The Banks of Wye | Page 8

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