No wit to flatter left of all his store; No fool to laugh at, which he valued more ; The charming walk at Lord Orkney's, which I was so kindly permitted to enjoy, and which I did enjoy so thoroughly, ran between the noble river shaded and overhung by trees, and the high steep chalky cliff, also clothed, with trees to the very summit; trees of all kinds, the oak, the beech, the ash, the elm, the yew, the cypress, the pine, the juniper. The woodland path, no trimly kept walk, but a rude narrow cart-track, thridded its way amidst nooks so closely planted and branches so interlaced, that oftentimes the water only glanced upon us by glimpses through the foliage, just as in looking upward we caught a gleam of the blue sky. Sometimes again it was totally hidden, and we only felt the presence of the river by the refreshing coolness of the breeze, and the gentle rippling of the slow current; while, sometimes, a sudden opening would give to view some rude landing-place where the boats were laden with chalk; or a vista accidentally formed by the felling of some large tree would show us an old mill across the stream framed in by meeting branches like a picture. The Taplow spring, with its pretty cottage for pic-nics, often proved the end of our evening walks. VOL. I. D I loved to see the gushing of that cool clear sparkling spring, plashing over the huge stones that seemed meant to restrain it, sporting in pools and eddies, and lost almost as soon as it wells from the earth amid the waters of the silver Thames. Steep as it seems and is, the chalky cliff is not inaccessible. Here and there it recedes from the river, sometimes hollowed into deep caves, and then again it advances with a more gradual slope, so as to admit of zigzag walks practised to the summit. These walks, almost buried amongst the rich foliage, have a singular attraction in their steepness and their difficulty. Long branches of ivy trail from the cliff in every direction, mingled at this season with a gorgeous profusion of the clinging woodbine, the yellow St. John's wort, and the large purple flowers of the Canterbury bell. Our steps were literally impeded by these long garlands. Our feet were perpetually entangled in them. We crushed them as we passed. The view from the Hermit's hut, on the height, is amongst those that can never be forgotten. We looked over the tops of the tall trees, down a sheer descent of I know not how many hundred feet, to a weir upon the Thames, foaming and brawling under our very eyes. Just beyond was one of the loveliest reaches of the river, with Cookham bridge and the fine old church forming a picture in itself. Then came a wide extent of field and meadow, mansion and village, tower and spire, the rich woods of Berkshire interspersed amongst all, the noble river winding away into the distance, and the far-off hills mingling with the clouds, until we knew not which was earth, or which was sky. Very pleasant was that sojourn by the Thames side. And amongst the pleasures that I most value, one of those which I brought home with me and trust never to lose, must be reckoned the becoming acquainted with Mr. Noel's "Rymes and Roundelayes," and forming, not an acquaintance, for we have never met, but a friendship with the author. Mr. Noel resides in a beautiful place in that beautiful neighbourhood, leading the life of an accomplished but somewhat secluded country gentleman—a most enviable life, and one well adapted to the observation of nature and to the production of poetry, but by no means so well calculated to make a volume of poems extensively known. Hence it is that the elegant and graphic description of Thames scenery which I subjoin, although it has been published nearly ten years, will probably have the charm of novelty to many of my readers. A THAMES VOYAGE. Gracefully, gracefully glides our bark On the bosom of Father Thames, The kingfisher not straighter darts Down the stream to his sweet mate's nest, Than our arrowy pinnace shoots and parts The river's yielding breast. We have passed the chalk-cliff on whose crown The hermit's hut doth cling, And the bank, whose hanging woods look down On the smile of Cliefden spring. We are come where Hedsor's crested fount And where the charmed eye loves to mount On, like a hawk upon the wing, In view is Cookham's ivied tower; O'er Marlow's loveliest vale they look, Still on, still on, as we smoothly glide, Swift dragon-flies, with their gauzy wings, And murmuring hosts of moving things There are spots where nestle wild flowers small With many a mingling gleam; Where the broad flag waves, and the bulrush tall Nods still to the thrusting stream. The Forget-me-not on the water's edge Where the broken bank, between the sedge, And in bays where matted foliage weaves A shadowy arch on high, Serene on broad and bronze-like leaves, The virgin lilies lie. Fair fall those bonny flowers! O how Smoother than Ariel's moonlit brow! - Those milk-white cups with a golden core, Steadily, steadily, speeds our bark, O'er the silvery whirls she springs; While merry as lay of morning lark The watery carol rings. |