hunter's bugle horn, +When barons proud would bound away; +When even kings would hail the day, +And swell with pomp more glorious shows, +Than ant-hill population knows. +Here crested chiefs their bright-arm'd train +Of javelin'd horsemen rous'd amain, +And chasing wide the wolf or boar, +Bade the deep woodland vallies roar. + +Harmless we past, and unassail'd, +Nor once at roads or tumpikes rail'd: +Through depths of shade oft sun-beams broke, +Midst noble FLAXLEY'S bowers of oak; +And many a cottage trim and gay, +Whisper'd delight through all the way; +On hills expos'd, in dells unseen, +To patriarchal MITCHEL DEAN. +Rose-cheek'd _Pomona_ there was seen, +And _Ceres_ edg'd her fields between, +And on each hill-top mounted high, +Her sickle wav'd in extasy; +Till Ross, thy charms all hearts confess'd, +Thy peaceful walks, thy hours of rest +And contemplation. Here the mind, +With all its luggage left behind, +Dame Affectation's leaden wares, +Spleen, envy, pride, life's thousand cares, +Feels all its dormant fires revive, +And sees "the _Man of Ross_" alive; +And hears the Twick'nham Bard again, +To KYRL'S high virtues lift his strain; +Whose own hand cloth'd this far-fam'd hill +With rev'rend elms, that shade us still; +Whose mem'ry shall survive the day, +When elms and empires feel decay. +KYRL die, by bard ennobled? Never; +"_The Man of Ross_" shall live for ever; +Ross, that exalts its spire on high, +Above the flow'ry-margin'd WYE, +Scene of the morrow's joy, that prest +Its unseen beauties on our rest +In dreams; but who of dreams would tell, +Where truth sustains the song so well? + +The morrow came, and Beauty's eye +Ne'er beam'd upon a lovelier sky; +Imagination instant brought, +And dash'd amidst the train of thought, +Tints of the bow. The boatman stript; +Glee at the helm exulting tript, +And way'd her flower-encircled wand, +"Away, away, to Fairy Land." +Light dipt the oars; but who can name +The various objects dear to fame, +That changing, doubting, wild, and strong, +Demand the noblest powers of song? +Then, O forgive the vagrant Muse, +Ye who the sweets of Nature choose; +And thou whom destiny hast tied +To this romantic river's side, +Down gazing from each close retreat, +On boats that glide beneath thy feet, +Forgive the stranger's meagre line, +That seems to slight that spot of thine; +For he, alas! could only glean +The changeful outlines of the scene; +A momentary bliss; and here +Links memory's power with rapture's tear. + +Who curb'd the barons' kingly power[A]? +[Footnote A: Henry the Seventh gave an irrevocable blow to the dangerous +privileges assumed by the barons, in abolishing liveries and retainers, by +which every malefactor could shelter himself from the law, on assuming a +nobleman's livery, and attending his person. And as a finishing stroke to +the feudal tenures, an act was passed, by which the barons and gentlemen +of landed interest were at liberty to sell and mortgage their lands, +without fines or licences for the alienation.] +Let hist'ry tell that fateful hour +At home, when surly winds shall roar, +And prudence shut the study door. +DE WILTON'S here of mighty name, +The whelming flood, the summer stream, +Mark'd from their towers.--The fabric falls, +The rubbish of their splendid halls, +Time in his march hath scatter'd wide, +And blank oblivion strives to hide. + +Awhile the grazing herd was seen, +And trembling willow's silver green, +Till the fantastic current stood, +In line direct for PENCRAIG WOOD; +Whose bold green summit welcome bade, +Then rear'd behind his nodding shade. +Here, as the light boat skimm'd along, +The clarionet, and chosen song, +That mellow, wild, Eolian lay, +"Sweet in the Woodlands," roll'd away, +In echoes down the stream, that bore +Each dying close to every shore, +And forward Cape, and woody range, +That form the never-ceasing change, +To him who floating, void of care, +Twirls with the stream, he knows not where; +Till bold, impressive, and sublime, +Gleam'd all that's left by storms and time +Of GOODRICH TOWERS. The mould'ring pile +Tells noble truths,--but dies the while; +O'er the steep path, through brake and briar, +His batter'd turrets still aspire, +In rude magnificence. 'Twas here +LANCASTRIAN HENRY spread his cheer, +When came the news that HAL was born, +And MONMOUTH hail'd th' auspicious morn; +A boy in sports, a prince in war, +Wisdom and valour crown'd his car; +Of France the terror, England's glory, +As Stratford's bard has told the story. + +No butler's proxies snore supine, +Where the old monarch kept his wine; +No Welch ox roasting, horns and all, +Adorns his throng'd and laughing hall; +But where he pray'd, and told his beads, +A thriving ash luxuriant spreads. + +No wheels by piecemeal brought the pile; +No barks embowel'd Portland Isle; +Dig, cried experience, dig away, +Bring the firm quarry into day, +The excavation still shall save +Those ramparts which its entrails gave. +"Here kings shall dwell," the builders cried; +"Here England's foes shall low'r their pride; +Hither shall suppliant nobles come, +And this be England's royal home." +Vain hope! for on the Gwentian shore, +The regal banner streams no more! +Nettles, and vilest weeds that grow, +To mock poor grandeur's head laid low, +Creep round the turrets valour rais'd, +And flaunt where youth and beauty gaz'd. + +Here fain would strangers loiter long, +And muse as Fancy's woof grows strong; +Yet cold the heart that could complain, +Where POLLETT [Footnote: The boatman.] struck his oars again; +For lovely as the sleeping child, +The stream glides on sublimely wild, +In perfect beauty, perfect ease; +The awning trembled in the breeze, +And scarcely trembled, as we stood +For RUERDEAN Spire, and BISHOP'S WOOD. +The fair domains of COURTFIELD [A] made +A paradise of mingled shade +[Footnote A: A seat belonging to the family of Vaughan, which is not +unnoticed in the pages of history. According to tradition, it is the place +where Henry the Fifth was nursed, under the care of the Countess of +Salisbury, from which circumstance the original name of Grayfield is said +to have been changed to Courtfield. (This is probably an erroneous +tradition; for Court was a common name for a manor-house, where the lord +of the manor held his court.--_Core's Monmouth_.)] +Round BICKNOR'S tiny church, that cowers +Beneath his host of woodland bowers. + +But who the charm of words shall fling, +O'er RAVEN CLIFF and COLDWELL Spring, +To brighten the unconscious eye, +And wake the soul to extasy? + +Noon scorch'd the fields; the boat lay to; +The dripping oars had nought to do, +Where round us rose a scene that might +Enchant an ideot--glorious sight! +Here, in one gay according mind, +Upon the sparkling stream we din'd; +As shepherds free on mountain heath, +Free as the fish that watch'd beneath +For falling crumbs, where cooling lay +The wine that cheer'd us on our way. +Th' unruffled bosom of the stream, +Gave every tint and every gleam; +Gave shadowy rocks, and clear blue sky, +And double clouds of various dye; +Gave dark green woods, or russet brown, +And pendant corn-fields, upside down. + +A troop of gleaners chang'd their shade, +And 'twas a change by music made; +For slowly to the brink they drew, +To mark our joy, and share it too. +How oft, in childhood's flow'ry days, +I've heard the wild impassion'd lays +Of such a group, lays strange and new, +And thought, was ever song so true? +When from the hazel's cool retreat, +They watch'd the summer's trembling heat; +And through the boughs rude urchins play'd, +Where matrons, round the laughing maid, +Prest the long grass beneath! And here +They doubtless shar'd an equal cheer; +Enjoy'd the feast with equal glee, +And rais'd the song of revelry: +Yet half abash'd reserv'd, and shy, +Watch'd till the strangers glided by. + + + + GLEANER'S SONG + +Dear Ellen, your tales are all plenteously stor'd, +With the joys of some bride, and the wealth of her lord. + Of her chariots and dresses, + And worldly caresses, +And servants that fly when she's waited upon: +But what can she boast if she weds unbelov'd? +Can she e'er feel the joy that one morning I prov'd, +When I put on my new gown and waited for John? + +These fields, my dear Ellen, I knew them of yore, +Yet to me they ne'er look'd so enchanting before; + The distant bells ringing, + The birds round us singing, +For pleasure is pure when affection is won; +They told me the troubles and cares of a wife; +But I lov'd him; and that was the pride of my life, +When I put on my new gown and waited for John. + +He shouted and ran, as he leapt from the stile; +And what in my bosom was passing the while? + For love knows the blessing + Of ardent caressing, +When virtue inspires us, and doubts are all gone. +The sunshine of Fortune you say is divine; +True love and the sunshine of Nature were mine, +When I put on my new gown and waited for John. + +Never could spot be suited less +To bear memorials of distress; +None, cries the sage, more fit is found, +They strike at once a double wound; +Humiliation bids you sigh, +And think of immortality. + +Close on the bank, and half o'ergrown, +Beneath a dark wood's soinbrous frown, +A monumental stone appears, +Of one who in his blooming years, +While bathing spurn'd the grassy shore, +And sunk, midst friends, to rise no more; +By parents witness'd--Hark! their shrieks! +The dreadful language horror speaks! +But why in verse attempt to tell +That tale the stone records so well[A]? + +[Footnote A: _Inscription on the side towards the water._ +"Sacred to the memory of JOHN WHITEHEAD WARRE, who perished near this +spot, whilst bathing in the river Wye, in sight of his afflicted parents, +brother, and sister, on the 11th of September, 1804, in the sixteenth year +of his age. + +GOD'S WILL BE DONE, + +"Who, in his mercy, hath granted consolation to the parents of the dear +departed, in the reflection, that he possessed truth, innocence, filial +piety, and fraternal affection, in the highest degree. That, but a few +moments before he was called to a better life, he had (with a never to be +forgotten piety) joined his family in joyful thanks to his Maker, for the +restoration of his mother's health. His parents, in justice to his amiable +virtue, and excellent disposition, declare, that he was void of offence +towards them. With humbled hearts they bow to the Almighty's dispensation; +trusting, through the mediation of his blessed Son, he will mercifully +receive their child he so suddenly took to himself. + +"This monument is here erected to warn parents and others how they trust +the deceitful stream; and particularly to exhort them to learn and observe +the directions of the Humane Society, for the recovery of persons +apparently drowned. Alas! it is with the extremest sorrow here +commemorated, what anguish is felt from a want of this knowledge. The +lamented swam very well; was endowed with great bodily strength and +activity; and possibly, had proper application been used, might have been +saved from his untimely fate. He was born at Oporto, in the kingdom of +Portugal, on the 14th of February, 1789; third son of James Warre, of +London, and of the county of Somerset, merchant, and Elinor, daughter of +Thomas Gregg, of Belfast, Esq. + +"Passenger, whoever thou art, spare this tomb! It is erected for the +benefit of the surviving, being but a poor record of the grief of those +who witnessed the sad occasion of it. God preserve you and yours from such +calamity! May you not require their assistance; but if you should, the +apparatus, with directions for the application by the Humane Society, for +the saving of persons apparently drowned, are lodged at the church of +Coldwell." + +_On the opposite side is inscribed_ +"It is with gratitude acknowledged by the parents of the deceased, that +permission was gratuitously, and most obligingly, granted for the erection +of this monument, by William Vaughan, Esq. of Courtfield."] + +Nothing could damp th'awaken'd joy, +Not e'en thy fate, ingenuous boy; +The great, the grand of Nature strove, +To lift our hearts to life and love. +HAIL! COLDWELL ROCKS; frown, frown away; +Thrust from your woods your shafts of gray: +Fall not, to crush our mortal pride, +Or stop the stream on which we glide. +Our lives are short, our joys are few; +But, giants, what is time to you? +Ye who erect, in many a mass, +Rise from the scarcely dimpled glass, +That with distinct and mellow glow, +Reflect your monstrous forms below; +Or in clear shoals, in breeze or sun, +Shake all your shadows into one; +Boast ye o'er man in proud disdain, +An everlasting silent reign? +Bear ye your heads so high in scorn +Of names that puny man hath borne? +Would that the Cambrian bards had here +Their names carv'd deep, so deep, so clear, +That such as gaily wind along, +Might shout and cheer them with a song; +Might rush on wings of bliss away, +Through Fancy's boundless blaze of day! + +Not nameless quite ye lift your brows, +For each the navigator knows; +Not by King Arthur, or his knights, +Bard faim'd in lays, or chief in fights: +But former tourists, just us free, +(Tho' surely not so blest as we,) +Mark'd towering BEARCROFT'S ivy crown, +And grey VANSITTART'S waving gown: +And who's that giant by his side? +"SERGEANT ADAIR," the boatman cried. +Strange may it seem, however true, +That here, where law has nought to do, +Where rules and bonds are set aside, +By wood, by rock, by stream defy'd; +That here, where nature seems at strife +With all that tells of busy life, +Man should by _names_ be carried still, +To Babylon against his will. + +But how shall memory rehearse, +Or dictate the untoward verse +That truth demands? Could he refuse +Thy unsought honours, darling Muse, +He who in idle, happy trim, +Rode just where friends would carry him? +Truth, I obey.--The generous band, +That spread his board and grasp'd his hand, +In native mirth, as here they came, +Gave a bluff rock _his_ humble name: +A yew-tree clasps its rugged base; +The boatman knows its reverend face; +And with his _memory_ and his _fee_, +Rests the result that time shall see. +Yet e'en if time shall sweep away +The fragile whimsies of a day; +Or travellers rest the dashing oar, +To hear the mingled echoes roar; +A stranger's triumph--he will feel +A joy that death alone can steal. +And should he cold indifference feign, +And treat such honours with disdain, +Pretending pride shall not deceive him, +Good people all, pray don't believe him; +In such a spot to leave a name, +At least is no opprobrious fame; +This rock perhaps uprear'd his brow, +Ere human blood began to flow. + +And let not wandering strangers fear +That WYE is ended there or here; +Though foliage close, though hills may seem +To bar all access to a stream, +Some airy height he climbs amain, +And finds the silver eel again. + No fears we form'd, no labours counted, +Yet SYMMON'S YAT must be surmounted; +A tower of rock that seems to cry, +'Go round about me, neighbour WYE[A].' +[Footnote A: This rocky isthmus, perforated at the base, would measure not +more than six hundred yards, and its highest point is two thousand feet +above the water. If this statement, taken from Coxe's History of +Monmouthshire, and an Excursion down the Wye, by C. Heath, of Monmouth, is +correct, its elevation is greater than that of the "Pen-y-Vale," or the +"Sugar-Loaf Hill," near Abergavenny. Yet it has less the appearance of a +mountain, than the river has that of an excavation.] +On went the boat, and up the steep +Her straggling crew began to creep, +To gain the ridge, enjoy the view, +Where the the pure gales of summer blew. +The gleaming WYE, that circles round +Her four-mile course, again is found; +And crouching to the conqueror's pride, +Bathes his huge cliffs on either side; +Seen at one glance, when from his brow, +The eye surveys twin gulphs below. + +Whence comes thy name? What _Symon_ he, +Who gain'd a monument in thee? +Perhaps a rude woodhunter, born +Peril, and toil, and death, to scorn; +Or warrior, with his powerful lance, +Who scal'd the cliff to gain a glance; +Or shepherd lad, or humble swain, +Who sought for pasture here in vain; +Or venerable bard, who strove +To tune his harp to themes of love; +Or with a poet's ardent flame, +Sung to the winds his country's fame? + +Westward GREAT DOWARD, stretching wide, +Upheaves his iron-bowel'd side; +And by his everlasting mound, +Prescribes th' imprison'd river's bound, +And strikes the eye with mountain force: +But stranger mark thy rugged course +From crag to crag, unwilling, slow, +To NEW WIER forge that smokes below. +Here rush'd the keel like lightning by; +The helmsman watch'd with anxious eye; +And oars alternate touch'd the brim, +To keep the flying boat in trim. + +[Illustration: NEW WEAR on the WYE] + +Hush! not a whisper! Oars, be still! +Comes that soft sound from yonder hill? +Or is it close at hand, so near +It scarcely strikes the list'ning ear? +E'en so; for down the green bank fell, +An ice-cold stream from Martin's Well, +Bright as young beauty's azure eye, +And pure as infant chastity, +Each limpid draught, suffus'd with dew, +The dipping glass's crystal hue; +And as it trembling reach'd the lip, +Delight sprung up at every sip. + +Pure, temperate joys, and calm, were these; +We tost upon no Indian seas; +No savage chiefs, of various hue, +Came jabbering in the bark canoe +Our strength to dare, our course to turn; +Yet boats a South Sea chief would burn[A], +[Footnote A: In Caesar's Commentaries, mention is made of boats of this +description, formed of a raw hide, (from whence, perhaps, their name +Coricle,) which were in use among the natives. How little they dreamed of +the vastnss of modern perfection, and of the naval conflicts of latter +days!] +Sculk'd in the alder shade. Each bore, +Devoid of keel, or sail, or oar, +An upright fisherman, whose eye, +With Bramin-like solemnity, +Survey'd the surface either way, +And cleav'd it like a fly at play; +And crossways bore a balanc'd pole, +To drive the salmon from his hole; +Then heedful leapt, without parade, +On shore, as luck or fancy bade; +And o'er his back, in gallant trim, +Swung the light shell that carried him; +Then down again his burden threw, +And launch'd his whirling bowl anew; +Displaying, in his bow'ry station, +The infancy of navigation. + +Soon round us spread the hills and dales, +Where GEOFFREY spun his magic tales, +And call'd them history. The land +Whence ARTHUR sprung, and all his band +Of gallant knights. Sire of romance, +Who led the fancy's mazy dance, +Thy tales shall please, thy name still be, +When Time forgets my verse and me. + +Low sunk the sun, his ev'ning beam +Scarce reach'd us on the tranquil stream; +Shut from the world, and all its din, +Nature's own bonds had clos'd us in; +Wood, and deep dell, and rock, and ridge, +From smiling Ross to Monmouth Bridge; +From morn, till twilight stole away, +A long, unclouded, glorious day. + + +END OF THE FIRST BOOK. + + + + +THE BANKS OF WYE + +BOOK II + + +CONTENTS OF BOOK II. + +Henry the Fifth.--Morning on the Water.--Landoga.--Ballad, "The Maid of +Landoga."--Tintern Abbey.--Wind-Cliff.--Arrival at Chepstow.--Persfield.-- +Ballad, "Morris of Persfield."--View from Wind-Cliff.--Chepstow Castle by +Moonlight. + + +BOOK II. + + +HARRY of MONMOUTH, o'er thy page, +Great chieftain of a daring age, +The stripling soldier burns to see +The spot of thy nativity; +His ardent fancy can restore +Thy castle's turrets, now no more; +See the tall plumes of victory wave, +And call old valour from the grave; +Twang the strong bow, and point the lance, +That pierc'd the shatter'd hosts of France, +When Europe, in the days of yore, +Shook at the rampant lion's roar. + +Ten hours were all we could command; +The Boat was moor'd upon the strand, +The midnight current, by her side, +Was stealing down to meet the tide; +The wakeful steersman ready lay, +To rouse us at the break of day; +It came--how soon! and what a sky, +To cheer the bounding traveller's eye! +To make him spurn his couch of rest, +To shout upon the river's breast; +Watching by turns the rosy hue +Of early cloud, or sparkling dew; +These living joys the verse shall tell, +Harry, and Monmouth, fare-ye-well. + +On upland farm, and airy height, +Swept by the breeze, and cloth'd in light, +The reapers, early from their beds, +Perhaps were singing o'er our heads. +For, stranger, deem not that the eye +Could hence survey the eastern sky; +Or mark the streak'd horizon's bound, +Where first the rosy sun wheels round; +Deep in the gulf beneath were we, +Whence climb'd blue mists o'er rock and tree; +A mingling, undulating crowd, +That form'd the dense or fleecy cloud; +Slow from the darken'd stream upborne, +They caught the quick'ning gales of morn; +There bade their parent WYE good day, +And ting'd with purple sail'd away. + +The MUNNO join'd us all unseen, +TROY HOUSE, and BEAUFORT'S bowers of green, +And nameless prospects, half defin'd, +Involv'd in mist, were left behind. +Yet as the boat still onward bore, +These ramparts of the eastern shore +Cower'd the high crest to many a sweep, +And bade us o'er each minor steep +Mark the bold KYMIN'S sunny brow, +That, gleaming o'er our fogs below, +Lifted amain with giant power, +E'en to the clouds his NAVAL TOWER[1]; +[Footnote 1: The Kymin Pavilion, erected in honour of the British +Admirals, and their unparalleled victories.] +Proclaiming to the morning sky, +Valour, and fame, and victory. + +The air resign'd its hazy blue, +Just as LANDOGA came in view; +Delightful village! one by one, +Its climbing dwellings caught the sun. +So bright the scene, the air so clear, +Young Love and Joy seem'd station'd here; +And each with floating banners cried, +"Stop friends, you'll meet the slimy tide." + +Rude fragments, torn, disjointed, wild, +High on the Glo'ster shore are pil'd; +No ruin'd fane, the boast of years, +Unstain'd by time the group appears; +With foaming wrath, and hideous swell, +Brought headlong down a woodland dell, +When a dark thunder-storm had spread +Its terrors round the guilty head; +When rocks, earth-bound, themselves gave way, +When crash'd the prostrate timbers lay. +O, it had been a noble sight, +Crouching beyond the torrent's might, +To mark th' uprooted victims bow, +The grinding masses dash below, +And hear the long deep peal the while +Burst over TINTERN'S roofless pile! +Then, as the sun regain'd his power, +When the last breeze from hawthorn bower, +Or Druid oak, had shook away +The rain-drops 'midst the gleaming day, +Perhaps the sigh of hope return'd +And love in some chaste bosom burn'd, +And softly trill'd the stream along, +Some rustic maiden's village song. + + + +The Maid of Landoga. + +Return, my Llewellyn, the glory +That heroes may gain o'er the sea, + Though nations may feel + Their invincible steel, +By falsehood is tarnish'd in story; +Why tarry, Llewellyn, from me? + +Thy sails, on the fathomless ocean, +Are swell'd by the boisterous gale; + How rests thy tir'd head + On the rude rocking bed? +While here not a leaf is in motion, +And melody reigns in the dale. + +The mountains of Monmouth invite thee; +The WYE, O how beautiful here! + This woodbine, thine own, + Hath the cottage o'ergrown, +O what foreign shore can delight thee, +And where is the current so clear? + +Can lands where false pleasure assails thee, +And beauty invites thee to roam; + Can the deep orange grove + Charm with shadows of love? +Thy love at LANDOGA bewails thee; +Remember her truth and thy home. + +Adieu, LANDOGA, scene most dear, +Farewell we bade to ETHEL'S WIER; +Round many a point then bore away, +Till morn was chang'd to beauteous day: +And forward on the lowland shore, +Silent majestic ruins wore +The stamp of holiness; this strand +The steersman hail'd, and touch'd the land. + +SUDDEN the change; at once to tread +The grass-grown mansions of the dead! +Awful to feeling, where, immense, +Rose ruin'd, gray magnificence; +The fair-wrought shaft all ivy-bound, +The tow'ring arch with foliage crown'd, +That trembles on its brow sublime, +Triumphant o'er the spoils of time. +Here, grasping all the eye beheld, +Thought into mingling anguish swell'd. +And check'd the wild excursive wing, +O'er dust or bones of priest or king; +Or rais'd some STRONGBOW[A] warrior's ghost +To shout before his banner'd host. +[Footnote A: They shew here a mutilated figure, which they call the famous +Earl Strongbow; but it appears from Coxe that he was buried at +Gloucester.] +But all was still.--The chequer'd floor +Shall echo to the step no more; +Nor airy roof the strain prolong, +Of vesper chant or choral song. + +TINTERN, thy name shall hence sustain +A thousand raptures in my brain; +Joys, full of soul, all strength, all eye, +That cannot fade, that cannot die. + +No loitering here, lone walks to steal, +Welcome the early hunter's meal; +For time and tide, stern couple, ran +Their endless race, and laugh'd at man; +Deaf, had we shouted, "turn about?" +Or, "wait a while, till we come out;" +To humour them we check'd our pride, +And ten cheer'd hearts stow'd side by side; +Push'd from the shore with current strong, +And, "Hey for Chepstow," steer'd along. + +Amidst the bright expanding day, +Solemnly deep, dark shadows lay, +Of that rich foliage, tow'ring o'er +Where princely abbots dwelt of yore. +The mind, with instantaneous glance, +Beholds his barge of state advance, +Borne proudly down the ebbing tide, +She turns the waving boughs aside; +She winds with flowing pendants drest, +And as the current turns south-west, +She strikes her oars, where full in view, +Stupendous WIND-CLIFF greets his crew. +But, Fancy, let thy day-dreams cease, +With fallen greatness be at peace; +Enough; for WIND-CLIFF still was found +To hail us as we doubled round. + +Bold in primeval strength he stood; +His rocky brow, all shagg'd with wood, +O'er-look'd his base, where, doubling strong, +The inward torrent pours along; +Then ebbing turns, and turns again, +To meet the Severn and the Main, +Beneath the dark shade sweeping round, +Of beetling PERSFIELD'S fairy ground, +By buttresses of rock upborne, +The rude APOSTLES all unshorn. + +Long be the slaught'ring axe defy'd; +Long may they bear their waving pride; +Tree over tree, bower over bower, +In uncurb'd nature's wildest power; +Till WYE forgets to wind below, +And genial spring to bid them grow. + +And shall we e'er forget the day, +When our last chorus died away? +When first we hail'd, then moor'd beside +Rock-founded CHEPSTOW'S mouldering pride? +Where that strange bridge[1], light, trembling, high, +Strides like a spider o'er the WYE; +[Footnote 1: "On my arrival at Chepstow," says Mr. Coxe, "I walked to the +bridge; it was low water, and I looked down on the river ebbing between +forty and fifty feet beneath; six hours after it rose near forty feet, +almost reached the floor of the bridge, and flowed upward with great +rapidity. The channel in this place being narrow in proportion to the +Severn, and confined between perpendicular cliffs, the great rise and fall +of the river are peculiarly manifest."] +When, for the joys the morn had giv'n, +Our thankful hearts were rais'd to heav'n? +Never;--that moment shall be dear, +While hills can charm, or sun-beams cheer. + +Pollett, farewell! Thy dashing oar +Shall lull us into peace no more; +But where Kyrl trimm'd his infant green, +Long mayst thou with thy bark be seen; +And happy be the hearts that glide +Through such a scene, with such a guide. + +The verse of gravel walks that tells, +With pebble rocks and mole-hill swells, +May strain description's bursting cheeks, +And far out-run the goal it seeks. +Not so when ev'ning's purpling hours, +Hied us away to Persfield bowers: +Here no such danger waits the lay, +Sing on, and truth shall lead the way; +Here sight may range, and hearts may glow, +Yet shrink from the abyss below; +Here echoing precipices roar, +As youthful ardour shouts before; +Here a sweet paradise shall rise +At once to greet poetic eyes. +Then why does he dispel, unkind, +The sweet illusion from the mind, +That giant, with the goggling eye, +Who strides in mock sublimity? +Giants, identified, may frown, +Nature and taste would knock them down: +Blocks that usurp some noble station, +As if to curb imagination, +That, smiling at the chissel's pow'r, +Makes better monsters erery hour. + +Beneath impenetrable green, +Down 'midst the hazel stems was seen +The turbid stream, with all that past; +The lime-white deck, the gliding mast; +Or skiff with gazers darting by, +Who rais'd their hands in extasy. +Impending cliffs hung overhead; +The rock-path sounded to the tread, +Where twisted roots, in many a fold, +Through moss, disputed room for hold. + +The stranger thus who steals one hour +To trace thy walks from bower to bower, +Thy noble cliffs, thy wildwood joys, +Nature's own work that never cloys, +Who, while reflection bids him roam, +Exclaims not, "PERSFIELD is my _home_" +Can ne'er, with dull unconscious eye, +Leave them behind without a sigh. +Thy tale of truth then, Sorrow, tell, +Of one who bade _this home_ farewell; +MORRIS of PERSFIELD.--Hark, the strains! +Hark! 'tis some Monmouth bard complains! +The deeds, the worth, he knew so well, +The force of nature bids him tell. + + + + MORRIS OF PERSFIELD + +Who was lord of yon beautiful seat; + Yon woods which are tow'ring so high? +Who spread the rich board for the great, + Yet listen'd to pity's soft sigh? + +Who gave alms with a spirit so free? + Who succour'd distress at his door? +Our Morris of Persfield was he, + Who dwelt in the hearts of the poor. + +But who e'en of wealth shall make sure, + Since wealth to misfortune has bow'd? +Long cherish'd untainted and pure, + The stream of his charity flow'd. +But all his resources gave way, + O what could his feelings controul? +What shall curb, in the prosperous day, + Th' excess of a generous soul? + +He bade an adieu to the town, + O, can I forget the sad day? +When I saw the poor widows kneel down, + To bless him, to weep, and to pray. + +Though sorrow was mark'd in his eye, + This trial he manfully bore; +Then pass'd o'er the bridge of the WYE, + To return to his PERSFIELD no more. + +Yet surely another may feel, + And poverty still may be fed; +I was one who rung out the dumb peal, + For to us noble MORRIS was dead. +He had not lost sight of his home, + Yon domain that so lovely appears, +When he heard it, and sunk overcome; + He could feel, and he burst into tears. + +The lessons of prudence have charms, + And slighted, may lead to distress; +But the man whom benevolence warms, + Is an angel who lives but to bless. + +If ever man merited fame, + If ever man's failings went free, +Forgot at the sound of his name, + Our Morris of Persfield was he[1]. +[Footnote 1: The author is equally indebted to Mr. Coxe's County History +for this anecdote, as for the greater part of the notes subjoined +throughout the Journal.] + +CLEFT from the summit, who shall say +_When_ WIND-CLIFF'S other half gave way? +Or when the sea-waves roaring strong, +First drove the rock-bound tide along? +To studious leisure be resign'd, +The task that leads the wilder'd mind +From time's first birth throughout the range +Of Nature's everlasting change. +Soon from his all-commanding brow, +Lay PERSFIELD'S rocks and woods below. + +Back over MONMOUTH who could trace +The WYE'S fantastic mountain race? +Before us, sweeping far and wide. +Lay out-stretch'd SEVERN'S ocean tide, +Through whose blue mists, all upward blown, +Broke the faint lines of heights unknown; +And still, though clouds would interpose, +The COTSWOLD promontories rose +In dark succession: STINCHCOMB'S brow, +With BERKLEY CASTLE crouch'd below; +And stranger spires on either hand, +From THORNBURY, on the Glo'ster strand; +With black-brow'd woods, and yellow fields, +The boundless wealth that summer yields, +Detain'd the eye, that glanc'd again +O'er KINGROAD anchorage to the main. + +Or was the bounded view preferr'd, +Far, far beneath the spreading herd +Low'd as the cow-boy stroll'd along, +And cheerly sung his last new song. +But cow-boy, herd, and tide, and spire, +Sunk Into gloom, the tinge of fire, +As westward roll'd the setting day, +Fled like a golden dream away. +Then CHEPSTOW'S ruin'd fortress caught +The mind's collected store of thought, +And seem'd, with mild but jealous frown, +To promise peace, and warn us down. +Twas well; for he has much to boast, +Much still that tells of glories lost, +Though rolling years have form'd the sod, +Where once the bright-helm'd warrior trod +From tower to tower, and gaz'd around, +While all beneath him slept profound. +E'en on the walls where pac'd the brave, +High o'er his crumbling turrets wave +The rampant seedlings--Not a breath +Past through their leaves; when, still as death, +We stopp'd to watch the clouds--for night +Grew splendid with encreasing light, +Till, as time loudly told the hour, +Gleam'd the broad front of MARTEN'S TOWER[1], +[Footnote 1: Henry Marten, whose signature appears upon the death-warrant +of Charles the First, finished his days here in prison. Marten lived to +the advanced age of seventy-eight, and died by a stroke of apoplexy, which +seized him while he was at dinner, in the twentieth year of his +confinement. He was buried in the chancel of the parish church at +Chepstow. Over his ashes was placed a stone with an inscription, which +remained there until one of the succeeding vicars declaring his abhorrence +that the monument of a rebel should stand so near the altar, removed the +stone into the body of the church!] + +[Illustration: Marten's Tower, Chepstow Castle.] + +Bright silver'd by the moon.--Then rose +The wild notes sacred to repose; +Then the lone owl awoke from rest, +Stretch'd his keen talons, plum'd his crest, +And from his high embattl'd station, +Hooted a trembling salutation. +Rocks caught the "halloo" from his tongue, +And PERSFIELD back the echoes flung +Triumphant o'er th' illustrious dead, +Their history lost, their glories fled. + + +END OF THE SECOND BOOK. + + + + +BOOK III. + + +CONTENTS OF BOOK III. + +Departure for Ragland.--Ragland Castle.--Abergavenny.--Expedition up the +"Pen-y-Vale," or Sugar-Loaf Hill.--Invocation to the Spirit of Burns.-- +View from the Mountain.--Castle of Abergaveuny.--Departure for Brecon.-- +Pembrokes of Crickbowel--Tre-Tower Castle.--Jane Edwards. + + + + THE BANKS OF WYE. + + BOOK III. + +PEACE to your white-wall'd cots, ye vales, +Untainted fly your summer gales; +Health, thou from cities lov'st to roam, +O make the Monmouth hills your home! +Great spirits of her bards of yore, +While harvests triumph, torrents roar, +Train her young shepherds, train them high +To sing of mountain liberty: +Give them the harp and modest maid; +Give them the sacred village shade. +Long be Llandenny, and Llansoy, +Names that import a rural joy; +Known to our fathers, when May-day +Brush'd a whole twelvemonth's cares away. + +Oft on the lisping infant's tongue +Reluctant information hung, +Till, from a belt of woods full grown, +Arose immense thy turrets brown, +Majestic RAGLAND! Harvests wave +Where thund'ring hosts their watch-word gave, +When cavaliers, with downcast eye, +Struck the last flag of loyalty[1]: +[Footnote 1: This castle, with a garrison commanded by the Marquis of +Worcester, was the last place of strength which held out for the +unfortunate Charles the First.] +Then, left by gallant WORC'STER'S band, +To devastation's cruel hand +The beauteous fabric bow'd, fled all +The splendid hours of festival. +No smoke ascends; the busy hum +Is heard no more; no rolling drum, +No high-ton'd clarion sounds alarms, +No banner wakes the pride of arms[A]; +[Footnote A: "These magnificent ruins, including the citadel, occupy +a tract of ground not less than one-third of a mile in circumference." +"In addition to the injury the castle sustained from the parliamentary +army, considerable dilapidations have been occasioned by the numerous +tenants in the vicinity, who conveyed away the stone and other materials +for the construction of farm-houses, barns, and other buildings. No less +than twenty-three staircases were taken down by these devastators; but the +present Duke of Beanfort no sooner succeeded to his estate, than he +instantly gave orders that not a stone should be moved from its situation, +and thus preserved these noble ruins from destruction." +_History of Monmouthshire, page 148._] +But ivy, creeping year by year, +Of growth enormous, triumphs here. +Each dark festoon with pride upheaves +Its glossy wilderness of leaves +On sturdy limbs, that, clasping, bow +Broad o'er the turrets utmost brow, +Encompassing, by strength alone, +In tret-work bars, the sliding stone, +That tells how years and storms prevail, +And spreads its dust upon the gale. + +The man who could unmov'd survey +What ruin, piecemeal, sweeps away; +Works of the pow'rful and the brave, +All sleeping in the silent grave; +Unmov'd reflect that here were sung +Carols of joy, by beauty's tongue, +Is fit, where'er he deigns to roam, +And hardly fit--to stay at home. +Spent here in peace one solemn hour, +'Midst legends of the YELLOW TOWER, +Truth and tradition's mingled stream, +Fear's start, and superstition's dream[1] +[Footnote 1: A village woman, who very officiously pointed out all that +she knew respecting the former state of the castle, desired us to remark +the descent to a vault, apparently of large dimensions, in which she had +heard that no candle would continue burning; "and," added she, "they say +it is because of the damps; but for my part, I think the devil is there."] +Is pregnant with a thousand joys, +That distance, place, nor time destroys; +That with exhaustless stores supply +Food for reflection till we die. + +ONWARD the rested steeds pursu'd +The cheerful route, with strength renew'd, +For onward lay the gallant town, +Whose name old custom hath clipp'd down, +With more of music left than many, +So handily to ABERGANY. +And as the sidelong, sober light +Left valleys darken'd, hills less bright, +Great BLORENGE rose to tell his tale; +And the dun peak of PEN-Y-VALE +Stood like a centinel, whose brow +Scowl'd on the sleeping world below; +Yet even sleep itself outspread +The mountain paths we meant to tread, +'Midst fresh'ning gales all unconfin'd, +Where USK'S broad valley shrinks behind. + +Joyous the crimson morning rose, +As joyous from the night's repose +Sprung the light heart, the glancing eye +Beheld, amidst the dappl'd sky, +Exulting PEN-Y-VALE. But how +Could females climb his gleaming brow, +Rude toil encount'ring? how defy +The wintry torrent's course, when dry, +A rough-scoop'd bed of stones? or meet +The powerful force of August heat? +Wheels might assist, could wheels be found +Adapted to the rugged ground: +'Twas done; for prudence bade us start +With three Welch ponies, and a cart; +A red-cheek'd mountaineer[A], a wit, +Full of rough shafts, that sometimes hit, +[Footnote A: The driver, Powell, I believe, occupied a cottage, or small +farm, which we past during the ascent, and where goats milk was offered +for refreshment.] +Trudg'd by their side, and twirl'd his thong, +And cheer'd his scrambling team along. + +At ease to mark a scene so fair, +And treat their steeds with mountain air, +Some rode apart, or led before, +Rock after rock the wheels upbore; +The careful driver slowly sped, +To many a bough we duck'd the head, +And heard the wild inviting calls +Of summer's tinkling waterfalls, +In wooded glens below; and still, +At every step the sister hill, +BLORENGE, grew greater, half unseen +At times from out our bowers of green. +That telescopic landscapes made, +From the arch'd windows of its shade; +For woodland tracts begirt us round; +The vale beyond was fairy ground, +That verse can never paint. Above +Gleam'd something like the mount of Jove, +(But how much let the learned say +Who take Olympus in their way) +Gleam'd the fair, sunny, cloudless peak +That simple strangers ever seek. +And are they simple? Hang the dunce +Who would not doff his cap at once +In extasy, when, bold and new, +Bursts on his sight a mountain-view. + +Though vast the prospect here became, +Intensely as the love of fame +Glow'd the strong hope, that strange desire, +That deathless wish of climbing higher, +Where heather clothes his graceful sides, +Which many a scatter'd rock divides, +Bleach'd by more years than hist'ry knows, +Mov'd by no power but melting snows, +Or gushing springs, that wash away +Th' embedded earth that forms their stay. +The heart distends, the whole frame feelsr +Where, inaccessible to wheels, +The utmost storm-worn summit spreads +Its rocks grotesque, its downy beds; +Here no false feeling sense belies, +Man lifts the weary foot, and sighs; +Laughter is dumb; hilarity +Forsakes at once th' astonish'd eye; +E'en the clos'd lip, half useless grown, +Drops but a word, "Look down; look down." + +GOOD Heav'ns! must scenes like these expand, +Scenes so magnificently grand, +And millions breathe, and pass away, +Unbless'd, throughout their little day, +With one short glimpse? By place confin'd, +Shall many an anxious ardent mind, +Sworn to the Muses, cow'r its pride, +Doom'd but to sing with pinions tied? + +SPIRIT of BURNS! the daring child +Of glorious freedom, rough and wild, +How have I wept o'er all thy ills, +How blest thy Caledonian hills! +How almost worshipp'd in my dreams +Thy mountain haunts,--thy classic streams! +How burnt with hopeless, aimless fire, +To mark thy giant strength aspire +In patriot themes! and tun'd the while +Thy "_Bonny Doon_," or "_Balloch Mile_." +Spirit of BURNS! accept the tear +That rapture gives thy mem'ry here +On the bleak mountain top. Here thou +Thyself had rais'd the gallant brow +Of conscious intellect, to twine +Th'imperishable verse of thine, +That charm'st the world. Or can it be, +That scenes like these were nought to thee? +That Scottish hills so far excel, +That so deep sinks the Scottish dell, +That boasted PEN-Y-VALE had been[1], +For thy loud northern lyre too mean; +[Footnote 1: The respective heights of these mountains above the mouth of +the Gavany, was taken barometrically by General Roy. + Feet +The summit of the Sugar-Loaf..........1852 +Of the Blorenge.......................1720 +Of the Skyrid.........................1498] +Broad-shoulder'd BLORENGE a mere knoll, +And SKYRID, let him smile or scowl, +A dwarfish bully, vainly proud +Because he breaks the passing cloud? +If even so, thou bard of fame, +The consequences rest the same: +For, grant that to thy infant sight +Rose mountains of stupendous height; +Or grant that Cambrian minstrels taught +'Mid scenes that mock the lowland thought; +Grant that old TALLIESIN flung +His thousand raptures, as he sung +From huge PLYNLIMON'S awful brow, +Or CADER IDRIS, capt with snow; +Such Alpine scenes with them or thee +Well suited.--_These_ are Alps to me. + +LONG did we, noble BLORENGE, gaze +On thee, and mark the eddying haze +That strove to reach thy level crown, +From the rich stream, and smoking town; +And oft, old SKYRID, hail'd thy name, +Nor dar'd deride thy holy fame[1]. +[Footnote 1: There still remains, on the summit of the Skyrid, or St. +Michael's Mount, the foundation of an ancient chapel, to which the +inhabitants formerly ascended on Michaelmas Eve, in a kind of pilgrimage. +A prodigious cleft, or separation in the hill, tradition says, was caused +by the earthquake at the crucifixion, it was therefore termed the Holy +Mountain.] +Long follow'd with untiring eye +Th' illumin'd clouds, that o'er the sky +Drew their thin veil, and slowly sped, +Dipping to every mountain's head, +Dark-mingling, fading, wild, and thence, +Till admiration, in suspense, +Hung on the verge of sight. Then sprung, +By thousands known, by thousands sung, +Feelings that earth and time defy, +That cleave to immortality. + +A light gray haze enclos'd us round; +Some momentary drops were found, +Borne on the breeze; soon all dispell'd; +Once more the glorious prospect swell'd +Interminably fair[1]. Again +[Footnote 1: This hill commands a view of the counties of Radnor, Salop, +Brecknock, Glamorgan, Hereford, Worcester, Gloucester, Somerset, and +Wilts.] +Stretch'd the BLACK MOUNTAIN'S dreary chain! +When eastward turn'd the straining eye, +Great MALVERN met the cloudless sky: +Southward arose th'embattled shores, +Where Ocean in his fury roars, +And rolls abrupt his fearful tides, +Far still from MENDIP'S fern-clad sides; +From whose vast range of mingling blue, +The weary, wand'ring sight withdrew, +O'er fair GLAMORGAN'S woods and downs, +O'er glitt'ring streams, and farms, and towns, +Back to the TABLE ROCK, that lours +O'er old CRICKHOWEL'S ruin'd towers. + +Here perfect stillness reign'd. The breath +A moment hush'd, 'twas mimic death. +The ear, from all assaults releas'd, +As motion, sound, and life, had ceas'd. +The beetle rarely murmur'd by, +No sheep-dog sent his voice so high, +Save when, by chance, far down the steep, +Crept a live speck, a straggling sheep; +Yet one lone object, plainly seen, +Curv'd slowly, in a line of green, +On the brown heath: no demon fell, +No wizard foe, with magic spell, +To chain the senses, chill the heart, +No wizard guided POWEL'S cart; +He of our nectar had the care, +All our ambrosia rested there. +At leisure, but reluctant still, +We join'd him by a mountain rill; +And there, on springing turf, all seated, +Jove's guests were never half so treated; +Journies they had, and feastings many, +But never came to ABERGANY; +Lucky escape:--the wrangling crew, +Mischief to cherish, or to brew, +Was all their sport: and when, in rage, +They chose 'midst warriors to engage, +"Our chariots of fire," they cried, +And dash'd the gates of heav'n aside, +Whirl'd through the air, and foremost stood +'Midst mortal passions, mortal blood, +Celestial power with earthly mix'd; +Gods by the arrow's point transfix'd! +Beneath us frown'd no deadly war, +And POWEL'S wheels were safer far; +As on them, without flame or shield, +Or bow to twang, or lance to wield, +We left the heights of inspiration, +And relish'd a mere mortal station; +Our object, not to fire a town, +Or aid a chief, or knock him down; +But safe to sleep from war and sorrow, +And drive to BRECKNOCK on the morrow. + +HEAVY and low'ring, crouds on crouds, +Drove adverse hosts of dark'ning clouds +Low o'er the vale, and far away, +Deep gloom o'erspread the rising day; +No morning beauties caught the eye, +O'er mountain top, or stream, or sky, +As round the castle's ruin'd tower, +We mus'd for many a solemn hour; +And, half-dejected, half in spleen, +Computed idly, o'er the scene, +How many murders there had dy'd +Chiefs and their minions, slaves of pride; +When perjury, in every breath, +Pluck'd the huge falchion from its sheath, +And prompted deeds of ghastly fame, +That hist'ry's self might blush to name[1]. +[Footnote 1: In Jones's History of Brecknockshire, the castle of +Abergavenny is noticed as having been the scene of the most shocking +enormities.] + +At length, through each retreating shower, +Burst, with a renovating power, +Light, life, and gladness; instant fled +All contemplations on the dead. + +Who hath not mark'd, with inward joy, +The efforts of the diving boy; +And, waiting while he disappear'd, +Exulted, trembled, hop'd, and fear'd? +Then felt his heart, 'midst cheering cries, +Bound with delight to see him rise? +Who hath not burnt with rage, to see +Falshood's vile cant, and supple knee; +Then hail'd, on some courageous brow, +The power that works her overthrow; +That, swift as lightning, seals her doom, +With, "Miscreant vanish!--truth is come?" +So PEN-Y-VALE upheav'd his brow, +And left the world of fog below; +So SKYRID, smiling, broke his way +To glories of the conqu'ring day; +With matchless grace, and giant pride. +So BLORENGE turn'd the clouds aside, +And warn'd us, not a whit too soon, +To chase the flying car of noon, +Where herds and flocks unnumber'd fed, +Where USK her wand'ring mazes led. + +Here on the mind, with powerful sway, +Press'd the bright joys of yesterday; +For still, though doom'd no more t'inhale +The mountain air of PEN-Y-VALE, +His broad dark-skirting woods o'erhung +Cottage and farm, where careless sung +The labourer, where the gazing steer +Low'd to the mountains, deep and clear. + +SLOW less'ning BLORENGE, left behind, +Reluctantly his claims resign'd, +And stretch'd his glowing front entire, +As forward peep'd CRICKHOWEL spire; +But no proud castle turrets gleam'd; +No warrior Earl's gay banner stream'd; +E'en of thy palace, grief to tell! +A tower without a dinner bell; +An arch where jav'lin'd centries bow'd +Low to their chief, or fed the croud, +Are all that mark where once a train +Of _barons_ grac'd thy rich domain, +Illustrious PEMBROKE[1]! drain'd thy bowl, +[Footnote 1: Part of the original palace of the powerful Earls of Pembroke +is still undemolished by time.] +And caught the nobleness of soul +The harp-inspir'd, indignant blood +That prompts to arms and hardihood. + +To muse upon the days gone by, +Where desolation meets the eye, +Is double life; truth, cheaply bought, +The nurse of sense, the food of thought, +Whence judgment, ripen'd, forms, at will, +Her estimates of good or ill; +And brings contrasted scenes to view, +And weighs the _old_ rogues with the _new_; +Imperious tyrants, gone to dust, +With tyrants whom the world hath curs'd +Through modern ages. By what power +Rose the strong walls of old THE TOWER? +Deep in the valley, whose clear rill +Then stole through wilds, and wanders still +Through village shades, unstain'd with gore, +Where war-steeds bathe their hoofs no more. +Empires have fallen, armies bled, +Since yon old wall, with upright head, +Met the loud tempest; who can trace +When first the rude mass, from its base, +Stoop'd in that dreadful form? E'en thou, +JANE, with the placid silver brow, +Know'st not the day, though thou hast seen +An hundred[1] springs of cheerful green, +[Footnote 1: Jane Edwards, or as she pronounced it, _Etwarts_, a tall, +bony, upright woman, leaning both hands on the head of her stick, and in +her manners venerably impressive, was then at the age of one hundred. She +was living in 1809, then one hundred and two.] +An hundred winters' snows increase +That brook, the emblem of thy peace. +Most venerable dame! and shall +The plund'rer, in his gorgeous hall, +His fame, with Moloch-frown prefer, +And scorn _thy_ harmless character? +Who scarcely hear'st of his renown, +And never sack'd nor burnt a town; +But should he crave, with coward cries, +To be Jane Edwards when he dies, +Thou'lt be the conqueror, old lass, +So take thy alms, and let us pass. + + FORTH from the calm sequester'd shade, +Once more approaching twilight bade; +When, as the sigh of joy arose, +And while e'en fancy sought repose, +One vast transcendent object sprung, +Arresting every eye and tongue; +Strangers, fair BRECON, wondering, scan +The peaks of thy stupendous VANN: +But how can strangers, chain'd by time, +Through floating clouds his summit climb? +Another day had almost fled; +A clear horizon, glowing red, +Its promise on all hearts impress'd, +Bright sunny hours, and Sabbath rest. + + +END OF THE THIRD BOOK. + + + + +BOOK IV. + + +CONTENTS OF BOOK IV. + +The Gaer, a Roman Station.--Brunless Castle.--The Hay.--Funeral +Song, "Mary's Grave."--Clifford Castle.--Return +by Hereford, Malvern Hills, Cheltenham, and Gloucester, +to Uley.--Conclusion. + + + + + + _BOOK IV_. + + +'Tis sweet to hear the soothing chime, +And, by thanksgiving, measure time; +When hard-wrought poverty awhile +Upheaves the bending back to smile; +When servants hail, with boundless glee, +The sweets of love and liberty; +For guiltless love will ne'er disown +The cheerful Sunday's market town, +Clean, silent, when his power's confess'd, +And trade's contention lull'd to rest. + +Seldom has worship cheer'd my soul +With such invincible controul! +It was a bright benignant hour, +The song of praise was full of power; +And, darting from the noon-day sky, +Amidst the tide of harmony, +O'er aisle and pillar glancing strong, +Heav'ns radiant light inspir'd the song. +The word of peace, that can disarm +Care with its own peculiar charm, +Here flow'd a double stream, to cheer +The Saxon[1] and the Mountaineer, +[Footnote 1: Divine service is performed alternately in English and Welsh. +That they still call us Saxons, need hardly be mentioned. I observed the +army to be equally as accommodating as the church, for the posting-bills, +for recruits, are printed in both languages.] +Of various stock, of various name, +Now join'd in rites, and join'd in fame. + +YE who religion's duty teach, +What constitutes a Sabbath breach? +Is it, when joy the bosom fills, +To wander o'er the breezy hills? +Is it, to trace around your home +The footsteps of imperial Rome? +Then guilty, guilty let us plead, +Who, on the cheerful rested steed, +In thought absorb'd, explor'd, with care, +The wild lanes round the silent GAER[1], +[Footnote 1: A road must have led from Abergavenny, through the Vale of +the Usk, north-west to the "Gaer," situated two miles north-west of +Brecon, on a gentle eminence, at the conflux of the rivers Esker and Usk. +Mr. Wyndham traced parts of walls, which he describes as exactly +resembling those at Caerleon; and Mr. Lemon found several bricks, bearing +the inscription of LEG. II. AVG.--_Coxe_. +In addition to the above, it may be acceptable to state, that Mr. Price, a +very intelligent farmer on the spot, has in his possession several of the +above kind of bricks, bearing the same inscription, done, evidently, by +stamping the clay, while moist, with an instrument. These have been turned +up by the plough, together with several small Roman lamps.] +Where conqu'ring eagles took their stand; +Where heathen altars stain'd the land; +Where soldiers of AUGUSTUS pin'd, +Perhaps, for pleasures left behind, +And measur'd, from this lone abode, +The new-form'd, stoney, forest road, +Back to CAERLEON'S southern train, +Their barks, their home, beyond the main; +Still by the VANN reminded strong +Of Alpine scenes, and mountain song, +The olive groves, and cloudless sky, +And golden vales of Italy. + +[Illustration: VAN MOUNTAIN, near BRECKNOCK from the PRIORY WOODS.] + +With us 'twas peace, we met no foes; +With us far diff'rent feelings rose. +Still onward inclination bade; +The wilds of MONA'S Druid shade, +SNOWDON'S sublime and stormy brow, +His land of Britons stretch'd below, +And PENMAN MAWR'S huge crags, that greet +The thund'ring ocean at his feet, +Were all before us. Hard it prov'd, +To quit a land so dearly lov'd; +Forego each bold terrific boast +Of northern Cambria's giant coast. +Friends of the harp and song, forgive +The deep regret that, whilst I live, +Shall dwell upon my heart and tongue; +Go, joys untasted, themes unsung, +Another scene, another land, +Hence shall the homeward verse demand. +Yet fancy wove her flow'ry chain, +Till "farewell BRECON" left a pain; +A pain that travellers may endure, +Change is their food, and change their cure. +Yet, oh, how dream-like, far away, +To recollect so bright a day! +Dream-like those scenes the townsmen love, +Their tumbling USK, their PRIORY GROVE, +View'd while the moon cheer'd, calmly bright, +The freshness of a summer's night. + +HIGH o'er the town, in morning smiles, +The blue VANN heav'd his deep defiles; +And rang'd, like champions for the fight, +Basking in sun-beams on our right, +Rose the BLACK MOUNTAINS, that surround +That far-fam'd spot of holy ground, +LLANTHONY, dear to monkish tale, +And still the pride of EWAIS VALE. +No road-side cottage smoke was seen, +Or rarely, on the village green +No youths appear'd, in spring-tide dress, +In ardent play, or idleness. +Brown way'd the harvest, dale and slope +Exulting bore a nation's hope; +Sheaves rose as far as sight could range, +And every mile was but a change +Of peasants lab'ring, lab'ring still, +And climbing many a distant hill. +Some talk'd, perhaps, of spring's bright hour, +And how they pil'd, in BRUNLESS TOWER [1], +[Footnote 1: The only remaining tower of Brunless Castle now makes an +excellent hay-loft; and almost every building on the spot is composed of +fragments.] +The full-dried hay. Perhaps they told +Tradition's tales, and taught how old +The ruin'd castle! False or true, +They guess it, just as others do. + +Lone tower! though suffer'd yet to stand, +Dilapidation's wasting hand +Shall tear thy pond'rous walls, to guard +The slumb'ring steed, or fence the yard; +Or wheels shall grind thy pride away +Along the turnpike road to HAY, +Where fierce GLENDOW'R'S rude mountaineers +Left war's attendants, blood and tears, +And spread their terrors many a mile, +And shouted round the flaming pile. +May heav'n preserve our native land +From blind ambition's murdering hand; +From all the wrongs that can provoke +A people's wrath, and urge the stroke +That shakes the proudest throne! Guard, heav'n. +The sacred birth-right thou hast given; +Bid justice curb, with strong controul, +The desp'rate passions of the soul. + +Here ivy'd fragments, lowering, throw +Broad shadows on the poor below, +Who, while they rest, and when they die, +Sleep on the rock-built shores of WYE. + +To tread o'er nameless mounds of earth, +To muse upon departed worth, +To credit still the poor distress'd, +For feelings never half express'd, +Their hopes, their faith, their tender love, +Faith that sustain'd, and hope that strove, +Is sacred joy; to heave a sigh, +A debt to poor mortality. +Funereal rites are clos'd; 'tis done; +Ceas'd is the bell; the priest is gone; +What then if bust or stone denies +To catch the pensive loit'rer's eyes, +What course can poverty pursue? +What can the _poor_ pretend to do? +O boast not, quarries, of your store; +Boast not, O man, of wealth or lore, +The flowers of nature here shall thrive, +Affection keep those flowers alive; +And they shall strike the melting heart, +Beyond the utmost power of art; +Planted on graves[1], their stems entwine, +And every blossom is a line +[Footnote 1: To the custom of scattering flowers over the graves of +departed friends, David ap Gwillym beautifully alludes in one of his odes. +"O whilst thy season of flowers, and thy tender sprays thick of leaves +remain, I will pluck the roses from the brakes, the flowerets of the +meads, and gems of the wood; the vivid trefoil, beauties of the ground, +and the gaily-smiling bloom of the verdant herbs, to be offered to the +memory of a chief of fairest fame. Humbly will I lay them on the grave of +Iver." +On a grave in the church-yard at Hay, or the Hay, as it is commonly +spoken, flowers had evidently been _planted_, but only one solitary sprig +of sweet-briar had taken root.] +Indelibly impress'd, that tends, +In more than language comprehends, +To teach us, in our solemn hours, +That we ourselves are dying flowers. + +What if a father buried here +His earthly hope, his friend most dear, +His only child? Shall his dim eye, +At poverty's command, be dry? +No, he shall muse, and think, and pray, +And weep his tedious hours away; +Or weave the song of woe to tell, +How dear that child he lov'd so well. + + + MARY'S GRAVE. + +No child have I left, I must wander alone, + No light-hearted Mary to sing as I go, +Nor loiter to gather bright flowers newly blown, + She delighted, sweet maid, in these emblems of woe. + +Then the stream glided by her, or playfully boil'd + O'er its rock-bed unceasing, and still it goes free; +But her infant life was arrested, unsoil'd + As the dew-drop when shook by the wing of the bee. + +Sweet flowers were her treasures, and flowers shall be mine; + I bring them from Radnor's green hills to her grave; +Thus planted in anguish, oh let them entwine + O'er a heart once as gentle as heav'n e'er gave. +Oh, the glance of her eye, when at mansions of wealth + I pointed, suspicious, and warn'd her of harm; +She smil'd in content, 'midst the bloom of her health, + And closer and closer still hung on my arm. + +What boots it to tell of the sense she possess'd, + The fair buds of promise that mem'ry endears? +The mild dove, affection, was queen of her breast, + And I had her love, and her truth, and her tears; +She was mine. But she goes to the land of the good, + A change which I must, and yet dare not deplore; +I'll bear the rude shock like the oak of the wood, + But the green hills of Radnor will charm me no more. + +RUINS of greatness, all farewell; +No Chepstows here, no Raglands tell, +By mound, or foss, or mighty tower, +Achievements high in hall or bower; +Or give to fancy's vivid eye, +The helms and plumes of chivalry. +CLIFFORD has fall'n, howe'er sublime, +Mere fragments wrestle still with time; +Yet as they perish, sure and slow, +And rolling dash the stream below, +They raise tradition's glowing scene, +The clue of silk, the wrathful queen, +And link, in mem'ry's firmest bond, +The love-lorn tale of Rosamond[1]. +[Footnote 1: Clifford Castle is supposed to have been the birth place of +Fair Rosamond.] + +How placid, how divinely sweet, +The flow'r-grown brook that, by our feet, +Winds on a summer's day; e'en where +Its name no classic honours share, +Its springs untrac'd, its course unknown, +Seaward for ever rambling down! +Here, then, how sweet, pelucid, chaste; +'Twas this bright current bade us taste +The fulness of its joy. Glide still, +Enchantress of PLYNLIMON HILL, +Meandering WYE! Still let me dream, +In raptures, o'er thy infant stream; +For could th' immortal soul forego +Its cumbrous load of earthly woe, +And clothe itself in fairy guise, +Too small, too pure, for human eyes, +Blithe would we seek thy utmost spring, +Where mountain-larks first try the wing; +There, at the crimson dawn of day, +Launch a scoop'd leaf, and sail away, +Stretch'd at our ease, or crouch below, +Or climb the green transparent prow, +Stooping where oft the blue bell sips +The passing stream, and shakes and dips; +And when the heifer came to drink, +Quick from the gale our bark would shrink, +And huddle down amidst the brawl +Of many a five-inch waterfall, +Till the expanse should fairly give +The bow'ring hazel room to live; +And as each swelling junction came, +To form a riv'let worth a name, +We'd dart beneath, or brush away +Long-beaded webs, that else might stay +Our silent course; in haste retreat, +Where whirlpools near the bull-rush meet; +Wheel round the ox of monstrous size; +And count below his shadowy flies; +And sport amidst the throng; and when +We met the barks of giant men, +Avoid their oars, still undescried, +And mock their overbearing pride; +Then vanish by some magic spell, +And shout, "Delicious WYE, farewell!" + +'Twas noon, when o'er thy mountain stream, +The carriage roll'd, each pow'rful gleam +Struck on thy surface, where, below, +Spread the deep heaven's azure glow; +And water-flowers, a mingling croud, +Wav'd in the dazzling silver cloud. +Again farewell! The treat is o'er; +For me shall Cambria smile no more; +Yet truth shall still the song sustain, +And touch the springs of joy again. + +Hail! land of cyder, vales of health! +Redundant fruitage, rural wealth; +Here, did _Pomona_ still retain, +Her influence o'er a British plain, +Might temples rise, spring blossoms fly, +Round the capricious deity; +Or autumn sacrifices bound, +By myriads, o'er the hallow'd ground, +And deep libations still renew +The fervours of her dancing crew. +Land of delight! let mem'ry strive +To keep thy flying scenes alive; +Thy grey-limb'd orchards, scattering wide +Their treasures by the highway side; +Thy half-hid cottages, that show +The dark green moss, the resting bough, +At broken panes, that taps and flies, +Illumes and shades the maiden's eyes +At day-break, and, with whisper'd joy, +Wakes the light-hearted shepherd boy: +These, with thy noble woods and dells, +The hazel copse, the village bells, +Charm'd more the passing sultry hours +Than HEREFORD, with all her towers. + +Sweet was the rest, with welcome cheer, +But a far nobler scene was near; +And when the morrow's noon had spread, +O'er orchard stores, the deep'ning red, +Behind us rose the billowy cloud, +That dims the air to city croud. + +And deem not that, where cyder reigns +The beverage of a thousand plains, +Malt, and the liberal harvest horn, +Are all unknown, or laugh'd to scorn; +A spot that all delights might bring, +A palace for an eastern king, +CANFROME[A], shall from her vaults display +John Barleycorn's resistless sway. +[Footnote A: The noble seat of--Hopton, Esq. which exhibits, in a striking +manner, the real old English magnificence and hospitality of the last +age.] +To make the odds of fortune even, +Up bounc'd the cork of "_seventy-seven_," +And sent me back to school; for then, +Ere yet I learn'd to wield the pen; +The pen that should all crimes assail, +The pen that leads to fame--or jail; +Then steem'd the malt, whose spirit bears +The frosts and suns of thirty years! + +Through LEDBURY, at decline of day, +The wheels that bore us, roll'd away, +To cross the MALVERN HILLS. 'Twas night; +Alternate met the weary sight +Each steep, dark, undulating brow, +And WORC'STER'S gloomy vale below: +Gloomy no more, when eastward sprung +The light that gladdens heart and tongue; +When morn glanc'd o'er the shepherd's bed, +And cast her tints of lovely red +Wide o'er the vast expanding scene, +And mix'd her hues with mountain green; +Then, gazing from a height so fair, +Through miles of unpolluted air, +Where cultivation triumphs wide, +O'er boundless views on every side, +Thick planted towns, where toils ne'er cease, +And far-spread silent village peace, +As each succeeding pleasure came, +The heart acknowledg'd MALVERN'S fame. + +Oft glancing thence to Cambria still, +Thou yet wert seen, my fav'rite hill, +Delightful PEN-Y-VALE! Nor shall +Great MALVERN'S high imperious call +Wean me from thee, or turn aside +My earliest charm, my heart's strong pride. + +Boast MALVERN, that thy springs revive +The drooping patient, scarce alive; +Where, as he gathers strength to toil, +Not e'en thy heights his spirit foil, +But nerve him on to bless, t'inhale, +And triumph in the morning gale; +Or noon's transcendent glories give +The vigorous touch that bids him live. +Perhaps e'en now he stops to breathe, +Surveying the expanse beneath? +Now climbs again, where keen winds blow. +And holds his beaver to his brow; +Waves to the _Wrecken_ his white hand, +And, borrowing Fancy's magic wand, +Skims over WORC'STER'S spires away, +Where sprung the blush of rising day; +And eyes, with joy, sweet _Hagley Groves_, +That taste reveres and virtue loves; +And stretch'd upon thy utmost ridge, +Marks Severn's course, and UPTON-bridge, +That leads to home, to friends, or wife, +And all thy sweets, domestic life; +He drops the tear, his bosom glows, +That consecrated _Avon_ flows +Down the blue distant vale, to yield +Its stores by TEWKESBURY'S deadly field, +And feels whatever can inspire, +From history's page or poet's fire. + +Bright vale of Severn! shall the song +That wildly devious roves along, +The charms of nature to explore, +On history rest, or themes of yore? +More joy the thoughts of home supply, +Short be the glance at days gone by, +Though gallant TEWKESBURY, clean and gay, +Hath much to tempt the traveller's stay, +Her noble abbey, with its dead, +A powerful claim; a silent dread, +Sacred as holy virtue springs +Where rests the dust of chiefs and kings; +With his who by foul murder died, +The fierce Lancastrian's hope and pride, +When brothers brothers could destroy +Heroic Margaret's _red-rose_ boy.[A] +[Footnote A: Prince Edward, son of Henry the Sixth, taken prisoner with +his mother, Margaret of Anjou, at the battle of Tewkesbury, and murdered +by the Duke of Gloucester, afterwards Richard the Third.] +Muse, turn thee from the field of blood, +Rest to the brave, peace to the good; +_Avon_, with all thy charms, adieu! +For CHELTENHAM mocks thy pilgrim crew; +And like a girl in beauty's power, +Flirts in the fairings of an hour. + +Queen of the valley! soon behind +Gleam'd thy bright fanes, in sun and wind, +Fair Glo'ster. Though thy fabric stands, +The boast of Severn's winding sands +If grandeur, beauty, grace, can stay +The traveller on his homeward way. +There rests the Norman prince who rose +In zeal against the Christian's foes, +Yet doom'd at home to pine and die, +Of birthright rob'd, and liberty; +Foil'd was the lance he well could fling, +Robert[A], who should have been a king; +[Footnote A: The eldest son of William the Conqueror was imprisoned +eight-and-twenty years by his own brother!] +His tide of wrongs he could not stem, +His brothers filch'd his diadem. +There sleeps the king who aim'd to spurn +The daring Scots, at Bannockburn, +But turn'd him back, with humbled fame, +And _Berkley's "shrieks_"[B] declare his name. +[Footnote B: "Shrieks of an agonizing king."] + +Cease, cease the lay, the goal is won, +But silent memory revels on; +Fast clos'd the day, the last bright hour, +The setting sun, on DURSLEY tower, +Welcom'd us home, and forward bade, +To ULEY valley's peaceful shade. + +Who so unfeeling, who so bold, +To judge that fictions, idly told, +Deform the verse that only tries +To consecrate realities? +If e'er th' unworthy thought should come, +Let strong conviction strike them dumb. +Go to the proof; your steed prepare, +Drink nature's cup, the rapture share; +If dull you find your devious course, +Your tour is useless--sell your horse. + +Ye who, ingulph'd in trade, endure +What gold alone can never cure; +The constant sigh for scenes of peace, +From the world's trammels free release, +Wait not, for reason's sake attend, +Wait not in chains till times shall mend; +Till the clear voice, grown hoarse and gruff, +Cries, "Now I'll go, I'm rich enough;" +Youth, and the prime of manhood, seize, +Steal ten days absence, ten days ease; +Bid ledgers from your minds depart; +Let mem'ry's treasures cheer the heart; +And when your children round you grow, +With opening charms and manly brow, +Talk of the WYE as some old dream, +Call it the wild, the wizard stream; +Sink in your broad arm-chair to rest, +And youth shall smile to see you bless'd. + +Artists, betimes your powers employ, +And take the pilgrimage of joy; +The eye of genius may behold +A thousand beauties here untold; +Rock, that defies the winter's storm; +Wood, in its most imposing form, +That climbs the mountain, bows below, +Where deep th' unsullied waters flow. +Here _Gilpin's_ eye transported scan'd +Views by no tricks of fancy plan'd; +_Gray_ here, upon the stream reclin'd, +Stor'd with delight his ardent mind. +But let the vacant trifler stray +From thy enchantments far away; +For should, from fashion's rainbow train, +The idle and the vicious vain, +In sacrilege presume to move +Through these dear scenes of peace and love, +The _spirit of the stream_ would rise +In wrathful mood, and tenfold size, +And nobly guard his COLDWELL SPRING, +And bid his inmost caverns ring; +Loud thund'ring on the giddy crew, +"My stream was never meant for you." +But ye, to nobler feelings born, +Who sense and nature dare not scorn., +Glide gaily on, and ye shall find +The blest serenity of mind +That springs from silence; or shall raise +The hand, the eye, the voice of praise. +Live then, sweet stream! and henceforth be +The darling of posterity; +Lov'd for thyself, for ever dear, +Like beauty's smile and virtue's tear, +Till time his striding race give o'er, +And verse itself shall charm no more. + + +THE END. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Banks of Wye, by Robert Bloomfield + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE BANKS OF WYE *** + +This file should be named bkwye10.txt or bkwye10.zip +Corrected EDITIONS of our eBooks get a new NUMBER, bkwye11.txt +VERSIONS based on separate sources get new LETTER, bkwye10a.txt + +Produced by Jonathan Ingram, Charles Bidwell +and Online Distributed Proofreaders + +Project Gutenberg eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the US +unless a copyright notice is included. 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