The works of Robert Bloomfield. A complete edition

Front matter

ROUTLEDGE'S EXCELSIOR SERIES OF Standard Authors, without Abridgment. Crown 8vo, 2s. each in cloth, cut edges (Postage 4_.). i The Wide, Wide World. By Miss Wetherell. 2 Melbourne House. By Miss Wetherell. 3 The Lamplighter. By Miss Cummins. 4 Stepping Heavenward, and Aunt Jane's Hero. By E. Prentiss. 5 Queechy. By Miss Wetherell. 6 Ellen Montgomery's Bookshelf. By Miss Wetherell. 7 The Two School Girls, and other Tales, illustrating the Beatitudes. By Miss Wetherell. 8 Helen. By Maria Edgeworth. 9 The Old Helmet. By Miss Wetherell. io Mabel Vaughan. By Miss Cummins. ii TheGlenLunaFamily; or, Speculation. Miss Wetherell. 13 Alone. By Marion Harland. 14 The Lofty and Lowly. By Miss M'Intosh. 15 The Prince of the House of David. 16 Uncle Tom's Cabin. By Mrs. Stowe. 17 Longfellow's Poetical Works. 726 pages, with Portrait. 18 Burns's Poetical Works.

With Memoir by Wilmott. 19 MOore's Poetical Works. With Memoir by Howitt. 20 Byron's Poetical Works. Selections from Don Juan. 21 Pope's Poetical Works. Edited by the Rev. H. F. Cary. 22 Wise Sayings of the Great and Good. 23 Lover's Poetical Works. 24 Bret Harte's Po«ms. 25 Mrs. Hemans' Poetical Works. 26 Coleridge's Poetical Works. With Memoir by W. B. Scott. 27 Dodd's Beauties of Shakespeare. 28 Hood's Poetical Works, Serious and Comic. 456 pages. 29 The Book of Familiar Quotations, from the best Authors. 30 Shelley's Poetical Works. With Memoir by W. B. Scorr. 31 Keats' Poetical Works. With Memoir by W. B. Scott. 32 Shakspeare Gems. A Collection of Extracts. 33 The Book of Humour, Wit, and Wisdom. 34 Edgar Allan Poe's Poetical Works. With Memoir by R. H. Stoddard. 35 L. E. L., The Poetical Works of (Letitia Elizabeth Landon), With Memoir by W. B. SCOTT. n nvctpag: Routledge's Excelsior Series— continued. 36 The Mind os Shakspeare.

Quotations on 500 Subjects, • By the Rev. Aaron A. Morgan, M.A. 37 Sir Walter Scott's Poetical Works. With Memoir. 38 Shakspere, Complete, with Poems and Sonnets. Edited by Charles Knight. 40 Milton's Poetical Works. From the Text of Dr. Newton 41 Sacred Poems. A Selection from the Poets, Devotional and Moral. 42 Sydney Smith's Essays. From the Edinburgh Review. 43 Choice Poems and Lyrics. From 130 Poets. 44 Cruden's Concordance to the Old and New Testament. Edited by the Rev. C. S. Carey. 572 pp. Three Columns on a page. 45 Tales of a Wayside Inn. H. W. Longfellow. Complete. 46 Dante's Inferno. ) 47 „ Purgatorio. ■ Translated by H. W. Longfellow. ' _. ° . . With extensive Notes. 48 „ Paradiso. 49 Household Stories, Collected by the Brothers Grimm. Newly Translated. Comprises nearly aoo Tales, in 564 pages. 50 Fairy Tales and Stories.

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 in serted in my last "volume, obtained their particular atten tion. 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 pleasur* to the writer of no common kind. An invitation to ac company 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 thi3 it is highly necessary that the reader should be apprised. 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 ha3 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 neces sity. To tho 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, Londol-, June 30, 1811. THE BANKS OF WYE.

Book I

The Vale os Uley. — Forest of Dean. — Ross.— Wilton Castie. — Goodrlch 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. " Bouse from thy slumber, pleasure calls, arise, Quit thy half-rural bower, awhile despise Tlie 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 dared to sing. When sickness weigh'd thee down, and strength declined ; When dread eternity absorb'd thy mind, Flow'd the predicting verse, by gloom o'erspread, That ' Cambrian mountains ' thou shouldst 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 raptured eye, ' The wild maanderings 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 Bury1 smiled o'er all below, Mansion, and flock, and circling woods that hung Round the sweet pastures where the skylark sung. 0 for the fancy, vigorous and sublime, Chaste as the theme, to triumph over Time ! (1) Bury, or Burg, the Saxon name for a hill, particularly for one wholly or partially formed by art. the banks of wte.

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 ran 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, Curved his bright hue, and bore along The mingled Avon, pride of song.

The trembling steeds soon ferried 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 roused amain, And chasing wide the wolf or boar, Bade the deep woodland valleys roar. Harmless we past, and unassail'd, Nor once at roads or turnpikes rail'd : Through depths of shade oft sunbeams broke, Midst noble Flaxley's bowers of oak ; THE BANKS OF WT15. And many a cottage trim 7*tnd gay, Whisper'd delight through all the way ; On hills exposed, in dells unseen, To patriarchal Mitchel Dean. Rose-cheek'd Pomona there was seen, And Ceres edged her fields between, And on each hill-top mounted high, Her sickle waved in ecstasy ; 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 Kyri's high virtues lift his strain ; Whose own hand clothed this far-famed 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 waved 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 1 Then, 0 forgive the vagrant Muse, Ye who the sweets of Nature choose • THE BANKS OF WTE. And thou whom Destiny has 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 ? ' Let Hist'ry toll that fateful hour At home, when surly winds shall roar, And prudence shut the study door.

De Wiltons 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 rcar'd behind his nodding shade. Here, as the light boat skimm'd along, The clarionet, and chosen song, That mellow, wild, Æolian 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 car. , Twirls with the stream, he knows not where ; Till bold, impressive, and sublime, Gleam'd all that's left by storms and timo (1) Henry the Seventh gave an irrevocable blow to the dangerous pri vileges assumed by the barons, in abolishing liveries and retainers, by which every malefactor could shelter himself from the law, on assumin" a noble man s livery, and attending his person.

And, as a finishing stroke to the leudal tenures, an act was passed, by which the barons and gentlemen ol landed interest were at liberty to sell and mortgage their lands, without finei or licences for the alienation, ' THE BANKS OF WTE. 63 Of Goodrich Towers. The niould'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 the' 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 embowell'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 raised, And flaunt where youth and beauty gazed. Here fain would strangers loiter long, And muse as Eancy's-woof grows strong ; Yet cold the heart that could complain, Where Pollett ] 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, (1) The boatman.

And scarcely trembled, as we stood For Ruerdean Spire, and Bishop's Wood. The fair domains of Courtfleld ' made A paradise of mingled shade 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 ecstasy ?, 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 idiot — glorious sight ! Here, in one gay according mind. Upon the sparkling stream we dined ; 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. The' 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, \nd pendant corn-fields, upside down.

A troop of gleaners changed 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 Cnildhood'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 trembhng heat ; And through the boughs rudo urchins play'd, Where matrons, round the laughing maid, tl) A seat belonging to the family of Vaughan, which is not unnoticed U 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 Graysield is said to have been changed to Courtfield: although it is probably an erroneous tradition; for Court was a common name for a manor-house, where the lord of the manor held hit court.— See Coxe's " Monmouth," Prest the long grass beneath !

And hero They doubtless shared an equal cheer ; Enjoy'd the feast with equal glee, And raised the song of revelry : Yet half abash'd, reserved, and shy, Watch'd till the strangers glided by. GLEANER'S SONG. De*_r Ellen, your tales are all plenteously stored, 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 unbeloved ? Can she e'er feel the joy that one morning I proved, 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 loved 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 1 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 sombrous frown, A monumental stone appears, Of one who in his blooming yeara, v 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 1 l Nothing could damp the' 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 1 (1) Inscription on the side towards the water: — 11 Sacred to the memory of John Whitehead Warre, who perished near thi» spot, whilst bathing in the river Wye, in sight of his afflicted parents, brother, and sisters, on the 14th of September, 1S04, in the 16th 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 excel lent 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 :hild 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 ex'aort them to learn and observe the directions of the Humane Society, for the recovery of persons apparently drowned. Alasl it is with the extremest sorrow here commemo rated, what anguish is felt from a want of this knowledge.

The lamented swam very well ; was endowed with great bcdily 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 I 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 I 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 dLrowned, 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 y-ai gratuitously, and most obligingly, granted for the erection of this monum^ by William Vaughan, Esq., of Courtfield."

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 1 Bear ye your heads so high in scorn Of names that puny man hath borne ? Would that the Cambrian bards had here Their names carved 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 famed in lays, or chief in tights ; But former tourists, just as free, (Though 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 1 " 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 defied ; That here, where nature seems at strife With all that tells of busy life, Man should by names be earned still, To Babylon against his will. But how shall Memory rehearse, Or dictate the untoward verse That Truth demands 1 Could he refuse Thy unsought honours, darling Muse, He who in idle, happy trim, Rode just where friends would carry him 1 Truth, I obey. — The generous band, That spread his board and grasp'd his hand, P2 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 steak 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."1 On went the boat, and up the steep Her straggling crew began to creep, To gain the ridge, enjoy the view, Where the pure gales of summer blew. The gleaming Wye, that circles round Her four-mile course, again is found ; (1) Thn rocky isthmus, perforated at the base, would measure not more than six hundred yards, and its highest point is two thousand feet above the Wi_e..' . U. thls statement, taken from Coxe's " History of Monmouthshire ■ and An Excurs.on down the Wye," by C. Heath, of Monmouth, is correct ',,s,, ,?va"° _ _s Breater than t_at of the •• Pen-y-Vale," or the •' Sugar-Loaf- Hill, near AberR..venny.

Yet it has less the appearance ofa mountain than the river has that of an excavation. 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 gulfs below. Whence comes thy name ? What Simon 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 scaled 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-bowell'd side ; And by his everlasting mound, Prescribes the' 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, Po keep the flying boat in trim. Forward quick changing, changing still, Again rose cliff, and wood, and hill, Where mingling foliage seem'd to strive, With dark-brown saplings, flay'd alive ; l Down to the gulf beneath, where oft The toiling wood-boy dragg'd aloft His stubborn faggot from the brim, And gazed, and tugg'd with sturdy limb ; And where the mind repose would seek, A barren, storm-defying peak, The Little Doward lifted high His rocky crown of royalty. (1) The custom is here alluded to of stripping the bark from oaks while growing, which gives an almost undescribable, though not the most agreeable, effect to the landscape. 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 suffused 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 toss'd 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,1 Sculk'd in the alder shade. Each bore, Devoid of keel, or sail, or oar, An upright fisherman, whose eye, With Brahmin-like solemnity, Survey'd the surface either way, And cleaved it like a fly at play ; And crossways bore a balanced 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, (1) Ist Cæsar's Commentaries, mention is made of boats of this descrip tion, formed of a raw hide (from whence, perhaps, their name Coricle), w hicta were in use among the natives. How little they dreamed of the vastness of modern perfection, and of the naval conflicts of latter days I Thy tales shall please, thy name still be, When time forgets my verse and me. Low sunk the sun, his evening beam Scarce reach'd us on the tranquil stream ; Shut from the world and all its din, Nature's own bonds had closed us in ;! Wood, and deep dell, and rook, and ridge, From smiling Ross to Monmouth Bridge ; From morn, till twilight stole away, A long, unclouded, glorious day.

BOOK. IL

Henry th_ Fifth.— Morning on the Water.— Llandoga.— Ballad, "Tie Maid of Llandoga."— Tintem Abbey.— Wind-Cliff.— Arrival at Chepstow.— Persfield.— Ballad, " Morris of Persfield."— View from Wind-Cliff.— Chepstow Castle by Moonlight. 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 pierced 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 clothed in light, The reapers, early from their beds, Perhaps were singing o'er our heads. Fcr, stranger, deem not that tho eye Could hence survey the eastera _ky ; TELE BANKS OF WYE. 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'iiing gales of morn ; There bade their parent Wye good day, And tinged with purple sail'd away.