Imagens da página

AMWELL. MANY great men have signalized their love of the country by describing the beauties of the district in which they resided, and thus rendering it interesting to the sen. timevtal traveller. Amwell, a quiet village, two miles from Ware, in Hertfortshire, is principally celebrated for a beautiful estate called Amwell-Bury, laid out with much taste by a late Mr. Scott. Here he constructed a curious grotto, which 'he thus describes in his elegantly written poem, called " Amwell.”

Where China's willow bangs its foliage fair,
And Po's tall poplar waves its top iu air,
And the dark maple spreads its umbrage wide,
And the white beach adorns the basin side;
At noon reclin’d, perhaps, be sits to view
The bank's neat slope, the water's silver hue,
Where, midst thick oaks the subterraneous way,
To the arch'd grot admits a feeble ray,
Where glossy pebbles pave the varied foors,
And rough Aint-walls are deck'd with shells and ores
And silvery pearls, spread o'er the roofs on high,
Glimmer like faint stars in a twilight sky:
From noon's fierce glare, perhaps, he pleas'd retires,
Indulging musings which the place inspires.
Now where the airy octagon ascends,
And wide the prospect o'er the vale extends,
Midst evening's calm, intent perhaps he stands,
And looks o'er all that length of sun-gilt lands,
Of bright green pastures, stretch'd by rivers clear,
And willow groves, or osier islands near!”

Amwell boasts also of having had amongst its inhabitants, Mr. Hoole, the translator of Tasso, and Ms. Walton, the angler; the scene of his “ Angler's Dialogues" is the vale of Lee, hetween Tottenham and Ware : he par. ticularly mentions Amwell Hill.

[merged small][graphic][subsumed]


ERTAINLY there is not in the dominions of Great Britain a lovelier spot than the one now before the reader,--the Bridge over the Dee, and Canal of Ellesmere, at Chirk, Llangollen. The town of Llangollen in itself is insignificant, being placed in a particularly small dale, and environed with huge moun.

tains. On one of them, a little above the town, are the remaivs of Castle Caer Dinas Brân, or Crow Castle, supposed to have been founded by Brennus, the Gaulic general: the mountain river Brân, runs at the foot of the hill.

The Dee, from the bridge at Llangollen, is a striking object, raging furionsly down the broad, solid rock, for å considerable space. From this place the prospect is really enchanting; the aqueduct of Chirk immediately in front; the peculiar richness of the valley, intersected on every side by water, in all its variety of forms, from the foaming torrent, to the silent and gentle flowing stream. A more bewitching or picturesque landscape cannot be conceived.

The famous Aqueduct, which was formed for conveying the water over the river Dee, and the vale of Llangollen, was built in the year 1795, at the expenee of the nobility and gentry of the adjacent counties. It is supported by columns of immense thickness; several of those which stand in the bed of the river, are more than one hundred feet in height. NO. XIII.

[ocr errors]


AND he is dead that drew
The breath of many a wounded day,
Of watchful nights, alike perchance in hue,

And no voice heard to wail! Shall no hand strew Leaves for his fame to sleep on, wearied of its way.

May not some arm be raised
Unto the banner which he poized so well,
The poet's sign, that from dark times hath blazed,

Making chill reason stand amazed,

Warmed by the flame he could not quell,
May not this banner of bright bards he wound,
A winding-sheet of life, betwixt him and the ground.

The world must bold
An echo of the wondrous things he told;

The pictures he hath wrought,
Forth from the womb of phantoms brought,
Live based on everlasting thought :

All, all that he hath done

Is of the sea and sun!
He (another prophet) saw
A moving hand along the thunder-cloud,

And kuew the language of that law,
And read it to a Babylonian crowd :
But men in peril are most proud,

Ard laugh to scorn
The voice that comes to warn;
And so he died, but not unheard-
Although the meaning of his mighty word
Only to a few was given-,

[riven? And who that felt the tone, knew how the harp was

O cold neglect,
And cruel tauntings of the ruffian wind!
Why work ye upon nature's calm and kind,
To rush on deadly waters, whirled and wrecked ?

Because the earth be blind,

Is there no blue upon the brow
Of that rich heaven that did endow

Mankind with wisdoin, to behold
Glories of earthly and ethereal mould !

But when man darted up to grasp

The fire of sceptred cherubim,
And to bis poisoned eyeball clung the wasp,
And all its lighted world was dim,

Day perished not,
Nor the pale patience of the night -
nly the tear-lit orbs of human sight.

And such the poet's lot-
To have his glorious lineaments forgot ;
And when most radiant to be most assailed
As dark, because the mortal gaze bath failed.

And such was thine!
Such, such the lot of many a hand divine,

That with bruised and blighted pen,
Filled with the bosom's living dew,
On the world's green surface drew
The fine similitudes of men,
Such as ne'er again shall press

The earth, made Edenless.

But thou ! O wheresoever
Thou sleepest in white dreams at the moon's foot,

Almost a star!
Or sailest, leaf-like down heaven's wreckless river,

Wheresoe'er thou twin'st thy root,
Bending near to man, or far-

O trust

The lightning of our dust,
The flashings of poetic frostless strings ;-

0, think that there are things,
Here in the world whose waxen hearts reveal
The print of thine, aud burn religiously,
Their life as on an altar, whereai kueel

The poet worshippers, that seal

Their knowledge of a 'dawn to bem
Whose firmest wing shall have a throne for thee.

For these he held
His course awhile on high, and now lieth felled;

For these be sported on the brink
Of the gray mountains, and the shelly shore,
And dared, amid a thoughtless land, to think, [wore.
And shook, with heaving heart, the star-chain which it

The wide wood bowed its sable plumes,

And wrapped him from the following blast; And ocean found him stretched upon its tombs :

Where'er he passed,
Some graven tokens rest,
Save only on man's printless breast,

Who looked not on his dazzling way,
Except to mark if once he turn'd astray!

They deemed not that his flame

Was damped by tears, and so it waved
Unsteady in the sullen gust it braved,
But still ascended whence it came.

Who could be wise,
Holding the reins along such roadless skies?
Yet not with hoary hairs is judgment twined,

But in the senate of the mind

It weighs the worth of age,
And Alings to youth the mantle of the sage.

His was a cloak
Made from the pall of buried years, the gold
Of the deep future blazing through each fold;

He spoke
To heaven and to the waters, to the souls
Which beam from every orb that rolls ;

And on the snaky storm
That looked down from its battlement,
A glance of answering anger sent.

The giant and the worm,

The infant love of woman
(Life's down upon the breast of time),
The fevered manhood and the flash of crime,
The veins of misers mad with molten gold,

The helmet and the cowl,
The burning foot-track of a thing not human,
The sun-struck matins and the midnight howl.

Of these he told,
Pouring like a stream along
All the sorceries of song ;

And o'er his heart, as on a map,
Linked by fine veins the rosy countries spread

The beart, now dumb and dead !
What glory next shall time and sorrow sap?

Three migbty ones lie low,
As struck by a rebounding blow.

« AnteriorContinuar »