r 
 
 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 '^

 
 THE 
 
 COLLECTED POEMS 
 
 OF THE LATE 
 
 N. T. CARRINGTON. 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 Til E 
 
 COLLECTED POEMS 
 
 OF TUZ LAIE 
 
 N. T. CARRINGTON. 
 
 BY HIS SON, II. E. CARRINGTON. 
 
 IN TWO VOLUMES. 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON : 
 
 LONGMAN AND CO, 
 
 1834.
 
 II. E. CARIilNGTON, PRINTER, BATH. 
 
 vv
 
 PR 
 
 ) <? -3 '4- 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 Biographical Preface 
 
 
 Preface to Dartmoor 
 
 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Dartmoor. 
 
 .1 
 
 Notes to Dartmoor 
 
 . 101 
 
 My Native Village 
 
 . 213 
 
 Note. 
 
 . 232 
 
 The Twins of Lamerton 
 
 . 235 
 
 The Sailor's Fate. 
 
 . 240 
 
 Childe the Hunter . 
 
 . 246 
 
 The Druids 
 
 . 256 
 
 Lydford Bridge 
 
 . 261 
 
 The Pixies of Devon 
 
 . 267 

 
 BIOGRAPHICAL PREFACE. 
 
 Since my father's death in 1830, I have been 
 repeatedly urged; and particularly by my friends in 
 Devonshire, to print, in a cheap and popular form, 
 a complete collection of his writings. The truth 
 is, that I should long ago have published such an 
 edition if the duties of my station had not deprived 
 me of the leisure required for the execution of some 
 contemplated objects which I am, even now, obliged 
 to forego. I had designed to illustrate many of the 
 poems in these volumes with notes which might 
 probably have proved interesting to those among 
 the readers of the following pages who reside amid 
 the localities to which my father's poems chiefly 
 
 b
 
 2 BIOGRAPHICAL PREFACE. 
 
 relate, but the enquiries for the publication have 
 lately become so numerous, that I feel I should be 
 doing wrong by longer delaying its appearance in 
 the hope of being able to accomplish designs which 
 I may, perhaps, never have leisure enough to carry 
 into effect. 
 
 The object of the present preface is to lay before 
 the reader a brief account of my late father's life. 
 Simple and uneventful is the story which I have to 
 tell. The careers of few men have been so barren 
 of "moving accident" as was that of the Author of 
 "Dartmoor," and I address myself to the subject 
 with a settled consciousness that, in the attempt 
 which I am about to make, I shall have to deal more 
 with the description of thoughts and feelings than 
 with the narration of that stirring incident which is 
 so necessary to render biography an acceptable kind 
 of reading to the many. 
 
 For some time previous to his death, my father 
 had been repeatedly requested to draw up, for the 
 gratification of his immediate friends, some particu- 
 lars of his life. His invariable answer to such ap-
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL PREFACE. 3 
 
 plications was — that a memoir of himself might be 
 comprised in a very few words — that his career had 
 been one of the utmost monotony — that, leaving the 
 public out of the question, he could write no bio- 
 graphy of himself which could prove interesting 
 even to his immediate connections — and that those 
 of his townsmen who had been acquainted with 
 " the noiseless tenour" of his life could not but smile 
 at the idea of " N. T. Carrington's Memoirs." 
 Shortly after his decease, however, I discovered 
 that the solicitations of his friends had not been 
 entirely without effect. On examining his papers, 
 I found a small memorandum book, in the first page 
 of which was a note addressed to myself, and this, 
 with the matter it introduced, I here transcribe as 
 under : — 
 
 January, 21, 1830. 
 
 " Dear Henry, 
 
 " I have been repeatedly spoken to by various 
 
 " persons to leave some account of my life (my 
 
 " life !) which, say they, if hereafter prefixed to my 
 
 " • Remains,' may probably be productive of some
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL PREFACE. 
 
 " benefit to the family. It is tliis consideration, 
 " my dear son, and this only, that prompts me to 
 " leave you some materials from which you may 
 " draw up a memoir. Let it be as correct, and as 
 " near the spirit of the MS. as possible. — I am, my 
 " dear Henry, your affectionate father, 
 
 " N. T. Carrington." 
 " My father and mother were natives of Ply- 
 " mouth, and to that town I owe my Girth, which 
 " took place in 1777. Soon after I was born, my 
 " parents removed to Plymouth Dock. In addi- 
 " tion to being employed in the Dock- Yard, my 
 " father was in business as a grocer, and, at one 
 " period of his life, he was possessed of consider- 
 " able property. When I had attained my fifteenth 
 " year, my father proposed to apprentice me to 
 " Mr. Foot, then First Assistant in the Dock-Yard. 
 " A handsome sum of money was to have been 
 " paid do.vn as the price <if my admission as Mr. 
 " Foot's apprentice. Such things were allowed 
 " then ; I believe that they now manage very differ- 
 .",ently. In consequence, however, of some differ-
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL PREFACE. 5 
 
 "ence, I was finally bound apprentice to Mr. 
 " Thomas Fox, a measurer. 
 
 " I was totally unfit, however, for the profession. 
 "■ Mild and meek by nature, fond of- literary pur- 
 " suits, and inordinately attached to reading, it is 
 " strange that a mechanical profession should have 
 " been chosen for me. It was principally, however, 
 " mv own fault. My father was attached to the 
 " Dock-Yard, and wished to see me in it; and as 
 " the popular prejudice in those days among the 
 " boys of the town was in favour of the Yard, I w as 
 " carried away by the prevailing mania, and was, 
 " accordingly bound apprentice. This, however, 
 " had scarcely been done, when I repented, and 
 " too late found that I had embraced a calling 
 " foreign to my inclinations. Dissatisfaction foUow- 
 " ed, and the noise and bustle of a Dock-Yard were 
 " but ill suited to a mind predisposed to reflection 
 " and the quietest and most gentle pursuits. The 
 " 7'uffianism (I will not change the term) of too 
 " many of the apprentices, and, indeed, of too many 
 " of the men, sickened me. Let no parent place
 
 6 BIOGRAPHICAL PREFACE. 
 
 " his child in the Dock Yard at Plymouth, unless 
 " he have previously ascertained that his health, 
 " strength, personal courage, and general habits of 
 " thinking and acting, will make him a match for 
 " the desperate spirits with whom he will have to 
 " contend. I hope that the condition of the Yard 
 " in respect to the apprentices is now ameliorated ; 
 " but I cannot help, although I have been emanci- 
 " pated so long, and am now 53 years of age, — I 
 " cannot, I say, refrain from registering my detest- 
 " ation of the blackguardism which did prevail in 
 *' the Yard at the time of my unfortunate appren- 
 " ticeship." 
 
 Here ceased the only record, under his own hand, 
 which I have of my father's early career. Whi/ his 
 narrative was discontinued will be sufficiently ex- 
 plained by the following extract of a letter received 
 from him about the time at which the above sen- 
 tences were penned. 
 
 " My distressing shortness of breathing conti- 
 " nues ; — I cannot compose ; — I cannot think ; — the 
 " universe is a blank to me. — When the breathing is
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL PREFACE. 7 
 
 " very difficult, I wander from room to room— into 
 " my little garden — into the street ; — I look into the 
 " face of the blue heavens — on the houses — on the 
 " pavement — everywhere; — all is pain — no relief; — 
 " I am choaking ; — what, at such a time, are the 
 " sunny heavens and the green earth and the busy 
 " streets to me !" 
 
 I take up my father's story from the place at 
 which he relinquished it. His situation in the Dock- 
 Yard became every day more disagreeable to him. 
 His earnest and continual entreaties that his parents 
 would remove him to a more congenial occupation 
 were totally unavailing; and seeing, after a lapse of 
 about three years, no chance of improving his condi- 
 tion without taking the matter into his own hands, 
 he left the Yard, or, in common parlance, " ran 
 away." He soon had bitter reason for repenting the 
 step which he had taken. Not daring to seek his 
 father's roof, — finding himself thrown upon the 
 world without home or refuge, — in a moment of des- 
 peration he entered himself, as it is called, on 
 board a ship of war, and during the short time he
 
 8 niO(;itAPHICAL PREFACE. 
 
 was afloat lie was present at the defeat of the 
 Spanish fleet by Sir John Jervis, off Cape St. Vin- 
 cent on the 14th of February, 1797. In comme- 
 moration of this event, he wrote some verses which 
 were tlie fust he ever composed. They attracted 
 the notice and commendation of his captain, who 
 ordered the youthful writer into his presence — 
 bestowed on him a severe but kindly -meant 
 lecture on the rashness of his conduct, and said he 
 should prove how desirous he was to promote my 
 father's welfare by dismissing him from a service to 
 which he was by no means suited, and sending him, 
 as soon as possible, home to his friends. This was 
 done the moment the ship arrived in England ; — 
 his parents forgave the rebellion against their 
 authority which had led to this naval freak, and he 
 was at last freely allowed to follow the bent of his 
 inclination in the choice of a profession. He fixed 
 upon that of public teacher, and his system of 
 tuition, even at that early stage of his career, was 
 generally acknowledged to be of a very superior 
 character.
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL PREFACE. « 
 
 About seven years afterwards, he removed to 
 Maidstone in Kent, where, in 1805, he married my 
 mother. In this town lie pursued, for aVjout five 
 years, his avocations as public teacher, and, during 
 this time, he formed connections among the inha- 
 bitants of that place to which he always adverted 
 with feelings of the warmest interest. To the latest 
 period of his life, some of his most pleasant recol- 
 lections had reference to the kindness which he 
 experienced from " the fine-spirited inhabitants of 
 Maidstone," as he invariably termed them. It is 
 a great satisfaction to his family to know that he 
 was respected by the inhabitants of Maidstone as 
 highly as he respected them. Nearly thirty years 
 after he left that town, we received a noble proof 
 that our parent is there still " freshly remembered," 
 and if ever I cease to be mindful of which "may 
 my right hand forget her cunning." 
 
 Passionately fond as my father always was of 
 natural scenery, the beautiful neighbourhood of 
 Maidstone furnished him, in his hours of relaxation, 
 vvitii an unfailing source of rich gratification. The
 
 10 BIOGRAPHICAL PREFACE. 
 
 exquisite rural pictures in that charming vicinity 
 became vividly impressed on his mind, and to recur 
 in imagination to their varied charms, was, in after 
 years, his favourite occupation in many a leisure 
 hour. Some of my earliest remembrances carry 
 me back to the childish pleasure with which I have 
 so frequently listened to his glowing descriptions of 
 the most remarkable scenes near Maidstone, — the 
 picturesque vale of Aylesford — the precipitous and 
 wood-crested hills of Boxley — the fertile fields of 
 Farleigh, and the grey and crumbling ruins of Ailing- 
 ton Castle with the placid Medway in its front 
 winding gracefully towards the sea amid herbage of 
 the freshest green and luxuriant woods of infinitely 
 varied leaf. 
 
 My father remained at Maidstone, as I have 
 already stated, about five years and he then re- 
 turned to Plymouth Dock at the pressing solicita- 
 tions of numerous friends who wished him to un- 
 dertake the education of their sons. I have no 
 doubt that strong attachment to the place of his 
 birth — the " Local Love" to which, in the course
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL PRErACE. 11 
 
 of his writings, he so frequently and warmly alludes 
 — influenced, in a powerful degree, his decision on 
 this occasion. 
 
 The academy which he established on his return 
 to Plymouth Dock (1809) was conducted by him, 
 without intermission, until about six months of his 
 death in 1830, being twenty-one years of heavy and 
 unceasing toil, making his scholastic experience 
 amount altogether to the long space of thirty-three 
 years. For very nearly the whole of this time, he was 
 employed, with the exception of not more than two 
 hours a day for meals, from seven in the morning until 
 half past seven in the evening, during the summer; 
 and from nine iu the morning until eight at night 
 in winter. I mention thus particularly his hours of 
 labour for the purpose of adding, that it was either 
 before his hour of commencing business, or after 
 that of closing, that he occupied himself in literary 
 composition. I say it to his honour — and I feel 
 proud in saying it — that^ ardently attached as he 
 was to his poetical pursuits, he never suifered them 
 to interfere, in the slightest degree, with the duties
 
 12 BIOGRArniCAL PREFACE. 
 
 of the situation in which it liad pleased Providence 
 to place him. Nothing but severe illness could 
 keep him from his avocations one moment after, or 
 induce him to quit them one moment before, 
 the regularly appointed time. His scrupulousness 
 on this point was, indeed, extreme, and he often 
 made it a maUer of pardonable self-congratu- 
 lation that he had never suffered his literary incli- 
 nations — strong as they were — to interfere with the 
 routine of his daily business. He did not, however 
 always obtain credit for this conscientious attention 
 to the duties of his profession. More than one 
 pupil was removed from his care on the absurd sup- 
 position that he neglected his business by writing 
 poetry in school hours! " What an idea of poetry" 
 said he to me on one of these occasions, " must this 
 " man have, to suppose it possible for me, or any 
 ^' one else, to compose amid the restlessness and 
 " stunning din of sixty boys ! But there is one 
 " comfort in the matter ; — I cannot be angry w ith 
 " such a man." 
 
 The circumstances under which he composed are
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL PUEFACE. 13 
 
 SO afiectiiigly alluded to in the brief Address to 
 the Reader, prefixed to his " Banks of Tamar," 
 that I trust I need make no apology for inserting it; 
 here. 
 
 " TO THE READER. 
 
 " The severity of criticism may be softened by the inti- 
 " mation that the MSS. of this volume passed from the 
 " author to his printer without having been inspected by 
 " any literary friend. 
 
 " Other circumstances very unfavourable to literary 
 " composition have attended this work. In the celebrated 
 " tale of 'Old Mortality' Mr. Pattieson, the village teacher, 
 " after describing with admirable fidelity his anxious and 
 " distressing labours during the day, observes, ' The 
 " Reader may have some conception of the relief which a 
 " solitary walk, in the cool of a fine summer evening, af- 
 " fords to tiie head which has ached and the nerves which 
 " have been shattered for so many hours in plying the task 
 " of public instruction.' 
 
 " ' My chief haunt,' he continues,' in these hours of golden 
 " leisure, is the banks of the small stream which, wind- 
 " ing through a lone vale of green bracken, passes in front 
 "of the village school- house,' &c. But the teacher of 
 " Gandercleugh possessed advantages which never fell to 
 " the lot of the writer of this work. Engaged, like that far- 
 " famed personage, in the education of youth, his labours
 
 14 BIOGRAPHICAL PREFACE, 
 
 " have seldom been relinquished till the close of our long- 
 " est summer days, when, instead of retiring to the banks 
 " of a beautiful stream, he has almost uniformly been 
 " driven by business connected with his arduous profession, 
 " or by literary cares, to his solitary study at home. There, 
 " depressed by the previous fatigues of the day, he has 
 " occasionally indulged in composition and hence this 
 " volume, the production of many a pensive and abstracted 
 " hour." 
 
 The subject and date of my father's first poetical 
 attempt have been already mentioned. From that 
 time until the year 1818 he continued to write occa- 
 sional pieces which were published in the provincial 
 papers, and in various London periodicals, under 
 the signature N. T. C. These productions attracted 
 much attention, particularly in Devonshire to which 
 their subjects principally related. In the above- 
 mentioned year, at the suggestion of his friends, he 
 resolved on collecting into a volume his scattered 
 effusions. Being desirous that his fugitive verses 
 should be preceded by a poem of some length, he 
 then '* roughed out" his " Banks of Tamar," and 
 his volume under that title, containing all which
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL PREFACE. 15 
 
 he had up to that time written, issued from the 
 press in 1820. It was received with considerable 
 favour — was spoken of in very high terms by the 
 London and provincial periodicals — and it gained 
 him the friendship of many leading noblemen and 
 gentlemen of the West of England. 
 
 In 1824 (I believe) the Royal Society of Liter- 
 ature offered a premium for the best poem on 
 *' Dartmoor." That being a region with whose 
 wild and magnificent scenery my father was inti- 
 mately acquainted — having resided nearly all his life 
 near its Western border, and for above thirty years 
 been in the habit of occasionally exploring its vast 
 and savage solitudes, — he thought it would not 
 be presumptuous in him to become a competitor, or 
 to hope, that though, as a poet, his pretensions might 
 not be so great as those of many others who might 
 contend for the prize, yet that infidelity of descrip- 
 tion he should be found second to few. With this 
 view he wrote his " Dartmoor," but it was never 
 submitted for competition, as the premium was 
 awarded several months before he became aware
 
 10 BIOGRAPHICAL PREFACE. 
 
 that the time for presenting it had gone by, no notice 
 of that occasion having met his observation. Tlie 
 prize was awarded to a beautiful poem by Mrs. 
 Hemans, with whom my father had subsequently 
 the pleasure of becoming acquainted and of whose 
 acknowledged poetical talents he was a warm ad- 
 mirer. 
 
 Having missed the object for which the Poem was 
 written, my father threw it aside, without, I believe, 
 entertaining the slightest intention of ever laying 
 it before the public. By some chance, however, it 
 came under the notice of the late VV. Burt, Esq., 
 a gentleman of considerable literary attainments, 
 and Secretary of the Plymouth Chamber of Com- 
 merce, who advised its publication, and in 1826 it 
 accordingly appeared, with valuable historical and 
 topographical notes by Mr. Burt, and etchings of 
 scenery by P. 11. Rogers, Esq., then of Stonehouse, 
 Devon. 
 
 The success of "Dartmoor" far exceeded my 
 father's most sanguine hopes. It was noticed in 
 most gratifying terms by the periodical writers, and
 
 BIOGPvAPHICAL PREFACE. 17 
 
 such was its popularity, that a second edition became 
 necessary, and was sent to press, in about six weeks 
 after the appearance of the first. I may here men- 
 tion that his late Majesty, George the Fourth, order- 
 ed his opinion of the poem to be transmitted to the 
 Author in the shape of Fifty Guineas. My father 
 was subsequently indebted to Iiis Majestv for more 
 than one gracious mark of kindness and conde- 
 scension. 
 
 After the publication of "Dartmoor," my father 
 continued, as before, to compose occasional pieces, 
 most of which appeared in the Magazines and 
 Annuals. These were printed in a separate volume 
 in 1830, under the title of " My Native Village," 
 the name of the leading poem, and which has been 
 considered one of his most pleasing productions. 
 
 The fatal disease — pulmonary Consumption — 
 which terminated my father's existence, made its 
 first appearance towards the close of 1827, and in 
 a few months it was evident to all who looked upon 
 him that his days were numbered. He continued, 
 however, to discharge the duties of liis occupation 
 
 c
 
 18 BIOGRAPHICAL PREFACE. 
 
 until the end of March, 1830. The noble indepen- 
 dence of spirit which formed the leading character- 
 istic of his nature, and the high sense of duty by 
 which, through life, he was invariably actuated, 
 induced hiui, in opposition to the earnest entreaties 
 of his relations and friends, to struggle on as 
 long as his strength would allow; but, at the period 
 above mentioned he became so entirely wurn out 
 by the inroads of his mortal complaint that he was 
 obliged to give up his school. If it were not im- 
 proper to fill the public ear with details of private 
 life, I could relate some most touching instances of 
 the manly resolution and unflinching perseverance 
 which he opposed to the distressing sufferings which 
 it was his lot to undergo. These sufferings were 
 alluded to by him in the following introduction to 
 " My Native Village." 
 
 " I have not published any new volume since the 
 " publication of ' Dartmoor' so many years ago. A severe 
 " and protracted illness has prevented me from writing a 
 " poem of any length, and ifthe reader should occasionally 
 " perceive traces of languor in the present publication, I 
 " trust he will impute them to the proper cause. I am not.
 
 BIOGEAPHICAL PREFACE. 19 
 
 " however, without hope tliat, although this volume was 
 " composed under some of the most distressing circum- 
 " stances that ever fell to the lot of man, the ingenuous 
 " critic will find, in some pages, reasons for commenda- 
 " tion." 
 
 On relinquishing his school, my father removed 
 
 with his family to Bath, and, though reduced to a 
 state of great exhaustion, he was forcibly struck 
 with the beauties of this " city of palaces," which 
 he then gazed upon for the first time. I have in 
 my possession some fragments of a short poem 
 which he commenced on this subject, but which 
 his extreme debility prevented him from com- 
 pleting. He grew gradually worse until the 2nd 
 of September, 1830, on the evening of which 
 dav he calmly and peacefully expired, at the com- 
 paratively early age of fifty-three, leaving a widow 
 and six children. 
 
 He lies buried in the quiet little church-yard of 
 Combehay, a sequestered and interesting village 
 about four miles from Bath, seated deep in a ma- 
 jestic and unfrequented valley which contains some 
 of the finest and most luxuriant scenery in the 
 
 c 2
 
 20 BIOGRAPHICAL PREFACE. 
 
 West. At the risk of exciting a smile at what may, 
 perhaps, be considered by some as a mere idle ima- 
 gination, I may here observe, that Combehay was 
 chosen as the place of his interment because his 
 family wished tliat his remains should rest in a spot 
 whicli, when living, he would have loved full well, 
 
 " Around his grave let sweetest flowers upspring. 
 In memory of that fragrance which was once 
 From his mild manners quietly exhaled.* 
 
 My father's personal character was powerfully 
 calculated to ensure the strongest love and esteem 
 of those with whom he was intimate. If ever man's 
 heart overflowed with the " milk of human kind- 
 ness," /lis heart so overflowed. In manner he 
 was reserved and grave, but mild affability and an 
 earnest desire to please all who crossed his path, 
 constantly proved that it was the semblance only of 
 sternness which sate upon his intelligent features. 
 He abhorred, from his very soul, the slightest modifi- 
 
 * Chiabrcra. ,'
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL PREFACE. 21 
 
 cations of injustice, wrong, or oppression, in 
 whatever shape they might appear; and perfect 
 independence of spirit ruled his every thought and 
 deed. He loved and practised virtue for its own 
 pure sake; and, witliout shew of formality, he was, 
 in spirit and in practice, a humble and an earnest 
 Christian. The imperfections from which the best 
 of men have not been wholly exempt he, no 
 doubt, shared ; but, looking back on a close inter- 
 course with him of some twenty years, I can say, 
 with perfect truth, that I do not recollect one single 
 instance in which he was guilty of word or action 
 unbecoming the character of an upright man — a hus- 
 band — father — friend — or useful member of society. 
 Hence the affection which his children felt for 
 him as a parent was not greater than the respect 
 which they entertained for him as a man ; with 
 them his memory is embalmed in deep veneration 
 and enduring love. 
 
 In business, I have already said, he was inde- 
 fatigably laborious — always working and hoping — 
 jiever dismayed, — sometimes depressed, but never
 
 '22 BIOOKAPHKAL PREFACE. 
 
 entirely cast down. Even when in the very jaws of 
 Consumption he continued to project improvements 
 in his method of tuition, and to sketch the plans of 
 new poems, to be carried into effect if it had pleased 
 Providence to restore him to health. 
 
 His local attachment, as manifested in his 
 poems, was extremely strong. In every thing rela- 
 ting to his native county, and particularly to the 
 district round Plymouth and Devonport, he took a 
 warm and constant interest. To praise Devonshire 
 and its scenery was the sure road to his heart. 
 
 His habits of life were simple and retiring. The 
 hours not consumed in his school, or devoted to 
 composition, were mostly spent in the bosom of his 
 family. In his latter years he seldom went into 
 society, but when he did, his varied knowledge — 
 his exhaustless stores of anecdote — and his vigo- 
 rous power of placing every subject on which 
 he touched in new and striking combination, en- 
 abled him to shine with the brightest of those 
 among whom he happened to be thrown. His 
 appreciation of himself was, however, extremely
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL PREFACE. 
 
 23 
 
 modest. I have never met with a man who, in 
 bearing and in spirit was more unassinuing. 
 
 His love of nature was intense— it formed the 
 never-failing under-current of all his tlioughts and 
 musings. Cooped up from morning till night be- 
 tween four walls— his nerves shattered with " ply- 
 ing the task of public instruction," his glimpses, 
 brief and few, of the beautiful world around us 
 were productive to him of a degree of delight un- 
 known to the happier " sons of leisure." A green 
 field — a solitary tree— a burst of sunshine — a 
 butterfly on the wing — the gurgling of a brook — 
 or the voice of a lonely bird, sufficed at all times 
 to furnish him with cheerful impulses to pleasant 
 meditation. His impressions of all he saw were 
 vivid and lasting. It was not his custom to take 
 notes on visiting scenes which he intended to de- 
 scribe ; his sketches were made entirely from 
 memory, and I am enabled to say, that those which 
 are the most faithful, and which have attracted the 
 largest share of public commendation, were exe- 
 cuted several years after he had seen the objects 
 to which they refer.
 
 !24 Mioc.nAraiCAL puti- ac e. 
 
 After long periods of unbroken confinement, his 
 yearnings after " sylvan liberty" were extremely 
 strong. His feelings on such occasions were like 
 those of the Frenchman who, while being removed 
 from the Bastile, where he had been imprisoned for 
 twenty years, to the place of execution, exclaimed 
 " Oh that I might once more look upon a tree !" 
 With reference to this point, I am tempted to make 
 the following quotation from a little poem by my 
 father entitled "The Holiday" and which will be 
 found in volume II. of this publication, page 232. 
 After alluding to the enjoyments vvjiich are at the 
 command of him who to a love of nature joins the 
 possession of leisure, the poem proceeds as follows. 
 
 " What are his joys to mine ? The groves are green, 
 
 And fair the flowers ; and there are ever seen 
 
 By him the mountain's breast, the hills, the woods, 
 
 Grass-waving fields, and bright and wandering floods ; 
 
 The lays of birds are ever on his ear, 
 
 Music and sylvan beauty crown his year ; — 
 
 But if to him the rural reign have power 
 
 To fill with joy the swift-revolving hour. 
 
 What rapture must be mine, so seldom given, 
 
 To feel the beam and drink the gale of heaven !
 
 BIOORAnilCAL PREFACE. 25 
 
 For O ! I love thee, Nature, and my eye 
 Has felt " the witchery of the soft blue sky ;" 
 Bear witness, glowing Summer, how I love 
 Thy green world here, thy azure arch above ! 
 But seldom comes the hour that snaps my chain. 
 To me thou art all-beautiful in vain ; 
 Bird, bee, and butterfly, are on the wing, 
 Sena's shake the woods, and streams are murn)uring ; 
 But far from them — the world's o'er-labour'd slave, 
 My aching brow no genial breezes lave ; 
 Few are the gladsome hours that come to cheer 
 With flowers and songs my dull, unvarying year : 
 Yet ivhen they come, as now, — from loathed night 
 The bird upsprings to hail the welcome light 
 With soul less.buoyant than I turn to thee, 
 I'riz'd for thy absence, sylvan Liberty." 
 
 The character of by far the greater portion of my 
 father's descriptive poetry is as purely descriptive 
 as it is perhaps possible for such poetry to be. Oa 
 the workings of the inind he therein touches but 
 seldom and briefiy. His episodes are, neverthe- 
 less, strikingly beautiful, and, together with his 
 isolated poems on mural life, sufficiently prove 
 that he possessed, in a high degree, the power ol
 
 26 BIOGRAPHICAL PREFACE, 
 
 painting effective pictures of human thought and 
 action. His writings frequently breathe an air of 
 chastened sadness which they owe to the unto- 
 ward circumstances amid which by far too many 
 of them were composed ; with reference to this, 
 one of his most able critics has said, " Mr. 
 Carrington's Muse is the Spirit of Melancholy;" 
 this is partially true, but it must at the same time 
 be observed that there is no querulous weakness in 
 the passages which are tinged by the feelings of de- 
 pression under which they were written. 
 
 On the general merits of my father's poetry I pur- 
 posely avoid remarking at length. His productions 
 have been long before the public, their qualities 
 have been freely discussed, and I am proud to say 
 that they have been highly approved by a large 
 circle of readers, including individuals of elevated 
 standing in the literary world " whose praise is 
 fame." Anything, therefore, which I might advance 
 on the subject would, I am inclined to believe, be 
 considered entirely uncalled for. But there is one 
 testimony in favour of my father's writings which I
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL PREfACE. 27 
 
 feel it my duty to ofler, inasmuch as it relates to a 
 point on which, from the circumstances of my early 
 life, I am, perhaps, rather peculiarly qualified to 
 give an opinion. I allude to the striking ^(^e/^Vy of 
 his descriptions in the poem of " Dartmoor." His 
 pictures of other scenes are equally true, but I say 
 nothing of these because there are (ew readers of 
 taste and observation who are not able to judge 
 whether portraitures of the softer features of nature 
 are, or are not mainly correct, those features being 
 more or less scattered over the whole of our land. 
 But in order to judge correctly touching the fidel- 
 ity of a poem on Dartmoor, the reader must be 
 absolutely acquainted, by actual observation, with 
 that desolate but most interesting solitude. It 
 has, in truth, a character peculiarly its own ; it is 
 an unexampled chaos of the wonderful and wild. 
 I have wandered much in my own and other lands, 
 but I have seen no place like Dartmoor. With its 
 three hundred square miles of mountain and ravine 
 — rock and morass — precipice and foaming river, I 
 became in early life most intimately acquainted.
 
 28 BIOGRAPHICAL PREFACE. 
 
 Many of my happiest days have been spent on that 
 majestic Moor. I have trodden at all hours, and 
 in all seasons, its rugged and mist-swept hills — its 
 rock-strewed and torrent-haunted glens — and its 
 wide expanses of purple heatl), stretching miles and 
 miles away in utter and most impressive solitude. 
 I trust, therefore, that I shall not be considered 
 presumptuous in bearing witness to the striking 
 truth of my father's moorland pictures. In my 
 humble opinion they are as faithful as it is possible 
 for them to be. If I were not, on other grounds, 
 under the deepest obligations to my father, I should 
 owe him my warmest acknowledgments for the 
 gratification I have experienced from the poem to 
 which I now more particularly allude, as I have 
 been indebted to the descriptions which it contains 
 for the awakening of unnumbered happy recollec- 
 tions of bv-srone times. 
 
 " in lonely rooms and mid the din 
 
 Of towns and cities I have owed to them. 
 In hours of weariness, sensations sweet, 
 Felt in the blood and felt along the heart." • 
 
 * Wordsworth.
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL PREFACE. 29 
 
 In the performance of his duty as a public 
 teacher, it was my father's constant endeavour 
 to make his pupils tliink, and not, as is too 
 much the custom, to fill the heads of boys with 
 mere words and ill-assorted facts. He took care 
 that his pupils should understand the spirit as 
 well as the letter of all which they learned under 
 his guidance ; he strove to give them general 
 information which mii;ht be serviceable to them 
 in their passage through life, and to endow them 
 (if I may be allowed the expression) with a 
 sort of steam-power aptitude — a kind of generally- 
 available force — which mi<!;ht be advantage- 
 ously applied to any useful pursuit in which they 
 might engage when called upon to take their part 
 in the business of the world. The effects of such 
 a system not being immediately apparent, my father 
 would, no doubt, have better consulted his worldly 
 interests if he had sought to make his boys excel 
 in specific superficialities more directly calculated 
 to excite the admiration of family circles ; but he 
 preferred the honest plan of consulting the solid
 
 UO BIOGRAPHICAL PREFACE. 
 
 welfare of those placed under his charge, and 
 he had the satisfaction of knowing that his object 
 was, in the majority of cases, attained. It was his 
 pride to say that most of his boys had turned out 
 well. 
 
 To all kinds of quackery in education he was, in- 
 deed, a most determined foe, and he availed himself 
 of all possible opportunities to denounce every thing 
 of this sort which fell under his observation. By 
 way of conclusion to this part of my subject, I beg 
 to quote the following circular which my father 
 addressed to the parents of his boys at a time 
 when school exhibitions were all the rage in Ply- 
 mouth Dock : — 
 
 " December 19th, 1823. 
 " If, at the commencement of vacations, I invite you not 
 " to what are erroneously termed examinations, to the per- 
 " formance of plays, to recitations, &c. it is because I 
 " understand my profession too well, have too much respect 
 " for you and too much concern for the welfare of my 
 " pupils, to waste so much precious time, as is usually 
 " wasted in preparing for these useless exhibitions. If the 
 " public knew how many valuable weeks, and even months, 
 " are thrown away in arrangements for these specious but
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL PREFACE. 31 
 
 " delusive displays, the practice would speedily be discon- 
 " tinued, and something difl'erent from applause would be 
 " awarded to the projectors. I know some worthy teachers 
 " who, impelled by irresistible circumstances, have engaged 
 " in tliese follies; but they deeply deplore that they have 
 " been obliged to countenance them. These periodical 
 " exhibitions are injurious to discipline ; — they make boys 
 " vain, pert, assuming, unmanageable at home, and disor- 
 " derly at school. The youth who has appeared on a 
 " public stage, and has had his budding vanity excited by 
 " the applause of a partial audience, is in no small danger 
 " as to his future education and morals. An excellent 
 *' writer in one of the monthly magazines observes : ' I 
 " have attended some of these exhibitions, and I know 
 " instances of the worst of consequences resulting from 
 " them. Should the boy chance to get a tolerable portion 
 " of public applause, unaccustomed to the pleasing saluta- 
 " tion, he immediately ascribes that to merit which is the 
 " tribute of good nature, ignorance, or partiality. The 
 " father, poor man, pleased to hear his darling child spoken 
 " of in terms of approbation, and little aware of the mischief 
 " that may ensue, believes his son to be a prodigy, and tells 
 " him all he believes. Flattery, caresses, and plum-cake 
 " are given to him by turns as a reward for his exertions, 
 " and the urchin returns to school with a conviction that 
 " he is the Cicero, the Roscius, or the Garrick, which he 
 " has been denominated round the Christmas table.'
 
 32 BIOGRAPHICAL PREFACE. 
 
 " But then these mummeries are the ' rage' of the present 
 "enlightened day. The most learned as well as the most 
 " illiterate teachers (O shame!) cater with assiduity for the 
 " vitiated public taste. It is of no consequence, it seems, 
 " that one-fourth of the year, at least, is thrown away ia 
 " merely committing loords to memory, — ithat the subordi- 
 " nation of a school is destroyed, — that boys are rendered 
 " forward, petulant, impudent ; — it is fashionable. There 
 " are the delightful anticipations of the forthcoming per- 
 " formances, — the music, — the transparencies, — ths well- 
 " dressed belles and beaux, or in newspaper phraseology, 
 "'the beauty and fasliion of the neighbourhood' — the 
 " oration — the harangue, — the debate — the play — the roars 
 "of applause as each juvenile aspirant appears on the 
 " stage, and the thunders of acclamations as he retires ; — 
 " all these things are absolutely irresistible : the friends 
 " of the youthful performers are delighted ; the master 
 " smiles at the dupes of credulity and fashion ; and 
 " the boys are self-satisfied, inflated, and — spoiled. Our 
 " ancestors (old fools) acted differently. 
 
 " This IS a day also of new systems. We have quack 
 " teachers and quack systems, ad infinitum. The best of 
 " these wonder-working schemes will not bear skilful 
 " analysis ; and some of them are recommended by teachers 
 " merely because the agency of monitors, &c. enables them 
 " to enjoy a life of absolute idleness. No system can suc- 
 " ceeJ without the strenuous, incessant, individual exertions
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL PREFACE. 33 
 
 " of the master, and even an indifferent method will, by 
 "such industry, produce effects very superior to those 
 " resulting from that very extensive agency of boys which 
 " now prevails, and which rnay be put into motion by a 
 " teacher of very moderate abilities, 
 
 " I have not addressed you for a very considerable time. 
 " I have left newspaper puffs, and examinations, and plays, 
 "and orations, and debates to others— to the ignorant, to 
 " the idle, to the interested. I have not resorted to specious 
 " artifices to obtain your favour. I have been content to 
 " work on in silent industry. Think not, however, that I 
 " have been less industrious than those who have made 
 " more noise ; nor that I have been slow to introduce into 
 " my system of education every really judicious improveme)it 
 " which my own experience, and the experience of others, 
 " have suggested. 
 
 " A distinguishing characteristic also of my seminary is, 
 " a severe ceconomy in regard to the expence of books, 
 " Those which are used are not numerous, but they are 
 " well read. On this subject I have annexed an extract* 
 
 * " ' In some schools they make a child read a dozen pages in 
 " Corderius, and then throw it aside and begin ^Esop's Fables, which 
 " is treated in the same manner, in order to read Eutropius : and 
 " when I pass by a Latin School and see boys loaded with large satch- 
 " eh f till of books, I pity the boys and wonder at the master's folly 
 " (roguery). What purpose can this practice serve, but to make a 
 " trade of selling books, unworthy of a liberal minded and conscien. 
 " tious teacher.' Dr. Morrice." 
 
 " Dr. Knox makes similar observations." 
 
 d
 
 31 BIOGnAPUK'Ar. I'llElACE. 
 
 " from ' I'he Arl of Teaching,' a volume by Ur. Morrice, 
 " a London Teacher ; and there are few who will not ac- 
 " knowledge the justice of his remarks. 
 " I am, yours obediently, 
 
 " N. T. Carrington, 
 " Classical and Commercial School, 
 "Plymouth-Dock." 
 
 It is necessary for me to say, tliat the present 
 publication contains no poems which have not been 
 already before the public. In the volume entitled 
 " My Native Village," which appeared but a very 
 short time before my father's death, he included 
 all the original pieces which he had then on hand ; 
 and subsequent to the printing of that book he 
 wrote only a few fragments which are too imper- 
 fect to be now produced. He had sketched out 
 the plan of a descriptive poem to be entitled 
 " Devon," which he proposed to write in the style 
 and measure of " My Native Village," and to the 
 execution of which he looked forward with consider- 
 able pleasuie. He had also projected a volume in 
 twelve short books to be entitled "The Months,"
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL PREFACE. 35 
 
 and in wliicli he intended to describe, in blank verse, 
 the appearances of external nature throughout the 
 year. 
 
 I avail myself of the present opportunity to offer 
 my warmest thanks to the numerous gentlemen 
 who were so kindly attentive to my father during 
 his illness. My acknowledgments are especially 
 due to the Rev. J. P. Jones, late of North Bovey, 
 Devon, but now of Alton, Staffordshire; to the 
 Rev R. Mason, of Widdicorabe on the borders of 
 Dartmoor; J. D. Basset, Esq., Chairman of the 
 Devon County Sessions; George Harvey, Esq., 
 F.R.S. ("to whom my father intended to dedicate 
 his proposed poem " Devon") ; H. WooUcombe, 
 Esq., Col. Hamilton Smith, the Rev. R. Lampen 
 andG. Wightwick, Esq. of Plymouth; R. Ellery, 
 Esq. of Boxhill near Pennycross (to whom " Dart- 
 moor" was dedicated) and to my father's medical 
 attendants, Sir George Magrath, M.D. of Plymouth, 
 and T. Rutter, Esq. of Devonpurt.
 
 36 BIOGRAPHICAL PREFACE , 
 
 I have now arrived at the conclusion of this very 
 imperfect sketch. There are some few who, I 
 know, will think I have written too little, and many 
 who will think that I have written too much. I 
 can only say, that in what I have set down, I have 
 felt it my duty to be guided entirely by my own 
 feelings ; — I have suffered myself to be governed 
 by no other consideration whatever. — I leave 
 the subject with a regretful consciousness that I 
 have made but a very poor attempt to do justice to 
 the character of one who, if it were possible that I 
 could ever forget his anxious and affectionate 
 watchings over me as a father, must always remain 
 indelibly engraven on my heart as a friend and a 
 brother. 
 
 H. E. CARRINGTON. 
 
 Bath Chronicle Office, 
 October, 1834..
 
 DARTMOOR 
 
 Let the misty mountain winds be free. 
 
 To blow against thee." 
 
 Wordsworth.
 
 PREFACE TO DARTMOOR. 
 
 Dartmoor is generally imagined to be a region 
 wholly unfit for the purposes of poetry, but they who 
 entertain such an opinion know very little of that 
 romantic solitude. They have never traced the tur- 
 bulent mountain torrent from its source, down 
 through the rock-strewed glens, to the luxuriant val- 
 leys of the south, where its fresh waters give life and 
 green beauty to the softened landscape ; — they have 
 never lingered round any of the thousand springs 
 that "gush up in secret," — loved haunts of the 
 water-ouzel, whose silver voice is heard near them 
 through the long summer day; — they have not 
 gazed from the shivered top of Dewerstone on the 
 hawk screaming and sailing round his eyrie in that 
 majestic cliff; — nor thrown a delighted glance on 
 the course of the Cad, brawling for ever over his 
 wild and rugged channel. Their footfalls have not 
 aroused the timid hare from his refuge in the " si- 
 
 c2
 
 xii pheface to dartmoor. 
 
 lently decaying" wood of "Wistman ; — nor, on a rich 
 aulumnal evening, have they beheld, from the 
 elevated brow of Sheepstor, the sun setting in mel- 
 lowed glory behind the distant and broken ridges of 
 the Cornish mountains. 
 
 It would indeed be difficult to find a more poetical 
 subject than the present ; for Dartmoor is hallowed 
 by the most intei-esting associations, and forms of 
 beauty and of grandeur every-where meet the eye of 
 a close observer of nature. The purple heath-bell 
 springs up beneath his feet — the variegated lichen 
 encrusts the shivered rock — the creeping moss sheds 
 a loveliness over the moist hill-side — the fern waves 
 gracefully in the passing wind — the spiral fox-glove 
 displays its speckled bosom — the tall reed and the 
 glossy plumes of the cotton-rush nod in the same 
 breeze that wafts along the delicate thistle down — 
 the torrent fills the glen with romantic music— the 
 mountain bee hums his soothing lullaby, and the 
 song of many a melodious bird echoes sweetly amid 
 the frowning crags. He, however, who wishes to 
 behold the moorland in its utmost magnificence 
 should visit it when the wintry gale is fiercely how- 
 ling around— when the tors are clothed in the majesty 
 of the tempest — when the murmur of every little 
 brook is swollen into a voice of power— when the
 
 PMEFACE TO DARTMOOR 5vlil 
 
 lightnings have unbound their "blue and arrowv 
 pinions ;" and he who dares, at that fearful hour, to 
 confront the angry spirits of the storm in this their 
 hereditary and undisputed strong hold, will be amply 
 repaid for his perils by the feelings of grandeur and 
 sublimity with which he will be impressed by 
 the sights and sounds around him. 
 
 Dartmoor is situated towards the south-west of 
 Devon, stretching from east-north-east to west-south- 
 west. Its length is twentj-- miles, its average breadth 
 about eleven, and it contains, according to a report 
 lately laid on the table of the House of Commons, 
 130,000 acres. This large extent of country is 
 mostly in an imcultivated state, presenting one vast 
 expanse of hill and glen — heath and rock — torrent 
 and morass — the aspect which it has most probably 
 worn ever since the great deluge. The appearance 
 of this singular district from a distance is truly pic- 
 turesque. Some of the eminences recede from the 
 eye in long unbroken ridges, but they frequently 
 rush abruptly up, crowned with huge piles of stone, 
 and these are called tors. During the winter the 
 Dartmoor hills are generally enveloped in mists, but 
 in fine weather their hue is continually changing 
 with the state of the atmosphere, from a sombre grey 
 to a deep azure.
 
 XIV PREFACE TO DAKTMOOH. 
 
 Dartmoor, both above and below the surface, 
 abounds in enormous blocks of granite ; and those 
 which are scattered on its mighty slopes, exposed to 
 the influence of the elements and the ravages of 
 time, are moulded into the wildest and most impres- 
 sive forms imaginable. In some places they are piled 
 on each other with a regularity which seems almost 
 the effect of art ; and it requires but very slight aid 
 from fancy to make them assume the most interesting 
 resemblances. The poet will picture to himself the 
 remains of sublunary grandeur — will muse amid 
 fallen columns and shattered arches, and sigh over 
 the by-gone renown of ftibrics which have passed 
 away fi"om the face of the earth, even as a flower that 
 withereth : the antiquary will image ruined castles 
 lifting high their tottering turrets, and crumbling 
 abbeys with their wind-swept aisles and mouldering 
 cloisters ; or he will recognise the relics of a remoter 
 age in the semblance of moss-grown cromlechs and 
 other druidical monuments: — the moralist, in contem- 
 plating the rude scene, will be reminded of the awful 
 wrecks of human ambition : — and the misanthrope 
 will exult in the solitude of spots where he may 
 indulge his gloomy imaginings undisturbed. 
 
 The numerous torrent-streams of the Moor are 
 also objects of peculiar interest. To describe one of
 
 PREFACE TO DAHTMOOU. XV 
 
 these is to describe the whole. The reader must 
 imagine a deep valley, or rather ravine, whose sides 
 are covered with beetling rocks, hurled together in 
 chaotic confusion. At the bottom of the glen foams 
 a headlong stream sending up a loud roar as it leaps 
 over the mis-shapen crags which oppose its passage, 
 presenting, in association with the surrounding 
 scenery, a picture of alpine grandeur. In truth as 
 the countrj'' is one continued slope from the INloor to 
 the sea, and as the beds of its torrents are so thickly 
 strewn with rocky fragments, the waters display so 
 many romantic combinations, that the spectator is 
 never tired of gazing on them. 
 
 But perhaps these impetuous streams are seen to 
 the greatest advantage where the IMoor sweeps down 
 to unite with the cultivated landscape. In some parts 
 of the skirts of the great Devonshire wilderness, the 
 ground is suddenly broken into deep and shadowy 
 ravines, apparently owing their origin to some violent 
 convulsion of nature, the mountainous elevations 
 rushing up with a grandeur peculiarly their own, and 
 frowning over the tumultuous waters at their 
 feet, which, all wildness and power, hasten on to 
 mingle with the Ocean beyond- 
 
 The struggle between barrenness and fertility in
 
 XVI PREFACE TO DARTJIOOIl. 
 
 ^ these scenes forms a very interesting study for the 
 lover of the picturesque. The heath-flower is 
 blended with the honeysuckle — the lorn with the fox- 
 glove — and the dwarf oak, with its hardy boughs and 
 stunted foliage, droops over the purple violet,^or the 
 meek blossoms of the wild sti-awberry. The trees are 
 disposed in the most fantastic and irregular group- 
 ings, as ii', when yellow Autumn was flinging his 
 treasures of ripened seeds on the air, Nature, with 
 her frolic breath, had delighted to blow them into 
 the most inaccessible and diflScult situations. The 
 billowiness of the ground causes the existence 
 of some delicious varieties of light and shade. 
 A sunbeam breaking athwart the slopes of one of 
 these singular valleys, will, perhaps, on the summit, 
 illumine the face of a richly lichened rock — half-way 
 down ibrm a pathway of golden light across a dark 
 sea of leafage — and at the bottom glance full and 
 sparkling on the bosom of a brawling torrent. In 
 short there is an inexpressible charm of freshness 
 and untamed beauty connected with this species of 
 landscape which it would be in vain to seek among 
 the gentler haunts of cultivation. 
 
 As a specimen of this kind of scenery, and by way 
 of conclusion to this preface, the writer has subjoined 
 a hasty sketch of the objects which attn;ct the notice
 
 HIEIACE TO DARTMOOR. XVU 
 
 of tourists in journeying from Sliaugh Bridge to 
 Sheepstor. 
 
 This will be found a rugged pilgrimage, but he 
 who is daunted by a few obstacles is not worthy of 
 being admitted into the sanctuaries of Nature. After 
 having quitted the bridge, we trace our difficult way 
 through the tangled underwood which skirts the left 
 bank of the river, and find ourselves in the midst of 
 as wild a combination of natural objects as was ever 
 pictured by the most romantic imagination. The 
 surrounding hills are of a great height, and withal so 
 irregular in their formation, that they almost resem- 
 ble the billows of the ocean suddenly paralysed in 
 one of their wildest swellings. The right bank is, 
 however, the most grand and impressive. Its slope 
 is one continued scene of cliff and hanging woods. 
 Huge crumbling rocks are piled on each other in 
 fearful array, and some are half suspended in air. At 
 ii-regular distances tower several craggy knolls, 
 composed of disjointed masses of granite hurled 
 together in magnificent confusion, as if the Genius 
 of earthquake had strode in wrath along the hills, 
 and these were the traces of his mighty footsteps. 
 The rocks are, however, every-where rendered beau- 
 tiful by the magic hand of Nature, which has dashed 
 them with lichens of a thousand hues, and hung their
 
 XVUl VREFACE TO DAUTMOOK. 
 
 shivered scalps with wreaths of the [flaunting wood- 
 bine. Here and there the vagrant fancy may picture 
 ruined doiijon keeps, whose only banner is now the 
 purple heatli-beli or the gorgeously speckled fox- 
 glove — watch-towers, whose only warder's voice is 
 the hum of the summer bee, revelling in the cup 
 of a drooping wild flower — and cathedral choirs, 
 Avhose only anthem is the lonely chaunt of a hermit 
 bird. 
 
 In this scene every object is enveloped with a feel- 
 ing of freshness and untamed power. — The trees 
 which spring up among the rude rocks soften 
 down the more savage features, and by the beauty 
 of their foliage contribute much to heighten the 
 general effect. A volume might be filled with 
 portraits of insulated attractions, which ai-e unspar- 
 ingly lavished on the eye. In one spot, perhaps, a 
 rock which has borne the brunt of a thousand tem- 
 pests, and yet remains proudly unmoved, uplifts its 
 huge and craggy front ; while in another situation a 
 graceful mountain ash, apparently proud of its own 
 sweet burden of clustering coral berries, springs 
 lightly up on the very edge of a bushj^ precipice. I 
 was forcibly struck, on my first visit to this romantic 
 vale, by the aspect of an old oak which grows, or 
 rather decaj'^s, on the left bank of the river, in the
 
 PREFACE TO DARTJIOOR. XIX 
 
 midst of a wood of flourishing young trees. It rises, 
 scathed and verdureless, above its more youthful 
 brethren of the forest, having been shorn by axe or 
 tempest of all its honours of bi'anth and bough. This 
 aged tree, standing in the midst of so much green 
 beaut}"^, forcibly conveys the idea of one who has out- 
 lived the allotted time of man's pilgrimage on earth, 
 and has grown old in the midst of a generation with 
 which he has no connecting link of kindred or friend- 
 ship. 
 
 It is sweet to wander at leisure among the grey rocks 
 and clustering woods of this romantic glen. The ob- 
 serving mind needs no better haunt in which to watch 
 over " Nature's gentle doings." Sometimes the tra- 
 veller, in making his way through the pathless wood, 
 will suddenly burst in upon some solitary bird's little 
 world of green leaf and pleasant shade; and then it 
 is amusing to watch the motions of the fearful war- 
 bler in being thus disturbed — first inclining his head 
 to the right and to the left to catch the sounds of 
 danger, and then, after having eyed the intruder with 
 piercing attention, hopping away from twig to twig 
 till his tiny form is lost amid the thick leafage ; while, 
 anon, the ear is saluted with the full- hearted gush of 
 melody which he pours forth when he has reached 
 some more secure retreat. Frequently is caught the
 
 XX PREFACE TO DARTMOOR. 
 
 glistening of the timid hare's eyes as she lies watch- 
 fully couching in her ferny form — the bee is seen 
 struggling up the stem of a bending wild flower— 
 the much dreaded though harmless snake is beheld 
 basking his mailed and checquered length in the 
 thick grass ; oft, too, a superb dragon-fly sweeps up 
 from the cool margin of the stream — a living emerald 
 —a winged star, shooting onAvards, gorgeously shin- 
 ing in the sun, till he buries himself deep in the rich 
 herbage. These, with a thousand other sights and 
 sounds, are reserved for him who delights to wander 
 "with freedom at his side" among the eloquent soli- 
 tudes of nature; and sucli a being can never lack 
 true gratification, for every tree— every hoary rock 
 —every blue stream— every delicate blossom of the 
 Avilderness furnishes the mind with images to be 
 recurred to with fondness when the anxieties of a 
 turbulent world cast their deep shadows over the 
 wearied spirit. 
 
 l'\ain would the writer, if his limits permitted, 
 dwell minutely, and at length, on the scenery which 
 lies on the banks of the Plym, between this spot and 
 Meavy; but, as it is, the reader's attention must be 
 now drawn to the glen which lies just below the se- 
 cluded hamlet of Sheepstor. vVfter having crossed 
 the bridge above Meavy, the tourist follows a small
 
 PnEFACE TO DARTMOOR. XXI 
 
 path which winds along the Lank of the river, till he 
 arrives at an antique farm-house, bearing over its 
 portal the date 1617, rudely sculptui'ed in granite. 
 Having left this modest little dwelling, he passes up 
 a bough-shaded lane till he perceives a gate on the 
 left hand, from which a path turns off across a field, 
 under a row of wild cherry-trees, leading at last into 
 a thick copse. By following this track, he soon 
 arrives at the brow of a hill, when he will hear the 
 roar of waters proceeding from a deep glen before 
 him which unites with the vale of the Plym. The 
 wanderer should then make his way on through the 
 tangled brushwood till he attains the bottom of the 
 slope, when he will behold a fresh moorland brook 
 tumbling from rock to rock down an inclined steep for 
 full two hundred feet, wearying the surrounding 
 echoes with hollow dashings. The leafage here is so 
 i-emarkably luxuriant that the cascade is sometimes 
 entirely hidden from the view, but it repeatedly 
 bursts forth into the light, rendered more inte- 
 resting from its temporary concealment. When 
 the stream reaches the foot of the declivity it 
 steals away to join the Plym, and becomes invisible, 
 save that it now and then betrays itself in white 
 mantlings through the dark foliage. The group- 
 ing of the trees in this spot is exceedingly fine. 
 Here a light ash springs up with its slender stem and
 
 xxn rRErACE to dartmook. 
 
 bunches of delicate leaves, while there a leafless and 
 almost branchless oak displays its huge bole and 
 naked roots, still clinging fondly to the spot of earth 
 which gave it being, and where it has continued for 
 ages in proud security, while so many of the more 
 fragile tenants of the wood have sprung into matu- 
 rity and withered away. Sometimes a shady svcamore 
 droops over the cascade, the tips of its lower branches 
 touching the frothing waters, and dancing to and fro 
 with a tremulous motion; and in those spots, not 
 occupied by the larger description of trees, are be- 
 held numerous tufts of light green hazels. 
 
 The scenery on the Plym above this spot is very 
 fine, consisting of romantic combinations of woods 
 and rocks, " bald with dry antiquity." One shattered 
 mass of granite which is beheld half way up the left 
 bank, is worthy of particular observation. It rises 
 rifted and desolate, " the joy of the wild hawk" which 
 here builds its nest secure from intrusion. Sheepstor 
 bridge is soon attained, seated deep amid the shade 
 of venerable trees, and by following the road to the 
 right the traveller speedily arrives at the little moor- 
 land hamlet from which it takes its name. Sheepstor 
 church is one of those quaint specimens of ancient 
 architecture which are sometimes met with in seclu- 
 ded situations unmarred by the hand of modern
 
 PREFACE TO DARTMOOR. XXUl 
 
 improvement. It is of very remote date, and stands 
 immediately under the wild tor which bears the same 
 name as the village. Its pinnacled tower tacitly tells 
 the tale of many a moorland tempest, and other parts 
 of the building bear the marks of the slow, but sure, 
 inroads of time. The walls are encrusted with grey 
 and yellow lichens, and young ivies insinuate their 
 tough tendrils into the mouldering cavities. He who 
 is fond of wandering in the cemetries of country 
 churches will find a rich source of pleasure by linger- 
 ing in Sheepstor church-yard, when the setting sun 
 of a calm autumnal evening has touched the massy 
 buttresses and crumbled carved work with mellow 
 light. A feeling of religious placidity then pervades 
 every thing round the old building : — • 
 
 It stands so quietly witliin the bound 
 Of its low wall of grey and mossy stone 
 
 And, like a shepherd's peaceful flock around 
 Its guardian gather'd, — graves or tombstones strewn 
 Make their last narrow resting places known 
 
 Who living lov'd it as a holy spot. 
 And dying made their deep attachment known. 
 
 By wishing here to sleep when life was not. 
 So that their turf or stone might keep them unforgot.* 
 
 H. E. C 
 Plymouth, September, 1826. 
 
 * Barton.
 
 DARTMOOR. 
 
 Lovely Devonia ! land of flowers and songs ! 
 To thee the duteous lay. Thou hast a cloud 
 For e^-er in thy sky — a breeze, a shower, 
 For ever on thy meads ; — yet where shall man, 
 Pursuing Spring around the globe, refresh 
 His eye with scenes more beauteous than adorn 
 Thy fields of matchless verdure ! Not the south — 
 The glowing south — with aU its azure skies. 
 And aromatic groves, and fruits that melt 
 At the rapt touch, and deep-hued flowers that light 
 Their tints at zenith suns — has charms like thine, 
 Though fresh the gale that ruflfles thy wild seas,
 
 2 DARTIIOOR. 
 
 And wafts the frequent cloud. I own the power 
 
 Of Local Sympathy that o'er the fair 
 
 Throws more divine allurement, and o'er all 
 
 The great more grandeur ; and my kindling muse, 
 
 Fired by the universal passion, pours, 
 
 Haply, a partial lay. Forgive the strain 
 
 Enamoured, for to man, in every clime. 
 
 The sweetest, dearest, noblest spot below 
 
 Is that which gives him birth ; and long it wears 
 
 A charm unbroken, and its honour'd name, 
 
 Hallow'd by memory, is fondly breathed 
 
 With his last lingering sigh. 
 
 O beautiful 
 Art thou, Devonia ! or when Spring awakes 
 The bud — the flow'r ; or when the leafiness 
 Crowning thy hills, beneath the Summer noon 
 Gloriously rests ; or Autumn sheds her hues 
 Divine : and if stern Winter rule the day, 
 O'er thee the monarch of the sunken year 
 Reigns with paternal mildness. Though his voice 
 Is heard majestically urging on
 
 DARTMOOR. 
 
 The loud sea storm ; and haply at his nod 
 
 Cease the sweet murmurs of the streams, as blow 
 
 Th' infrequent breezes of the biting East ; 
 
 Yet oft'ner he permits the ocean gales 
 
 To breathe on thee reviving warmth, and waft 
 
 The fertilizing shower. AVith welcome ray, 
 
 Though Capricorn detain the parent orb, 
 
 The sun upon thy ever-verdant fields 
 
 Delights to glance, inspiring oft the bird 
 
 To burst into a gush of song. Thy vales — 
 
 Thy Austral vales — beneath that quickening beam 
 
 Exult ; and there, in liveliest green attired. 
 
 Smiling like Hope, and cheering the glad eye. 
 
 The meek unsheltered ' mj-rtle sweetly blooms. 
 
 Yet Winter, in his gentlest, kindest mood. 
 Is still unlovely, and his very smile 
 Is more forbidding than the frown of Spring. 
 O welcome Spring, whose still small voice is heard 
 E'en by the mighty tempest of the North — 
 Who strays amid thy empire, and feels not 
 Divine sensations ? — feels not life renew'd 
 
 b2
 
 4 DARTMOOR. 
 
 At all its thousand fountains ? Who can bathe 
 
 His brow in thy young breezes, and not bless 
 
 The new-born impulse which gives wings to thought 
 
 And pulse to action? But for me the gale 
 
 That wantons with the flower and fans the bud 
 
 Into the living leaf, and wafts around 
 
 Fragrance and health, breathes not. The bird which 
 
 sings 
 His touching lay of liberty and love 
 To thousands, sings not to my ear. The hymn 
 Of earth and sky — the breeze, the flower, the brook- 
 All sights and sounds delicious — cheering still, 
 From morn to eve, the blushing, vernal hour- 
 Are for the jo3^ous many who can stray 
 At will, unshackled by the galling chain 
 That Fate has foi-ged for Labour's countless sons — 
 A chain unbroken and unloosen'd oft 
 From youth to toiling age, save just to taste 
 How sweet a thing is liberty ; — to mark 
 How green the earth, — how beautiful the sky, — 
 How all-magnificent the sea, — and wear 
 The hated bonds again. On me the sun
 
 DARTMOOR. S 
 
 Has seldom shone — a freeman ; free to rove 
 At morn, and hear the feathery nations pour 
 Their strains full-hearted, ere the ray has drank 
 The dew-drop of the vale ; — to hear the rills 
 In joyful tumult rush adown thy slopes 
 Devonia; andAvith lightsome step to scale 
 Thy hills green-breasted, and delighted view 
 The infinite of prospect;— free at noon 
 By fringed brooks, in meditative mood, 
 To rest where nothing breaks the haUow'd pause 
 But lapse of living waters ; — free at eve 
 To tread some sun-illumin'd ridge, and gaze 
 Enraptured on the cloud that sails the west 
 With hues celestial tinged, and hear the song 
 That bids the day farewell : — how seldom free. 
 Through life's dull, dreary, heartless round, at night, 
 Dear night ! — to draw my curtain on the world, 
 Invoke the muse, commune Avith ages past, 
 And feast on all the luxury of books. 
 
 Yet there are precious moments, brief and bright, 
 As now. On ship, and fort, and tower, and tx'ee.
 
 DAKTMOOn. 
 
 The island banners float : Britannia holds 
 High festival to-day. The morning breaks 
 Upon a Holiday ; ^ and never glanced 
 Thy ray, Apollo, on the brow of care, 
 With more enlivening radiance, nor flew 
 The Atlantic cloud upon a gale more soft 
 Than now salutes the cheek. Too swiftly rush 
 Up the red sky the coursers of the day ; 
 For short as beautiful are vernal morns 
 E'en to the listless ; but with lightning speed 
 They vanish from the raptured glance of him 
 Whom Fate too seldom gives to hail a dawn 
 To freedom sacred. Now the rural walk 
 Be mine ; but, not through soft alluring vales 
 
 1 stray, where, in the balmy sunny air. 
 Genial as thine, Italia, ever blooms 
 
 The gentle myrtle, — and the countless brooks, 
 With an undying verdure fringed, roll on 
 Melodiously their waters. Dear Cotehele, 
 From thee I wander, though the beam of Spring 
 Is on thy venerated groves, — her breeze 
 Upon thy charming stream. Nor yet, t,o-day.
 
 DARTMOOR. 7 
 
 Fair Plym, I linger on thy leafy marge, 
 
 Through all the sun-bright hours. — Be mine to taste 
 
 The freshness of the moorland gale ; — 'tis life 
 
 To breathe it, though it bears not on its wing 
 
 Hyblaean sweets, nor cheers the grateful brow 
 
 With the warm, fragrant and luxurious kiss 
 
 Of the soft zeph3a- of the vale. She loves — 
 
 Hygeia loves, the upland ridge, and sheds 
 
 Her blessings on the children of the hill ; 
 
 But far from cities and their suburbs, foul 
 
 With taint abhorr'd, the angel holds her course. 
 
 Dartmoor ! thou wert to me, in childhood's hour, 
 A wild and wond'rous region. Day by day. 
 Arose upon my youthful eye thy belt 
 Of hills mysterious, shadowy, ^ clasping all 
 The green and cheerful landscape sweetly spread 
 Around my home, and with a stern delight 
 I gazed on thee. How often on the speech 
 Of the half-savage peasant have I hung 
 To hear of rock-crown'd heights on which the cloud 
 For ever rests ; and wilds stupendous, swept
 
 DARTMOOR. 
 
 By mightiest storms ;— of glen, and gorge, and cliff 
 
 Terrific, beetling o'er the stone-strew'd vale ; 
 
 And giant masses, by the midnight flash 
 
 Struck from the mountain's hisshig brow, and hurl'd 
 
 Into the foaming torrent ; and of forms 
 
 That rose amid the desert, rudely shaped 
 
 By superstition's hands when time was young; 
 
 And of the dead — the warrior-dead — who sleep 
 
 Beneath the hallow'd cairn ! My native fields, 
 
 Though peerless, ceased to please. The flowery vale. 
 
 The breezy hill, the river and the wood — 
 
 Island, reef, headland and the circling sea, 
 
 Associated by the sportful hand 
 
 Of Nature, in a thousand views diverse, 
 
 Or grand, or lovely — ^to my roving eye 
 
 Display'd in vain their infinite of charms : 
 
 1 thought on thy wild world, — to me a world, — 
 Mysterious Dartmoor, dimly seen, and priz'd 
 For being distant and untrod ; and still, 
 Where'er I wander'd— still, my wayward eye 
 Rested on thee !
 
 DARTMOOR. 
 
 In sunlight and in shade, — 
 Repose and storm,— wide waste ! I since have trod 
 Thy hill and dale magnificent. Again 
 I seek thy solitudes profound, in this 
 Thy hour of deep tranquillity, when rests 
 The sun-beam on thee, and thy desert seems 
 To sleep in the unwonted brightness— calm 
 But stern :— for, though the spirit of the Spring 
 Breathes on thee, to the charmer's whisper kind 
 Thou listenest not, nor ever put test on 
 A robe of beauty, as the fields that bud 
 And blossom near thee. Yet I love to tread 
 Thy central wastes when not a sound intrudes 
 Upon the ear, but rush of wing, or leap 
 Of the hoarse waterfall. * And O 'tis sweet 
 To list the music of thy torrent-streams ; 
 For thou too hast thy minstrelsies for him 
 Who from their liberal mountain-urn delights 
 To trace thy waters, as from source to sea 
 They rush tumultuous. Yet for other fields 
 Thy bounty flows eternal. From thy sides 
 Devonia's rivers flow ; a thousand brooks 5
 
 10 DARTMOOR. 
 
 Roll o'er thy rugged slopes ; — tis but to cheer 
 Yon Austral meads unrivall'd, fair as aught 
 That bards have sung, or Fancy has conceived 
 'Mid all her rich imaginings. Whilst thou, 
 The source of half their beauty, wearest still, 
 Through centuries, upon thy blasted brow. 
 The curse of barrenness. 
 
 Devoted Moor ! 
 The sun has shone with generous warmth on thee. 
 The cloud has dropp'd its fatness, and the gale — 
 . The vernal gale^has blown ; ^i-et thou hast been 
 Unchangeable, unquicken'd, while around 
 A blooming world has waked and grateful own'd 
 The bounty of the skies. Thy rugged hills 
 Have seldom echo'd with the peasant's voice. 
 Inspiriting his patient team, — the song 
 Of industry and hope. The magic hand 
 Of Cultivation ^ has beyond thee spread 
 The cheerful cultured field, and bade the woods 
 Luxuriantly arise, and harvests wave. 
 And cross'd the landscape with unnumber'd lines
 
 DARTMOOR. 
 
 11 
 
 Of foliage, sheltering deep the smiling meads 
 And conscious herds, sweet scatter'd there, secure 
 Alike from wintry blast, or scorching ray ; 
 But o'er thy deso'.ate and naked heath 
 Sweeps not the impenetrable guardian fence — 
 The hedge-row, with its wild and wanton growth- 
 Hazel, or snowy hawthorn, interspersed 
 With the broad -spreading oak, or lofty elm, 
 Or holly, pointing to the moorland storm 
 Its hardy, fearless leaf. 
 
 The future beams 
 "With hope's inspiring ray. Beneath the boughs 
 Of violated groves, where nought was heard 
 But the rich woodland song, or voice of rUl ;— 
 Through pastures of unrivall'd green, and fields 
 Where golden harvests gracefully obey'd 
 The passing breeze of Summer ;— through the rock 
 Of ages, hills abrupt, and caverns deep, 
 The Railway leads its mazy track. 7 The will 
 Of Science guides its vast meanders on, 
 From Plvm's broad union with the ocean wave
 
 12 DAIITMOOK. 
 
 To Dartmoor's silent desert ; and the depths 
 
 Of solitudes primeval now resound 
 
 With the glad voice of man. The dauntless grasp 
 
 Of Industry assails yon mighty Tors ^ 
 
 Of the dread wilderness, and soon they lift 
 
 Their awful heads no more. Ye rose sublime — 
 
 Ye monuments of the past world, — ye rose 
 
 Sublimely on the view ; but fate has struck 
 
 The inexorable hour, and ye that bore — 
 
 Wild and unshelter'd as ye are — unmov'd, 
 
 The' brunts of many thousand stormy years, 
 
 And awed the mind by your majestic forms. 
 
 And told strange tales of the departed times, 
 
 Must bend your hoary brows, and strew the hills 
 
 With venerable ruin. Yet how great 
 
 The toil, if Labour from the tor-crown'd hills 
 
 Collect within his nervous grasp the rocks 
 
 That baffled the eternal winds, and bid 
 
 The cheerful sward upspring, and songs awake, 
 
 And Ceres reign, where silence, deep as death, 
 
 And stern sterility, fi-om age to age. 
 
 Held unrelenting sway !
 
 DART MOOR. 13 
 
 The civic wreath, 
 Tyrwhitt, is thine, 5 distinguish'd 'mid the band 
 Of British patriots, glowing with the love 
 Of country and of man. The noble thought 
 Was thine, to rescue from the withering hand 
 Of Desolation, the vast waste ; so long 
 " A proverb and a bye-word " in this isle 
 Of beauty,— this famed isle,— her children's boast 
 And envy of the nations ! Nor in vain 
 Th' attempt, for Enterprise and Science, led 
 By thee, their mighty energies combine 
 Auspicious. Lo, along the iron-way 
 The rocks gigantic slide ! The peasant views, 
 Amazed, the masses of the wild moor move 
 Swift to the destined port. The busy pier 
 Groans 'neath the granite spoils ; — the future pile 
 Is there,— the portal vast — the column tall — 
 The tower — the temple — and the mighty arch 
 That yet shall span the torrent. See the sail 
 Of Commerce flutters near, 'till patient skiU 
 And dauntless toil prepare the polish'd cubes
 
 14 DARTMOOR. 
 
 Immense, that soon shall form the proudest domes 
 Of yonder proud metropolis ! 
 
 The muse 
 Awakes a sanguine strain ; — on Fancy's gaze 
 Delicious visions rise ! " The wilderness," 
 No longer rock-strew'd, " blossoms as the rose." 
 A thousand cots, fair sprinkled o'er the sward, 
 Where the old desert howl'd, delight the eye ; — 
 The smoke upcurls between the trees ; — the fields, 
 High cultured, spread around ;— the flow'r-fringed 
 
 streams 
 Melodious roll ;— the merry woodland wakes 
 Its varied lay enchanting ;— while the voice 
 Of Man is heard amid the general burst 
 Of soul-inspiring sounds. And why should doubt 
 Dispel these fond imaginings, and blast 
 The fair prospective ? Yet the happy hour 
 May come— nor distant— when the.conq'ring swain 
 Shall furrow the long slumb'ring soil, and where 
 Frowns Desolation, bid the cheerful grass
 
 DARTMOOR. 15 
 
 Wave in the upland gale, and harvests bless 
 
 The renovated waste. Achievements these, 
 
 O nobler far than gloriously to win 
 
 A blood-stain'd realm, though ravish'd, inch by inch. 
 
 From a stern sullen foe. And in this day. 
 
 When wide the sun of Science flings its beams, 
 
 And Wealth her liberal fertilizing showers 
 
 Diffuses ; and undaunted Industry, 
 
 All nerve, but waits, impell'd by them, to work 
 
 Such wonders as in days long flown and dark 
 
 Had miracles been deem'd ; shalt thou — alone — 
 
 Dartmoor — in this fair land, where all beside 
 
 Is life and beauty — sleep the sleep of death, 
 
 And shame the map of England ? 
 
 Years have flown 
 Of sorrow, since my raptured boyish eye 
 First, from this murm'ring strand, an eager glance 
 Threw o'er yon lucid waters;— years have flown 
 Sweet Lara, '° yet thy bank uprushes still 
 With the old charm, and Saltram's pensile woods 
 Seem beautiful as ever. Exquisite —
 
 16 dahtmoor. 
 
 Most exquisite ! that loveliness must be, 
 
 Which triumphs o'er satiety, and grows 
 
 IMore valued from possession. Let me stray 
 
 A moment here delighted. Every step 
 
 Awakes a varying scene, by Nature's hand 
 
 Fair sketch'd, of leaf-crown'd hills, and flowery vales, 
 
 And lawns of fadeless emerald, and streams 
 
 That, as they flow, upon the well-pleased ear, 
 
 Pour music ; and green capes that to the wave, 
 
 Blue as the heavens above it, nod their groves 
 
 In gales Atlantic ; and far — far away 
 
 Th' immense of landscape sweeping to the edge 
 
 Of the encircling Moor. But on those groves 
 
 Of Saltram rests the eye, which fringe thy flood, 
 
 Sweet Lara;— beauteous groves! — whose verdant 
 
 bowers 
 Bend o'er the wanderer, lone musing where 
 The path, deep- shaded, winds the rocky shore. 
 And pleasant 'tis, amid the glowing noon, 
 To saunter there, unmark'd, and note below, 
 Curving his proud white neck, the graceful swan, 
 Majestic sailing, — or the distant barge
 
 DARTMOOR. 17 
 
 Slow moving, — or the sea-bird winging wild 
 His startl'd flight ; while, ever and anon. 
 Between the opening foliage, glimpses fair 
 Are caught of the green slopes beyond. Around 
 Old Ocean pours his tide, high swelling now 
 To meet the sylvan Plym, ' ' that rushing comes— 
 His moorland, woodland journey done — to seek 
 The proud alliance. And, where lift the rocks 
 Their brows stupendous o'er the broad'ning bay, 
 The seaman's shout is heard, and Commerce waves 
 In every gale her many-colour'd flag. 
 
 Farewell, sweet Lara ! — far away I rove 
 Through Bickleigh's vale romantic, where the lyre 
 Of Howard once, with rich enthusiast strain. 
 Rang to the list'ning woods. And he who loves 
 To steal from yonder world, and stray awhile, 
 With freedom at his side, as from the marge 
 Of sweetly-warbling waters rise the groves, 
 Tree over tree, in verdant pomp, until 
 They reach the hill's bold crest— O dearest Plym, 
 Thou pilgrim of the upland and the dale ! —
 
 1}! DARTMOOR. 
 
 Let Iiim, as pass the hours on golden wing, 
 
 In lia]ipy indolence, upon thy bank 
 
 Hecline, deep shelter'd from the ray, to list 
 
 Thy melodies enchanting ; or the h_vmn 
 
 Most sweet of the wild bird, as bank to bank 
 
 In music speaks ; or, with unwearied step, 
 
 O'er rock and sward, fair interspers'd, pursue, 
 
 Through the rude moorland — through the sylvan 
 
 mead — 
 Thy bright meanderings. And when the world 
 Again shall claim him, shuddering at its strifes 
 And cares distressing ; and unnumber'd woes 
 Awake the sigh, and memory recall. 
 With garrulous fidelity, the sum 
 Of life's few sun-bright moments, gone for aye, 
 Yet prized and dearly cherish'd ; on his view 
 Shall swiftly rush those hours transporting, when, 
 Dear mountain stream, he linger'd here with thee. 
 
 How fortunate his lot who, bless'd with health 
 And competence, can bid the bustling world 
 At happy distance keep ! — who rears his cot
 
 DARTJIOOR. 
 
 19 
 
 Deep in the rural shade, and wreathes around 
 His lattice the rath woodbine ! On his couch 
 The piercing eye of the uprisen sun 
 Ne'er looks reprovingly ; but when the lark 
 Hails the bright bursting morn, he, to that voice 
 Responsive, lifts his own heart-easing song 
 Of gratitude and joy. The bud, emboss'd 
 "With gems that never sparkle on the eye 
 Of indolence— the freshen'd field— the bloom 
 That scents the zephyr, and the first caress 
 Of morning's beam to flowers— the early voice 
 Of streams clear sounding in the peaceful dawn — 
 All, all are his ; — and his the merry lay 
 Of the unslumbering woodlands. Deepening noon. 
 Intensely glowing o'er a drooping Avorld, 
 He shuns, and seeks the refuge cool of groves ; 
 "Where often, on the green and shadowy sward 
 Reclin'd, through all the silent hour, he holds 
 High converse with the muse. And evening comes, 
 AVith all her lovely hues and sounds, to woo 
 The wanderer to the breezy brow that looks 
 Far o'er the soften'd landscape. Rivers, woods, 
 
 c2
 
 20 
 
 DAIITMOOR. 
 
 And all the infinite of smiling fields, 
 
 Rush on liis eager glance. Then pour the groves 
 
 Their farewell strains harmonious, as sinks 
 
 The sun to other worlds ; but chief the lark. 
 
 From his bright station in the midway air, 
 
 Eyes fondly the declining orb, and pours 
 
 A matchless vesper hymn. O days of bliss ! 
 
 O eves of rapture ! Nights of deep repose ! 
 
 Ye bless him who in his unfaltering course. 
 
 Amid the sylvan reign, with virtue walks, 
 
 On Nature looks with ravis'hd eye — nor lives 
 
 With selfish aim, contented to behold, 
 
 Alone, her charms in his own blushing bower ; 
 
 But, as the varying seasons gently roll. 
 
 In works of pure benevolence employs 
 
 The hours, till round him one wide circle sweeps 
 
 Of human happiness, enlarging still. 
 
 From that blest centre, his own sacred Home. 
 
 The scene how chang'd !— I leave the sunny vale. 
 Its foliage, flowers, and songs, and tread the heath. 
 And breathe the breeze of Roborough. '^ In peace
 
 DARTMOOR. 21 
 
 Thy hamlet rises, Meavy, distant seen, — 
 
 In peace thy stream is journeying ; but adieu. 
 
 Awhile, dear Meavy, and adieu thy flood. 
 
 For near me, in the cheerless East uprush 
 
 Devonia's dreary Alps. E'en here I feel 
 
 The influence of that impressive calm 
 
 Which rests upon them. Nothing that has life 
 
 Is visible ; — no solitary flock, 
 
 At will wide ranging through the silent ]Moor, 
 
 Breaks the deep felt monotony ; and all 
 
 Is motionless, save where the giant shades, 
 
 Flung by the passing cloud, glide slowly o'er 
 
 The gray and gloomy wild. "With pensive step, 
 
 Delay'd full oft to mark thy lovely meads, 
 
 Walkhampton, I ascend the toiling hill, 
 
 And now upon thy wind-swept ridge I stand ; 
 
 The South — the West — with all their million fields 
 
 In sweet confusion mingl'd — lie below, — 
 
 Above me frowns the Tor. 
 
 ^Majestic pile — 
 Thus, through the dreary flight of ages, thus
 
 22 DAIITMOOR. 
 
 Triumphant o'er decay ! Art not thou old 
 
 As the aged Sun, arid did not his first beam 
 
 Glance on thy new-form'd forehead ; or art thou 
 
 But born of the deluge mighty one ? Thy birtli 
 
 Is blended with the unfathomable past, 
 
 And shadows deep — too deep for mortal eye — 
 
 Envelope it. With reverence T gaze 
 
 Upon thy awful form, to which compar'd 
 
 Our proudest works are toys. O ! vain is man, 
 
 Though loud on Science' magic name he call, 
 
 To rear his edifice of glory high, 
 
 And bid it live for ever. Time destroys 
 
 His statues, and his columns, and his domes ; 
 
 Flings his triumphal arches to the gi'ound. 
 
 And gnaws the names of heroes and of kings. 
 
 E'en from the marble tablet. Earth is strew'd, 
 
 O Man, with many a solitary wreck 
 
 Of all thy great and beautiful ! In dust 
 
 She sits — the classic city sits, — the name 
 
 Dear to the muses ! Who can think of thee 
 
 Athena?, and not drop the indignant tear,* 
 
 * This was wriltcii vvlicn the Turks were in possession of Athens.
 
 DARTMOOU. 
 
 23 
 
 As roam the dull barbaric hosts among 
 Thy glorious ruins, with unhallow'd step 
 And desolating arm ? Thy hour is past ;— 
 Thy noblest piles are mouldering o'er the bones 
 Of the immortal dead ; while here, unhurt- 
 Wed almost to eternity — secure 
 In their own strength, proud baffling all the rage 
 Of the defeated elements, and all 
 The ceaseless injuries of time — remain 
 The columns of the wilderness ! 
 
 Wild Tor ! 
 Thou wearest not thy crown of clouds —the beam 
 Of heaven is on thee now ; and, from thy crest 
 Sublime, I mark Devonia's garden-fields, 
 In native loveliness, stretch far away, 
 E'en to the Austral strand ; and, clear descried, 
 Cornubia too her beauteous map outspreads, 
 Rich with the vernal promise of the year ; 
 While Tamar flows between them, wand'ring on 
 To Hamoaze' echoing bay ;— a matchless view.
 
 2t DAUTMOOB. 
 
 O'er which the winged glance may freely dart, 
 Untir'd, through all the cloudless summer day- 
 
 "NA'ith what delightful change the landscape teems 
 To him who o'er the West — the billowy West — 
 Pursues his varied way ! He scales its hills, 
 He drinks its vipland breeze, or winds its vales 
 Where glide the chrystal streams ; and as the sward, 
 Luxuriant round him, to the very verge 
 Of the horizon, sinks and swells, like waves 
 Heav'd by the tempest, every moment rise 
 Fresh combinations ; and the liberal hand 
 Of Nature often on his cheerful course 
 Flings an attractive novelty of scene. 
 
 Fair is thy level landscape, England, fair 
 As ever Nature form'd ! Avay it sweeps, 
 A wide, a smiling prospect, gay with flowers, 
 And waving grass, and trees of amplest growth. 
 And sparkling rills, and rivers winding slow 
 Through all the smooth immense. Upon the eye
 
 DARTMOOR. 
 
 25 
 
 Arise the village and the village-spire, 
 The clustering hamlet, and the peaceful cot 
 Clasp'd b}^ the woodbine, and the lordly dome, 
 Proud peering 'mid the stately oak and elm 
 Leaf-loving. Sweet the frequent lapse of brook. 
 The poetry of groves, the voice of bells 
 From aged towers, and labour's manly song 
 From cultur'd fields upswelling. Sweet the hues 
 Of all the fertile land ; and when the sun 
 And shower alternate empire hold, how fresh, 
 How gay, how all enchanting to the view, 
 Beheld at first, the broad champaign appears I 
 
 r-c t 
 
 Fair is thy level landscape, England, fair 
 As ever Nature form'd ! yet, if the foot 
 Be doom'd to wandei- o'er the encircling plain 
 From hour to hour, the eye, displeas'd, rejects 
 At last the gay monotony. In vain. 
 Though boundless verdure edge his far-seen path, 
 The traveller looks for interposing hills 
 To bi-eak the unvarying view. Behind — before — 
 The dull road drags its weary tedious line
 
 26 DARTMOOR. 
 
 Through all the cheerless map. But swift the hour, 
 
 And smooth the path, where every step awakes 
 
 Associations new ; — of mounts that lift 
 
 Their woods to the passing cloud, and sweetly dip 
 
 Their feet in grassy billows ; vallies deep, 
 
 Down which the eager eye delighted darts, 
 
 And at one glance their trees, and cots, and streams 
 
 Surveys ; and shadowy glens, and cliff, and rock. 
 
 And waterfall, and ocean's whitening surge 
 
 Far off — a rich diversity that charms 
 
 The traveller's cares away, and wings the hour 
 
 With lightning speed ; — scenes like thine own, and 
 
 these 
 So near me, loved Devonia ! 
 
 From yon plain 
 Brent Tor uprushes. '^ Even now, Avhen all 
 Is light, and life, and joy, on Tamar's bank — 
 E'en now that solitary mass is dark, — 
 Dark in the glorious sunshine. But when night 
 "With raven wing broods o'er it, and the storm 
 Of winter sweeps the Moor, such sounds are heard
 
 DAHTJIOOR. 27 
 
 Around that lonely rock, as village seers 
 Almost unearthly deem. In truth it wears 
 A joyless aspect ; yet the very brow 
 Uplifts a chapel, and Devotion breathes 
 Oft, in the region of the cloud, her hymn 
 Of touching melody. Impressive spot 
 For fair lleligion's dome ! and sure, if aught 
 Can prompt to holiest feeling, and give wing 
 To disembodied thought, it is to bend 
 The knee where erst the daring eagle perch'd ; 
 And while, Avitli all its grossness and its care. 
 Earth waits, far, far below, to worship there, — 
 There on the wild van of the wildest rock 
 That Dartmoor lifts on high ! 
 
 Thrice hallow'd fane ! 
 The pious gift (so village legends teach) 
 Of one whom heaven had favour'd in his need, — 
 His utmost need. In youth's impetuous hour 
 INIercator bade his native isle adieu, 
 For climes afar, where 'neath the despot sun 
 All nature crouches. There the tide of wealth
 
 28 DARTMOOn. 
 
 Profusely pour'd around him till it reach'd 
 
 A glorious height ; and but one wish was left 
 
 Ungratified. In early life, allur'd 
 
 By splendid visions, oft we spurn the strand 
 
 That gave us birth, but homeward, — homeward look 
 
 In life's declining day ; and, though the stream 
 
 Of riches lavish flow, it may not quench 
 
 The Local flame devouring. Long suppress'd 
 
 Within Mercator's bosom, now the Love 
 
 Of Plome intensely glow'd, and oft he sigh'd 
 
 To breathe his country's gale, and oh, blest thought. 
 
 To press his native turf ! Upon the wing 
 
 Of the fleet wind his vessel sped, nor yet 
 
 To his delighted gaze the green isle shew'd 
 
 Her western cliffs magnificent. O stern 
 
 Though these arise where seas Atlantic dash 
 
 Around the dark Bolerium, many an eye 
 
 Has watch'd intense, and bless'd them, as the shout 
 
 Of " England, England," from the bending mast 
 
 Thrill'd to the echoing deck. But ah, in vain 
 
 Mercator o'er the world of waters flung 
 
 A keen and frequent glance, as near the shore
 
 20 
 DARTMOOR. 
 
 He fondly deem'd they drew. Land bless'd not yet 
 His aching sight ; — th' inconstant winds flew round 
 The stormy compass, and one pensive eve 
 The clouds were pillow'd in the gloomy West 
 E'en to the starless zenith. Larger roU'd 
 The billows, and with hollow sounds the breeze 
 Blew, and the sea-bird ominously scream'd, 
 While the day closed abruptly. Light and Hope 
 Almost together fled, and darkness, deep 
 As that which o'er the primal chaos sat, 
 Involv'd that hapless ship ; save when the fires 
 Of the fork'd lightnings flash'd, disclosing all 
 The horrors of the main. The winds arose. 
 Scattering the sea-foam on the dread lee shore ; 
 Now heard loud thundering through that fearful 
 
 night, 
 Chilling the heart-blood of the bravest. Then, 
 As bent the timbers of his stout ribb'd bark 
 To the huge ocean-shock, and wave on wave 
 Dash'd on the staggering deck, the sufferer vow'd, 
 In silent agony, that if the ear 
 Of Heaven would listen, and its arm be strong
 
 '-^^ DARTMOOll. 
 
 To save, — upon the first dear spot of earth 
 Propitious morning shew'd, he would erect 
 A temple to the Highest. It was heard, — 
 (Thus swains relate) the anguish'd vow was heard- 
 Propitious broke the dawn. The winds no more 
 Swept o'er the madden'd waters, and the voice 
 Of the great sea-wave died away ; scarce heard 
 Save where the billow chaf'd the strand and made 
 Sweet music with the rocks. The welcome Sun, 
 Chasing the tempest, in the brightening East 
 Victorious rose, and through the scatter'd haze 
 Brent Tor uplifted his magnific brow, 
 With shouts tumultuous hail'd ! How ever dear 
 To memory that rugged form, — how fair 
 The sun-light of that morn ! Now, as the ray 
 Glitter'd on wave, and cliiF, and fort, and tower, 
 And the green isle, refresh'd, beneath the smile 
 Of morning broke upon the view, and shew'd 
 To the tired mariner her hills and dales 
 Unrivall'd, buoyantly that shattered bark 
 Ilode o'er the wanton seas ; and 'mid the songs 
 Ol woods — fair woods, that on Devonia's shores
 
 DABTMOOH. ni 
 
 Arise, and wave their leaf in balmiest gales 
 Of the moist West, and ever-genial South, 
 All dangers o'er — by many a welcome cheer'd, 
 IVIercator found a harbour and a home. 
 
 Adieu, Brent Tor, adown the rock-strew'd slope 
 I haste, and seek the bosom of the Moor, 
 Before me wildly spread. Here Spring leaves not 
 Her emerald mantle on the vales, — her breath 
 Upon the breeze, but all the seasons pass 
 In sad procession o'er the changeless earth : 
 The hills arise monotonous ; — one form 
 They wear, one dreary hue is on them all; 
 And through the faithless dank morass below 
 The sluggish waters creep. Yet even here 
 The voice of joy resounds ! The moorland lark, — 
 Sole bird that breaks the unnatural repose, — 
 Sj)rings from the heathery wild and pours a lay 
 Inspiring ; and though o'er his breeze-swept nest 
 There bends no cheerful grass, nor in the gale 
 Of Summer stoops the golden corn, he owns 
 The influence of the vernal hour, and makes
 
 n-2 DARTMOOR. 
 
 Heaven's concave echo with a livelier song 
 Than swells above the ilowery mead. Behold 
 How swiftly up the aerial way he climbs, 
 Nor intermits his strains, but sings, and mounts, 
 Untir'd, till love recall him to the breast 
 Of the dark INIoor. O dear to him that Moor 
 Beyond the most luxuriant spot which earth 
 Boasts in her ample round ; for there his mate, 
 List'ning his lay, expectant sits, and there. 
 From morn to eve incessant, claiming food. 
 In mossy circle swath'd, his nurslings rest ! 
 
 How beautiful is morning, though it rise 
 Upon a desert ! AVhat though Spring refuse 
 Her odours to the early gale that sweeps 
 The highland solitude, j^et who can breathe 
 That fresh, keen gale, nor feel the sanguine tide 
 Of life flow buoyantly ! O who can look 
 Upon the Sun whose beam indulgent shines 
 Impartial, or on moor or cultur'd mead. 
 And not feel gladness 1 Hard is that man's lot, 
 Bleak is his journey through this vale of tears.
 
 DARTMOOR. 315 
 
 AVhose heart is not made lighter, and whose eye 
 
 Is brighten'd not by morning's glorious ray, 
 
 AVide-glancing round. The meanest thing on earth 
 
 Rejoices in the welcome warmth, and owns 
 
 Its influence reviving. Hark the hum 
 
 Of one who loves the morn, — the bee who comes. 
 
 With overflow of happiness, to spend 
 
 The sunny hour ; and see ! across the waste 
 
 The butterfly, his gay companion, floats, — 
 
 A wanderer, haply, from yon Austral fields, 
 
 Or from the bank of moorland stream that flows 
 
 In music through the deep and shelter'd vales. 
 
 Bird, bee, and butterfly, — the favourite three 
 That meet us ever on our Summer path ! 
 And what, with all her forms and hues divine, 
 Would Summer be without them ? Though the skies 
 Were blue, and blue the streams, and fresh the fields, 
 And beautiful, as now, the waving woods. 
 And exquisite the flowers ; and though the Sun 
 Beam'd from his cloudless throne from day to day, 
 And, with the breeze and shower, more loveliness 
 
 D
 
 34 nAUTMoou. 
 
 Shed o'er tliis lovdy world ; yet all would wiuit 
 
 A charm, if those sweet denizens of earth 
 
 And air, made not the great creation teem 
 
 "With beauty, g-ace and motion ! Who would bless 
 
 The landscape, if upon his morning walk 
 
 He greeted not the feathery nations, perch'd, 
 
 For love or song, amid the dancing leaves ; 
 
 Or wantoning in flight from bough to bough. 
 
 From field to field ; ab, Avho would bless thee, June, 
 
 If silent, songless, were the groves, — unheard 
 
 The lark in heaven ? — And he who meets the bee 
 
 Rifling the bloom, and listless hears his hum. 
 
 Incessant ringing through the glowing day ; 
 
 Or loves not the gay butterfly which swims 
 
 Before him in the ardent noon, array'd 
 
 In crimson, azure, emerald, and gold ; 
 
 With more magnificence upon his wing — 
 
 His little wing, — than ever graced the robe 
 
 Gorgeous of ro^'alty; — is like the kine 
 
 That wander 'mid the flowers which gem the meads 
 
 Unconscious of their beautv.
 
 DARTMOOR. 35 
 
 On my path 
 
 Profusel}' springs Erica. '4 Pensive plant ! 
 
 On thee with no kind glance the peasant's eye 
 
 Descends ; he sees no loveliness in all 
 
 Thy summer-vesture, and his arm is strong 
 
 To dasli thy blossoms to the earth, and wrench 
 
 Thy root tenacious from its parent soil. 
 
 Yet, though the unsparing cultivator's hand 
 
 Crushes the lowly flow'rets of the Moor, 
 
 How many a vagi-ant wing light waves around 
 
 Thy purple bells. Erica. 'Tis from thee 
 
 The hermit-birds, that love the desert, find 
 
 Shelter and food. Nor these alone delight 
 
 In the fresh heath, — tliy gallant mountaineers, 
 
 Auld Scotia, smile to see it spread immense 
 
 O'er their uncultur'd hills ; and at the close 
 
 Of the keen boreal day, th' undaunted race 
 
 Contented on the rude Ei-ica sink 
 
 To balmy sleep. O ye, on beds of down, 
 
 Who rest so delicately that ye feel 
 
 Pain from the doubling rose leaf, like the old 
 
 Luxurious Sybarite ; not half so soft, — 
 d2
 
 3C DAUTJIOOR. 
 
 So deep, — steals courted slumber on your eyes, 
 As all unsought, unwoo'd, it drops at once 
 On the rude highland pillow of the North. 
 
 How strangely on yon silent slopes the rocks 
 Are piled, and as I musing stray they take 
 Successive forms deceptive. Sun, and shower, 
 And breeze, and storm, and, haply, ancient throes 
 Of this our mother earth, have moulded them 
 To shapes of beauty and of grandeur— thus ; 
 And Fancy, all-creative, musters up 
 Apt semblances. Upon the very edge 
 Of yonder cliff seem, frowning o'er the vale, 
 Time-hallow'd battlements with rugged chasms 
 Fearfully yawning ; and upon the brow 
 Of yonder dreary hill are towers sublime. 
 Rifted as by the lightning stroke, or struck 
 By war's resistless bolts. The mouldering arch,— 
 The long withdrawing aisle,— the shatter'd shrine,— 
 The altar gray with age,— the sainted niche, — 
 The choir, breeze-swept, where once the solemn 
 hvmn
 
 DARTMOOR. 37 
 
 UpsAvell'd,— the tottering column,— pile on pile 
 
 Fantastic, — the imaguiation shapes 
 
 Amid these wrecks enormous. But 'tis o'er — 
 
 The dream is o'er, and reason dissipates 
 
 The fair illusions. Yet in truth ye wear, 
 
 Eocks of the desert, lorms that on the eye 
 
 In solemn and imposing grandeur rise ! 
 
 And even now, though near, the mountain seems 
 
 Strew'd with innumerous fragments, as when Fate 
 
 Mysterious, in some unexpected hour, 
 
 Inexorably casts, at one fell blow, 
 
 Fenc'd cities into ruinous heaps. O'er all, 
 
 The rude but many-colour'd lichen creeps ; 
 
 And on the airy summit of yon hill. 
 
 Clasping the Tor's majestic brow, is seen 
 
 The dark funereal ivy, cheerless plant ! 
 
 "Which Death and Desolation wreathe around 
 
 Their haggard brows for ever, 
 
 'Tis the haunt, 
 The home of the wild bird. That savage eye. 
 Which makes the desert tremble, has discern'd
 
 Stt DARTMOOR. 
 
 The intruder, Man ; — my footfall has alarniM 
 The tyrant Falcon. How the free-born bird, 
 Jealous of liberty, unus'd to fear 
 The arm of the invader, wheels around 
 His native cliff, whence from the topmost crag 
 Depends his nest ;- or circles the old Tor, 
 Where once the moorland eagle soar'd sublime, 
 Sole monarch of the forest. Far away, 
 Anon, with lightning wing he darts, or floats 
 Pois'd in mid air, or, with triumphant rush. 
 Sweeps by his enemy, and, screaming hoarse, 
 Bursts down the vale indignant. 
 
 Silent now, — 
 How silent that proud pile where England held 
 Within her victor-gripe the vanquish'd foe ! '5 
 O here full many a blooming cheek was blench'd, 
 O here full many a gallant heart was quell'd 
 By stern captivity ; protracted till 
 Hope almost ceased to bless the drooping brave ! 
 At eve the exile stretch'd him on his couch. 
 And, while the tear stood trembling in his eye,
 
 DAllTMOOn. -59 
 
 As night fell on hhn, thoughts of Home awoke 
 
 The bitter unregarded sigh. To him 
 
 Sweet spring no pleasure brought ;— the summer ray 
 
 Gilded the waste in vain; and Avhen the deep 
 
 And ruthless winter capp'd the cloud-wreath'd Tor 
 
 With snow, and loud the highland tempost howl'd, 
 
 He heard and shudder'd. Yet a desperate race, 
 
 Men of all climes, — attach'd to none, — were here, 
 
 llude mingled with the hero who had ibught, 
 
 By fi-eedom fir'd, for his beloved Fi-ance. 
 
 And these, as volatile as bold, defied 
 
 Intrusive thought, pnd flung it to the gale 
 
 That whistled round them. Madd'ning dance and 
 
 song — • 
 The jest obscene, the eager bet, the dice 
 Eventful;— these, and thousand more, devis'd 
 To kill the hours, fiU'd up the varied da}' : 
 And when the moorland evening o'er them clos'd. 
 On easy pillow slept the careless throng, 
 To run to-morrow the eternal round 
 Of reckless mirth, and on invention call 
 For ceaseless novelty.
 
 ^^ DARTMOOR. 
 
 And others woo'd 
 The muses, and with soothing song beguil'd 
 The leaden moments. Harp on harp was heard, 
 Of sweetest melody ; and some pursued 
 Severest lore, and foUow'd with firm step 
 Thee Science— thee Philosophy— and gave 
 The hours to Wisdom. Of this sacred band 
 Had young Augustin been, but o'er his youth 
 Misfortune's blight had pass'd ; — the roseate bloom 
 Had vanish'd from his cheek, and Hope, dear Hope, 
 That spring dew of existence, cheer'd no more 
 The soul, and withering consumption now 
 Drank the life-blood by drops ! 
 
 How beautiful 
 The vernal hour of life. Then pleasure wings 
 With lightning-speed the moments, and the sun 
 Beams brightl_y, and nor cloud nor storm appears 
 To darken the horizon. Hope looks out 
 Into the dazzling sheen, and fondly talks 
 Of summer ; and Love comes, and all the air 
 Rings with wild harmonies. But songs may cease,
 
 DARTMOOR. 41 
 
 Though caroll'd in the faithless spring, and Hope 
 3Iay prove a flatterer, and I.ove may plume 
 His wing for flight, and every flower that blows 
 Be blasted by the tempest's breath. 
 
 And thus 
 It far'd with young Augustin, and he sank 
 Before the death-blight, just as his green years 
 Were gliding into summer beauty. Long 
 He Avoo'd a maid all innocence and truth. 
 And lovely as the loveliest nymph that treads 
 Thy banks, swift-rushing Rhone. And she return'd 
 His passionate suit, and every day that came 
 Strengthen'd th' indissoluble charm that wound 
 Itself round their young hearts. Thy skies are blue, 
 Fair Provence, and thy streams are clear and fring'd 
 By the lush vine, that in thy quiet vales 
 Hangs out its full frank clusters, glowing deep 
 "With richest amethystine tint ; and thou 
 Hast songs of witching minstrels}^ from bowers 
 Of fragrance ; and, amid tlie deepening shade 
 Of groves, sweet cots — abodes of health and peace.
 
 42 DARTMOOn. 
 
 V,y woodbine, rose, and myrtle sweetly deck'd. 
 But Love has power to fling aa added charm 
 E'en on the heautifiil ; and when these met. 
 At magic eve, the soi'L, the sunny South 
 Yet more enchanting seem'd ;— the hills, the vales 
 Wore an unearthly charm ; — the crystal streams 
 RoU'd on with new-born minstrelsies; — the woods 
 "Were greener, fairer, and this world arose 
 To their quick-beaming and delighted eyes, 
 With all the hues and forms of Paradise. 
 
 But Revolution from her wild trump blew 
 A loud and fearful blast; and at the sound 
 The nations trembled, and the land— the sea — 
 Were one v.'ide. scene of tumult. 'Neath the shade 
 Of vine, fig, olive, now no more the swain 
 Repos'd in happy indolence ! No more 
 Sweet tales of love in rose and myrtle bowers ! 
 For France, with fiercest call, from loom and plougii, 
 From hill and vale, city and cot, arous'd 
 Her sons to conflict ; and Augustin, torn 
 From her he lov'd, — the weeping Genevieve, —
 
 DARTMOOll. 43 
 
 Was sent, with many a hapless victim more, 
 To combat England on the wiive. Awhile, 
 The bark that bore him from his native strand. 
 Successful roam'd ; but 'cross her ocean-path 
 An English frigate swept, and soon the flag 
 Of fierce Democracy, deep-humbled, wav'd 
 Beneath the British bjnncr ! 
 
 " Farewell, Francs !" 
 The captive sigh'd, as for the gentle breeze 
 Of balmy Provence, loudly round him howl'd 
 The chill, moist gale of Dartmoor ! Where are now 
 The blushing bowers, the groves with fruitage hung 
 Voluptuous, — tlie music of the bough 
 From birds that love brjglit climes, — the perfum'd 
 
 morn — 
 The golden day, — the visionary eve, — 
 The walk — the interchange of soul — too well- 
 Too well remember'd ? Exile, think no more ; 
 There's madness in the cup that memory holds 
 To thy inebriate lip !
 
 44 DAK T MOOR. 
 
 Yet rise thej will, — 
 Dear visions of thy home. The birds will sing,— 
 The streams will flow, — the grass will wave,— the 
 
 flowers 
 'Will bloom,— and through the leafage of the wood 
 The blue smoke curl ; thy cot is there,— thy cot — 
 Poor exile ; and the secret mighty power, 
 The Local Love, that o'er the wide spread earth 
 Binds man to one dear, cherish'd, sacred spot. 
 His Home, is with thy spirit ; and will oft 
 Throw round its dear enchantments, and awake, 
 For distant scenes belov'd, the deep-felt sigh, 
 And prompt the unbidden tear ! 
 
 O ! who that drags 
 A captive's chain, would feel his soul refresh'd. 
 Though scenes like those of Eden should arise 
 Around his hated cage ! But here green youth 
 Lost all its freshness, manhood all its prime. 
 And age sank to the tomb, ere peace her trump 
 Exulting blew ; and still upon the eye.
 
 DABTMOOR. 45 
 
 111 draad monotony, at morn, noon, eve, 
 Arose the Moor — the Moor ! 
 
 And year on year 
 Thus crept away, spent in consuming thought ; — 
 But now terrific rumours reach'd his ear 
 Of fierce commotions, insurrections, feuds 
 Intestine, making Home, Aceldama ; 
 Till at the last came^ crushing all his hopes, 
 A withering tale. " O Liberty, what crimes 
 Were perpetrated in thy glorious name," * 
 In that devoted land, when Faction strode 
 O'er wreck of throne and tribune to the heights 
 Of lawless brief dominion ! Perish'd then, 
 In iindistinguish'd massacre, the brave, 
 The wise, the good, the fair, beneath the fangs 
 Of Revolution's hell-liounds. Vaunted France, 
 The gallant, the frank-hearted, and the ga^^, 
 Where lovely " Woman as a Deity 
 Had long been worshipp'd," in that fearful hour 
 
 * Madame Roland.
 
 -I') DA UT MOOR. 
 
 Threw off its ancient homage. Men became 
 
 Brutal — infuriate ; — from the scaffold thrill'd 
 
 The female shriek ; and (O eternal shame 
 
 To France !) -within the deej) and gulphing wave 
 
 They sank, all wildly mlx'd, the son, the sire, 
 
 The mother, and the gentle virgin — all. 
 
 In one dark watery grave ! 
 
 And she was one — 
 The hapless Genevieve, — on whom the surge 
 Had thus untimely clos'd ! Her lover heard, — 
 Silently, sternly, heard the blasting tale, 
 And wept not ; — never more refreshing tear 
 Moisten'd his eye-lid, and with desj^erate zeal 
 He nourish'd his despair, till on his heart 
 The vulture of consumption gnaw'd ! 
 
 He sleeps 
 Beneath yon hillock ; — not a stone records 
 "Where poor Augustin rests : yet there is one 
 Who knows the spot, and often turns aside.
 
 DARTMOOR. ^7 
 
 I.onc waiid'ring o'er the bleak and silent jMoor, 
 To view the stranger's grave ! 
 
 But see, on high 
 Tor Hoyiil lifts its brow. The guardian fence 
 Is there, the piny grove, that from the blasts 
 Of winter guards the herbage of the hill, 
 "When all beneath is shrinking from the rage 
 Of the fierce blighting storm. How sweetly blooms 
 Upon the slopes the azure-blossom'd Flax ! '^ 
 How wave the gi-assy seas of shelter'd fields, 
 Triumjihant o'er the solitudes around. 
 Less happy, where the cultivator's hand. 
 Creating, comes not. If to him belongs 
 The name of benefactor of mankind, 
 " Who makes two blades of cheerful grass to grow 
 Where but one grew before," what meed is thine, 
 Tyrwhitt, who for the unprofitable heath, 
 The lichen, and the worthless moss, that erst 
 Crept o'er the hill, hast round thy highland home, 
 A belt of generous verdure thrown, and bade 
 (AVhat wonders may not Enterprise achieve ?)
 
 •If! DARTMOOR. 
 
 A sweet oasis in the desert rise 
 Upon the traveller's admiring eye ? 
 
 Nor waving crops, nor leaf, nor flowers adorn 
 Thy sides, deserted Crockern. '7 Over thee 
 The winds have ever held dominion ; thou 
 Art still their lieritage, and fierce they sweep 
 Thy solitary hill what time the storm 
 Howls o'er the shrinking Moor. The scowling gales 
 This moment slumber, and a dreary calm 
 Prevails— the calm of Death ;— the listless eye 
 Turns from thy utter loneliness. Yet man. 
 In days long flown, upon the mount's high crest 
 Has brav'd the highland gale, and made the rocks 
 E-e-echo with his voice. Not always thus 
 Has hover'd, Crockern, o'er thy leafless scalp, ' 
 The silence and the solitude that now 
 Oppresses the crush'd spirit; for I stand 
 Where once the fathers of the forest held 
 (An iron-race) the Parliament that gave 
 The forest, law. Ye legislators, nurs'd 
 In lap of modern luxury, revere
 
 DARTMOOR. 49 
 
 The venerable spot, where, simply clad 
 And breathing mountain breezes, sternly sat 
 The hardy mountain council. O'er them bent 
 No other dome but that in which the cloud 
 Sails — the blue dome of heaven. The ivy hung 
 Its festoons round the Tor, and at the foot 
 Of that rude fabric — pil'd by nature — bloom'd 
 The heath-flower. Still the naked hill uprears. 
 Sublime, its granite pyramid, and while 
 The statue, and the column, and the fane 
 Superb, the boast of Man, in fairer climes, 
 Crockern, than thine, have strew'd the groaning earth 
 With beauteous ruin, — the enduring Tor, 
 Bafiling the elements and fate, remains — 
 Claiming our reverence — that proudly tower'd 
 Of old, above the senate of the Moor. 
 
 How deep the silence that prevails around ! 
 'Tis noon, all-conquering noon ! The songs that haU 
 The merry morn are seldom lieard beneath 
 The beam meridian. E'en the lyric lark 
 Suspends his heavenly lay, the vagrant bee
 
 50 DAIITMOOR. 
 
 His lowly hum. There is nor chirp, nor son<7, 
 Nor rush of stream, nor leap of waterfall, 
 Nor cry of the fierce hawk, nor flow of rill. 
 To break the oppressive pause. I pass between 
 The granite masses that bestrew the wild. 
 And gaze on each huge eminence that rears 
 Its rude-pil'd tor to heaven ; and deeply feel 
 How on the traveller's soul thy calm profound 
 INIust fall. Palmyra, as, with awe-struck eye, 
 He views thy lonely desolations ; — views 
 The pillars of the wilderness arise 
 Above the desert-sand. With ruthless blow 
 The hand of fate has struck thee ; but how fair 
 Thy aspect once, to be so beautiful 
 Amid dishonour ! Earth through all her realms 
 Holds not a wreck more noble. Where are novi' 
 Thy glorious builders — mighty names, when time 
 Was young and vigorous ? Upon them rests 
 Impenetrable gloom, but they have left 
 Illustrious memorials that excite 
 Men's wonder still, — in these— the boasted days 
 Of an enlighten'd world !
 
 DARTMOOR. 
 
 51 
 
 The Moor owns not 
 The proud Corinthian colonnade, superb 
 In ruin— nor the mould'ring temple, still 
 The wonder of the nations ; but e'en here 
 Man, rude untutor'd man, has liv'd and left 
 Rough traces of existence. Let me pause 
 Around these roofless huts, these feeble walls, '^ 
 Thus solitary, thus decay'd, amid 
 The silent flight of ages. In these, once, 
 The fierce Danmonii dwelt. With filial awe, 
 I tread where erst my brave fore-fathers stood, — 
 "Where now they sleep ! Ye thoughts of other days 
 How swiftly do ye crowd upon the soul ! 
 These silent vales have swarm'd with human life — 
 These hills have echo'd to the hunter's voice — 
 Here rang the chase, — the battle burn'd, — the notes 
 Of sylvan joy at high festivities 
 Awoke the soul to gladness ! Dear to him 
 His native hill, — in simple garb attir'd. 
 The mountaineer here rov'd ; and oft attain'd 
 That hale and happy age which blesses still 
 His vigorous descendants, '9 scatter'd round 
 e2
 
 52 DAIlTMOOn. 
 
 The Moor's keen edge. Detested be the hand — 
 The sacrilegious hand, that would destroy 
 These mould'ring walls, which time has kindly spar'd 
 To this late hour ; and long from fierce assaults 
 Of the loud wintry storm, from whelming rush 
 Of mountain-torrent, chief from human grasp 
 Rapacious, be each sacred pile preserv'd; 
 To bless his wanderings who delights to steal 
 From yonder world, and, in the deep'ning noon. 
 Wind o'er the noiseless Moor his thoughtful way. 
 
 And here, as sages say, in days long flown, — 
 Here, on this stormy, barren, blasted ridge. 
 Luxuriant forests rose ; ^° and far away 
 Swept the bold hills beneath the gazer's eye. 
 In beautiful succession, dark with leaf, — 
 An ocean of refreshing verdure toss'd 
 By gales Atlantic. In the upland grove, 
 With independence bless'd, and sylvan ease, 
 Our fathers lov'd to dwell ; and here they form'd 
 The rude encampment, and the rural home. 
 While the gaunt wolf and winged serpent held
 
 DARTMOOR. 
 
 53 
 
 Dominion o'er the vallies. ^' Mightiest change 
 Has pass'd on thee, lone waste ! The spring no 
 
 more 
 Unfolds thy pleasant bud ; the summer gale 
 Waves not thy graceful foliage. On the gray 
 And naked rock, perchance, once nature strew'd 
 The generous soil profusely ; but the wrongs 
 Of centuries have made thee what thou art, 
 A howling desert in the loveliest isle 
 That ever ocean lav'd. One aged wood 
 Alone survives,— the solitary wreck 
 Of all those hardy foresters which erst 
 Adorn'd— defended thee, and cheer'd the eye 
 Of the old mountaineer. 
 
 How heavily 
 That old wood sleeps in the sunshine ; — not a leaf 
 Is tAvinkling, not a wing is seen to move 
 Within it ;— but, below, a mountain-stream, 
 Conflicting with the recks, is ever heard, 
 Cheering the drowsy noon. Thy guardian oaks, 
 My country, are thy boa^t— a giant race
 
 54 DARTMOOR. 
 
 And undegenerate still; but of this grove — 
 
 This pigmy grove, not one has climb'd the air, 
 
 So emulously that its loftiest branch 
 
 May brush the traveller's brow. The twisted roots 
 
 Have clasp'd, in search of nourishment, the rocks 
 
 And straggl'd wide, and pierc'd the stony soil : — 
 
 In vain, denied maternal succour, here 
 
 A dwarfish race has risen. Round the boughs 
 
 Hoary and feeble, and around the trunks, 
 
 With grasp destructive, feeding on the life 
 
 That lingers yet, the ivy winds, and moss 
 
 Of growth enormous. E'en the dull vile weed 
 
 Has fix'd itself upon the very crown 
 
 Of many an ancient oak ; and thus, refus'd 
 
 By Nature kindly aid, — dishonour' d — old — 
 
 Dreary in aspect — silently decays 
 
 The lonely JVood of Wistman ! " 
 
 Not a breeze 
 Yet cheers the panting Moor ; — the monarch sun 
 Holds high dominion. Sweet to you, ye swains, 
 AVhom labour calls in yon luxui^iant fields
 
 UAKTMOOR. 55 
 
 Where Tamar flows, to wield the sturdy scythe, 
 Beneath the potent ray, it is to mark 
 The sea-born gales arise, and o'er the hills, 
 And o'er the drooping vales, refreshing sweep. 
 Till all the invigorated landscape rolls 
 Its verdant billows in the breeze, and lives 
 Again in graceful motion. Sweet to see 
 The friendly cloud, on airs Atlantic borne, 
 Obscure the despot orb, as if to shield 
 Earth from the tyranny of heaven. To day, 
 J^ot e'en a zephyr sighs, nor swims a cloud 
 Across the stainless blue, to bless the swain 
 Who toils in yonder western meads. But here, — 
 Though ocean-gales should blow, nor grassy seas, 
 Nor mellowing harvests, on the well-pleas'd eye 
 Would roll refreshingly— I joyless stand 
 Amid the burning noon, and, as the rays 
 Flash from the ardent rock, ail-vainly wish 
 For the broad umbrage of yon favor'd lawns. 
 To shade my beating brow. 
 
 How seldom sweeps
 
 66 DARTMOOR. 
 
 The arch of heaven, tluis beautiful and brio-ht. 
 
 Above the waste ! I view the hill sublime 
 
 Far distant, lifting in the clear blue air 
 
 Its p3'ramid of rocks ; yet oft it wears 
 
 A crown of clouds, whatever season rules 
 
 The gloomy changeful months. But when it 
 
 wreathes 
 The snow around its high majestic brow, 
 And stern the desolating winter reigns, 
 Be heaven his aid, expos'd upon the waste, 
 Who meets the brumal tempest. Yet, inurVl 
 To cold — to danger— hardy as the race 
 That Scotland boasts, — the peasantry who breathe, 
 Dartmoor, thy piercing gales, unshrinking dare 
 The storm that would appal the soul of him 
 Who lives in fields luxurious. On the Moor — 
 When from the frowning sky the sudden blast 
 Bursts wild, and thick the feathery flakes descend. 
 Swift sailing on the howling wind — the swain 
 Bold treads the fearful path, and through the bog, 
 Quivering beneath his feet, sagacious winds 
 To seek £o.ne truant of the flock. Alas !
 
 DAIITMOOR. 
 
 57 
 
 Not always, though inur'd to hardship— skill'd 
 To tread with nicest foot where danger lurks, 
 And brave to face the mountain-storm, escapes 
 The wary villager. Thrice o'er the earth 
 Has winter pass'd, since here the peasant boy 
 Untimely perish'd. ^^ Him the battling winds 
 Kesistless, and the volleying hail, and snow 
 O'erwhelming, found upon the unshelter'd heath, 
 As eve abruptly clos'd. What woes attend 
 On pale misfortune's sons ! In yonder towns 
 Voluptuous, the gay, the young, the rich, 
 Had met, that self-same hour, in many a hall 
 To pleasure consecrate ; and as around 
 Stream'd the full flood of radiance, music cheer'd 
 All hearts within, while horror rul'd the night — 
 The howling night without. Let Luxury hear 
 And sympathize ! as from each love-lit eye 
 Beam'd rapture, and a thousand angel forms 
 Were floating in the dance, the wintry drift 
 Of the bleak desert had inhum'd alive 
 The moorland wanderer ; and, as the hours 
 Of Pleasure's votaries flew on lightning wing,
 
 58 DARTMOOR. 
 
 And strains as of Elysium softly fell 
 Upon the ear of gaiety, the tide 
 Of life with him ebb'd slowly, — inch by inch, — 
 Endurance exquisite, — till drowsy Death 
 Reluctant clos'd the scene, and on the gale- 
 Unwept— unheard— he pour'd his parting groan ! 
 
 But see, where erst by Piety uprear'd, 
 A cross,* now prostrate, shows the fatal spot 
 Where fell the luckless hunter. ^4 Crag and clifti 
 And faithless bog, and swollen impetuous flood. 
 To him were things familiar ; and he dar'd. 
 With eagle-eye and lion-heart, the chase 
 Far o'er the echoing forest. When the morn 
 Broke o'er the brow of Mistor, loudly peal'd 
 His merry horn ; and, as the red-deer sought 
 The mazes of the shadowy vale, or swept 
 Swift o'er the mountain's side, the manly voice 
 Of the old English yeoman made the air 
 Ring with exulting accents. Him the fox 
 
 * The Author found the remains of this cross in the summer of 1S25.
 
 DARTMOOR. 59 
 
 Sagacious shunn'd, and on the wolf, the bear, 
 He pour'd his gallant pack ; till foe on foe 
 Strew'd the victorious moorland. Yet he fell 
 Where he had triumph'd. — On the gloomy heath 
 The snow-storm rag'd terrific. Long he press'd 
 His noble steed ; and well o'er hill and dale, 
 By treacherous morass, through flashing stream, 
 And path but dim-descried, that faithful steed 
 His much lov'd master bore. But every track 
 Quick disappear'd ; and now the northern gale 
 More fiercely blew — chilling his heart-blood, till 
 Benumb'd, bewilder'd, hopeless, and alone, 
 The mournful eve clos'd o'er him, and he slept 
 His last ; — the hunter slept ! 
 
 And oft the swain, 
 "When deeply falls the winter night, narrates 
 To his own rustic circle, seated near 
 The peat-pil'd hearth, how, in th' involving cloud 
 Tremendous, flashing forth unusual fires, 
 Was wrapt the House of Prayer, — thy sacred fane 
 Bomantic "Widdicombe. ^5 The village bard,
 
 fiO DARTMOOR. 
 
 In simple verse that time has kindly sparM, 
 Has also sung it ; and, in style uncouth, 
 The pious rural annalist has penn'd 
 The fearful story : — 
 
 Far o'er hill and dale. 
 Their summons glad the sabbath bells had flung ;- 
 From hill and dale obedient they had sped 
 Who heard the holy welcoming ; and now 
 They stood above the venerable dead 
 Of centuries, and bow'd where they had bow'd 
 Who slept below. The simple touching tones 
 Of England's psalmody upswell'd, and all, 
 With lip and heart united, loudly sang 
 The praises of the Highest. But anon, 
 Harsh mingling with that minstrelsy, was heard 
 The fitful blast ;— the pictur'd windows shook, — 
 Around the aged tow'r the rising gale 
 Shrill whistled ; and the ancient massive doors 
 Swung on their jarring hinges. Then— at once- 
 Fell an unnatural calm, and with it came 
 A fearful gloom, deepening and deep'ning, till
 
 dahtmoor. 61 
 
 'Twas dark as night's meridian ; for the cloud, 
 Descending, had within its hosom wrapt 
 The fated dome. At first a herald flash 
 Just chas'd the darkness, and the thunder spoke 
 Breaking the strange tranquillity. But soon 
 Pale horror reign'd,— the mighty tempest burst 
 In wrath appalling ;— forth the lightning sprang 
 And death came with it, and the livmg writh'd 
 In that dread flame-sheet. 
 
 Clasp'd by liquid fire- 
 Bereft of hope, they madly said the hour 
 Of final doom was nigh, and soul and sense 
 Wild reel'd ; and, shriekuig, on the sculptured floor 
 Some helpless sank ; and others watch'd each flash 
 With haggard look and frenzied eye, and cower'd 
 At every thunder-stroke. Again a power 
 Unseen dealt Death around ! In speechless awe 
 The boldest stood ; and when the sunny ray 
 Glancing again on river, field, and wood. 
 Had chas'd the tempest, and they drank once more 
 The balmy air, and saw the bow of God —
 
 hj dahtmoor. 
 
 His token to the nations, throwing wide 
 
 Its arch of mercy o'er the freshened eartli — 
 
 How welcome was tliat liglit — that breeze — that 
 
 bow ; 
 And, oh, how deep the feeling that awoke, 
 To heaven the hymn of thankfulness and joy ! 
 
 Fierce, frequent, sudden, is the moorland storm ; 
 And oft, deep shelter'd in the stream-fed vales, 
 The swain beholds upon the less'ning tor, 
 The heav'ns descend in gloom ; till mass on mass 
 Accumulated, all the might}'^ womb 
 Of vapour bursts tremendous. Loud resounds 
 The torrent rain, and down the gutter'd slopes 
 Rush the resistless waters. Then the leap 
 Of headlong cataract is heard, and roar 
 Of rivers struggling o'er their granite beds. — 
 Nor these alone — the giant tempest past, 
 A thousand brooks their liquid voices lift 
 Melodiously, and through the smiling land 
 Rejoicing roll. Across the traveller's path. 
 Cheering his eye, the silver streamlet glides,
 
 DARTMOOR. (J3 
 
 For ever offering to his grateful lip 
 
 Its sparkling tribute, clear as that which flow'd 
 
 From Aganippe's fount. O let me stray 
 
 AVith thee, sweet Dart,^^ and tread thy pleasant 
 
 marge. 
 What time the liberal mountain flood has fill'd 
 The urn of Cranmere,'^^ and the moisten'd ]Moor 
 Pours to the dales the largess of the heav'ns !— 
 O let me wander then, while freshness breathes. 
 Along the grateful meads, and list the voice, 
 Dartmoor — exhaustless Dartmoor— of thy streams, 
 Thou land of streams ! 
 
 In Britain's matchless isle 
 Unnumber'd floods meander, and she wears 
 A verdurous robe that seldom cheers the lawns 
 Of softer, brighter climes. But Albion, rich 
 In rivers sweetly gliding o'er her map, 
 Nor streams so fresh — so fair, nor fields so gay, 
 May boast, as thine Devonia. Ever falls 
 Upon the well pleas'd ear the melody 
 Of thy soft-flowing waters ; beautiful
 
 64 DARTMOOR. 
 
 The emerald of thy landscape — beautiful 
 E'en in green England ! 
 
 Hail then, Dartmoor, hail 
 "Mother of rivers !" From his copious fount 
 Swift rolls thy Teign.^s ^j fli-gt, a moorland course 
 He solitary leads, but journeys soon, 
 A beauteous stream, by hills sublime that lift 
 Their leafage to the cloud ; or laves the feet 
 Of beetling cliffs, whence, loosen'd by the hand 
 Of time, has many a granite mass been hurl'd, 
 Loud thund'ring to the flashing waters. Lo, 
 Uj)on his banks a venerable pile 
 Lifts its rude form ; and who that stops to gaze 
 Upon that hoary Cromlech, rudely rais'd 
 Above the nameless dead, can look unmov'd 
 On the lone grave, where once the warrior stretch'd 
 His limbs to mortal rest ? And near the edge 
 Of the loud-brawling stream a Logan stands, 
 Haplj^ self pois'd, for Nature loves to work 
 Such miracles as these amid the depths 
 Of forest solitudes. Her magic hand
 
 DARTMOOn. o-J 
 
 With silent chisel fashion'd the rough rock 
 And plac'd the central weight so tenderly 
 That almost to the passing breeze it yields 
 Submissive motion. She around it flung 
 The foaming river, and above it bade 
 The cliff's dark verdure wave ; while songs of birds 
 To the wild waters' plaintive melodies 
 Respond harmoniously. Auxiliar brooks 
 Perpetual swell thee, Teign, as, hasting on 
 To the great sea beyond, through valleys deep 
 Thou roarest, battling with the gloomy rocks 
 That strew thy rugged bed. Yet loveliest leaf 
 Full oft is thine, and proud the giant oak 
 Graces thy bank, as, sparkling to the sun. 
 Thou lead'st thy flood, at last, in wider flow 
 Unmurmuring, till, all thy wanderings o'er. 
 Thou minglest with the mighty ocean-wave. 
 
 How drear the stillness brooding o'er thy lake. 
 Secluded Cranmere, yet from thee flow life 
 And boundless beauty. Thine the arrowy Dart, 
 Fleetest of rivers. Though the desert lifts 
 
 F
 
 66 DARTMOOR. 
 
 Awhile its tors above him, yet he sweeps 
 Full soon impatient down to vales of bliss — 
 Lovely as thine, Ausonia. Gentle Spring, 
 Thy breath was on the earth when late I stray'd 
 With him, in all his wanderings ; — gentle Spring, 
 The raptur'd eye of Fancy never gaz'd 
 Upon a lovelier vision than the wild 
 And wondrous landscape that still changeful hung 
 Around my gladsome path ! Who ever trod 
 That path, in thy sweet hour of bud and bloom, 
 And on each swiftly-varying picture, form'd 
 By Nature's happiest pencil, fondly look'd 
 And ever hoped to see, in this fair world, 
 A scene so fair again ? 
 
 The voice of Dart 
 Is loud, and hoarse his cataracts uplift 
 Their roarings to the woods ; but O how sweet ! 
 The music of his gentler tones, for he 
 Has tones of touching sweetness. Ye who love 
 The thunder and the melody of streams 
 That from the mountain leap, careeiing on
 
 DARTMOOR. G7 
 
 Through foam and conflict ever, — seek the bank — 
 The varied bank of Dart. O that my feet 
 Were free, Hohie Chase,*9 to linger in thy depths 
 Profound of shade, while deep below he rolls 
 Where scarce the eye the flashings of his flood 
 Discerns between the foliage. Yet anon 
 He spreads his bosom to the beam, and shoots 
 By vale, and hill, and precipice, and cliff 
 Wood-crown'd, and smiling cot, and mansion veil'd 
 In clust'ring leaf, until he proudly blends 
 With Dartmouth's echoing wave. And as he flies, 
 Like the wing'd shaft, the wanton zephyrs breathe 
 Delicious fragrance ; for upon his banks, 
 Beautiful ever, — Nature's hand has thrown 
 The odorous Myrica. 
 
 Nor unsung 
 
 Be here the Tavy, mountain born,^o the theme 
 
 Of the old bard. The duteous river laves — 
 
 Fair Tavistock, thine abbey's mould'ring walls. 
 
 And flows complaining b}^ O ye who dwell 
 
 Around yon ruins, guard the precious charge 
 f2
 
 68 DARTMOOn. 
 
 From hands profane f — O save the sacred pile 
 
 O'er which the wing of centuries has flown 
 
 Darkly and silently, deep-shadowing all 
 
 Its pristine honours — from the ruthless grasp 
 
 Of future violation ! Warble on — 
 
 Sweet Tavy, warble on, — and oft in bays 
 
 Indenting all the bowery shore, detain 
 
 Awhile thy flood, and fling upon the breeze 
 
 The music of thy waterfall ; but where, 
 
 O where is he, — the monk, — who lov'd to list 
 
 That melody, and stray upon thy bank 
 
 At musing eve, what time yon shatter'd fane 
 
 Arose in its magnificence ! Thy stream 
 
 Exhaustless flows, though generations rise 
 
 And vanish, and from thine enduring fount 
 
 Thou drink'st immortal being : — the old hills 
 
 That suckle thee are mighty as when first 
 
 The sun-beam glanc'd upon them ; and while Man 
 
 And all his boasted structures pass away 
 
 As snow upon the tide, they lift, unhurt. 
 
 Their venerable heads to heav'n, and seem 
 
 Pil'd for eternity.
 
 DARTMOOR. tit* 
 
 A broader flood 
 Soon Tavy pours ; for lo ! the Walkham comes, ' ' 
 Swoll'n by fresh brooklets from the deep-seam'd hills 
 To mingle with his waters. Hither come, 
 Thou who delightest in the twilight gloom 
 Of woods, to spend the musing hour. O come, — 
 No harsher sound shall break the hallow'd pause, 
 At morn, noon, eve, but songs of birds, the voice 
 Of cataracts and murmuring of brooks 
 As fair as those " of Vallambrosa." Pause 
 A moment too, as through the tranquil dale 
 Thoughtful thou journeyest : — in 3'onder dome, 
 Above whose aged tower the leafy elm 
 Lifts its tall head, the hand of Genius graves 
 The deathless name of Elliott ! 3» 
 
 For the brave 
 Demand thy homage ; and, with pensive step, 
 As slow thou foUowest where the devious flood 
 Allures, with reverence mark the sacred spot, 
 Wliere erst, all dangers past, in sylvan ease 
 Ilepos'd immortal Drake !
 
 70 DARTMOOR. 
 
 How deeply falls 
 The silence of thy vale, dear Tavy, where, 
 Soft-mingling with the bough's clear song, was heard 
 The matin — vesper — lay ! Still Nature wakes 
 Her matchless minstrelsy ; but many an age 
 Has roll'd above the monk's now traceless grave, 
 Since through thy abbey, Buckland, rang the notes 
 Of fair religion's hymn. One hoary pile 
 Alone remains to fix the traveller's gaze, — 
 One swift-decaying turret, wildly wreath'd 
 By the funereal ivy, and the moss 
 Low-creeping, and the lichen ; — mournful plants, 
 That love the haunts of Death ! 
 
 Yet 'tis — in truths 
 A holy spot ; and oft in vale like this. 
 Amid the deep embowering grove, the monk 
 With meditation dwelt. Who would not hail 
 A bower so green, a solitude so blest, 
 With a bright stream that ever on the ear 
 Pours its melodious chaunt ? Few months have 
 pass'd.
 
 DARTMOOR. 
 
 71 
 
 Alexis,* since I saunter'd here with thee, 
 
 In converse sweet, through all the summer-noon ; — 
 
 How brief that noon ! The bird was on the branch, 
 
 The butterfly was kissing every flower, 
 
 The bee was wandering by with lulling hum, 
 
 And Eve almost unnotic'd came, as still 
 
 We trac'd the Tavy's course. The farewell songs 
 
 Of grove and sky arose ; and, while those strains 
 
 Swell'd on the ear, the river lifted high 
 
 His voice responsive. Soon the lofty bank 
 
 Uprush'd magnificently, tree on tree 
 
 Ascending emulously to the brow, — 
 
 One noble sheet of leaf,— save where the rock 
 
 Show'd its gray naked scalp. But swift on all 
 
 Fell Evening's envious shades ; and ere we stood 
 
 Where Maristowe o'er Tamar throws the glance 
 
 To hills Cornubian— on the western steep 
 
 Hover'd the sinking orb ; and, as the groves 
 
 * My ingenious and valued friend, Mr. Shenstone, formerly of 
 Stonchouse, now of Cambridge Place, Bath ; with whom, and my 
 no less intelligent and esteemed friend, Mr. Hinc, now of Brixton 
 Lodge, London, I have had many a pleasant ramble on the banks 
 of Tavy, Tamar, Plym, &c. Viximus.
 
 72 DARTJIOOn. 
 
 Of Warleigh glisten'd with his last fond smile, 
 He dyed with thousand tints the rainfrling floods, 
 And threw supernal glories on the wave. 
 
 But, proudest of the streams that Dartmoor pours 
 From his prolific bosom, rolls the Pljm 
 With murmuring course by Sheepstor's dark-brow'd 
 
 rock, 33 
 And IMeavy's venerable oak, 34 to meet 
 The ever brawling Cad. 35 How oft, as noon 
 Unnotic'd faded into eve, my feet 
 Have linger'd near thy bridge, romantic Shaugh ; 
 While, as the sister waters rush'd beneath. 
 Tumultuous, haply glanc'd the setting beam 
 Upon the crest of Dewerstone. 36 The hawk 
 Rested upon the aged cliff; — around 
 A holy silence reign'd ;— the mountain's breast 
 Lay hush'd as midnight ; — not a vagrant gale 
 Sigh'd through the woods of Plym, and on the soul 
 Fell deep the impressive calm. The sun-ting'd cloud 
 Sail'd slowly through the heav'n ; but Earth had 
 nought
 
 UAKTMOOR. 73 
 
 Of motion, save the river hurrying on 
 To seek the distant billow. One such hour 
 Outweighs a year of misery ; and oft 
 In the great struggle with the tyrant world, 
 The spirit feels refresh'd as Memory paints, 
 In hues imperishable, scenes like those 
 Which, in that hour of freedom, lay around 
 My happy path. 
 
 O Plym belov'd ! to thee 
 I owe the few bright sun-breaks that have cheer'd 
 My toilsome pilgrimage ! Thy vale to me 
 Has been a Home — a Refuge — when the bonds 
 Of toil and care (how seldom !) have been loos'd. 
 And I again have on my fever'd brow 
 Felt the pure breeze. It was a lovely time 
 When last I sojourn'd with thee ; — on thy groves 
 The western gale was breathing — pensively, — 
 And here and there the twdnkling foliage show'd 
 Strange hues, but exquisite, and of all shades — 
 Purple and gold, mingled with green, the robe 
 With which old Autumn clothes the trees — awhile,
 
 74 DARTMOOR. 
 
 For 'tis as frail as fair, and will not brook 
 
 The visitation of the winds. In thought 
 
 I wander with thee still, and see thee shap'd 
 
 Into a bright infinity of forms, 
 
 As the rocks mould thee ; and each joy renew, 
 
 Sacred to friendship, felt upon thy banks, 
 
 O stream belov'd ! How oft, by Fancy led, 
 
 Sweet Pl3'm, at morn or eve, I stray with thee ; 
 
 But chief at shadowy eve, I linger where 
 
 Tlie ocean weds thee, and delighted view, 
 
 Proud rising o'er the vast Atlantic surge, 
 
 Tliine own, — thy Plymouth, — nurse of heroes, — her 
 
 " Who bears thy noble name !" 
 
 His heart-blood chills. 
 Who from the rifted bank of Lyd 37 flings down 
 A hurried glance ; and, as he trembling marks 
 The volum'd foam, and on his startled ear 
 Appalling sounds, almost unearthly, rise 
 From rocks and waters battling in the womb 
 Of the far-cloven earth ; — with looks aghast 
 The peasant points him to the unhallow'd spot,
 
 bahtmoor. 75 
 
 Where, 'mid the shrieking night, the maniac rush'd, 
 Despairing, to the black abyss below. 
 
 But — Lyd, — enough of darkness and of death ! 
 Again thou burstest into day, — again 
 The vales receive thee, — and above thee blooms 
 The flower, and rolls the song, and from the hills 
 Flows the fresh mountain-torrent, soon to swell 
 Thy tranquil waters. Oft the traveller lists 
 The roar of that wild torrent, headlong dash'd 
 O'er the rude precipice ; and hastes to gain 
 The strand below, whence, rushing on his view 
 At once, the stream, all light and music, springs 
 From the bold bank. Yet not in one broad sheet 
 It leaps the dark, majestic cUfF, — a rock 
 Divides it, and the bright and broken flood 
 Impetuous descends in graceful curves 
 To mingle with the foaming world below ; — 
 While, sparkling in the mid-day beam, a shower 
 Of spray, for ever hovering, bathes the plants 
 That love the mountain and the stream.
 
 76 DARTMOOn. 
 
 The bird 
 Is here, — the solitary bird that makes 
 The rock his sole companion, ^s Leafy vale, 
 Green bower, and hedge-row fair, and garden rich 
 With bud and bloom, delight him not; — he bends 
 No spray, nor roams the wilderness of boughs, 
 Where love and song detain a million wings. 
 Through all the summer morn — the summer eve ; — 
 He has no fellowship with waving woods, — 
 He joins not in their merry minstrelsy. — 
 But flits from ledge to ledge, and, through the day 
 Sings to the highland waterfall — that speaks 
 To him again in strains'he loves and lists 
 For ever. 
 
 With a chilling aspect rise 
 The rocks — of iron hue, — yet has the hand 
 Of Nature, e'en on them, thus frowning, flung 
 Enchanting forms. " As pearls upon the arm 
 Of the jet jEthiop," looking fairer still 
 From their alliance, so the snow- white moss
 
 DARTMOOK. 77 
 
 Has fix'd itself upon the cliff, and seems 
 More white, more beautiful, more spotless, plac'd 
 On Horror's sable brow. The graceful broom 
 Waves its transparent gold ; the pensive fern. 
 In the least stir of the inconstant breeze. 
 Bends its light plume. Upon the sunny bank 
 The fox-glove rears its pj'ramid of bells, 
 Gloriously freckled— purpled and white— the flower 
 That cheers Devonia's fields— and, by its side, 
 Another, that, in her maternal clime. 
 Scarce shuts its eye on austral suns, and wakes 
 And smiles on "Winter oft — the primrose,— hail'd 
 By all who live. 
 
 How deep the eternal rush 
 Of the wild moorland cataract has scoop'd 
 The adamantine base ! and in that gulph 
 The Avaters all unite ; in fiercest joy. 
 Swift eddying, round the polish'd basin, till 
 Involv'd in foam, they, eddying, burst away 
 To seek the Tamar's wave. Thy castle yet. 
 Sweet Lyd, remains, of all the dwellings fair,
 
 78 DARTMOOR. 
 
 That cluster'd once upon thy marge. Alas ! 
 Profoundest silence reigns where roU'd the voice 
 Of business on the fitful wind. No more 
 The crowded mart, the echoing street, where flow'd 
 The human stream along, — so swiftly sped 
 To pale oblivion's gulph ! The grave has clos'd 
 Upon thy myriads, Lydford ;— nought remains 
 Of thee and thine, but that frail lonely pile, 
 Sole relic of thy ancient glory, where, 
 Proud floating o'er the battlements, thy sons 
 Once gave the banner to the breeze. Too soon 
 Dishonour'd by the dull, dank, creeping moss, 
 And the long grass shrill whistling in the gale 
 Of pensive evening, shall those time-worn walls, 
 Assail'd by wintry storms, submissive bow 
 To the strong, stern, unsparing hand of fate. 
 
 And Devon owes to thee, prolific Moor, 
 The rapid Erme.^s Adown the wooded slopes 
 He comes, deep shaded oft, and foaming leads 
 His stream beneath that bridge, enwreath'd with 
 leaf,
 
 DARTMOOR. 79 
 
 O'er which the traveller bending loves to gaze 
 Upon the flashing waters. Thine the Yealm, — 
 Pride of our austral vales, 4° — our austral vales 
 Unrivall'd I Foster'd by the genial clime, 
 The ancient oak, the tall Corinthian elm. 
 Of amplest growth, attend his sylvan course : — 
 And sweet it is, from Puslinch' breezy mount. 
 To eye him winding slowly through the meads, 
 Where smiles the village, or where Kitley rears 
 Its noble groves, or Coffleet spreads its lawns 
 Delicious, or upon the verdant slope 
 Beyond, fair Langdon rises. And where swells 
 The southern wave to meet him, has the hand 
 Of Nature thrown such pleasing scenes, profuse, 
 As, roUing round the varied shores of earth, 
 The restless flood of ocean seldom laves. 
 
 Streams — desert born ! — I love you, and I love 
 The fruitful mother that with look austere. 
 Yet bountiful of heart, has sent you forth, 
 A matchless progeny, to bless the earth. 
 And bid it bloom like Eden. I could dwell
 
 80 DARTMOOR. 
 
 For ever near you ; — or, when flashing dovn — 
 Far seen — far heard — the mountain steeps sublime ; 
 Or when ye warble through the myrtle vales 
 Of Devon, wide diiFusing o'er her shores 
 Atlantic, boundless beauty ; — but farewell ! 
 For other themes command. 
 
 Bright Noon declines ; 
 And as the monarch of the day rolls swift 
 His car to other worlds, and Evening throws 
 Her first faint shadows on the purpling hills 
 Of the bold billowy East, reviving come 
 The ocean-gales. I tread the silent waste 
 With strength renew'd, — yet journey where no foot 
 Crosses my path — no salutation, kind 
 And welcome, breaks the lengthen'd dreary pause ! 
 Here might the man, disgusted with the world, 
 Retire, and commune with himself, with God, 
 And Nature ;— here, unsought, unvex'd, unknown, 
 The stern contemner of his race might dwell 
 With mountain independence ever ; — lord 
 Of the lone desert. On his musings free,
 
 DARTMOOR. 81 
 
 Nor speech impertinent, nor harsh command, 
 Nor frivolous talk, consuming half the hours 
 Of hollow artificial life ; nor hum 
 Of populous cities, nor the deaf 'ning din 
 And shout of savage war, would e'er intrude ; 
 But he would live with liberty, and climb, 
 With vigorous step, the heathy ridge, or wind 
 The vale, and list with rapture to the sounds 
 Delightful, that can bless e'en steep and stream 
 Of the scorn'd forest. Nor would Winter's voice, 
 Though stern, be undelightful ; — the high peal 
 Of the great thunder, and the winds that speak 
 Almost as loud as the loud thunder. Then, 
 Though guUt might crouch, his steady eye would 
 
 mark 
 The lightning gild the hill's tempestuous brow, 
 Or flash from tor to tor, illuming all 
 The man-deserted waste ; and, as the storm. 
 Rocking his lowly home, sublimely raged, 
 His high-wrought soul *■ would triumph in that hour, 
 And hail the awful elemental war !
 
 }J2 DAKTMOOH. 
 
 But pause a moment here ! O ye have been, 
 Volcano, Earthquake, Deluge, potent — thus, 
 With blast, and flame, and flood, to mar the face 
 Of agonized Nature ! See the Moor 
 Upheaves its sward into the sunny air, 
 Wild as when ocean flings his monstrous waves, 
 By tempests vex'd, to heav'n ! As deep as sink 
 His floods abysmal, yawn the cloven vales, 
 E'en to the bowels of the earth ! Around 
 Immensely spread the wrecks of that dark age 
 When, with avenging rush and roar, the flood 
 Usurp'd the shrinking land. The mountain reel'd 
 From its vast base, and the stupendous cliff". 
 Though ribb'd with marble, fell,— or trembling till 
 The turbulent v/aters pass'd, remain'd,— a rude 
 And shatter'd pile. The huge enduring rock, 
 Lash'd by that shoreless mighty main, preserves. 
 Full deeply graven on his rugged brow. 
 Traces— most fearful— of that awful hour 
 When the deep-groaning earth its bosom oped 
 To the fierce ploughing billows. Over all
 
 DARTMOOR. 83 
 
 The Deluge roll'd victorious. Alps withdrew 
 
 His humbled head, and Andes rear'd in vain 
 
 His tallest summit. Still the ocean shell 
 
 Rests on the proudest peaks of earth ; but where 
 
 The howl of the conflicting surges rose 
 
 Now swell the songs of birds ; and bud, leaf, flow'r, 
 
 Beautiful births, — adorn the laughing slopes 
 
 Of the rejoicing mountains. And, ye hills — 
 
 Ye vales, — though stUl your peaceful bosoms bear. 
 
 Never to be obliterate, the marks 
 
 Of fearful suffering, — while the earth remains, 
 
 The Power Supreme hath given to the sea. 
 
 His bound — impassable ; — and ye shall be 
 
 Companions of the sun and shower, and feel 
 
 Their blessed influence. No more — no more — 
 
 Shall sea and sky, united, o'er the earth 
 
 Pour their devouring waters. He has sworn, — 
 
 He who takes up the ocean as a drop 
 
 In his Almighty palm — that vernal hours. 
 
 And summer glow, and autumn's golden reign. 
 
 Seed-time and harvest, shall not fail ! — and bent —
 
 84 DARTMOOR. 
 
 In the dark pathway of the cloud, when storms, 
 Descending, fiercel}' sweep the awe-struck earth, 
 A glorious vision — his memorial Bow ! 
 
 Chief, Earthquake has been here, with ruthless foot 
 Trampling the Moor. O that the insidious foe 
 Who strikes, but warns not, had thus always made 
 The wilderness his prej' ; but he delights 
 To seek the haunts of men, — the crowded port — 
 The mart of commerce — or the rosy bower 
 Of Pleasure, and at one dread sudden blow 
 Destroy his myriads. Thus, with all her throng 
 Of gay and fair, Euphemia* on the eye 
 This moment rose ; the next, a loathsome lake 
 Clos'd o'er her, and the black cloud hung above, 
 And all was still. The pestilence that walks 
 At noon-day, thinning the throng'd street, still spares 
 Its multitudes who live and dare to hope ; 
 And Death at one fell unsuspected blow 
 Strikes not his shrieking thousands ; — one by one   
 
 * See Father Kircher's account of the earthquake in Calabria, 1G38,
 
 DART MOOR. 85 
 
 From the domestic circle bows his head 
 
 To the stern victor ; and the anguish'd tear 
 
 Is shed above their graves. But Earthquake springs 
 
 At once upon the power and pride of man, — 
 
 His domes, his temples, and his towers sublime ; — 
 
 Hocks his imperial cities as the surge 
 
 Uplifts the buoyant skiff; and to a gulph 
 
 Of horror, yawning from the inmost depths 
 
 Of the affrighted globe, remorseless flings 
 
 His countless victims ! 
 
 On the very edge 
 Of the vast moorland, startling every eye, 
 A shape enormous rises ! High it towers 
 Above the hill's bold brow, and, seen from far, 
 Assumes the human form ; — a Granite God ! 4^ — 
 To whom, in days long flown, the suppliant knee 
 In trembling homage bow'd. The hamlets near 
 Have legends rude connected with the spot, 
 (Wild swept by every wind,) on which he stands— 
 The Giant of the Moor. Unnumber'd shapes
 
 86 DARTMOOR. 
 
 By Nature strangely form'd, — fantastic — vast, — 
 
 The silent desert throng ! 'Tis said that here 
 
 The Druid wander'd.^^ Haply have these hills 
 
 With shouts ferocious, and the mingled shriek, 
 
 Resounded, when to Jupiter upflam'd 
 
 The human hecatomb. The frantic seer 
 
 Here built his sacred circle ; for he loved 
 
 To worship on tbe mountain's breast sublime — 
 
 The earth his altar, and the bending heav'n 
 
 His canopy magnificent. The rocks 
 
 That crest the grove-crown'd hill he scooped to hold 
 
 The Lustral Waters ; and to wondering crowds 
 
 And ignorant, with guileful hand he rock'd 
 
 The yielding Logan. Practised to deceive, 
 
 Himself deceiv'd, he sway'd the fear-struck throng 
 
 By craftiest stratagems ; and (falsely deem'd 
 
 The minister of Heav'n) with bloodiest rites 
 
 He awed the prostrate isle, and held the mind 
 
 From age to age in Superstition's spells. 
 
 FarcAvell ye solitudes immense — farcM'ell !
 
 DARTMOOR. 87 
 
 At last, refreshingly, the fields below 
 
 Appear, in all the bud, bloom, foliage, deck'd, 
 
 Of the life-breathing Spring. The Moor resigns 
 
 Not suddenly its sternness ; — not at once 
 
 The soft — the beautiful of Nature meets 
 
 The raptur'd eye ; but here is union sweet 
 
 Of tree and torrent — verdure —waterfall 
 
 And leaf-hung streamlet, that may well detain 
 
 Awhile the wanderer. A myriad forms 
 
 Start into life, that shun the highland waste 
 
 And brook not highland gales. The bough here holds 
 
 Communion with the frowning cliff, — the cliff 
 
 Wearing its moorland mantle, — green and gold, — 
 
 Moss, ivy, lichen— rises o'er the broad 
 
 Luxurious sward.'^'i- And in the pleasant grass 
 
 That smiles around, fair waving in the breeze, 
 
 Delicious hues are seen — innumerous; — 
 
 As if the rain drops of the fresh wild Spring 
 
 Had blossom'd where they fell. 
 
 Kut hark ! the rush
 
 Mi DARTMOOR. 
 
 Of torrents ;— enter here,— it is a spot 
 
 Almost unknov/n— untrod— the traveller 
 
 Must turn him from the broad and beaten track 
 
 Of men, to find it. Let no heedless step 
 
 Intrude profanely,— let the woi-ldling rest 
 
 In his own noisy world ; — far off, — the vale 
 
 Is not for him ; but he that loves to pay 
 
 His silent adorations where, supreme 
 
 In beauty, Nature sits, may spend the hour 
 
 Of holiest rapture here. The eternal rocks, 
 
 Up-pii'd to the mid-sky, come sweeping round 
 
 Her pious votary; and she has hung 
 
 With green undying wreaths the mountain-walls. 
 
 And sprinkled them with mountain-flowers that bud 
 
 And bloom inviolate. So high the cliffs 
 
 Ascend into the sunny air, that he 
 
 Who walks below sees heaven its azure bend 
 
 Above him like a dome. The turf is soft 
 
 And fair, and wears an eye-refreshing hue ; 
 
 And from its virgin emerald thickly rise 
 
 Uright flowers in glorious rivalry ; the gay
 
 Dartmoor. 89 
 
 And glossy king-cup, and its " neighbour sweet," 
 The daisy, silver- ray'd ; and, blue as heaven. 
 The lowly violet ; and deeper still. 
 Than e'en the blue of ocean, that lov'd child 
 Of Spring — the hare-bell. 
 
 All as exquisite 
 As beam, breeze, shower, could mould them : he who 
 
 treads 
 The vale oft steps aside, lest he should press, 
 "With ruthless foot, where forms so exquisite 
 In silent loveliness upspring. The sward 
 Now undulates, fair verdant billows rais'd 
 Like ocean's when the spring-gale kisses them — 
 No more. And often on the smiling bank 
 The hawthorn spreads its snowy blossoms, fi-ee 
 From human grasp rapacious ; and below, 
 Amid the sunny luxury of grass, 
 Are tufts of pale-ey'd primroses, entwin'd 
 With many a bright-hued flower, and shrub that 
 
 scents
 
 00 
 
 DARTMOOR. 
 
 The all-voluptuous air ; but chief; thine own- 
 Land of the myrtle— thine own lovely birth, 
 The fragrant— meek— My rica. 
 
 Through the vale, 
 As still you stray enraptur'd,— at your foot, 
 Cheering the pleasant sod, a hundred rills 
 Warble immortal music. It is sweet — 
 Most sweet, to view the playful brooklets roll 
 Their chrystal on,— each on his way adown 
 The valley's peaceful slopes. With louder rush. 
 And deeper melody, a torrent flows 
 Full in the midst,— meandering, as if loth 
 To quit the dale's dear bosom. On his marge 
 I mark the cheerful bird that loves the stream, 
 And the stream's voice, and answers, in like strain? 
 Murmuring deliciously. 'Tis fit that they 
 Should hold communion : —other company 
 That bird seeks not, but his dear mate, that now 
 And always lists the song of both ; and builds 
 Her nest above the social stream.
 
 DARTMOOR. 91 
 
 And here 
 The waters sleep, — in a cool lake, where flits 
 The shadow of each cloud that sails the heaven ; 
 And in it, too, the tall rock, rising near, 
 From base to brow with verdurous tresses deck'd, 
 Is clearly pictur'd. Nought disturbs the calm 
 Of the fair mirror^ but the startling rush 
 Of crimson spotted trout to seize that gay 
 Adventurous voyager, — the fly. 
 
 An oak, 
 The patriarch of the vale, bends o'er that sheet 
 Of liquid silver. Haply has the Spring 
 With silent power renew'd his bud and leaf 
 A thousand years ; yet still he lives, and owns 
 Its gentle influence. His scalp is bald 
 Through age, and one enormous arm is stretch'd 
 To heav'n, scathed by the lightning stroke;— a pale 
 And blighted thing amid its brethren boughs 
 So green and vigorous ; and still the bird 
 Builds in them,— 'tis the Home of Love, — the seat
 
 92 DARTMOOR. 
 
 Of raiitui'd song. There is no tree thrit huth 
 In all the dale such majesty ; the lake 
 Reflects it proudly. 
 
 But as still you trace 
 The valley to its head, insensibly 
 Its matchless beauty fades, and soon it wears 
 A sterner character. The king-cup, bright 
 In glossy gold, — the daisy, silver-ray'd, — 
 And sapphire-tinctur'd violet, and, wreath'd 
 With snow, the hawthorn, — and the hare-bell blue 
 As ocean ; — all are vanish'd, — all at once. 
 As if some spell had curs'd the ground. The rocks 
 Terrific rise, clasping a rugged dell ; 
 And into it, loud thundering o'er the steeps. 
 The mountain-rivers rush. A lonely place. 
 Almost unvisited, but by the hawk ; 
 And 'tis a habitation fit for him 
 Who makes Heav'n one vast solitude, — the Earth 
 Still, — fearfully still ; — beneath whose piercing eye 
 Cowers close the lark, and in deep leafy bower. 
 The minstrel of the bough.
 
 DARTMOOR. 
 
 93 
 
 No voice is heai-d 
 But his and the dark raven's. High they build 
 Above the floods tumultuous,— high above 
 The roaring waterfall. No human foot 
 Has ever climb'd that chaos vast of rocks, 
 Rude scatter'd, as if earthquake to the sky 
 Had flung the ancient mountain, and had strown 
 The shiver'd relics— thus ! And yet the eye 
 Wanders not undelighted o'er those wrecks 
 Thrown wildly in the torrent's foaming bed ; 
 For there the waters take unnumber'd forms 
 Of grandeur and of loveliness. And see 
 The evening beam has gilded all,— the fair, 
 The great ; — how exquisite the view 
 Of the calm vale,— its beauty and its power 
 Touch'd by the setting ray. Enlivening gleams 
 Of sunshine now are breaking through the ranks 
 Of yon old foresters below ; and there 
 The cliffs, though stern, have bathed their awful 
 
 brows, 
 In the full flood of radiance ; e'en the moss
 
 04 DARTMOOn. 
 
 That fringes them seems gay, — the ivy smiles, 
 The pensive liclien glows, and each wild rill 
 Leaps sportive in the beam. 
 
 The zenith spreads 
 Its canopy of sapphire, but the West 
 Has a magnificent array of clouds ; 
 And, as the breeze plays on them, they assume 
 The forms of mountains, castled cliffs and hills. 
 Deep rifted glens, and groves, and beetling rocks ; 
 And some that seem far off, are voyaging 
 Their sun-bright path in folds of silver; some 
 In golden masses float, and others have 
 Edgings of burning crimson. — Isles are seen 
 All lovely, set within an emerald sea ; 
 And there are dyes in the rich heavens, — such 
 As sparkle in the grand and gorgeous plume 
 Of Juno's fav'rite bird, or deck the scal'd 
 And wreathing serpent. 
 
 Never, from the birth
 
 DAHTMOOR. 95 
 
 Of time, were scatter'd o'er the glowing sky 
 INIore splendid colourings. Every varying hue 
 Of every beautiful thing on earth,— the tuits 
 Of heav'n's own Iris, — all are in the West 
 On this delicious eve. 
 
 *■ But now the sun 
 Is veil'd a moment, and the expansive waste 
 At once is wrapt in shade. The song has ceas'd 
 Of the rejoicing earth and sky ; — the breeze 
 Sighs pensively along ; the moorland streams 
 Appear less lovely, and on Fancy's ear 
 Complaining flow. Again the shadows fly 
 Before the glancing beam ; — again the sun — 
 The conquering sun resumes his state ; and he 
 That with Elysian forms and hues bedecks 
 So gloriously the skies, cheers thee,— e'en thee, — 
 Thou solitary one ; — the very heart 
 Of the wild Moor is glad ! The eye discerns 
 The mountain-ridges sweep away in vast 
 And regular succession ; — wave on wave
 
 96 
 
 DAHTMOOR. 
 
 Rolling and glittering in the sun,— until 
 Tliey reach tlie utmost West. The lark is up 
 Exulting in the bright blue heav'n ;— the streams 
 Leap wantonly adown the laughing slopes ; 
 And on the ear the poetry of bells, 
 Far borne by Auster's welcome gale, is heard ; 
 All else is mute,— silently happy,— Earth 
 Reposes in the sunset. 
 
 Let me gaze 
 At the great vision ere it pass ; for now 
 The day-god hovers o'er the western hill, 
 And sheds his last fond ray. Farewell ! farewell ! 
 Who givest beauty to the cloud, and light — 
 Joy, music, to the earth ! And must the tints 
 And shapes divine which thou hast form'd, decay,— 
 The mountain, and the temple, and the tower. 
 That float in yonder fields of air ;— the isles 
 Of all surpassing loveliness ; and seas 
 Of glorious emerald, that seem to flow 
 Around the gold-fringed reefs and rocks ;— must all
 
 DARTMOOR. 97 
 
 Vanish, with thee, at the remorseless touch 
 Of the swift-coming twilight ! 
 
 They will fade, — 
 Those hues and forms enchanting. See behind 
 The billowy horizon once more sinks 
 The traveller of six thousand years. With him 
 Depart the glories of the west. The tints 
 Elysian change — the fiercely brilliant streaks 
 Of crimson disappear; but o'er the hills 
 A flush of orange hovers, softening up 
 Into harmonious union with the blue 
 That comes a-sweeping down ; for Twilight hastes 
 To dash all other colours from the sky 
 But this her fav'rite azure. Even now 
 The East displays its palely-beaming stars. 
 With the mild radiating moon ; and thus 
 There is no end to all thy prodigies, 
 O Nature ! 
 
 And the Night her ancieiit reign 
 
 H
 
 i)8 dahtmook. 
 
 Holds o'er the silent earth. Ye forms sublime, 
 Adieu, that people the great Moor ; — the tor, 
 The hallow'd cairn, the everlasting rocks, 
 Moulded by time into a million shapes 
 Of beauty and of grandeur : — and adieu 
 Ye voices that upon the wanderer's ear 
 Ever refreshing come : — the flow of rill. 
 And music of the cataract, and leap 
 Of mountain- stream, and sigh of mountain breeze, 
 And, scar'd by the intruder man, the rush 
 Of the wild bird. The raptur'd day is o'er ; — 
 The morn of high anticipation, noon 
 Of rich fruition, and the tender eve- 
 All vanish'd ! Sweetly falls the lunar ray 
 Upon my homeward path, — enchanting home, — 
 Though seated in that noisy world whose voice 
 Again 1 hear ; for harshly on the breeze 
 The thunder of the cannon comes.* No more, 
 O that no more upon my ear might roll 
 Its far-resounding peal. Be mine of groves 
 
 * The Evening Gun fired in Plymouth harbour,
 
 DARTMOOB. 
 
 The soothing minstrelsies, — of hill and dale, 
 That silence which the brook — the bird — alone 
 JNIelodious break. That calm, that sacred joy — 
 Those harmonies divine, at morn — noon — eve — 
 Have bless'd my moorland pilgrimage. But soon 
 Shall dawn the dreary morrow ; — soon the toils, 
 The cares, the ills of life, with scarcely Hope 
 To brighten the involving gloom, shall scare 
 My spirit, and awake the frequent sigh 
 For scenes so fair, so grand, and moments bright 
 As cheer'd to-day my varied course. Ah when, 
 The happy hour shall Fate relenting bring 
 Of sunshine, peace, and liberty again ! 
 
 H -Z
 
 NOTES. 
 
 BY THE LATE WM. BURT, ESQ., SECRETARY TO THE 
 PLYMOUTH CHAMBER OF COMMERCE.
 
 NOTES TO DARTMOOR. 
 
 Note 1, Page 3. 
 The meek unsheltered Myrtle. 
 
 The genial nature of the Devonshire air, and its 
 favourableness to the growth of the JNIyrtle, are well 
 known to medical and other persons. Mrs. Piozzi, 
 in her journey through Italy, incidentally confirms 
 the latter fact. " Our solitude," she says, "is perfect 
 in a place" (Bagni di Pisa) " which beggars all des- 
 cription ; where the mountains are mountains of 
 marble, and the bushes on them bushes of myrtle as 
 large as our hawthorns, and white with blossoms as 
 they are at the same time of the year in Devon." In 
 1782, four myrtles of extraordinary size and beauty, 
 one of them 27 feet high, and 1 foot G inches in cir- 
 cumference, decorated the front of Warleigh-House, 
 the seat of the Rev. Walter RadclifFe, which, making 
 it damp, have been cut down ; but there are stiU 
 some of considerable size at that place.
 
 104 NOTES TO DARTMOOR. 
 
 In the South Hams the myi'tle and aloe have at- 
 tained to remarkable j)erfection, particularly at Sal- 
 combe. Several houses in Mary Church, and indeed 
 of almost every village on the southern coast of Devon, 
 are profusely bespread with the former ; and even at 
 Ilolne, in the immediate vicinity of Dartmoor, it may 
 be almost said in the Moor itself, the myrica gale, a 
 species of mvrtle approjiriately called the Devonshire' 
 myrtle, is abundant, and a sweet smelling ornament 
 of the woods. 
 
 Note 2, Page G. 
 Holiday. 
 
 In explanation of Mr. Carrington's frequent allu- 
 sion to holidays, it may not be here out of place to 
 observe, that as through the greater part of his life 
 he was occupied for six days in the Aveek from eight, 
 and, during part of the year, from seven in the morn- 
 ing until eight at night, in the laborious occupation 
 of public teacher, it was quite natural that he should, 
 occasionally, refer, with marked gratification, to the 
 seldom occurring breaks in his chain of toil.
 
 NOTES TO DARTMOOR. 105 
 
 Note 3, Page 7- 
 Thy belt 
 
 Of hilh inyaterioxs, shadou-y. 
 
 A French writer, after describing the scenery north- 
 ward of Mount Edgecumbe, observes, that Dartmoor 
 enclosed the whole in its magnificent belt. Dartmoor, 
 also, although in some respects an elevated table 
 land, is not strictly a plain, but a series of hemisphe- 
 rical swellings or undulations, gradually overtopping 
 each other, and here and there interrupted by deep 
 depressions, yet without forming what may be pro- 
 perly called distinct mountains. It is covered with 
 blacl: and brown peat and crowned at intervals with 
 tors ; some rising like pillars or turrets, others com- 
 posed of blocks piled together, others divided into 
 horizontal or perpendicular strata, and others so sym- 
 metrically arranged as to resemble the ruins of an- 
 cient castles. Innumerable masses of stone, moi-e or 
 less rounded and smoothed, lie scattered over the gen- 
 eral surface. To a person standing on some lofty 
 point of the Moor, it wears the appearance of an irre- 
 gular broken waste, which may be best compared to 
 the long rolling waves of a tempestuous ocean, fixed 
 into solidity by some instantaneous and powerful im- 
 pulse. To a similar effect, but more compressedl^', 
 observes Gilpin, in his work on the western parts of 
 Devon : " Dartmoor spreads like the ocean after a 
 storm, heaving in large swells." Even at a distance
 
 IOC NOTES TO DARTMOOn. 
 
 it lias this billowy aspect, which, in every zone, ac- 
 cording to Humboldt, is the characteristic of primi- 
 tive chains. That Dartmoor is of" this descrij)tion is 
 clearly shewn by the nature of its rocks, the debris 
 bestrewing the beds of its rivers, and its alpine plants. 
 The changeful hues of the Moor, at different periods, 
 as exhibited in the north-north-east, are picturesque 
 objects for many miles around. At one time the 
 clouds creep up the acclivities, and envelope them in 
 a white vapour, through which the sun breaks with 
 difficulty. At another, their nakedness is exposed to 
 the full glare of its beams. At another, light and 
 shade either chequer the surface or follow each other 
 in rapid alternation. Mornings and evenings they are 
 ofadeepblue colour; but when the snow mantles them 
 with its fleecy skirt, they remind the spectator of 
 the Appenine hills, by which title they are rather 
 ostentatiously dignified by Risdon ; whilst Leland, 
 in a less complimentary strain, calls Dartmoor " a 
 wild morisch or forest ground." The connection 
 between Dartmoor and the lower chain, in Cornwall, 
 is plainly discernible from several spots near Ply- 
 mouth. 
 
 The almost total absence of trees and dwellings are 
 striking features. 
 
 "There is on Dartmoor," says the Rev. T. P. Jones, 
 " a stillness, a want of life and activity, and a sombre 
 dignity of expression in its black and barren pastures.
 
 NOTES TO DARTMOOR. 107 
 
 which can only be seen in similar ranges of un- 
 cultivated land ;" to which may be added, from Gil- 
 pin's remarks on Salisbury Plain : " Regions like this 
 which have come down to us rude and untouched 
 from the beginning of time, fill the mind with grand 
 conceptions, far beyond the efforts of art and cultiva- 
 tion. Impressed by such views of nature, our ances- 
 tors worshipped the God of nature in those boundless 
 scenes, which gave them the highest notions of eter- 
 nity." 
 
 Except the continual murmur of waters, and the 
 hum of insects, of which the lower part of the at- 
 mosphere is full, there is nothing to disturb the pre- 
 vailing serenity, and which Humboldt well defines 
 as "that contrast of motion and silence ; that aspect 
 of nature at once calm and animated, which sti-ikes 
 the imagination of the traveller." 
 
 Note 4, Page 9. 
 
 Of the hoarse ivalcrfuU. 
 
   leap 
 
 The roaring of toi'rents in the Mooi', after heavy 
 rains, and wlien the wind favours its transmission, is 
 sublime to a degree inconceivable by those who have 
 never heard this impressive music in a wild and soli-
 
 1(*8 NOTES TO DARTMOOR. 
 
 tary district. It is occasionally louder by night than 
 by day, which the peasants consider as a jn-ognoslic 
 ol" rain, and often strikes the ear even at the distance 
 of three miles. 
 
 This majestic sound applies to the rivers generally, 
 M'hen swollen and agitated, but the falls of Beckey 
 and Lydford afford particular examples of it. 
 
 De Luc, in his Geological Tour through England, 
 gives a picturesque account of the former. 
 
 " A beautiful stream," he says, " was first seen to 
 precipitate itself ft-om above, and for some way to 
 bound, divided, from block to block, often disappear- 
 ing between them and again issuing forth in several 
 rills, which glided along their mossy surface, falling 
 upon some of them in a sheet of water, with the al- 
 ternate glittering and transparency of silver gauze, 
 but this sheet was soon lost among the blocks, whence 
 the stream repeatedly burst forth, and afterwards 
 flowing calmly for some distance, rushed precipitately 
 down another slope." 
 
 There are some curious mosses around, with the 
 lichen articulatus, which the llev. T. P. Jones, of 
 North Bovey, an excellent botanist, declares to be 
 not a common plant ; and who sjjcaking of the same 
 fall, remarks : " The trees around it are a striking 
 contrast to the baiTen downs and shapeless tors in-
 
 NOTES TO DARTMOOR. 109 
 
 closing the valley, and the deep murmiu-s of the cata- 
 ract are in strict unison with the other features of 
 the scene." 
 
 The river giving birth to Beckey fall, assumes the 
 several names, in its course, of Hayne, Beckey, 
 Bovey, and AVest Teign, and is described under 
 the head of rivers. Lydford and Kit's falls will be 
 found in the note on Lyd, and the fall on the East 
 Dart under the head of that river. 
 
 Note 5, Page 9. 
 
 Devonians rivers flow ; a thousand brooks 
 Roll o'er thy rugged slopes. 
 
 The rivers of Dartmoor, whether considered in 
 their wilder or their softer scenes, may vie with any 
 in the kingdom, and they are not only diversified and 
 beautiful in their aspects, but very numerous, inde- 
 pendent of the brooks, lakes, and heads, which par- 
 take of a similar character. 
 
 The principal are the Dart, Teign, Tavy, Taw, and 
 Plym, all elsewhere described in separate notes, ex- 
 cept the Taw, which rises near Throwley, in the
 
 110 NOTES TO DAUTMOOR. 
 
 nortli quarter of the Moor, out of or near Cranmere 
 hill, proceeds towards the north, and disemhogues 
 itself in Barnstaple Bay. The other four also rise 
 out of or near the same hills, travel southward, and 
 fall into the British Channel, giving their names, as 
 they meander, or at their embouchures, to sundry 
 towns and villages — an honour amply shared by the 
 Taw, whose name stands indelibly connected with 
 the hundred of Tawton, and the respective towns of 
 Tawton, remarkable for being the first Bishop's see 
 in Devon, (afterwards removed to Crediton) and 
 thence called Tawton Episcope or Bishop Tawton, 
 North Tawton, the birth place of Sir Henry Bath, 
 a Justice of the King's Bench, and possessing a 
 small intermitting spring. South Tawton and Taw- 
 stock, containing in its church many monuments of 
 the Bourchiers, Earls of Bath, from whom descended 
 the present Sir Bourchier Wrey. 
 
 The secondary rivers, as far as they can be collect- 
 ed, are the Ock or Ockment ; Wrey, having its source 
 in the north quarter and falling into the western 
 branch of Teign; Harlem, an auxiliary of the Dart; 
 Cad and Meavy, elsewhere noticed ; Ilayne, Beckey, 
 Bovey and West Teign, supposed to be the same river ; 
 Torey, Tinhay, Cotvsic, falling into West Dart; Stour, 
 Loman, Aven or Aim, Arme or Erme, elsewhere no- 
 ticed ; Yeo, Vealm, elsewhere noticed ; Walkham, 
 elsewhere noticed ; Lyd, elsewhere noticed ; Swin, 
 Webber, Westbourne or Webborn, Jordan, Straine, and
 
 NOTES TO DAUTMOOR. Ill 
 
 Swincornhe, the two last rising in the south quarter 
 and falling into West Dart. 
 
 Of these rivers, the Ock or Ockment bestows its 
 appellation on Okehampton, or, as it is termed in 
 Domesday Book, Ockmentune, which at the conquest 
 had ninety-two knight's fees, a castle, (a royal for- 
 tress, until dismantled by Henry VIII.) a park, dis- 
 parked by the same monarch, four burgessess, and a 
 market. It was incorporated regularly by James I., 
 confirmed by Charles I., but sent members to Par- 
 liament in the 28th of Edward I., and the 7th of Ed- 
 ward II., and is the baronial title of a British peer. 
 The Ock springs out of Cranmere hiU, has two 
 branches, and joins the Torridge near Hatherleigh, 
 before its union with the Severn Sea or Bristol 
 Channel. 
 
 The Hayne, Beckey, Bovey, and West Teign, as 
 before remarked, are supposed to be the same river. 
 The first rests on the authority of De Luc, who 
 states that two rivulets (the southernmost of them 
 forming Beckey Fall, and having near it loose growan 
 with gi'anite blocks) rise at the bottom of a combe 
 beyond Manaton, and rush together down a slope on 
 which they unite and then become the Hayne. The 
 Rev. T. P. Jones is the authority for Beckey. The 
 Bovey and West Teign, according to the neighbour- 
 hood, are the same river : but the most probable con- 
 clusion is, that, in their origins, they are aU different
 
 112 NOTES TO DARTMOOR. 
 
 rivers blending together at last into one. Rovey 
 Ileathfield, a spot oelobrated for lying many feet 
 below the sea, and its fossil or ligneous coal, derives 
 its name from the Bovey 
 
 The Aven or Aun has its birth in the south quar- 
 ter, is profusely covered with copse wood at certain 
 parts like the generality of the other rivers, and 
 passing by Aveton or Aunton Clifford, empties it- 
 self into the sea at Avenmouth ; where stands St. 
 Michael's rock, once crowned with the remains of a 
 chapel, mentioned by Camden, and thus preserved 
 in ancient rhyme : — 
 
 " Where Aven's waters with the sea are mixt, 
 St. Michael flrmly on n rock is fixt." 
 
 At Diptford, on this river, is a remarkably pictu- 
 resque scene, consisting of a bridge, cascade, large 
 rocks and overlianging foliage. 
 
 The Webber, Westbourne, or Webborn, emerges 
 from a large combe near Widdicombe, and, rapidly 
 pursuing its way over opposing rocks, incorporates 
 itself with the Dart near Spitchwick. De Luc 
 observes, that the bed of this river has in it grey- 
 wacke, red feltspar, chrystals, and pure quartz, which 
 is sometimes observable in the other streams ; as well 
 as breccias, pudding-stones, sand-stones, and sand, 
 being debris brought down by floods from the high 
 lands.
 
 XOTES TO DARTMOOR. 113 
 
 The banks of the Dartmoor Jordan are embellished. 
 
 two miles below Widdicombe, towards Spitchwick, 
 witb the hamlet of Ponsworthy and its bridge, one 
 of the most romantic spots in Devonshire, and claim- 
 ing the notice of the painter. 
 
 Of the remaining secondary rivers no gleanings can 
 be obtained, excepting what appears respecting the 
 Cad, JNIeavy, Arme or Erme, Yealm, Walkham, and 
 Lyd, amongst the notes. 
 
 The brooks, lakes, and heads, though held subordi- 
 nate to the rivers, would, in a less aqueous tract, be 
 counted worthy of names, which some of them have 
 not. 
 
 Those with names are Walhrook or Wellahrook in 
 east quarter, one of the forest boundaries, and falling 
 into East Dart ; Western Wellbrook in south quarter 
 falling into Avon ; Woteshrook rising in the IMoor and 
 falling at its boundary into Teign ; Crambrook rising 
 near Moreton, and falling precipitately into the same 
 river; Boivhrook ; Cherri/bi-ook i'roin east quarter and 
 an auxiliary of A\"est Dart ; Rakernbrook rising on 
 the Moor and falling into Tavy near Mary Tavy ; 
 another Rakernbrook, whence the parish of llakernford 
 is so called ; Hohcelbrnok, Radford, Red ford or Redda- 
 fordbrook, Rattlebrook, falling into Tavy ; Blackabrook 
 in west quarter and falling into West Dart ; Holbern- 
 brook, Okebrook, Sheepstorbrook, Tutorlake, Redlake,
 
 114 NOTES TO DARTMOOR. 
 
 Brookhead, Wolkhnmliend, Plymhead, Meavyhead, 
 Tavyhead, Armchead, and Avenhead. 
 
 Thus, in Dartmoor, or on its immediate borders, there 
 are not fewer than five principal rivers, twenty-four 
 secondary rivers, fifteen brooks, besides some perhaps 
 without names, two lakes, and seven heads ; or alto- 
 gether fifty-three streams, which is certainly remark- 
 able in a district only about twenty miles long by ten 
 miles wide. Such a superabundance of water doubt- 
 less arises from the morasses or bogs, so frequent and 
 extensive on the Moor, the spongy soil of which re- 
 tains the rains, or rather torrents, when they fall, 
 until gradually dealt out in rivulets, brooks, and 
 rivers, to the fertilization and ornament of surround- 
 ing and distant parts. In this manner a great appa- 
 rent evil to the few, by the all wise and ever bounti- 
 ful provisions of the Supreme Author of nature, is 
 converted into a good for the many. 
 
 Most of the streams are, at intervals, broken and 
 intercepted in their currents by large masses of gra- 
 nite, and other rocks, bestrewing their beds. They are 
 further subject, like alpine streams in general, to vio- 
 lent and almost instantaneous risings, which may be 
 caused either by the bursting of water spouts, or by 
 there being nothingto impede heavy showersfrom sud- 
 denly rushing down the mountainous declivities into 
 the nearest streams. The smoothness of the stones in 
 their beds sufficiently attests the existence and fre-
 
 NOTES TO DARTMOOR- 
 
 115 
 
 quency of these hasty inundations. The same streams 
 often exhibit, after rains, in shallow places, an amber 
 colour, and, where deeper, a dark brown tinge like 
 coflFee grounds ; which Humboldt, speaking of South 
 American rivers weai-ing the same hues, attributes to 
 the presence of an extractive vegetable matter, pro- 
 pably a solution of carbonic hydrogen, filtering 
 through a thick mass or wad of grasses. The same 
 thing is met with in most highland or forest waters 
 throughout the world ; and Ossian, in his immortal 
 poems, sublimely refers to it : " Eed through the 
 stony vale comes down the sti-eam of the hill." An 
 allusion to the same fact may be inferred from the 
 names Cherrybrook, Blackabrook, Eedfordbrook, and 
 Redlake. By this colouring it has been conjectured, 
 that, the water acquires an antiseptic quality, im- 
 parted to the adjacent peat bogs overflowed, and 
 tending to preserve the combustible property of the 
 turf collected from them. At other times the streams 
 are of an argentine or crystalline hue. 
 
 To render the numerous rivers available for public 
 use, the bridges over them in Dartmoor, and at no 
 remote distances around it, are equally, if not more, 
 numerous, being chiefly built or liable to be repaired 
 by the county. In Lifton division there are 19, Ta- . 
 vistock 15, Buckland 15, Ivy Bridge 5, Modbury 8, 
 Ashburton 11, Aveton GifFord G, Brent 6, Buckfast- 
 leigh 10, Chagford 9, Bickington and Newton 19, 
 besides others in North Tawton and Dartmouth divi- 
 
 i2
 
 lie NOTES TO DARTMOOn. 
 
 sions, amonfTst which arc Taw I^ridjrc, Ti^'dford Bridge, 
 Dartmeet Bridge, Hoo INfeavy, Lower ]\Icavy and 
 Higher INIeavy Bridges, I'lvni Bridge, Yealm Bridge, 
 Ermington and Little Ermington Bridges, Dart 
 Bridge, Aveton Gifford or Aven Bridge, (the largest 
 in the county) Wrey Bridge, Cadai'ord Bridge, Teign 
 Bridge, &c. May 27th, 1809, an act was passed for 
 building a bridge over Dart at Emmett, and even 
 the humble Bowbrook confers its name on one. 
 
 In addition to the rivers, &c., there are several wells 
 on the ]Moor, especially Fice's Well, which is situated 
 one mile and a half due north from the Prison. The 
 spring is warm in winter, and cold in summer. The 
 interior and sides are composed of granite, with ini- 
 tials and a date inscribed in relief at top, in letters 
 about four inches high. The well itself measures 
 three feet square by two feet and a half deep. The 
 moorland tradition is, that the initials mean John or 
 .Tames Fice, a traveller, who, on some occasion expe- 
 riencing great relief from the spring, gratefully pro- 
 tected it, as it now appears. The date 1168 is an 
 extraordinary one, and the whole bears the undenia- 
 ble appearance of great antiquity.
 
 NOTES TO DARTMOOR. 117 
 
 Note 6, Page 10. 
 The magic hand 
 
 Of Cultivation. 
 
 Many parts of the Moor, however irreclaimable 
 they may seem to the prejudiced, are not naturally 
 so barren as to be out of the reach of improvement. 
 To use another passage of the text (page II,) 
 
 The future beams 
 
 With hope's inspiring ray. 
 
 That the Moor was once cultivated is evident from 
 the traces of furrows or ridges, and stone enclosures, 
 still remaining upon and around it ; and from the 
 lower layer of thatch in the roofs of its old buildings 
 being rye straAv, which probably was the grain then 
 raised. 
 
 Prime samples of wheat have been often obtamed 
 from the Moor, and Vancouver mentions a "Winches- 
 ter bushel at Bridestow as weighing 671bs. and \oz. 
 It likewise produces fine hay, excellent potatoes, 
 black oats, seeded with clover, heaver, trefoil, &c., 
 barlej^, turnips, cabbages, if planted tolerably early 
 and well manured, flax, particularly in a dry summer; 
 and Mr. Shillibeer is of opinion that it would answer 
 for vetches and mangel worzel, if properly managed, 
 and that, with respect to all these crops, Dartmoor 
 depends (and what soil does not ?) on " good manage- 
 ment, plentiful manure, and early tillage."
 
 118 NOTES TO DARTMOOR. 
 
 At Two Bridges Inn, which lies in a valley at the 
 junction of the roads from Moi-eton and Ashburton 
 to Tavistock, there are a few fields and gardens in 
 a thriving state, althougli nearly about the centre of 
 the iNIoor ; whose northern and western vicinities 
 are peculiarly favourable to the breeding of black 
 cattle and oxen, which, after being fattened in the 
 rich pastures of Somerset, are sent to Smithfield mar- 
 ket. On the Moor and the adjacent wastes, except- 
 ing in the bogs, large flocks of sheep and other cattle 
 are depastured. At Widdicombe alone, in October, 
 1807, there were 14,000 sheep, besides horned cattle. 
 
 Already, as before mentioned, a good road exists 
 from JNIoreton to Tavistock, with branches to Ash- 
 burton and Plymouth, for which an act was passed in 
 1772) chiefly through the exertions of JMr. Turner, 
 then steward to the Duke of Bedford. The late Mr. 
 Heywood of Maristowe, joined that road at Two 
 Bridges from the Rock on Roborough Down. The 
 principal improvers have been the Rev. Mr. Vollans, 
 upon 3,000 acres, the late Sir Francis Buller, who 
 held about 2,000 acres, and planted 40,000 trees. Sir 
 Thomas Tyrwhitt, who has 2,000 acres, the Rev. Mr. 
 Bray, the holder of 900 acres, the Rev. Mr. Mason, 
 of GOO acres, Thomas Sanders, Esq., and the late 
 Mr. Gullet, who was a great improver, and built the 
 farming part of the house at Prince Hall, (then one 
 of the ancient tenements and a ruin of some former 
 building) the better apartments being added by Sir
 
 NOTES TO DARTMOOR. 119 
 
 Francis BuUer, the next possessor, who inclosed the 
 best of the ground which has been improved, and 
 some extensive new takes, and built the Inn at Two 
 Bridges. July 26, 1822, an act was passed enabling 
 His Majesty to make leases for absolute terms for 99 
 years, for building on and improving waste lands, par- 
 cels of the Duchy. Messrs. Thomas and John Hul- 
 lett were improvers, having purchased gi-ants made 
 by the Duchy to Mr. Patterson and others, which on 
 the death of Mr. Thomas Hullett, were sold to the 
 Rev. Mr. Vollans. Messrs. Hullett built Post Bridge, 
 and had a large estate in its vicinity. 
 
 What has been thus effected affords a manifest 
 proof, not only of considerable attendant advantages, 
 but of the perfect practicability of doing more. In 
 the wastes surrounding the jNIoor, barrenness is gra- 
 dually disappearing and softening into verdure and 
 fertility. By judicious measures sterility might be 
 wholly banished, excepting where the peat earth lies 
 immediately upon the granite rock. The soil of the 
 neighbouring vales is of superior quality, and consists 
 of rich friable loams ; and even on the jNIoor itself are 
 spots forming oases, as it were, in a desert, and highly 
 susceptible of useful conversion. 
 
 Joshua Hepworth, Esq., agent for the Rev. Mr. 
 Vollans, a gentleman possessed of much agricultural 
 experience, considers theland and climate of Dartmoor 
 as not worse than those of the \^orkshire Wolds, and
 
 120 NOTES TO DARTMOOR. 
 
 yet the whole of them are nearly enclosed and well 
 cultivated, and no part of England produces finer 
 sheep or fleeces. Turnips, rapes, corn, and barley 
 mixed with clover pros])er there abundantly, so that 
 the sheep have a succession of food both summer and 
 winter, and the land, at the same time, derives mate- 
 rial benefit from tiie number of them maintained up- 
 on it. ]Mr. Hepworth recommends the incorporation 
 of the Dartmoor and Leicestershire breeds, as a good 
 mode of increasing the weight and wool of the former 
 and lessening their rambling propensity. 
 
 To bring about a like result on Dartmoor it would 
 be expedient : — 
 
 1. To remove the rocks and stones with which the 
 surface is so profusely cumbered. 
 
 2. To construct a canal for receiving the superflu- 
 ous moisture, and meanwhile to drain the bogs only 
 (upon the principle hereafter stated,) for the sweet 
 sward of the sound soil does not requii-e draining. 
 
 3. To use lime without stinting which, by a fer- 
 mentative process, assists in decomposing the brown 
 spongy or upper stratum, nourishes at the same time, 
 and, as Mr. Shillibeer forcibly remarks, " alters the 
 very face of nature." By draining, exiccating, jjar- 
 ing, burning, and liming, all the bogs, even the red 
 ones, which are worse than the others, might be
 
 NOTES TO DAUTMOOR. 121 
 
 reduced to cultivation. The substratum of Dartmoor, 
 a white, yellow, or brown clay, called formould, is so 
 stiff and i-etentive of moisture that it cannot soak- 
 away, which occasions bogs. Limestone might be 
 had, with jn-oper roads, from Bi'idestow, Okehamp- 
 ton, Holne, Buckfastleigh, and Plymouth, via Rail- 
 way, and calcined in kilns built at convenient spots 
 and distances. 
 
 4. To make firm substantial roads across the IMoor, 
 lid bridges o 
 munications. 
 
 and bridges over brooks and rivers to facilitate com- 
 
 5 To fold sheep, which would enrich and refine the 
 herbage, and to compress and roll it. 
 
 6. To colonize the Moor, erect col tages for labour- 
 ers, with sheltered stables and courts for cattle, and 
 to form the whole into a separate parish, divided into 
 villages or hamlets, with chapels or churches to each. 
 
 7- To irrigate mossy and spongy parts, not abso- 
 lute bogs, with water, which has been often applied 
 with a beneficial result. 
 
 8. To continue the kilns (first introduced by Sii- 
 Francis BuUer, and followed by Sir Thomas Tyr- 
 whitt,) for reducing the turf, or peat to ashes, and 
 use them as a manure (which is kindly to potatoes, 
 black oats, and turnips,) in combination with lime or
 
 122 NOTES TO DARTMOOR. 
 
 dung. Occasionally a reddish kind of clay on the 
 JSIoor has been used as a top dressing, and the grani- 
 tic gravel itself is not adverse to apple trees, if shel- 
 tered from the Moor winds, (which are usually south- 
 westerly or south-easterly, and injurious to vegetation 
 in general) nor to barle}"^ and turnips. Sea sand is a 
 particularly valuable dressing. 
 
 9. To plant upon an extensive scale, thickly and 
 not by rule, with due protections or barriers against 
 the prevailing winds and cattle. Rhododendrons, 
 azaleas, phyllyreas, aliturnases, arbutuses, and many 
 other evergreens of the same kind, are suited to the 
 peaty soil, which is in request with the gardeners of 
 Plymouth for encouraging the growth of them in nur- 
 series. 
 
 10. To diminish the depth of peat earth in some 
 parts of the ]\Ioor, and convey the same to other 
 parts, where the soil is less favourable to vegetation 
 The common depth of peat earth is from one to two 
 feet, but in the vicinity of the Prison it is many feet. 
 
 Mr. Brown once contemplated the conversion of 
 peat turf into gas, first shewn by the experiments of 
 Mr. (since the Rev.) John Shillibeer, of Walkhamp- 
 ton, in filling the bole of a pipe with peat turf, ter- 
 minated at top with a layer of clay, and then putting 
 the bole in fire, by which the peat was formed into coke 
 whence a gas issued at the tube, producing, on appli-
 
 NOTES TO DARTMOOR. 123 
 
 cation of a candle, a very pure and vivid flame ; and, 
 when turned into coke or cliarcoal, made by heaping 
 up piles of turf and setting them on fire, it is useful 
 in manufacturing iron, to which it imparts a particu- 
 lar tenacity or toughness without any blisters, in con- 
 structing wires for musical instruments, there being 
 no sulphur, in tempering edge tools, and smelting 
 ores. Most of the smiths in and about the Moor 
 employ it in their furnaces. In Germany the peat of 
 Perleberg is used for burning lime and the above pur- 
 poses. 
 
 The plan of draining, before adverted to, is that of 
 Mr. Vancouver. Outfall drains, with proper sluices 
 made so as to receive water from foot drains, one spit 
 wide and one spit deep, at right angles to and parallel 
 with outtall drains, intersecting each other, about a 
 rod apart, over entire surface of bog. On escape of 
 water the morass would grow gradually more consis- 
 tent at top, and then the foot drains should be deep- 
 ened, enlarged, and prepared for subsequent inclosure. 
 When firm enough to support a yoke of oxen, the 
 paring plough should be applied two, three, and even 
 four times successively in reducing the spongy sub- 
 stance, which must be burnt. The drains to be deep- 
 ened in proportion as the surfiice lowers and becomes 
 more solid. After the fourth paring and burning, 
 rape or cole seed to be sown therein, in July, upon 
 the ashes spread abroad, about half a peck per acre, 
 without ploughing and harrowing. By repeated pa-
 
 124 NOTES TO DARTMOOll. 
 
 rings and burnings tlic ground would be fitted for 
 crops of cole seed, turnips, tUix, potatoes, cabbages, 
 peas, beans, and every sort of leguminous vegetable, 
 to which might be added oats, hemp, ray, and other 
 grasses, until the soil is reduced to within a foot or 
 fifteen inches of the natural stratum below. Proper 
 at times to incorporate some of under stratum with 
 surface. The depasturable parts to be relieved of 
 water by foot drains crossing each other at two or 
 three rods apart, and the water conducted into outfall 
 drains. 
 
 The Rev. Mr. Jones of North Bovey, recommends 
 the introduction of florin grass, agrostis stolonifera, 
 as well suited for the Moor. 
 
 In the 55th year of his late Majesty, an act was 
 passed for " vesting in the crown certain parts of the 
 forest of Exmoor, and for inclosing the said forest." 
 Why might not a similar means be adopted with res- 
 pect to Dartmoor ? 
 
 Another act was passed for inclosing llsington Com- 
 mon, May 20, 1809.
 
 NOTES TO DARTMOOR. 125 
 
 Note 7j Page 11. 
 The railivay leads its mazy track. 
 
 This undertaking was first projected by Sir Tho- 
 mas Tyrwhitt, of Tor Koyal, for the cultivation of 
 the Moor, and the application of its granite to archi- 
 tectui-al and other purposes. In the earlier part of 
 1818, Sir Thomas, having matured his plans, submit- 
 ted them to a special meeting of the Chamber of 
 Commerce, at Plymouth, and they being viewed with 
 a flivourable eye by that useful bod^^, Sir Thomas 
 published them in a pamphlet. 
 
 He next exerted himself in obtaining subscribers, 
 with peculiar success, to the extent of £27,783, being 
 the estimated expense under the first act (passed July 
 2nd, 1819) for carrying the road from Dartmoor to 
 Crabtree, and under which they were incorporated as 
 the Plymouth and Dartmoor Railway Company. 
 
 On the 20th of September, in the same year, the 
 first general meeting of the proprietors took place, 
 when a managing Committee was elected, and Sir 
 William Elford, Bart., appointed Treasurer, the 
 Writer of this Note, Clerk, and George Day Wood, 
 Collector, Mr. William Stuart, Superintendant of the 
 Plymouth Breakwater Works, being Engineer, and 
 Mr. Hugh Mackintosh, of London, Contractor for
 
 126 VOTES TO DAHTMOOR. 
 
 forming the road, and Messrs. Bailey and Co., of the 
 same phice, Contractors for supplying the iron. 
 
 It heing found necessary to make a branch from 
 Crabtrce to Sutton Pool, Plymouth, an act was soli- 
 cited and passed July 8th, 1820, for that purpose, the 
 estimated expense of which amounted to £7j200. 
 
 Some parts of the line being considered as improve- 
 able, by varying it, and excavating a tunnel at 
 Leigham, on the lands of the late Addis Archer, Esq., 
 another act was applied for and passed July 2nd, 
 1821, with the additional estimate of £5,090. 
 
 Thus, in three years, three acts Avere procured, and 
 under their authority three several sums of £27,783, 
 £7,200, and £5,000, (together £39,983,) raised, prin- 
 cipally by the influence of Sir Thomas Tyrwhitt, Avho 
 himself subscribed upwards of £3,000, to whom fol- 
 lowed Sir jNIasseh Lopes, Bart., as the next largest 
 subscriber. 
 
 The total length of the line, from Prince Town to 
 Sutton Pool, is 25 miles, 2 quarters, and 6 chains ; and 
 it is now used in conveying up lime, coals, timber, &c. 
 and taking back granite and other articles. The 
 tunnel on Higher Leigham estate is in the twentieth 
 mile from Prince Town, and admeasures in length 
 620 yards, in height 9 feet 6 inches, and in breadth 
 8 feet 6 inches, its greatest depth under ground being
 
 NOTES TO Dartmoor. 127 
 
 109 feet, and with the rest of the road was opened for 
 public use, with a procession, September, 26, 1823. 
 
 Language is incompetent to describe the grandeur 
 and beauty of the scenery through which the railway 
 passes. 
 
 Note 8, Page 12. 
 Von mighty Tors. 
 
 The Rev. J. H. Mason, the worthy incumbent of 
 Widdicombe, and Mr. Shillibeer, of Walkhampton, 
 persons better acquainted with Dartmoor than, per- 
 haps, any other men living, state the most remarka- 
 ble tors as follows : — In the north quarter, Cosdon, 
 Cawson, or Cosson hill, Little Hound, Great Hound, 
 Steeperton, Wild, Watern, Kit, Far or Fur, Brat or 
 Braddon, Hampster, South Lynx, North Lynx, Dun- 
 nagoat, Stenga or Sourton, High Willow, Three Mil, 
 Row or Rough, Yes, Arm, and Belston tors. In the 
 east quarter, Thurstone, Stone, Sittaford or Siddaford, 
 Bear or Baredown, Man, Waydon, the Three White, 
 another Row or Rough, the Three Longford or Long- 
 aford, Crockern or Tinners' Parliament, Belliver or 
 Bellaford, Laughter, Arch, Braddon, Hartland, and 
 Cherrybrook tors. In the south quarter, Knattle- 
 borough, Huntingdon, Western Whittaborough or
 
 128 NOTES TO BAIlTMOOn. 
 
 Peter's Cross, Fox, Avenhead, and Eastern "Whittabo- 
 rough Tors. In the west quarter, EUisboroiigh, 
 South Essery or Ilisworthy, Iloyal, North Essery, 
 or Hisworthy, or I'rison, Strane, the Three Bear or 
 Baredown, Lydfbrd, Cowsic, Coniesdown, Great and 
 Little Mis, of which Mis-tor Pan are very high and 
 large, Limborough or Huntsborough, and Grins tors. 
 
 Colonel Mudge, in his Trigonometrical Survey of 
 Devon, mentions the greater part of the foregoing, 
 but eniunerates many more : — as Yar, Shipley, Lee- 
 don, Cumston Hare, Warren, Great IMid and Little 
 Staple, Black, Shillstone, Doe, Charbe, Scorhill, 
 King, Feather, Leigh, Vixen, Tes, Eastdown, 
 liOUghton, Hookner, Pa, Troulsworthy, Brai, Rip- 
 pon, Hallow, Sampford, Granate, Littlebee, Harrow, 
 Binjay or Benjie, Hey or High, Thornworthy, Hock, 
 Lug, Saddle, Brazen, Gran, Down, Leather, Two 
 Sharp, Quarnian, Holwell, llival. Bog, Lints, Louge, 
 Scarey, Hamiltondown, llolls, CoUard, Three Har- 
 ters, Rayborrow, Devils, Shop, Cocks, Sharper, Crip, 
 Dinger, Littorally, and Great tors. 
 
 In addition to all these, there are Crip, Tuga, 
 Swell, Blacket, Hatzel, Hayle, Clit, Narra, Ham, 
 Pen, Bench, Quarnell, another Hound near Ilsington, 
 Two Brent, another King near North Bovey, the 
 King noticed by Colonel Mudge being near Walk- 
 hampton, Bot, Bag, Bel, Cox, another Vixen near 
 Tavistock, Hel, Three Barrow, and Sheep's tors.
 
 NOTES TO DAnTMOOIi. 1'29 
 
 Of the whole it has been found impracticable to 
 gather particulai's ; rlthoiigh, in the language of 
 Lucan, " Nullum est sine nomine saxum," but, as to 
 the larger proportion, that is all. They have braved 
 the elements and ruthless time ever since the deluge ; 
 but their names, and the adamantine materials of 
 which they are composed, alone survive. In strict- 
 ness, but comparatively few of them, and those mostly 
 the tors named by Mr. Mason and Mr. Shillibeer, 
 are on the Moor. The others lie at greater or less 
 distances all around it. 
 
 Hound tor, near Ilsington, comes within the latter 
 description, which the Rev. Mr. Jones, in his interest- 
 ing observations on Moretonhampstead and Dart- 
 moor, eloquently describes as " a magnificent group 
 of rocks, like the remains of some ruined castle, rising 
 in the horizon with its beetling front fi-om the dreary 
 plain ; its toppling crags having the appearance of 
 pinnacles, which the hand of time has loosened ; and 
 as it throws its dark shade across the heath, it 
 increases the natural wildness of the desolate downs, 
 in the midst of which it is situated." Near it is 
 Hound tor wood, containing Beckey waterfall. 
 
 Fox tor has been connected, by tradition, with 
 Child the Hunter. (For a metrical version of this 
 tradition see the Miscellaneous Poems in Vol. II ) 
 
 Rippen tor is placed 1549 feet above the sea.
 
 130 NOTES TO DARTMOOR. 
 
 From INIil tor are seen Benjie, Yar, and Quarncll 
 tors. 
 
 At Bag tor, is a seat of Lord Asliburton, with 
 woods, where was born, in 158G, .Tolni Ford, the 
 dramatic writer, whence sprung the family of the 
 same name and place. 
 
 King tor, near Walkhampton, is worked as a granite 
 quarry. 
 
 Cox tor stands near the centre of the parish of 
 Peter Tavy, commanding the rich vale of Tavistock, 
 and overlooking the whole country to Plymouth har- 
 bour. 
 
 Hey or High tor is singularly grand in its aspect, 
 especially when illumed by the rising sun, and may 
 be descried at an amazing distance. It consists of a 
 double peak, or two large but separate obelisks, with 
 steps cut for ascending each, rearing themselves aloft 
 to some height above the summit of a lofty ridge, and 
 embracing a most sublime and diversified view of 
 heaths, woods, rocks, meadows, rivers, towns, villages, 
 the sea off Teignmouth, and the coast as far as the 
 cliffs of Dorset ; in which are comprehended, im- 
 mediately beneath the eye, Bovey Heathfield, the 
 granite railway of John Templer, Esq., of Stover, 
 and the silvery meanders of the Teign. On the top 
 of the tallest peak there is a rock basin, and on the
 
 XOTES TO DARTMOOR. 131 
 
 slope below once oscillated a logan stone, which has 
 disappeared. This tor, at one time, was known by 
 the appellation of Ather tor, which is more appropriate 
 than its present one of High tor, as Rippen toi", near 
 it, is higher and perfectly overlooks it. It is cele- 
 brated for its peat or blackwood, and the rarity of its 
 mosses and lichens. 
 
 Bot tor, near Hennock, has oak trees gi'owing in its 
 clefts, and at its foot are hollows, like caverns, lined 
 with bi/ssus aurea, which, according to De Luc, at 
 particular spots and in certain lights, displays a very 
 glittering appearance, of a greenish hue. 
 
 Some of the tors, as High tor. South Brent tor. 
 Three Barrow tor. Sharp tor, Hamil tor, and Cawson 
 downs, were formerly beacons or fire towers, which 
 the word tor itself in the Celtic and other languages, 
 implies; and anciently there were watchings and 
 wardings of the beacons, as is evmced by a record, 
 dated 1626, of the customs, ancient privileges, and 
 freedom of the manor of Sheepstor, with a sight of 
 which the writer has been favoured; but, provin- 
 cially, tors are called clatters. The Rev. Mr. Pol- 
 whele imagines some of them to be extinct volcanoes ; 
 but this is not supported by facts, although there are 
 certainly a few tors of a conical shape. "With much 
 more probability certain of them, as Lynx, Bear, 
 Dunnagoat, Fox, Doe, Hare, Conies, Sheep, and 
 
 k2
 
 132 NOTES TO DARTMOOR. 
 
 Hound tors, are so called from the respective animals 
 of those names. 
 
 Note 9, Page 13. 
 . ., The civic wreath 
 
 Tynvhitt is thine. 
 
 A preceding note plainly demonstrates the merits 
 of Sir Thomas Tyrwhitt, as will that on Dartmoor 
 Prison : but these are not his only mei'its. In every 
 thing connected with the welfare of the Moor he took 
 an active and indefatigable part. In 1785 he first 
 commenced his operations on the very worst part of 
 the forest, which, by dint of expense, draining, and 
 sowing artificial grasses, he considerably amended. 
 The cultivation of flax being begun by Mr. Sanders, 
 Sir Thomas followed the example with such success 
 as to receive a medal from the Bath Agricultural So- 
 ciety. Tor Ilo^'al was entirely formed by him in 1798, 
 with its adjoining fields, plantations, and garden, to 
 which there was no road when he undertook the work; 
 but he soon made one, as well as another for uniting 
 the Plymouth with the Tavistock road. In short, to 
 Sir Thomas all the modern improvements on Dart- 
 moor must be referred.
 
 XOTES TO DAHTjroon. 133 
 
 Note 10, Page 15. 
 Sweet Lara. — Saltrarn's pensile tcoods. 
 
 Three objects require to be noticed ; namely, the 
 charms of the Lara, the groves of Saltram lying on its 
 banks, and the pier at its western end. 
 
 The Lara is an expanse, at the estuary of the river 
 Plym, caused by an arm of the sea, and, when viewed 
 from certain spots, has the deceptive appearance of a 
 lake ; but it is connected with Catwater, one of the 
 harbours of the Port of Plymouth, and the receptacle, 
 at its upper part, of the river Plym. Its appellation 
 is rather curious ; the larus or gull, that numer- 
 ously frequents its waters, is the most probable 
 etymology. 
 
 Saltram, the seat of the Earl of INIorley, stands at a 
 little distance fi'om the eastern shore of the Lara, en- 
 vironed by woods, which skirt the southern side nearly 
 as far as the iron bridge, erected across the lower or 
 western end, and which, from their growing on a 
 declivity, have appropriately received the epithet 
 pensile. 
 
 The pier, at the western end of the Lara, is admi- 
 rably suited for loading granite, there being depth of 
 water enough for vessels of some burthen, the rail-
 
 134 NOTES TO DARTMOOR. 
 
 way passing close to it, and the bridge lying above it. 
 The workshops and storehouses are conveniently ar- 
 ranged in its immediate vicinity, and it certainly 
 would be difficult to meet any where with a place 
 better adapted for the granite trade. 
 
 Note 11, Page 17- 
 
 The sylvan Plym. 
 
 To form this river, on which the text has properly 
 bestowed the epithet sylvan, the Meavy and Cad, 
 two other rivers, unite their waters, at Shaugh 
 Bridge; but, with a remarkable peculiarity, they 
 there lose their respective names for the name of 
 Plym, although on the Moor there is a spring or 
 source called Plym Head, whence it might be conjec- 
 tured that an original stream of that name there arises 
 and takes its course towards the sea, which does not 
 appear, as far as the writer's researches have gone, to 
 be the fact, unless, as supposed by Mr. Shillibeer, the 
 Cad is tlie Plym under an altered name. Under this 
 single appellation they flow peaceabl}"- together, be- 
 stowing it, as they proceed, upon the hundred of 
 Plymton, the town of Plymton Earle or Plymton 
 Maurice, the parish of Plymton St. Mary, the village 
 of Plymstock, and the port and town of Plymouth. 
 Immediately after their junction, their track lies in a
 
 NOTES TO DARTMOOR. 135 
 
 succession of wooded vales, amongst which is Bick- 
 leigh Vale, (so poetically sung by Mr. Howard) by 
 Cann Quarry, the property of the earl of IVIorley, 
 through his Lordship's plantations, into the Lara, 
 and thence to join the Tamar in Plymouth Sound. 
 
 Note 12, Page 20. 
 The breeze of Roborough. 
 
 The appearance of this rock, as the passenger tra- 
 vels from Plymouth to Tavistock or Dartmoor, is 
 exceedingly impressive, particularly when it is half 
 veiled by the sliadows of evening ; and, although no 
 such fact is recorded, it may be considered as likely, 
 in superstitious times, to have been applied to some 
 religious worship. In Dunn's old Map of Devon, it 
 is called Ulster or Ullestor Rock, but scarcely ever 
 so denominated in the present day. The rock itself 
 consists of strata of gneiss, and the points around 
 emerging fi-om the surface are of the same kind. The 
 down on whicli it stands bears the appellation of llo- 
 borough down, and belongs to Sir Ralph Lopes, the 
 principal part lying within the manor of Buckland 
 Monachorum, the remainder within the manor of 
 Bickleigh, and the whole containing about 2^000 acres. 
 In remote times it is possible that this down formed 
 part of Dartmoor, and was dismembered from it as a
 
 ^^G VOTES TO DARTMOOR. 
 
 purlieu. At jji-esent the inclosures intervening be- 
 tween lloborough down and Dartmoor are numerous 
 and obviously of some standing. From most parts of 
 the down the ]\foor may be descried with all its 
 characteristic features. 
 
 Close to the down are the grounds of Sir William 
 Elford, Bart., which display considerable taste in 
 their arrangement, without despoiling Nature of her 
 beauties ; and on the down itself, near Jump, lies 
 lloborough House, the property of Sir Kalph Lopes. 
 
 Note 13, Page 26. 
 Brent Tor uprushes. 
 
 There are two tors of this name, one called North 
 Erent tor, about three miles north-west of Tavistock 
 the other South Brent tor near Ashburton. Both 
 are very remarkable objects, and the former in par- 
 ticular, with its church at the top, may be perceived 
 at sea at a distance of twenty miles or more, and 
 forms a useful guide to mariners for entering 
 riymouth Sound. 
 
 " A great sea-mark 
 AivJ saving those that eye him." 
 
 It is asserted, in the Gentleman's Magazine, Vol. 
 Ixv. 911. to be an extinct volcano ; and, looking at its
 
 NOTES TO DAIITJIOOR. 137 
 
 conical shape, coupled with the porosity of the rock 
 itself, some of which appears to have been used in 
 the walls of Lidford castle, the assertion, on the whole 
 niav not be improbable. The church and surround- 
 ing yard, in which there is hardly earth sufficient for 
 burying the dead, nearly occupy the apex, the church 
 being 37 feet long by 14 wide, and the yard even of 
 less dimensions. Though so elevated, a spring of 
 water causes both to be very damp. The tradition 
 as to the church is, that a merchant, exposed to a 
 violent storm, vowed to built a church to St. Michael, 
 if his life was spared, and this tor having been the 
 means of directing the steersman into harbour, the 
 vow was duly performed by the erection of this struc- 
 ture, 
 
 " Immotamque coli dedit et contemnere ventos." 
 
 Virgil, Mn. Lib. Hi. 
 
 which is still resorted to as a place of worship by a 
 few who have health and vigour enough to ascend the 
 acclivity. 
 
 In a cottage, at the foot of Brent tor, resided for a 
 long time Sarah Williams, who, in 180!), was aged 109 
 years, and who never lived farther out of the parish 
 of North Brent than the one adjoining. She had 12 
 children and a few years before her death cut five 
 new teeth. 
 
 South Brent tor has also been rather a place of note. 
 On its summit there were large stones, attributed t</
 
 138 NOTES TO DARTMOOR. 
 
 the Druids, and by some supposed to be the remains 
 of a military station, used in later periods as a beacon. 
 In the dreadful storm of November, 1824, they were 
 blown down and scattered far apart from each other. 
 
 In tlie siuTOunding fields the sonorous, petrosilex, 
 or clink stone of Werner is found, and in the Philo- 
 sophical Transactions, Vol. v. No. 23, an account is 
 given of the discovery there of a loadstone weighing 
 sixty pounds, llecently, near Ashburton, smaller 
 specimens have occurred with garnets. Risdon 
 states the loadstone as being met with at Sotward- 
 stone, in the parish of South Brent, and Wescott 
 speaks of a mine, or rather quarry, of the same stone 
 at Brent. Manganese presents itself in the neigh- 
 bourhood of North Brent tor, and is extensively 
 worked by JNIr. Herring. 
 
 At Norreis, near South Brent, Avas born the cele- 
 brated Sir John Fortescue, Lord Chief Justice and 
 Lord High Chancellor of England, avithor of De 
 Laudibus Legum Anglise, &c. 
 
 Note 14, Page 35. 
 — _— On my path 
 
 Profusely springs Erica. 
 
 This elegant shrub abounds on the Moor; but, 
 however beautiful, it is prejudicial to the improve-
 
 NOTES TO DARTMOOR. 139 
 
 ment of the soil, and difficult to be eradicated, which 
 is practicable only by deep ploughing, paring, and 
 burning, and then spreading the ashes. For this pur- 
 pose large heaps of the stroil are often kindled on the 
 heights, which at night blaze splendidly to the dis- 
 tant eye. But it is further useful in another capacity. 
 By the rotting of the old plants, peat and peat earth 
 are generated ; the former of the first importance to 
 the inhabitants of the Moor, for making fires, where 
 no other fuel can be had, and the latter exceedingly 
 favourable to the growth of vegetables generally, and 
 to the crops raised on the Moor in particular. The 
 name of erica, given in the text is the botanic one ; 
 but it is commonly termed ling in most parts of Eng- 
 land, from the Danish lyne ; in Shropshire, grig ; in 
 Scotland, heather, from the German thiede (but 
 Shakspeare treats ling and heather or heath as diffe- 
 rent) in Sweden luing ; in Italy, erica ; in Spain, 
 brezo ; in Portugal urse, erice, and torga ; and in 
 Russia, weresk. There are three kinds of erica on 
 the INIoor, erica tetralla, erica cineria, and erica vul- 
 garis ; the last being that herein described. 
 
 Tlie Whortleberry (vaccinium myrtillus) is a 
 pleasing attendant of the erica, and not without 
 charms as a shrub, or use as a wholesome article of 
 food. Fuller calls it hurt berry, which appellation 
 it still bears. Virgil, in his second eclogue, mentions 
 it under the name of " vaccinia nigra."
 
 140 NOTES TO DAllT.MOOR. 
 
 Note 15, rage 3fl. 
 
 IIoiv silent that proud pile, ivhere Enijhind held 
 Within her victor y rasp the va)iquish\l foe ! 
 
 However afflictive to humane feelings to behold a 
 large edifice specially constructed for the incarcera- 
 tion of man, yet Dartmoor prison must be pronounced 
 as one excellently adapted for this painl'ul object. 
 Perhaps it is the first thing of the kind in the world. 
 Sir Thomas, (then Mr.) Tyrwhitt had the merit of 
 originating the idea, and the prisons of Plymouth being 
 very old and inconvenient, government espoused it, 
 and adopted the plan of Mr. Alexander, the first 
 stone being laid by Sir Thomas, March 20, 180G. 
 Granite taken from tlie ]\Ioor is the principal mate- 
 rial, and the Avhole, including some later additions 
 cost about ■£127,000. Two of the prisons, a row of 
 houses for subordinate officers, the walls of the cha- 
 pel, and the parsonage house, Avei'e erected by French, 
 and the interior of the chapel fitted up by American 
 prisoners, who received a daily gratuity for their 
 trouble ; government, with a sympathy for these 
 unhappy victims of ruthless war, which deserves the 
 highest praise, kindly permitting them, by this and 
 other modes of employment, both in and out of the 
 walls, to alleviate the tedium of their captivity and 
 increase their private comforts. 
 
 The establishment comprises a circular admeasure-
 
 UOTES TO DARTMOOR. 141 
 
 ment of 30 acres, inclosed on its eastern, northern, 
 and southern directions, by a lofty wall, and on the 
 western part or front, which completes, or rather, 
 being straight, obtunds the circumference, by two 
 handsome residences appropriated to the agent and 
 surgeon, and having between them a cyclopian gate- 
 way, surmounted with the motto, "Parcere subjectis," 
 and two side walls. Within, fronting this gateway, 
 but at some distance from it, which leaves room for 
 more dwellings and offices lying immediately behind 
 the houses of the agent and surgeon, besides a consi- 
 derable space for air and exercise, is another gateway 
 connected with other buildings, and a Avail running 
 directly across from north to south, so as to form a 
 second barrier parallel with the first or front, but of 
 course longer. Within again, in a line with the two 
 before-mentioned gateways, and at nearly the same 
 distance from the second as the second is from the 
 first, which admits of another space for air and exer- 
 cise is a third entrance, with folding gates on each 
 side, connected as the preceding barriers, with a wall 
 and other buildings ; but this third barrier unlike 
 them, does not stretch quite across, or, in other 
 words, join the outer Avail on each side, but stops 
 short of it at some distance, and thence continuing 
 the same distance, goes round so as to compose a semi- 
 circular walled inclosure, or third space for air and 
 exercise, altogether detached from the outer wall, but 
 within it, and having a palisade I'ailing inside and 
 flights of steps up the wall, Avith sentry boxes upon
 
 142 NOTES TO DARTMOOn. 
 
 it all the way round ; in atldition to which there are 
 three guard houses, at the east, west and south. Still 
 within, at about the like distance as the fii'st, second, 
 and third barriers from each other, is a fourth bar- 
 rier extending from side to side of the semicircle, 
 consisting partly of a wall and partly of iron palisades, 
 in which is another entrance surmounted by G. II. A 
 spectator, on looking in at the first or front barrier 
 entrance, may see all these four barrier entrances im- 
 mediately succeeded in a line before him one after the 
 other, respectively separated by areas. At length, 
 after passing through this fourth barrier, the prison, 
 properly so called, is reached, and here are seen seven 
 buildings, each 300 feet long and 50 wide, capable 
 together of holding 9,G00 men, or more at one time, 
 and containing two floors for double tiers of ham- 
 mocks suspended on cast iron pillars, and a third tier 
 in the roof for use in fine weather. 
 
 Without perplexity it is hardly possible to describe 
 every single building and office, but independent of 
 what is above described, there are a barrack for 18 
 officers and 484 non-commissioned officers and pri- 
 vates, a separate accommodation for 400 men in the 
 prisons, a cachot or solitary place of confinement for 
 refractory offenders, an hospital, hot and cold baths, 
 a house for drying clothes, and other superior arrange- 
 ments, all thoroughly supplied Avith excellent water 
 from an inexhaustible reservoir outside the front 
 entrance, filled by a diverted part of the river Walk-
 
 NOTES TO DARTMOOR. 143 
 
 liam. Outside the external or circular wall, but 
 communicating with the area or space lying between 
 that wall and the wall environing the semicircular 
 inclosure, at one time, bells were hung all the way 
 round, conducting to a lai-ge bell at the front en- 
 trance, to give an alarm in case of attempts at escape 
 in foggy weather. 
 
 At a certain period of the war 10,000 prisoners 
 were within the walls, and multifariously ingenious 
 were the methods by which they endeavoured to kill 
 time. When that vast ship, the Commerce-de Mar- 
 seilles, lay as a prison depot in Hamoaze, she was, in 
 the words of one of the captives, " a little floating 
 world," and had on board an excellent band of music, 
 a theatre, ball room, gaming tables, fencing and other 
 schools, workshops, &c. But gaming, above all, 
 was carried to an extent, scarcely ever exceeded. 
 Prisoners were known to wander about the decks 
 without any other covering than a blanket, having 
 lost all their clothes at cards or dice. E\en instances 
 happened of some staking several days provision, and 
 undergoing an almost total deprivation of food, until 
 " the debt of honour," was discharged. 
 
 Looking at the elevated site of the prison, which is 
 at least 1,400 feet above the sea, unfavourable conse- 
 quences to the health of the prisoners might have been 
 anticipated ; but returns to parliament by no means 
 confirm the supposition. From May 29, 1809, to
 
 144 NOTES TO DARTMOOR. 
 
 April 22, 1814, 12,(579 persons underwent confinemenl 
 there, ofuliom died 1,()!)5 French and 22 Americans, 
 or 1,117 altogether, being a less mortality than in 
 any English town with the same population in the 
 same time. The number of prisoners. April 30, 1810 
 was 5,5;{4, of whom were in health 5,269, leaving only 
 85 sick. The numlier, June 11, 1811, was C,:J20 of 
 whom (j,280 were in health, and only 27 sick. From 
 May, 1809 to June 1811, the greatest number of 
 deaths in one month, January 1810, was 131, and the 
 least, 3 in the same period of time, August 1809. 
 
 The natural result of such an establishment was a 
 chapel, parsonage house, inn, and the gradual forma- 
 tion of a small town neai", comprising about 30 houses 
 and called, in honour of the Prince of Wales, (his 
 late Majesty George IV.) Prince Town, for which 
 Sir Thomas T3^rwhitt, with his wonted regard for 
 the welfare of Dartmoor, procured the privileges 
 of holding a market and a fair. The chapel 
 and parsonage house lie a little way apart from the 
 front of the prison. The former is CO feet long by 
 40 wide, and was first opened for divine service in 
 1815, which is continued ; the parish church of Lyd- 
 ford, being 12 or 13 miles distant, though burials and 
 christenings must still be performed there. It is 
 capable of accommodating 500 persons. The chap- 
 Iain is appointed and paid by government, and the 
 Rev. J. H. Mason, was the original and is the pre- 
 sent incumbent. The chapel, tower, parsonage house
 
 NOTES TO DARTMOOR. 145 
 
 and prison are prominent objects at a considerable 
 distance. 
 
 It was, not long since, intended to occupy the pri- 
 son with convicts for improving the Moor, and sub- 
 sequently a school of industry was projected, for 
 which purpose a public meeting took place in 1820, 
 when Mr. Brougham had the honour of stating, at 
 the desire of the King, a princely donation b}^ his 
 Majesty of £1000, and an offer to grant part of the 
 waste. The children were to be orphans, rescued 
 from the vice, infamy and ruin of the metropolitan 
 streets. AVhy one or the other of these measures 
 has not been effected, the writer is unable to explain; 
 but, surely, it is better that the prison should be so 
 tenanted than merit the name of " silent pile," con- 
 ferred on it in the text. At another time INIr. Brown 
 applied for permission to convert it into a peat-gas 
 depot, but that design also seems to have been aban- 
 doned. 
 
 Note 16, Page 47. 
 The azure-blossom''d fla.v. 
 
 According to Campbell, flax was one of the princi- 
 pal commodities of Devon, and the trials of it on the 
 IMoor, by Sir Thomas T3Twhitt, and Mr. Sanders of
 
 1-lG NOTES TO DARTMOOH. 
 
 Exeter, fully warrant the expectation, that it might 
 be again succes^l'ully and more extensively cultivated. 
 In 1817 or 1818, during an unusually dry summer, 
 the former planted it at Tor Royal, and had an am- 
 ple produce. In the foUoAving year he repeated the 
 experiment ; but the weather not being so favourable, 
 the return was less. The metropolitan school being 
 then contemplated, he kept the llax with the view of 
 having it manufactured by the children ; but the 
 design unfortunately fell to the ground. In 1819, 
 II. 11. banders, esq., the present owner of Brimps, on 
 the East Dart, sowed, without impoverishing the soil, 
 24 acres to flax, with a slight admixture of lime, 
 some of which was of excellent staple, and by the 
 aid of a person conversant with the subject, prepared 
 for spinning. The late Joseph Sanders, esq., this 
 gentleman's father, was decidedly of opinion that 
 " thousands of acres in the forest of Dartmoor are 
 well adapted for the growth of flax and hemp." Sir 
 George Yonge, bart.-, was a particular friend to the 
 same cultivation, and introduced a bill since repealed, 
 tor granting a bounty to the growers of flax ; and he 
 afterwards applied, but ineffectually, to the then 
 Chancellor of the Exchequer, for the purpose of 
 reviving the bill, which is equally expedient as ever, 
 the woollen trade having declined, and the linen trade 
 offering itself as a promising substitute. The best 
 mode of rearing flax on Dartmoor is on old ground, 
 after paring and burning the sward, and letting it lie 
 fallow for some time. The Dutch raise flax on the
 
 NOTES TO dahtmook. 147 
 
 stiff clay of Zealand. In France any soil is indiscri- 
 minately chosen for cultivating it, and every cottage 
 has a patch of hemp for domestic uses. In Switzer- 
 land the most mountainous districts are appropriated 
 to flax. In Ireland a bounty was given on the impor- 
 tation of flax and hemp seed, the seed distributed 
 gratis amongst the poor, and the freedom of corpora- 
 tions bestowed on flax and hemp dressers. The pro- 
 fit to the grower may be estimated at £10 per acre, 
 besides affording employment and subsistence to the 
 industrious. In time, by an adoption of the like 
 means, every moorman might have a plot of flax or 
 hemp, and this would consequently lead to a linen 
 manufacture. 
 
 Some author has remarked that hemp and flax grow 
 naturally on the Moor ; but the Rev. Mr. Jones, to 
 whom the writer has applied on this point, says, 
 " Hemp is not a British plant, and therefore cannot 
 be found naturally growing on the Moor. I never 
 observed flax growing wild there." 
 
 Note 17, Page 48. 
 Deserted Crock em. 
 
 This tor, so well known to antiquaries, though few 
 of them perhaps have seen it, stands at the back of a 
 
 1,2
 
 14f{ NOTES TO DARTMOOH. 
 
 cottage and estate belonging to the Kev. J. H. Mason, 
 about a mile distant from Two-Bridges, in the east 
 quarter of the Moor, of which it is reputed by some 
 to be the centre. The president or judge's chair, 
 part of the bench for the jurors, and three irregular 
 steps for ascending, are still partially visible ; but, 
 either by the course of time or spoliation, it has be- 
 come dilaj)idated, and i-eport affirms the latter, ascri- 
 bing it to the late Sir Francis Bnller, or JNIr. Thomas 
 I^eaman, one of whom is said to have taken away a 
 large thin table of granite, of which stone the whole 
 is formed, and removed it to Dunnabridge estate, near 
 prince Hall ; but, on strict enquiry, particularly of 
 the sexton of Prince Town Chapel, who has resided 
 more than 40 years on the JNloor, there is strong 
 reason for disbelieving the report or rather calumny. 
 
 Crockern tor must always command respect as an 
 interesting relic of old British manners, and as a 
 memorial of the Saxon Witena-gemot or earlier par- 
 liament of the realm, which, like the stannary parlia- 
 ment, as it is most commonly styled, was held in the 
 open air. Near it are the remains of a paved track 
 or causeway, said to lead to Widdicombe, and many 
 years since part of a flint-stone was picked up there ; 
 but this, in all probability, Avas accidentally dropped 
 by some visitor, as nothing of the same kind has been 
 observed any where else on the Moor.
 
 NOTES TO DARTMOOR. 1-*!' 
 
 Note 18, Tage 51. 
 
 These roofless huts, these vmlls. 
 In these, once, 
 
 The fierce Danmonii dwelt. 
 
 That Dartmoor and its borders were once rather 
 thickly inhabited agrees with tradition, and is obvious 
 from the many remains of round houses, standing 
 singly, but more or less near each other, generally 
 on the sides of hills, built of unwrought stones placed 
 upon each other, in the simplest manner, without 
 cement, having entrances, but now devoid of roofs, 
 and varying in diameter, the largest being about 
 twelve feet. The Rev. Mr. Fosbrook, in his curious 
 work on Architectural Antiquities, gives the repre- 
 sentation of a dwelling of the ancient Eritons, 
 which corresponds with the remains on the Moor, 
 and to this people they must be attributed ; in par- 
 tial confirmation of which the authority of Csesar 
 may be cited, who says that the British houses were 
 built singly ; and besides, what other people can 
 have erected them ? 
 
 It is certain that the Phoenicians traded largely 
 with the west of England, in which they could not 
 but become acquainted with the abundance of tin on 
 Dartmoor ; and it is not at all unlikely, that they 
 were even concerned there in streaming for it, with 
 the aid of the natives, whom they taught to erect
 
 150 NOTES TO DARTMOOR. 
 
 dwellings on the spot. In our earlier annals arc am- 
 ple records of distracted times, when the poor Britons 
 must have been glad to liee for refuge to their most 
 inaccessible retreats, and Dartmoor amongst the 
 number, particularly under the Saxon Heptarchy, 
 when Cornwall or Anglo-Cornubia compreliended 
 half the city of Exeter, Totnes, and all westward, 
 possessed by the natives, until Athelstan drove them 
 across the Tamar, thence assinning tlie title of king 
 of all Britain; and as there are many erect stones, 
 some inscribed and some not, on and near the Moor, 
 it is possible that the Anglo-Cornubians there made 
 a desperate struggle, and retired only inch by inch 
 and that the stones perpetuate the memory of Athel- 
 stan's victorious advances. The Romans, after inva- 
 ding Britain, undeniably had permanent footing both 
 in Devon and Cornwall, the natives retired before 
 them into the extremities of the isle, and Dartmoor 
 became their place of shelter. On these various 
 occasions the Britons either occupied the dwellings 
 already built or constructed more. 
 
 This, the writer hopes, is a far more rational con- 
 clusion than the conjecture, that these small and in- 
 convenient houses were used for penning sheep and 
 preserving them during night from wild beasts. How 
 many, it might be asked would they hold ? Their 
 diminutive size is a sufficient reply. As the resi- 
 dences of shepherds or other natives they might have 
 answered. They have also been confounded with
 
 NOTES TO DARTMOOR. 151 
 
 druidical circles, but the two differ most decidedly 
 from each other. The druidical circles consist of 
 erect stones, standing apart at regular intervals and 
 not walled round, whilst the buildings referred to are 
 not only themselves walled, but often enclosed by a 
 wall. 
 
 The celebrated amphitheatre or oval mound of 
 Grimspound has excited a great difference of opinion, 
 and to what exact period to ascribe its first forma- 
 tion may be hard, if not imjiossible, to determine. 
 Strabo, Pomponius Mela, and Tacitus, assert, that 
 before the lloman invasion, the Britons had neither 
 houses nor towns, but only ditches and banks, called 
 fastnesses, which might appear adverse to the exis- 
 tence of houses as herein before supposed, the Phoc" 
 nicians visiting Britain and trading with it long 
 prior to the lloman invasion. Caesar, however, the 
 first invader, shows that he found houses, at that 
 time, and why not ? The Phoenicians were a civi- 
 lized nation, and to the Britons of the west they 
 doubtless taught some useful knowledge, especially 
 that of sheltering themselves better from the ele- 
 ments. To the Phoenicians, then, or their instruc- 
 tion, may be properly ascribed the alteration of 
 Grimspound from an earthy fortress, to a walled 
 town, containing houses, Avhich was thus simulta- 
 neously rendered a defensive station against enemies, 
 a pen for cattle, and a place of settlement. The 
 river flowing by its lower wall, the near proximity of
 
 152 NOTES TO DARTMOOR. 
 
 the Vittifer mines, the numerous Streamworks up 
 and down the valley, the site itself upon the side of 
 Hamel down, above Widdicombe, the beacon, bar- 
 rows, and trackways upon the down, all convincingly 
 prove that it was a point of trading importance in 
 the ej^es of the Phoenicians and Britons, and improved 
 accordingly ; from the example of Grimspound other 
 houses sjjrung up, of a similar kind, as streaming 
 proceeded, but not protected in the same efl'ectual 
 way. 
 
 Grimspound admeasures four acres, and is filled 
 with vestiges of rude houses, congregated together, 
 more to the south than the north, but single, and in- 
 closed by a wall, of loose uncemented stones, once 
 apparently 12 feet high, and containing a few erect 
 stones, three feet high, which the Rev. ]Mr. Polwhele 
 pronounces druidical, and this might be warranted by 
 the attachment of both the Phoenicians and Britons 
 to that religion. A writer in Besley's Exeter paper 
 supposes it to have been a temple of the sun. There 
 are two entrances, north and south, with traces in 
 each of stone pavement. The northern wall is a 
 boundary between the parishes of ^ orth Bovey and 
 Manaton, and in the valley flows Grimslake, a little 
 stream. Grimstor and Grimsgrove, in the vicinity, 
 are farther memorials of the name of Grim, which 
 was formerly a distinguished one, and not confined to 
 this particular part. In Dorsetshire, crossing the 
 Roman road, near Woodyates Inn, from Old Sarum
 
 NOTEt! XO DAHTMOOR. 153 
 
 to Dorchester, there is a place called Grimsditch ; and 
 in Stirlingshire, Scotland, Graham's dyke or Grames 
 djke, (originally the wall of Antoninus) Grame or 
 Grseme, having the same meaning as Graham, who 
 was a pre-eminent hero in that country, and is said 
 by Eoethius to have been the first to make a breach 
 in that wall after the departure of the Romans. Mr. 
 Polwhele also imagines Grimspound to have been a 
 seat of judicature for the cantred of Durius or the 
 Dart, and Crockern tor for that of Tamar. That 
 the latter was devoted to the administration of the 
 stannary laws there can be no doubt ; and the former, 
 if a town, must necessarily have had some legal au- 
 thority, extending probably over the Moor, but not 
 further. The cantreds of Durius and Tamar are of 
 disputable existence. 
 
 Three miles east of Two Bridges, at Lakehead-hill, 
 is Lakehead-circle, two acres in area, surrounded by 
 a wall three feet thick, and proportionably high. 
 
 In the Moor, between Gidleigh and Cosson, are 
 some low stone walls extending up hill, and adjoining 
 three circular inclosures, with entrances, the whole 
 taking a triangular shape. Stream-works are visible 
 in the neighbourhood of both, and therefore they 
 may have been of the same nature as Grimspound, 
 but not so well known. 
 
 For some time Grimspound wag"'used as a pound
 
 154 NOTES TO DARTMOOR. 
 
 for confining estrays taken on driving the INIoor, but 
 latterly Dunnabridge pound only, anotlicr place of 
 anticnt origin, close to Prince Hall, has been so em- 
 ployed. There were other ])ounds, as Holstock, 
 Fallen-down, Kreberand Arme, the two last of which 
 are susceptible^of repair. 
 
 Note 19, Page 51. 
 
 That hale and happy age, which blesses still 
 His vigorous descendants. 
 
 The air of Dartmoor being healthful and bracing, 
 its inhabitants, commonly called moorsmen, are, as 
 a natural consequence, famed for strength and lon- 
 gevity, as well as for considerable skill in the art of 
 wrestling, although occasionally in the deeper vallies 
 typhus fever has prevailed. The Rev. Mr. Jones, 
 speaking of them in one of his pamphlets, truly 
 remarks : — " The ^Nfoor farmers live very hard, have 
 none of the luxuries, hardly the conveniences of life, 
 and cultivate with great labour the few acres around 
 their habitations. They are, however, used to the 
 climate, become attached to the soil, and being only 
 acquainted with the society that surrounds them, they 
 never think of extending the sphere of their opera- 
 tions." 
 
 " Patient of labour, with a little pleased."
 
 NOTES XO DARTMOOR. 155 
 
 The moormen derive a humble, but to them a suffi- 
 cient maintenance, by digp;ing and curing peat fuel, 
 which is chiefly sent to the South Hams, by jobbing 
 with cattle, and attending markets, by planting and 
 selling oats, turnips, potatoes, cabbages, &c. Some 
 of the women in the vicinities of Ivy Bridge and 
 Ashburton employ themselves in collecting sedge 
 upon the IMoor, and convey it afoot on their backs to 
 Plymouth, a distance from the former place of more 
 than twelve miles,_and from the latter of twenty -five 
 miles or upwards, to be made into mattrasses. 
 
 Note 20, Page 52. 
 Luxuriant forests rose. 
 
 The Rev. Mr. Jones, from a simple inspection of 
 Wistman's Wood, united with the ill success hitherto 
 experienced in raising trees on the Moor, contends, 
 that it must always have been and always must be 
 equally denuded as at present ; but this is by no 
 means a fair inference. If injudicious modes of 
 planting have been practised, or proper care not taken 
 of the plantations, those things alone would suffice to 
 make every endeavour of that kind abortive, even in 
 a good soil, and how mucli more in one confessedly 
 indifferent ? Many thousands of trees have perished 
 from the want of shelter and the injurious plan of dig-
 
 15G NOTES TO DARTMOOR. 
 
 ginjT the pits, and from the same causes, of 40,000 
 trees, phmted hy the late Sir l'''rancis IkiUer, on 
 Prince Hall and Sherberton, the greater ])art have 
 died or are decaying, except in some favoured spots. 
 But that trees can be reared is evident at Brimps, 
 where are fine ash, larch, &.C., especially a handsome 
 oak, and whence some have been sold as timber, and 
 on Tor Royal and Swincombe, at which places Sir 
 Thomas 'J'yrwhitt has flourishing plantations. On 
 Bear Down estate, near the river Cowsic, a lai-ge 
 number of firs, &c. was planted by the llev. Edward 
 Bray, Avhich do well ; and on Stover, the property of 
 of George Templar, esq., there are quantities of 
 thriving Scotch firs and other trees, together with the 
 Spanish or sweet chesnut, which show what may be 
 done on a soil quite as unpropitious, in appearance, to 
 planting as any in the Moor ; tjie profit on them in 
 20 years is considerable. 
 
 IVIany of the spurs or ascending slopes to the Moor 
 on the Okehampton side (in the park of which town 
 was, until destroyed, a most valuable body of timber 
 growing amid the granite rocks) are covered with 
 dwarf oaks, which, when protected from cattle, attain 
 a good height. The water-courses descending from 
 the ]Moor, and the low grounds and hill sides towards 
 the sea, are likewise partially bespread with woods, 
 particularly the lower parts of Holne Chace, and the 
 eastern side of the West Ockment river. At the feet 
 of the high lands bordering on the Moor, in the
 
 NOTES TO DARTMOOR. 157 
 
 parishes of Moreton, Chagford, Gidley, and ThroAvs- 
 leigh, is found oak timber of some dimensions. 
 
 The Rev. INIr. Polwhele thinks that the Moor, in 
 former times, was luxuriantly covered with wood; 
 and every year, he says, young trees spring up spon- 
 taneously, but perish liefore they can rise high enough 
 to escape the biles of cattle. Mr. Shillibeer, a coin- 
 petent judge of the capabilities of Dartmoor in every 
 point, expressly declares, that in each of its four 
 quarters several places exist adapted for planting. 
 Generally, perhaps, it is not strictly favourable to the 
 groAvth of timber ; yet its peat earth, Avhen neither 
 too moist nor too dry, encourages vegetation, and, 
 as before remarked, there is a most extensive use of 
 it by Plymouth and other gai'deners, for raising the 
 arbutus, rhododendron, aliturnus, phyllyrea, &c. 
 
 Tt is easy to traverse the Moor, and, like the tra- 
 veller from Dan to Beersheba, to cry, all is barren, 
 this is hardly possible, that impossible, when at the 
 very time every thing might be made possible with 
 a sound exercise of reason and judgment. To ensure 
 success in planting, it is necessary, first, to'drain the 
 land; next, to sink the pits deeper and wider, casting 
 away the clayey substratum and re-occupying the 
 space with peat earth, in which the roots of the young 
 trees, finding nothing repulsive, might spread un- 
 checked and take a firmer hold; thirdly, to plant 
 thickly, so as the trees might mutually shelter each
 
 15)J NOTES TO DAnTMOOn. 
 
 other, and lastly, to protect the plantations for five 
 or six years with stone walls or turf embankments, suf- 
 ficiently high to keep out intruders. When a planta- 
 tion to any extent is once establislied, by adding to it 
 as desired, a spacious tract might gradually be 
 covered, which would not only embellish the district 
 itselfj but absorb much of the superfluous moisture. 
 The trees most proper for use are the Scotch, silver, 
 black, red, and common spruce firs, stone cluster, and 
 Weymouth, pines, pine aster, mountain and common 
 ash, larch, biixh, alder, holly, beech, sycamore of both 
 kinds, elm, here and there, Spanish or sweet chesnut, 
 cedar, oak, wychhazel, and larix, some of which will 
 answer, (the Scotch and silver firs) even on a moist 
 and clayey soil of the poorest kind, as at Blanchford, 
 the seat of Sir John Lemon Rogers, bart., near Corn- 
 wood, where are some ancient trees, of extraordinary 
 magnitude considering the soil. 
 
 Rear Admiral Brooking, of Plymouth, has sugges- 
 ted to the writer a cheap mode of planting. He 
 recommends sixteen persons to join in this object 
 upon a given quantity of ground, divided into as 
 many plots, each occupied with trees preferred by 
 the owner, and bounded from the next lot by a 
 line of some particular tree, as, for instance, No. 1, 
 filled with firs and bounded by larch. No. 2, with 
 Weymouth pines and bounded by ash, &c. The 
 whole to be hedged in with a substantial fence. — At 
 sundry times the trunks, branches, and roots, even the 
 leaves of trees, chiefly oak and birch, have been dis-
 
 NOTES TO Dartmoor. 159 
 
 covered, some two feet, some six or eight feet beneath 
 marshy soil in the Moor, particularly at Taw INIarsh 
 in the north quarter. On exposure to the sun and 
 air they grow almost as hard as Brazil wood. In 
 the fens and moors of Lincolnshire oaks and fir trees 
 in like manner, frequently present themselves be- 
 neath the soil, with their lower parts burnt, as if 
 thrown down by fire— a fact mentioned by Dugdale, 
 in his work on embanking. Remains of this descrip- 
 tion De Luc considers as produced on the Continent 
 subsequent to its birth, and that peat moors were 
 forests, which flourished for a time, but, not having a 
 firm support in the peat, were overthrown by storms 
 and buried by the continually increasing coats of that 
 substance. Without being under the necessity of 
 adopting his opinion, it is clear, from history, that 
 wood, grow at present in spots which, formerly, could 
 not boast of any, and vice versa ; and this may have 
 been the case with Dartmoor, either from a deterio- 
 ration of climate or some other cause. The writer 
 has somewhere read that Dartmooor was divested of 
 its forests by the E-omans, in working iron mines ; 
 but this would appear to be only a gratuitous assump- 
 tion. That it was formerly wooded to a greater or 
 less degree, is indirectly shewn by its being fi-e- 
 quented by wolves, which animal has a constant pre- 
 dilection for large forests.
 
 ICO NOTES TO DARTMOOn. 
 
 Note 21, Page 53. 
 
 The gaunt ivolfand ivinged serpent held 
 
 Dominion o'er the vales. 
 
 The day is long and happily past, when, in the 
 merciless operation of the forest laws, the hills, vales, 
 and tors, of Dartmoor, were a nursery for different 
 ferocious beasts, in comparison with which the life of 
 man was nothing worth. The vmiversal tradition of 
 the Moor is, that it was so infested ; and the names 
 of some of the tors tend to preserve it fresh and un- 
 impaired. 
 
 William of INIalmsbury speaks of the wolf, (whence 
 several places in Devon have received that prefix,) 
 and the winged serpent ; and, though the latter may 
 be fabulous, it is indisputable, that bears, wolves, 
 foxes, boars, martens, badgers, otters, wild bulls and 
 cows of a milk white colour, similar to those described 
 by Boethius, in the Caledonian forest, and which 
 were at one time common in Great Britain, abounded 
 throughout this moorish district. Bishop Lyttleton 
 has a charter, amongst his collection, of John, Earl 
 of Mortaigne, afterwards King John, whereby leave 
 was given to the clergy and laity of Devon, to take 
 capreolum, the goat; vulpam, the fox ; cattum, the 
 marten or wild cat ; lupum, the wolf; leporem, the 
 hare ; lutram, the otter ; out of the bounds of the 
 forests. The Rev. INIr. Polwhele, probably deriving
 
 NOTES TO DART3I00R. 161 
 
 the idea from diluvian or fossil remains of moose 
 deer liaving been found in Devon, although not on 
 the Moor, mentions the segh or British mosse as 
 one of its animals, but this is exceedingly doubtful. 
 The same author incidently states, that in the parishes 
 of Manaton, Kingsteinton, and Teigngrace, are many 
 old tin works, which the inhabitants attribute to 
 that period when wolves and winged serpents were 
 no strangers to the hills or the valley ; and he alludes 
 to the same tradition in another place. In fact there 
 is no ground for denying the former existence of 
 wild beasts on Dartmoor. Under the forest laws 
 they so multiplied everywhere as to become the 
 curse of the people. 
 
 The marten once hunted, is still to be seen in Lid- 
 ford woods, and the wolf was not extinct on Dartmoor, 
 according to Howel, in the reign of Elizabeth. In 
 Scotland, the last there was killed by Sir Ewan Ca- 
 meron, as late as 1680. The goat no longer frequents 
 it ; but the fox does, and the hare and rabbit plenti- 
 fully. Of the latter there are warrens on the borders. 
 The red deer and stag have abandoned it, the former 
 for the north of Devon. Sometimes, but rarel}', one 
 has been perceived near Ashburton. In the time of 
 Henry III. the stag was common. The badger has 
 its retreats in Widdicombe, Manaton, &c. The otter 
 seems limited to the river Dart ; its skin is valuable, 
 having white hairs intermixed with brown. Besides 
 those, the squirrel, dormouse, hedgehog, ermine or 
 
 M
 
 1G2 NOTES TO DAUTMOOR. 
 
 stoat, viper, weasel, fitchet or fitch, bat, long-eared 
 and horse-shoe snake, lizard, &c., frequent the dis- 
 trict in greater or less abundance. 
 
 The moor horse, or rather pony, is indigenous and 
 almost in a state of nature. The farmers who 
 live on the enclosed estates breed their own horses. 
 The late Captain Cotgrave, of the prison, had a great 
 desire to possess a pony, and having seen one on Mr. 
 Bray's property at Baredown, he went, with some as- 
 sistants, to detach it from the herd. In attempting 
 this they drove it upon some rocks by the side of a 
 tor, and a man ascending on horseback to secure it, 
 the active creature, to the infinite surprise of the cap- 
 tain who was below looking at the scene, leapt com- 
 pletely over the man and horse and escaped. 
 
 Note 22, Page 54. 
 The lonely wood of Wistman. 
 
 This solitary relic of Dartmoor forest stands on a 
 slope near the West Dart, to the north-west of 
 Crockern Tor, a mile or more above Two-Bridges, 
 consisting of scrubbed decrepit trees, chiefly oak, 
 which, by various causes, have been reduced to un- 
 couth misshapen dwarfs. The granitic nature of the 
 soil, if it can be so called, will not permit the stunted
 
 NOTES TO dahtmoor. 163 
 
 roots either to spread or to entwine ; and, of those 
 which administer to the nourishment of the trees, 
 some are scarcely below the soil, and others, totally 
 exposed on the dry surface of the rocks, depend alone 
 on the rain and air. None of these venerable foresters 
 exceed seven feet in height ; but their circumference 
 is great in proportion, being nearly the same. Their 
 boughs and branches are tangled with moss, thorns, 
 brambles, and other parasites, the seeds of which, 
 being conveyed thither by birds, have found a strange 
 but convenient nidus. A solitude so cheerless and 
 forbidding is seldom visited, except by the hare and 
 fox. In spring and summer a little green may betray 
 itself in foliage : but whoever has the melancholy 
 satisfaction, at any time, of viewing it, must subscribe 
 to the truth of Wordsworth's lines : — 
 
 " I look'd upon the scene both far and near ; 
 
 More doleful place did never eye survey. 
 It seem'd as if the spring time came not here. 
 
 Or nature here was willing to decay." 
 
 Tradition relates that Wistman's, otherwise Welch- 
 man's Wood, was planted by the renowned Isabella de 
 Fortibus, Countess of Devon. 
 
 M )i
 
 H'4 KOTKS TO DABTMOOR. 
 
 Note 23, Page 57- 
 ~— — — i The peasant boy 
 
 Untimely perish'd. 
 
 By a ballad, which appeared lately in the New- 
 Monthly Magazine, entitled " The Babes on the 
 Moor," two boys are said to have perished in a snow 
 storm, but this is erroneous. Nearly three years 
 since, two farming lads, belonging to llunnage in the 
 east quarter of Dartmoor, Avere sent to look after 
 sheep, but were overtaken by a heavy fall of snow, 
 and benumbed with cold. Their absence being con- 
 sidered as of extraordinary dui'ation, search was made 
 for them, when both were found wrapped in a deep 
 sleep. One of them by suitable means was recovered 
 from his lethargy ; the other had already sunk into 
 the repose of death. The writer of this was once 
 exposed to a similar storm. But for the guidance of 
 a friend, intimately versed in these desolate wilds, 
 where all marks of roads or foot-paths were hidden by 
 the snow, he too, like Childe the hunter and the un- 
 fortunate boy, must have become a victim of the 
 tempest. A storm on Dartmoor bears little resem- 
 blance to storms in general. It is aAvful, perilous, 
 astounding, and pitiless, and woe to the stranger who, 
 in a dark night and without a guide, is forced to 
 encounter it !
 
 NOTES TO DAIITJIOOR. 1C5 
 
 Note 24, Page 58. 
 The luckless hunter. 
 
 From time immemorial a tradition has existed in 
 the Moor, and is noticed by several authors, that John 
 Childe, of Plymstock, a gentleman of large posses- 
 sions, and a great hunter, whilst enjoying that amuse- 
 ment during an inclement season, was beniglited, lost 
 his way, and perished through cold, near Fox tor in 
 the south quarter of the forest ; after taking the pre- 
 caution to kill his horse, and, for the sake of wai-mth, 
 to creep into its bowels, leaving a paper denoting that 
 whoever should bury his body should have his lands 
 at Plymstock. 
 
 " The fyrste that fyndes and brings tne to my grave, 
 The lands of Plymstoke they shal have.'' 
 
 Childe having no issue had previously declared his 
 intention to bestow his lands on the church wlierein 
 he might be buried, which, coming to the knowledge 
 of the monks of Tavistock, they eagerly seized the 
 body and were conveying it to that place ; but, learn- 
 ing, on the way, that some people of Plymstock were 
 waiting at a ford to intercept the prey, thej' cunningly 
 ordered a bridge to be built out of the usual track, 
 thence pertinently called Guile Bridge, and succeed- 
 ing in their object, became possessed of and enjoyed 
 the lands until the dissolution, when the Russell 
 family received a grant of them, and it still retains 
 them.
 
 1<>C yOTES TO DARTMOOR. 
 
 In memory of Childe a tomb was erected to him 
 in a plain a little below Fox Tor, which was standing 
 about 15 A^ears since, when Mr. Windeat, having 
 received a new take or allotment, in which the tomb 
 was included, nearly destroyed it, by appropriating some 
 of the stones for huildiny and door steps. It was com- 
 posed of hewn granite, the under basement comprising 
 four stones, 6 feet long by 12 inches square, and 8 
 stones more, growing shorter as the pile ascended, 
 with an octagonal basement, above 3 feet high, and a 
 cross fixed in it. The whole, when perfect, wore an 
 antique and impressive appearance. A socket and 
 groove for the cross, and the cross itself, with its shaft 
 broken, are the only remains of the tomb, on which, 
 Risdon says, there was an inscription, but no one 
 recollects any traces of it. 
 
 Syward's Cross or Nun's Cross, another cross, 
 forms a bound mark of the forest, and on its western 
 side exhibits the inscription, in Saxon characters, 
 Bojib bojib, meaning, as Mr. Shillibeer conjec- 
 tures, the bond or bound of the land, but on reference 
 to a perambulation in the 24th of Henry III., (1239) 
 it appears that on one side of the stone there was then 
 inscribed Crux Siwardi, and on the other Roolande. 
 On the eastern side is the inscription in more modern 
 characters, Syward, the signification of which has 
 been disputed by many, but is considered by Mr. 
 Shillibeer as the name of some prince, duke, or earl of 
 the forest. In a charter of Isabella de Fortibus,
 
 NOTES TO DARTMOOR- 16? 
 
 Countess of Albemarle and Devon, to Buckland 
 Abbey, dated in 1291, reference is made to Sy ward's 
 Cross or " Crucem Sywardi," its situation being de- 
 scribed as " versus austrum per metas regardorum 
 de Dertemore." In the same document occur Sma- 
 lacumba Cross, Panebone Cross, Maynstone Cross, 
 and Capris Cross. 
 
 Note 25, Page 59. 
 Romantic Widdicombe. 
 
 Widdicombe, anciently Wythicomb or Wydecomb, 
 in the ]Moor, to distinguish it from Withycombe 
 K-aleigh, is an extensive parish, consisting of several 
 narrow valleys, that wind amongst the roots of Dart- 
 moor. The village itself lies in a vale several miles 
 long ; but in some places not more than half a mile 
 broad and widenmg at the village, to which are an- 
 nexed the two hamlets of Ponsworthy and Pounds- 
 gate. The Rev. J. H. Mason is the vicar, under 
 whose hospitable roof the stranger and the friend 
 alike experience a ready welcome at all seasons. The 
 church tower is particularly beautiful. Some centu- 
 ries ago, Widdicombe belonged to Dartmoor, and for 
 that reason it is called Widdicombe in the Moor, as 
 from the same cause, Buckland on the Moor is so 
 styled to distinguish it from other Bucklands, but
 
 168 NOTES TO DARTMOOn. 
 
 both have been long dissevered therefrom as pur- 
 lieus, and no part of either now pertains to the Moor, 
 contrary, with respect to AViddicombe, to the asser- 
 tion of Mr. Polwhele. Widdicombe abounds in cop- 
 per, and can boast of being the birth-place of llichard 
 Armaclianus, Archbishop of Armagh, and Primate of 
 Ireland, a learned man and a great writer. 
 
 In the Harleian Miscellany, iii. 211., there is an 
 account of a most lamentable accident by lightning at 
 "Withycombe in the Dartmoors, on Sunday, 21st 
 October, 1G38," (14th of Charles I.) of which Hearne, 
 at the end of Adam de Domerham, 1727, page 67G, 
 inserts a poetical description ; written by llichard 
 Hill, schoolmaster, a part of it being inscribed on two 
 tables in the church. The Rev. George Lyde, the 
 vicar, who was in his pulpit when it happened, wrote 
 another poetical description of the parish and acci- 
 dent. During the storm a ball of fire fell into the 
 church amongst the congregation, killing four per- 
 sons, wounding sixty two, oversetting all the pews, 
 and 'Inflicting other damage to the amount of £300. 
 On the same day and about the same time, hail stones 
 of extraordinary size, some of them weighing seven 
 ounces, descended from the atmosphere near Ply- 
 mouth. A circumstantial account of it appears in the 
 same volume of the Miscellany. Spencei', in his Eng- 
 lish Traveller, mentions a similar occurrence at Wid- 
 dicombe, in 1662, bijt this rests solely on his author- 
 ity. In 1689, the church at Cruwys Morchard, and
 
 KOTEs TO Dartmoor. 169 
 
 in 1779, December 13th, the church at Manaton were 
 subjected to a like visitation. At Moreton, well 
 designated by Mr. Polwhele as the land of thunder, 
 and at Shaugh, only two or three years since, the 
 churches have been injured in the same way. 
 
 From the first existence of poor rates, until a law 
 suit in 1815, all the east quarter of the Moor paid 
 theii- rates at Widdicombe. 
 
 Note 26, Page 03. 
 Stceet Dart. 
 
 This noble river deserves the honour of imparting 
 its name to the Moor. It has two heads, one in the 
 morass surrounding Cranmere Pool, distinguished by 
 a granite pillar 12 feet high, probably erected to mark 
 this source, the other two or three miles distant, 
 which unite vmder the several appellations of the 
 East and West Dart in a valley at Dartmeet, a charm- 
 ing spot, where also the three parishes of Lydford, 
 Widdicombe, and Hole form a junction. Here, until 
 lately, existed the dilapidated remains of a very 
 ancient bridge composed of lai-ge flat stones supported 
 by upright ones, with intervals for the passage of the 
 current, but evidently, from its rude, primitive, and 
 uncemented appearance, constructed before the know-U
 
 170 NOTES TO DARTMOOll. 
 
 ledge of regular arches. These interesting relics were, 
 a few years since, swept away by a moorland inunda- 
 tion. Immediately below is another bridge of modern 
 construction with two arclies, on one side of which lies 
 Brimps, consisting of a house, well cultivated farm, 
 and thriving wood, belonging to R. R. Sanders, esq. ; 
 and on the other a lofty heath with a serpentine road 
 descending it and leading by the last mentioned 
 bridge over the river. At Dartmeet the two heads 
 lose their characteristics of east and west, and flow 
 together simply as the Dart, receiving, in their pro- 
 gress, many tributary streams, especially the Webber, 
 which render the whole a comparatively deep and 
 majestic river. On reaching Holne it enters on the 
 inclosed lands, and its banks begin to be clothed with 
 woods and continue to be so adorned until its arrival 
 at Totnes and thence to Dartmouth, where, after 
 pursuing a career, now impetuous, now gentle, and 
 partaking of a diversity of scenery from the sublimely 
 wild to the soft and beautiful, it expands into a safe 
 and capacious harbour at the northern part of Start 
 Bay. Some part of its course traverses limestone 
 strata resting on schistus, with occasional displays of 
 dunstone. Two miles below Dartmeet there is a 
 cascade, which is but little known.
 
 NOTES TO DAllTMOOR. 171 
 
 :Note 27, Page G3. 
 The urn of Cranmere. 
 
 Cranmere or Craumere Pool, one of the principal 
 curiosities of Dartmoor, lies in its northern quarter, 
 in a direct line between Okehampton and Crockern 
 Tor, on the top of a high hill never known to be dry, 
 and consisting of morass or red bog and rushes, which, 
 in process of time, have so accumulated as to rise 40 
 or 50 feet above the natural level. It is of an oblong 
 form, about 150 feet in length by 80 broad, the water 
 appearing to issue from a bed of gravel beneath the 
 peat, which is here peculiarly excellent and abundant, 
 although, from its remoteness, but little used. The 
 precise site is difficult to be found, even by those who 
 have before visited it, and it cannot be approached 
 without precaution, by man or horse, except in sum- 
 mer, when the ground for a narrow space is more solid 
 than the re&t. In the vicinity of the pool are quaking 
 bogs. 
 
 Some of the Moor rivers are thought to have their 
 immediate sources in the pool, but this is not pre- 
 cisely the fact. One only, and that the "West Ock- 
 ment, is so circumstanced. The others flow, in oppo- 
 site directions, from the suiTounding morass : but as 
 the water with which it is saturated is the produce of 
 the pool itself, these particular rivers may be indi- 
 rectly said to originate there.
 
 172 NOTES TO DARTMOOR. 
 
 De Luc observes, that Cranmere means the place 
 of cranes, and it is possible, that at one time those 
 birds resorted to it. Wild ducks now make it their 
 haunt in the winter season. In Proven(^e there is a 
 place of the same name and nearly of the same kind 
 as Cranmere. 
 
 Note 28, Page 64. 
 
 From his copious fount 
 
 Swift rolls thy Teign. 
 
 This river rises from the hills above Gidleigh, and, 
 in point of magnitude, is but little inferior to the 
 Dart ; and perhaps, from its circuitous route, its 
 course is longer. From it the hundred of Teignbridge, 
 the villages of Bishopsteignton,Kingsteignton,Teign- 
 grace, Drewsteignton, Canonteign, and last, though 
 not least, the town of Teignmouth, derive their 
 names. 
 
 The banks of the Teign are often visited, on ac- 
 count of the antiquities at Drewsteignton and its 
 scenerv, particularly at Fingle bridge, where the river 
 flows through a narrowpass between two mountainous 
 ridges on each side. Whiddon Pai-k, on one bank, 
 forms a beautiful contrast to the ruder features of the 
 other. On the adjacent hills are Wooston, Cranbrook,
 
 NOTES TO DARTMOOR. 173 
 
 and Prestonbury entrenchments, which, the writer 
 ascribes to the Romans, of which people there was 
 certainly a bridge over the Teign, beneath the pre- 
 sent bridge of the same name. 
 
 The cromlech is at a farm called Shilston, a mile 
 and a quarter west of Drewsteignton, and two miles 
 north of Chagford. Its quoit or covering stone has, 
 as usual, three supporters of unequal heights, and is 
 I4i feet long by 10 wide, with an average thickness of 
 1 foot 9 inches, but at one part 3 feet by 7 inches, 
 having its angles or edges almost exact to the cardmal 
 points, and its upper surface at one place 9^ feet, at 
 the others 8 feet from the ground, which admits the 
 passage beneath it of a tall man with his hat on. The 
 under part is injured by fire and the cavity used for 
 keeping wood and furze. The whole has rather a 
 leani-ng appearance, and somewhat resembles a large 
 irregular trapezium in shape. The gross weight is 
 estimated at IG tons. It bears the appellation of 
 Spinsters' Hock, from a tradition that three spinsters 
 or unmarried women erected it one morning, before 
 breakfast, for their amusement ! ! ! 
 
 The logan is' seated in the channel of the Teign, 
 being poised on an other j^stone, deeply engrafted in a 
 mass of granite rocks, and unequally sided, at some 
 parts 6, at others 7, and at the western end 10 feet in 
 height, from east to west about 18 feet in length, and, 
 what is remarkable, of the same size as the quoit of
 
 174 NOTES TO DAUTMOOR. 
 
 the cromlech, though differently shaped. Its oscilla- 
 ting power has almost ceased. The suiTounding coun- 
 try is exceedingly grand, the south side of the river 
 being here bounded by some steep hills, from which 
 heavy fragments are continually falling into the 
 stream, penning it up narrower and rendering its 
 course more violent and noisy. At Holy Street, near 
 Chagford, on the same river, was anotlier logan, of 
 less dimensions, which no longer vibrates. 
 
 Chappell considers the Drewsteignton cromlech as 
 a druidical place of judicature, or intended forastrono- 
 mical purposes. Mr. Polwhele thinks it druidical. 
 At Stanton Drew near Bristol is a druidical circle, 
 and the similarity of the two names, Stanton Drew 
 and Drewsteignton, might, prima flicie, induce the 
 supposition that both these monuments are druidical. 
 
 Note 29, Page C7. 
 Holne Chace. 
 
 This is a tract of land, extending by the name of 
 Holne Chace, and Holne Moor, two miles or more 
 along the Dart, near Ashburton, the upper part rocky 
 and the lower fringed with woods, and, in swampy 
 spots, abounding with the myrica gale or Devonshire 
 myrtle. 
 
 " Ilium etiam fuere myricse." — VirgiVs Eclogues,
 
 NOTES TO DARTMOOR. 175 
 
 At the entrance of the Chace there is a walk nearly 
 a mile in length, enclosed on each side with large 
 bushes of hoUv. Beyond is Holne Park, which, with 
 the manor, chace, and Moor, belongs to Sir Bourchier 
 Wrey, bart. Behind it, on an eminence, lies Hem- 
 bury Castle, conjectured to be a Danish earth-work. 
 On the chace crystallized or rhombic felspar is 
 found. It was one of the purlieus of Dartmoor 
 forest, and part of the barony of Barnstaple, when 
 included in the duchy lands, and is frequently visited 
 by strangers, as a spot where nature has concentrated 
 together, in a manner which man would in vain at- 
 tempt to imitate, a luxuriant variety of scenic 
 beauties. 
 
 Near it is another Chace, called Holly Chace, the 
 property of E. P. Bastard, esq., one of the members 
 for Devon, and still nearer, Spitchwich, belonging to 
 the late Lord Ashburton, tenanted by Dr. Leach ; 
 the lord of which manor, as well as of Ilsington, and 
 the Abbot of Buckfastleigh, had the power of inflict- 
 ing capital punishment on their vassals — a power 
 happily superseded by the transfer of justice to better 
 hands. 
 
 At Buckland on the ]Moor is a mansion occupied 
 by the widow of the late T. P. Bastard, esq., who 
 for 37 years faithfully and independently represented 
 Devon in seven successive parliaments.
 
 ^6 NOTES TO DARTMOOR. 
 
 Ashburton, anciently Asperton, from its vicinity 
 to Holne Cliace, and being the place whence so many 
 set out to visit the latter, may justly claim some little 
 notice. In Domesday Book it stands as terra regis. In 
 the 2Gth of Edward I. it was made one of the four De- 
 vonshire stannary towns being the same year in which 
 Chagford received the like privilege. In the same 
 year it returned members to parliament. In the 3rd 
 of Edward II. Bishop Stapyldon obtained for it a 
 weekly market and a yearly fair. In the 8th of Henry 
 IV. it again sent members to parliament, but not any 
 more until 1640. When James I. created his son, 
 the unfortunate Charles, Duke of Cornwall, he gave 
 him the manor and lands of Ashburton, which is a 
 proof that they, at that time, were in the crown. By 
 a grant of Charles II. the same passed to strangers 
 and Lord Clinton is now the owner. In 1712 Andrew 
 Quicke, esq., one of the borough members, procured 
 it two other fairs. Ashburton has been distinguished 
 for its woollen and yarn manufactures. 
 
 Note 30, Page 67- 
 The Tavy, mmmtain-born. 
 
 The Tavy ranks next to the Dart and Teign ; but, 
 excepting at its upper part, its course is not so im- 
 petuous nor so rocky, as of those and the other moor
 
 KOTES TO DARTMOOR. 177 
 
 rivers. Its banks are richly decorated with wood and 
 coppice at various parts, and here and there are 
 towering cliffs, which invest the scenery with much 
 grandeur. 
 
 The hundred and town of Tavistock, and the 
 villages of Peter Tavy and Mary Tavy are thence 
 denominated. The former sent members to parlia- 
 ment three times in the reign of Edward I. and II., 
 and has done so ever since the beginning of the reign 
 of Edward III. William of INIalmsbur}^ describes it 
 as " pleasant for the convenience of wood, fine fish- 
 ing, and an uniform church" — encomiums, which, 
 save the fine fishmg, it deserves. 
 
 Sir John Glanville, a Justice of the Common Pleas, 
 Serjeant Glanville, his son, John Fitz, an eminent 
 lawyer. Sir John Maynard one of the Commissioners 
 of the Great Seal of England, and "William Brown, 
 author, about IGOO, of some excellent poems, in- 
 titled Britannia's Pastorals, and containing many 
 lines descriptive of the place, were born there. 
 
 At Crowndale, near it, (of which F. C. Lewis, in 
 his Delineations of Devonshire rivers, gives a view,) 
 not at Plymouth, as erroneously conceived, was born 
 Sir Francis Drake. 
 
 The principal glory of Tavistock has been its Be- 
 nedictine Monastery, dedicated to St. Mary and St. 
 
 N
 
 178 NOTES TO DARTMOOR. 
 
 Runion, founded by Ordgar, Earl of Devon, in 9G1, 
 and completed by Ordolpli his son, whose sister El- 
 frida, by the murder of her husband Ethelwold, 
 whilst hunting, became the queen of Edgar. Ethel- 
 red, in !)f!l, endowed the abbey with divers lands and 
 liberties, l)ut it was burnt by the Danes 30 years 
 after the foundation, and restored with additional im- 
 mimities. Henry I. granted it a market, fair of 
 three days' continuance, view of frank pledge, gal- 
 lows, pillory, assize of bread and Ijeer, Sec, with " the 
 jurisdiction and the whole hundred of Tavistock ;" 
 and Levingus, successively Bishop of Crediton, Corn- 
 wall, and Worcester, was a generous benefactor, all 
 which Edward the Confessor confirmed ; pope Celes- 
 tine adding other privileges and exemptions. Ac- 
 cording to Leland the abbey church was 12G yards or 
 paces (378 feet) in length, besides a chapel to the 
 Virgin at the end of it, cloisters of the same spacious 
 extent, and a magnificent chapter house containing 
 3fi arched stalls. At one time the abbey had 15 
 knights' fees, or 10,200 acres of land, at 680 acres to 
 each fee. Its abbots were rich, proud, and aspiring, 
 being appointed by the popes, and early claimed to 
 be barons of parliament, but it does not appear that 
 they then succeeded. 
 
 The abbey was transferred by patent, dated July 
 4th, 1529, to John Lord llussell (afterwards created 
 Earl of Bedford) with the borough, town, burgage, 
 rectory, and vicarage of Tavistock, which noble family
 
 VOTES TO DARTMOOR. 179 
 
 still possesses it, having been advanced by William 
 III. to the farther honours of Duke of Bedford and 
 Marquis of Tavistock. At the suppression, a chapel 
 was erected within the abbey inclosure, and licenced 
 for divine worship, jNIarch 10th, 1541-2, at the in- 
 stance of Lady Dorothy Mount joy. In IGJO, the 
 abbe}'- was taken down, and some detached fragments 
 are all that now remain of this majestic edifice. 
 INIany individuals of note have been there buried ; 
 amongst others, St. llumon, Edmund, brother of Ed- 
 mund Ironside, Ordgar, Bishop Levingus, in 104G, 
 who preferred being inhumed there to Worcester, 
 and Ordulph, whose figure was to be seen in a dilapi- 
 dated cloister, in 1718, and who is reported to have 
 been of such a colossal size as to be capable of break- 
 ing the strongest gate bars, and striding over rivers 
 ten feet wide ! A fractured tomb, supposed to be of 
 this personage, was amongst the rums, with an in- 
 scription near it on a fragment : — 
 
 " Sub jacet intus, 
 Conditor." 
 
 But it does not follow that the two belonged to 
 each other, or that either marked the place of the 
 original founder's interment. Not far distant was a 
 sarcophagus, and in it bones of large dimensions, two 
 of which are kept in the church, and which tradition 
 refers to Ordulph. They do not, however, corres- 
 pond with William of Malmsbury's account, as to 
 size, although the size mentioned by that author is 
 
 n2
 
 IKO NOTES TO DAUTMOOn. 
 
 neither extraordinary nor unparalleled, the heij^ht of 
 Onlulpli not exceedinjr f! feet. O'Brien, the Irish 
 giant, was more, and many other instances of the like 
 or a greater height might be adduced, both in ancient 
 and modern times. Carevv, in his History of Corn- 
 wall, notices the finding of some gigantic bones in the 
 chancel of St. Stephen's church, near Saltash, which 
 were considered as those of Ordgar, the father of Or- 
 dulph, but there was more reason to suppose that 
 they belonged to Cadoc duke or earl of Cornwall. 
 
 An upright sepulchi'al stone stood at the head of 
 the sarcophagus, inscribed : — 
 
 Nepos Ramii filii condevi, 
 
 which has been removed to the vicar's garden ; but a 
 gentleman of Tavistock, with whom the writer has 
 communicated on the subject, doubts if it has any 
 connection with the abbey, there being three or four, 
 if not five stones of the same kind on and near Dart- 
 moor. 
 
 The abbey was farther distinguished for its encou- 
 ragement of Saxon literature, on which lectures were 
 read at Tavistock, down to the reign of Charles I., 
 and its printing press, established there soon after 
 Caxton's introduction of that art into England. 
 Thence issued " The confirmation of the tynners' 
 charter, 20th Henry VIII.," 16 leaves 4to., the earl of 
 Bedford being then Lord Warden ; some others pi'in- 
 ted in the wardenship of Sir Walter Raleigh ; Wal-
 
 NOTES TO DARTiMOOR. 181 
 
 ton's translation of Boetius de Consolatione, 4to., 
 " emprinted in tlie monastery of Tavestoke in Den- 
 shyre, by me Dan Thomas Rycliard, monke of the 
 said monastery, 1525;" and a Saxon Grammar, called 
 the Long Grammar. The E-ev. !Mr. Oliver, in 
 his Historical Collections relating to monasteries in 
 Devon, has a list of the abbots of Tavistock to its 
 suppression. Tavistock is one of the stannary towns, 
 and the courts are usually held there. 
 
 At Tavistock was preserved the charter of John, 
 " De Libertatibus Comitatus Devon," whence Bishop 
 Stapyldon made the copy inserted in his collection. 
 
 Upon the estuary of the Tavy are situated "War- 
 leigh, the seat of the Rev. Walter BadclifFe, whose 
 ancestors became possessed of it in the seventeenth 
 century, by a purchase from a family that had resi- 
 ded there from the reign of Stephen ; and ]Maristow, 
 the late seat of Sir iiMasseh Lopes, bart., M.P., who 
 bought it of the Heywoods. In the royal visit to 
 Plymouth, and its neighbourhood, in 1789, when it 
 belonged to the Heywoods, the king and queen were 
 so deliglited with the spot, as to visit it on two conse- 
 cutive days.
 
 182 NOTES TO DARTMOOR. 
 
 Note 31, Page 09. 
 The Walk-ham. 
 
 This river rises in the west quarter of Dartmoor, 
 and falls into the Tavy amile from Greenofen bridge, 
 after leaving its name with the parish of Walkliamp- 
 ton, wliicli, from its contiguity to the INIoor, was, at 
 some period or other, in all likelihood, one of its 
 purlieus. 
 
 The Commons or wastes of Walkhampton are very 
 extensive, being upwards of 10,000 acres, and were 
 the subject of dispute between the Duchy of Cornwall 
 and Sir JMasseh Lopes, bart., but, after law proceed- 
 ings had commenced, the claim of the former was 
 abandoned in March, 1810, and subsequently the 
 right of the latter was confirmed by his obtaining a 
 verdict of £500 on a Avrit of enquiry against Mr. 
 Isbell for taking stone therefrom to build Dartmoor 
 prison, without procuring Sir Masseh's leave. In 
 ] 820 Sir JMasseh granted a lease of the granite thereon 
 to the Plymouth and Dartmoor Hallway Company for 
 a long term of years, which the company has assigned 
 to Messrs. Johnsons and Brice, who are working quar- 
 ries at King tor, and bringing this handsome and 
 durable material into rapid and extensive circulation. 
 
 In these commons there are two curiosities, both 
 well deserving of attention. The first is a pool of
 
 NOTES TO DARTMOOR. 183 
 
 water, about two miles south south west of the 
 prison, called Clacywell Pool, from an estate 
 adjoining. The depth has been tried with the 
 bell ropes of Walkhampton church, which are be- 
 tween JiO and 90 fathoms long, and also by truss 
 ropes, which, before carts came into use, were 
 employed in this part of the country for fastening 
 hay, &c., on pack horses, but without finding bottom. 
 Great numbers offish have been placed in it at dif- 
 ferent times but never seen afterwards. The pool 
 appears to be subject to periodical falls and rises. 
 On the 22nd of April, 1824, at half past three in the 
 afternoon, it was higher by 2h feet than at the earlier 
 part of the same day, and it was 12 feet higher than 
 than that in April, 1823, There is a constant burst 
 of water from the side of the hill below it. The soil 
 around is partly gravel and partly clay, affording 
 traces either that it was the crater of an extinct vol- 
 cano, or the shaft of an ancient mine. The cir- 
 cumference of the pool, at the edge of the water, 
 is 305 yards, the perjiendicular height of the bank 
 on the back and two sides 35 feet, and in the front 
 about 6 feet, where it sometimes overflows. 
 
 The other curiosity is a stone causeway or mound 
 leading from the Burrows, between Leather tor and 
 Shar])itor, on the same commons, over Leedon hill 
 and the forest as far as Chagford. By some it has 
 been accounted a direction for travellers, and by 
 others as a boundary.
 
 184 NOTES TO DARTMOOK. 
 
 Note 32, Page 69. 
 The deathless name of Elliott. 
 
 The noble individual alluded to is the glorious de- 
 fender of Gibraltar. His being interred here may be 
 explained by his having married a sister of Sir F. H. 
 Drake, to whom belonged Buckland Abbey. 
 
 Buckland Abbey is now one of the seats of Sir T. 
 F. E. Drake, bart. In 1278 it was founded and dedi- 
 cated to St. IMary and St. IJenedict, by Amicia, coun- 
 tess of Baldwin de Rivers, earl of Devon ; and Isabella 
 de Fortibus, her daughter, gave other lands and 
 greater privileges, all which were confirmed by Ed- 
 ward II. in the 4th year of his reign. In 1287 a 
 colony of Cistercian monks was transferred thither 
 from Quarrer, in the Isle of Wight, who, having pre- 
 sumed to exercise their functions without the licence 
 of Walter Bronescombe, Bishop of Exeter, were 
 excommunicated and suspended, but soon restored, 
 at the intercession of Queen Eleanor. Its revenues 
 at the dissolution were £241 17s. 9|rf. The Abbey 
 and domain were purchased by Sir Francis Drake in 
 the time of Elizabeth, and he and his descendants re- 
 sided there. A square massive tower, a turret in the 
 court yard, and some other trifling vestiges are the 
 only remains of the old structure, it having under- 
 gone repairs and alterations at various times, to fit it 
 as a family residence.
 
 NOTES TO DAllTMOOR. 185 
 
 Note 33, Page 72. 
 Sheepstor^s dark-brow^d rock. 
 
 This tor is both grand in feature and stupendous in 
 dimensions, its base covering a space of more than 
 one hundred acres, which, according to an ancient 
 prophecy, is very rich in minerals of various kinds, 
 and has been found, on experiments, to contain cobalt, 
 iron, china clay, manganese, silver, lead, and copper. 
 Prills of gold have been found in the river and other 
 streams below, and enough of that valuable substance 
 was discovered, a few years since, by one person 
 (Wellington, a miner,) as to sell in Plymouth for 
 about £40. At the middle of the tor is a remarkable 
 cavern, with seats, ostensibly the work of art, and 
 containing a spring of the purest water. The common 
 people conceive it to be the palace of the pixies or 
 Devonshire fairies, and seldom visit it without leaving 
 some offerings of moss or eatables. Tradition speaks 
 of it as having been the retreat of one of the Elford 
 family, during the civil wars in Cromwell's time, who, 
 being a painter, and to beguile the irk&omeness of 
 confinement, embellished its sides with pictures. 
 Subsequently, if report may be credited, less worthy, 
 but more substantial personages, namely, gipsies and 
 smugglers, have haunted it. 
 
 The manor of Sheepstor, which belongs to H. M. 
 Baylay, esq., enjoys great privileges, and extends over
 
 186 NOTES TO DARTMOOIl. 
 
 several estates in different parishes, and was formerly 
 bound to keep a turret of I'lymplon castle in repair. 
 It is ten miles in circumference, and amongst other 
 game, harbours woodcocks in abundance and of large 
 size, and heath fowl; snipes breed, and are found there 
 all the year. The owners of estates in the parish of 
 Sheepstor, are invested, on the payment of a small 
 annual acknowledgment, with the rights of venville 
 in the forest of Dartmoor, consisting of the unre- 
 stricted usages of fuel and pasturage, which are said, 
 according to a tradition generally believed by the in- 
 habitants of the parish, to have been granted them 
 by one of the earliest Henries, (perhaps Henry III., 
 who in 1204 was at war with his barons, when Devon 
 and Cornwall were strongly in his favour) for having 
 materially assisted him by their loyal attachment in 
 some rebellion ; but it is more probable that tlicy 
 derived those rights from the circumstance of the 
 parish having possibly belonged to the forest and 
 being dismembered therefrom as a purlieu, with the 
 rights still attached. It is certain, however, that the 
 right of venville is not general to the estates border- 
 ing on the forest, and as a proof of this, in the parish 
 of Walkhampton, though a gi-eater part of Dartmoor, 
 and formerly belonging to it, no more than one or two 
 estates enjoy the privilege. 
 
 By a record dated 1C2G, it appears that the "an- 
 tient privileges and ffredom of the mannor of Sheep. 
 stor were ever heretofore used and accustomed, and
 
 NOTES TO DARTMOOR. 187 
 
 then were, that all such persons as did or should 
 thei'eafter inhabit and dwell within the said hamlett, 
 were free from payment of all ffifteens, Avhich are 
 commonly called ffifth dole, and from payment of 
 Sherif silver, and from any appearance at the Court 
 called the Sherritfs' Turn, and from the office of 
 tything man, and all manner of limbs belonging to 
 the same, and fi-om watching and warding of all bea- 
 cons, or any other where, save only within the same 
 hamlett." 
 
 Beneath the tor lies the secluded village or hamlet 
 of the same name, with its fine cascade, formed by the 
 waters of a large brook falling, with deafening roar, 
 above 150 feet over huge fragments of granite, in 
 broken gushings from crag to crag, and then stealing 
 away through thick underwood invisibly, its course 
 being now and then betrayed by its white mantling 
 through the leafage. 
 
 Note 34, Page 72. 
 Meavy's venerable oak. 
 
 The river Mew or Meavy, after leaving Dartmoor, 
 is augmented by two streams, one flowing from that 
 part of the Moor where Siward's Cross formerly 
 stood, and the other from Englisburrow, not far from
 
 1C8 NOTES TO dahtmoor. 
 
 Meavy church, where, with its tributaries, it first 
 assumes the name of Plym, of which Donn's map 
 makes it a principal branch, thoui,4i omitting its name 
 and taking no notice of the stream from Siward's 
 Cross ; from all which it would appear that there is 
 no such river as the Plym, per se, independently of 
 other rivers, as might be conjectured from the fact of 
 a head in the Moor being called Plym head, unless, 
 as supposed by Mr. Shiilibeer, the Cad be another 
 name for that river. 
 
 Honoured, nevertheless, as the Plym is by the 
 merger of other names into its own, the INIeavy is not 
 the less worthy of notice on that account. Its placid 
 vale, and its august oak must at all times command 
 admiration from the lovers of nature. 
 
 From Roborough Down, or, perhaps, with more 
 advantage from a hill near Sheepstor, a delicicious 
 variety of objects presents itself. A «lear stream 
 winding through fertile pastures of emeraldine hue — 
 a rural village and white spire— umbrageous and 
 rocky slopes — nestling cottages, emitting long spiral 
 columns of smoke into tlie clear horizon — INIaker 
 tower, and the wood-crowned heights of JNIount Edg- 
 cumbe— the sterile precincts of Dartmoor, and its tors 
 frowning aloof in sullen majesty— the retiring outline 
 of the Cornish mountains— all nicely blended, yet ad- 
 mirably contrasted, conspire to produce the beautiful, 
 the picturesque, and the sublime.
 
 NOTES TO DARTMOOR. 1J59 
 
 " Meavy oak, although it has suffered from the 
 touch of 'decay's effacing fingers,' continues vener- 
 ably magnificent. It is of an extraordinary circum- 
 ference, and is completely hollowed out by the slow 
 but never failing operations of centuries. Indeed 
 little is left but the bark. The cavity, as affirmed 
 by the hostess of the Royal Oak, a little inn stand- 
 ing near the tree, once accommodated nine persons 
 at a dinner party ; it is now used as a turf house. 
 The lower branches still obey the voice of spring and 
 spread their living canopy over a large area of ground. 
 The topmost branches, however, are bald, having 
 long ceased to be adorned with the rich foliage whicli 
 they bore in the days of their young lustihood. Over 
 them the all-conquering hand of time has achieved a 
 perfect victory. They impress their rifted outline 
 against the deep blue of the heavens, black and cheer- 
 lessly, and in some places where the outer part of the 
 wood has dropped away, the core of the tree discloses 
 itself in ghastly whiteness. When the withered 
 top is beheld against the bright back-ground of a 
 serene evening sky, it has an unusually melancholy 
 aspect, which is rendered the moi'e striking from 
 being contrasted with the vegetation yet lingering 
 on the lower branches." 
 
 Hoo Meavy, the property of Henry Mervyn Bay- 
 lay, esq., was the occasional residence of the Drake 
 family previously to its receiving the grant of Buck- 
 land Abbey, in the sixteenth century, and is a manor
 
 190 NOTES TO DARTMOOn. 
 
 subject to the manor of Sheepstor, formerly in the 
 same family, from whom, together with Sheepstor, it 
 passed to one of the Elforfls, by intermarriage with 
 the heiress of the celebrated Sir Francis Drake, and 
 afterwards to the Northmores. Hoo INIeavy is situ- 
 ated about the middle of Meavy Vale, on the left 
 bank of the river IMeavy, and the house, though 
 modernized, retains some traces of its old appearance, 
 in its gothic doorways and stone window frames. 
 
 Note 35, Page 72. 
 The ever-brawUncj Cad. 
 
 This, and the following note, as well as the descrip- 
 tion of the oak at Meavy, are by the writer of the 
 preface. 
 
 The Cad rises on Dartmoor, and, after flowing for 
 some distance through a wild and dreary tract of 
 moorland, enters what is generally termed "The Val- 
 ley of the Cad," just below Cadaford Bridge. On arri- 
 ving in that secluded glen, the river assumes the most 
 impetuous and romantic chai-acter imaginable, dash- 
 ing over the rocks, so profusely strewed in its chan- 
 nel, with headlong rapidity. Indeed, the stream from 
 its first entrance into this vale, till it unites its waters 
 with those of the Plym, at Shaugh Bridge, presents
 
 NOTES TO DARTMOOR. - 191 
 
 one continuous scene of tumult, and is ever strugf^ling 
 with the masses of granite which seem to have been 
 hurled into its bed by some gigantic power from the 
 clitis above. These rocks are generally of an enor- 
 mous size, and are thrown together in the wildest and 
 most grotesque manner. Frequently maj' a huge 
 fragment be seen spanning the stream and forming a 
 kind of rude bridge, while at another spot the river is 
 obliged to leap over a perpendicular barrier of rock 
 which seems resolved to dispute the further passage 
 of the waters. In some places the torrent falls over 
 an assemblage of disjointed masses, and leaps from 
 crag to crag in distinct and picturesque sheets of 
 feathery foam. In other parts little islets are form- 
 ed in the middle of the stream, with willows and 
 other trees growing on them. These, steadily bend- 
 ing over the ever-flashing waters, give an air of wild 
 serenity to the spot ; while their dark foliage is beau- 
 tifully contrasted with the snowy whiteness of the 
 foam beneath. 
 
 The traveller will behold the valley of the Cad to 
 the greatest advantage, bj^ descending the left bank 
 of the river from Cadaford Bridge. To one who has 
 not been accustomed to the Avilder features of Nature 
 the first aspect of this valley presents a most striking 
 effect. The right bank rises to a dizzy height cover- 
 ed with a beautiful profusion of young trees. It is 
 opposed, however on the other side by a slope of very 
 different appearance. All there is dreary yet magni-
 
 192 NOTES TO DAUTMOOn. 
 
 ficGiit barrenness, without a bough to shade it, and, 
 at first siglit, without a vegetable beauty to recom- 
 mend it. Huge fragments of granite lie scattered 
 about in the wildest confusion. Some masses appear 
 as if they had just been torn out of the bowels of the 
 Moor by some unearthly power; others are on tiptoe 
 to quit their precarious situations and roll down into 
 the flashing torrent. Even this spot, however, will 
 be found to possess its attractions. It is blessed with 
 many a lovely flowret which blooms there to redeem 
 the savage character of the scene: the sweet-smelling 
 erica with its purple bells — the furze with its guard- 
 ed golden baskets, "treasuries of the fays and fairies," 
 and even that tenderest daughter of Spring, the pen- 
 sive violet, hallows by its presence many a craggy 
 nook. Beds of velvet turf may here and there be 
 seen studded with daisies, looking like silver stars set 
 in a firmament of green. The rude rocks are in 
 themselves objects of interest ; they are clad with 
 many a delicious specimen of lichen, and the hues of 
 their various mosses are as bright as the visions of 
 fancy. Young ivies creep up the sides of the rude 
 fragments, and not unfrequently near the river's 
 marge does the graceful woodbine uplift its blushing 
 coronals in the sunny air.
 
 NOTES TO DARTMOOR. l'J3 
 
 Note 36, Page 72. 
 The crest of Detver stone. 
 
 The most remarkable cliff in the valley of the Cad 
 is the Dewerstone. This huge mass of rocic rises 
 perpendicularly from the margin of the stream to an 
 immense height. Its whole surface is jagged and 
 seamed in the manner so peculiar to granite, which 
 makes the beholder imagine that the stones are regu- 
 larly piled on each other. It is profusely overgrown 
 with ivy and other creeping plants, which spread 
 their pleasant foliage over its shattered front, as if 
 anxious to bind up the wounds that time and 
 tempest have inflicted. To add to the striking ef- 
 fect of its appearance, numerous hawks, ravens, &c., 
 may be seen floating around its rugged crest and filling 
 the air with their hoarse screamings. He who has 
 sufficient nerve to gaze from tlie sununit of the Dew- 
 erstone into the frightful dejith beneath, will be amply 
 remunerated for the trouble which may be expe- 
 rienced in ascending. The rocks immediately beneath 
 the view seem as if they had been struck at once by 
 a thousand thunderbolts, and appear only prevented 
 from bursting asunder by chains of ivy. A few wild 
 flowers are sprinkled about in the crevices of the 
 cliff, — tufts of broom wave like golden banners in the 
 passing breeze, and these, vith here and there a 
 mountain ash clinging half way down the precipice, 
 impart a wild animation to the spot.
 
 1<J4 KOTES TO DAllTMOOR. 
 
 Note 37, Page 7-1- 
 The rifted lank of Lyd. 
 
 This river arises on the JMoor, and flowing n6ar 
 imjjarts its name to the ancient town of liydibrd, and 
 the hundred and village of Lydstone, Lydston, or 
 I-,ifton, falling at the end of its career into the Tamai*. 
 
 Lydford, in Saxon and other times, denominated 
 Hlidaford, l^ideforde or Lidefort, Lyghatford, and in 
 Exon Domesday Lidefoi-da, is now only a decayed 
 village, consisting of ragged cottages, cold, treeless, 
 and unprotected, situated seven miles from Tavistock 
 and eight from Okehampton, and it has been for a long 
 time in that condition. But it was formerly a place 
 of much importance. Julius Caesar is said by Bruce 
 to have honoured it with a visit soon after his invasion 
 of Britain. In the days of Edward the Confessor it 
 was the king's demesne or terra regis, and the manor 
 extended, as it still does, over the whole forest of 
 Dartmoor; Manerium de Lideford extendit per totam 
 forrestem de Dartmore. To the same effect testifies 
 Sir William Pole in his Collections : " Lidforth hath 
 always belonged unto the aerls and dukes of Cornwall, 
 and yo the principal towne of the stannery, and there 
 is contayned within the precincts of the parish 
 the whole or most part of Dartmore." Page 345. 
 Ethelred II., whose number of mints far exceeded 
 that of any preceding monarch, had one at Lydford,
 
 NOTES TO DARTMOOR. 195 
 
 tlie coins of which are distinguishable by the letters 
 LVD. LVD A. LVDAN. In the Anglo Saxon era 
 the minting towns in Devon were Lytlford, Totnes, 
 Barnstaple and Teignmouth. Those of Lydford and 
 Totnes were not of long duration, and chiefly in the 
 reign of Etheired II. The Lydford coins are rare, 
 but two orthreeof themwereinDr. Hunter's cabinet. 
 In the 19th of this king (977) the Danes made thek. 
 way to Lydford, after destroying Tavistock Abbey. 
 
 Lydford was anciently fortified, walled and moated, 
 with three gates, which still retain the names of 
 north gate, south gate, and east gate, and the sites of 
 which were visible, with the foundations of walls, in 
 Risdon's time. The keep of the castle, 50 feet square 
 by 40 high, placed on an artificial mound, only 
 remains, containing, on the west side, a door witli a 
 few scattered windows in the walls, and having a steep 
 descent to the Lyd, and some mounds of earth near, 
 towards the west. The custody of the castle was 
 always confided to a man of high quality. In 1238 
 the manor and castle of Lydford, with Dartmoor 
 chace, were granted by Henry III. to his brother 
 Richard. In 1307 Edward II. conferred the same on 
 his favourite, Piers de Gaveston. In 1338 Richard 
 Abberbury was made keeper of the castle and forest; 
 and in 1404 Henry IV. revoked a previous grant of 
 tliem to Peter de Courtenay, because they had been 
 reunited to the duchy, " eo quod unit fuerunt duca- 
 tum Cornubiae." 
 
 o2
 
 IIk; notks to dartmook. 
 
 The dungeon of the castle was so bad as to give 
 rise to the saying : '' Lydford law punishes a criminal 
 first and tries liim afterwards;" which saying Fuller 
 charitably attributes to some tinners "justly obnox- 
 ious to censure and deservedly punished," not to the 
 faults of the law itself; but a competent witness, 
 Browne, the poet of Tavistock, bears testimony to 
 the fact: — 
 
 " I've often heard of Lydford law 
 How in tlie morn they hang and draw. 
 
 And sit in judgment after. 
 At first I wondered at it much ; 
 But since I've found the matter such 
 
 That it deserves no laughter." 
 
 It is a dark deep place filled with rubbish, in which 
 offenders were detained for a month, year, or longer, 
 there being a gaol delivery only once in ten years; 
 which circumstance was complained of in a petition 
 to Edward III., when a commission issued to redress 
 it. In 1512 Kichard or "William Strode, esq., one of 
 the Strodes of Newnham, and member for the borough 
 of riymton Earle, for his exertions in procuring an 
 act to prevent blocking up harbours with stream 
 works, was prosecuted, or rather persecuted, by the 
 tinners in their court, then holden at Crockern Tor, 
 and heavily fined. On his refusal to pay the same, 
 he was confined in this most horrible and loathsome 
 dungeon, and kept in irons on bread and water only 
 for more than three weeks. But the result of this 
 tyrannous act was a considerable improvement effect-
 
 NOTES TO DARTMOOR. 197 
 
 ed by parliament in some of the most important stan- 
 nary privileges. 
 
 Lydford, however uninteresting and repulsive in 
 itself as a village, possesses in its vicinity many natu- 
 ral beauties. Gilpin says they would be "no dis- 
 grace to the wildest and most picturesque country," 
 and De Luc that the district around it exhibits on a 
 small scale various phenomena similar to the catas- 
 trophes of strata in the Alps. On approaching the 
 place from Tavistock a bridge is perceived of one 
 arch, about 30 feet long by 10 wide, flung over a 
 chasm worn by the river L,yd or caused by an earth- 
 quake, very narrow and awful to look upon, the sides 
 projecting in many places towards each other, whence 
 trees shooting out contribute to augment the gloom, 
 whilst the current beneath lies so deep as not to be 
 seen, but merely heard in indistinct murmurs, 
 excepting when agitated by floods. The bridge, 
 viewed from below, resembles an aerial one. 
 
 Not far from this spot is what is commonly, but 
 erroneously, called I^yd fall, which is occasioned, not 
 by the river, but by the callection of several rivulets 
 above into an excavated space for the use of a mill, 
 whose waters united into a single stream form the 
 fall, and which are sometimes ponded back to pro- 
 duce a greater effect on the eye of strangers. The 
 rock over which the waters glide is composed of smooth 
 schistose strata, and some way down is a projection,
 
 ion NOTES TO DARTMOOR. 
 
 which causes as it were a second fall. At the bot- 
 tom, to which there is a winding path through a 
 Avood, is a caldron or pit hollowed by their constant 
 attrition. The height of the fall, or rather two 
 falls, may be estimated at 110 feet. The Lyd, 
 emerging into day from the chasm, joins the falling 
 waters, and both flow together in a more peaceable 
 course adown the valley, the sides of which are 
 rovighened with woods and copses. " The depth of 
 the valley, and the gloom diffused by the thick woods, 
 give a solemnity to the scene which would amply re- 
 pay the traveller who may be fond of picturesque 
 scenery, even if there were no waterfall to increase 
 the beauty or to add to the other natural attractions 
 of the place. The Lyd likewise forces its silvery 
 stream through the wood, and gives additional beauty 
 to this interesting spot." Jones's MS. Tour of Devon- 
 shire. 
 
 On the Lyd is another fall, called Kit or Skid fall, 
 on a common a mile and half from the castle. The 
 river here bursts through steep and craggy rocks 
 with a descent of 30 feet, at one place losing itself 
 beneath the stones. If surrounded by trees it would 
 be more attractive than it is, but still it highly de- 
 serves a visit. Fragments of tin ore are found in 
 the channel of the Lyd.
 
 XOTES TO UAUTMOOK. 109 
 
 Note 38, Page 76. 
 — The solitary bird, that makes 
 
 The rock his sole companion. 
 
 The Bird alluded to in the text is the Ring Ouzel, 
 (Turdus Torquatus) which according to Pennant, 
 " builds among craggy rocks in high and mountain- 
 ous places, which it chiefly inhabits, flying, when dis- 
 turbed, from the top of one rock to another, and 
 seldom perching on trees. I have seen it but three 
 or four times, and always on Dartmoor." 
 
 In page 92 of the text, mention is made of another 
 Ouzel : 
 
 " The cheerful bird that loves the stream. 
 
 And the stream's voice, and answers in like strains. 
 Murmuring deliciously." 
 
 This is the Water Ouzel, (Turdus Cinctus) which 
 is always seen accompanied by its mate only, and 
 never leaves the banks of rivers. Its song is 
 really beautiful and has a great resemblance to the 
 sound of water gurgling among pebbles. 
 
 With the former, (Turdus Torquatus) from its 
 having a white crest, has been connected the tra- 
 dition respecting the appearance of a white bird 
 before the death of any of the family of Oxenham, in 
 South Tawton, of which Howell speaks in his Familiar 
 Letters, page 232. " Being in a Lapidary's shop, in
 
 200 NOTES TO DARTMOOR. 
 
 Fleet-Street, (July 3. 1«32) I observed a marble, 
 inscribed: — "Here lies John Oxenhani, a goodly 
 young man, in whose chamber, as he was struggling 
 with the pangs of death, a bird with a white crest 
 was seen fluttering about his bed, and so vanislied. 
 
 " Here lies also Jlary Oxenham, the sister of the 
 said John, who died the next day, and the same ap- 
 parition was seen in the room. 
 
 " Here lies, hard by, James Oxenham, the son of 
 the said John, who died a child in his cradle a little 
 after, and such a bird was seen fluttering about his 
 head a little before he expired, which vanished after- 
 wards, 
 
 " Here lies Elizabeth Oxenham, the mother of the 
 said John, who died sixteen years since, when such a 
 bird, with a white crest, was seen about the bed 
 before her death." 
 
 " To all these," he adds, " there be divers witnes- 
 ses, both squires and ladies, whose names are engra- 
 ven upon the stone; this stone is to be sent to a 
 town hard by Exeter, where this happened." The 
 monument herein described was intended, it is be- 
 lieved, for the parish church of Zele Monachorum, 
 but is not now to be found in any of our Devonshire 
 churches.
 
 NOTES TO DARTMOOR. 20l 
 
 The accidental appearance of this bird at Oxenham, 
 attracted thither by the light in the sick chamber, or 
 by some other cause, may have given rise to the tra- 
 dition, and the more particularly as the Moor is close 
 to South Tawton, and the Ring Ouzel frequents that 
 part of it. There is no other rational mode of 
 accounting for such a singular circumstance. This 
 happening in one instance was extended, by super- 
 stition, to other cases of death in the same family. 
 
 Note 39, Page 78. 
 
 The rapid Erme. 
 
 The river Erme or Arme rises in the south quarter 
 of the ]Moor, and gives name to the hundred and 
 parish of Ermington and Ermmouth. Its source, by 
 barometer, is 1,131 feet above the sea, and conse- 
 quently its current is rapid. The Rev. Mr. Pol- 
 whele thinks that it is called Arme from a colony of 
 Armenians settling on its banks, and there founding 
 Annenton or Ermington, which idea Valiancy favours, 
 denominating the Arme, from that circumstance, the 
 Armine ; but Baxter, in his Cilossary, considers Er- 
 mington as a very ancient British town; and the late 
 Mr Dyer, of Exeter, derived Arme from Aun or 
 Aum, water, changed to Arme. Its banks are abun- 
 dantly clothed with wood and coppice, both above
 
 202 KOTES TO DARTMOOIt. 
 
 and below Ivy Bridge, through which it flows, amid 
 large blocks of granite, with wliich the neighbouring 
 hills, though principally consisting of schistus and 
 dun-stone, ai-e covered. JNIodbury, in the hundred 
 of Ermington, sent members to parliament at West- 
 minster, in the 34th of Edward I. 
 
 Ivy Bridge is a romantic village, over-topped to 
 the north-north-east, by a hill, 1,130 feet above the 
 sea, with some tumuli on its summit, and its face 
 abrupt towards the south, geographically belonging 
 to, if not part of the exterior line of Dartmoor, and 
 called West Beacon Hill. Of this hill C3l feet up 
 its ascent is composed of slaty and compact gran- 
 wacke (one of the oldest secondary rocks) and the 
 remainder of porphyrite granite. From Three-Bar- 
 row tor, near it, there is a most surprising view, from 
 Portland in Dorsetshire, to the Lizard in Cornwall, 
 and from the skirts of Dartmoor, to Blackdown-hills, 
 in Somersetshire ; in front, nearer the eye, the South 
 Hams of Devon, from the Teign to the Tamar, the 
 estuary of the Yealm, Plymouth Sound, Mount 
 Edgcumbe, and the British Channel.
 
 XOTES TO DARTMOOIU 203 
 
 Note 40, Page "JO. 
 The Yealm 
 
 Pride of our austral vales. 
 
 This river is well designated as " the pride of our 
 austral vales," for though not mighty in volume, yet 
 in beauty of course, it is surpassed by none of the 
 other moor rivers, the fertility of its banks being 
 evinced by the vigorous growth of many tall aspiring 
 elms. Above Yealm bridge it forms the boundary 
 between the hundreds of Plympton and Ermington, 
 and thence are called Yealmouth and Yealmton, now 
 a village of some extent, but once a borough, excused 
 from returning members to parliament on account of 
 poverty. Ethelwold, a Saxon king, had his chief 
 palace, and Lessius, his lieutenant, was interi-ed there. 
 In the church yard is a stone 9 feet long, varying in 
 thickness, which gradually diminishes towards the 
 upper part, and is rough for nearly a foot at the lower 
 extremity, as if intended to stand upright in the 
 ground, lying east and west, and inscribed length- 
 Avays, in the middle, with the word Toreus, supposed 
 by Mr Polwhele, to be a christianized Roman. In 
 the church are several monuments to the Crockers 
 (one of whom was standard-bearer to Edward IV.,) 
 Pollexfens, Coplestons, and Bastards. Matthew 
 Fitzherbert, a noble soldier, and one of the barons 
 who assisted in obtaining Magna Charta from John, 
 at Runny mead, is said to have been born here.
 
 204 NOTES TO DARTJIOOn. 
 
 The banks of Yealm are adorned with Puzlinch, the 
 seat of the liev. John Yonge, having behind it a fir- 
 crowned hill, and immediately below the meandering 
 stream with its elms and the neat village of Yealm- 
 ton. Further on is situated Kitley, the seat of E. 
 P. Bastard, esq., M. P., upon the estuary of the 
 Yealm, into which a tributary brook empties itself; 
 after flowing through the grounds. In these is a 
 limestone cavern of great extent and magnificent 
 appearance when lighted uj). 
 
 Note 41, Page 81. 
 His hiyh icroi((jht soul. 
 
 The picture drawn in the text is not imaginary. 
 The story of Daniel Gumb, of Linkinhorne, in Corn- 
 wall, as given by IMr. C. S. Gilbert, in the first vol- 
 ume of his Historical Survey of that county, page 
 lOG, furnishes its original. 
 
 Gumb was bred a stone-cutter, but, by hard read- 
 ing and close apjjlication from early youth, he 
 acquired considerable knowledge of mathematics. 
 Being of a reserved disposition, and discovering 
 in his occupation on Cheesewring hill an immense 
 block of granite, whose upper surface was an inclined 
 plane, he immediately went to work, and excavating
 
 XOTES TO DARTMOOR. 205 
 
 the earth beneath to nearly the extent of the stone 
 above, he shaped out what he considered a commo- 
 dious habitation for himself and wife. The sides of 
 this excavation he lined with cemented stone, making 
 a chimney by perforating the earth at one side of the 
 roof. The entrance was divided into several small 
 apartments, separated by blocks of granite, and above 
 was a kind of lodging-room, formed of two rough 
 stone tables, one serving as a floor, the other as a 
 ceiling. One part of the latter rested on a rock, the 
 other on stones placed by main strength, the upper, 
 most of which served as ridges in carrying oft' the 
 rain water- The whole was surrounded by a walled 
 courtlage. In this rugged dwelling Gumb and his 
 family resided many years, the top of the house being 
 used by him as an observatory of the heavenly 
 bodies; on which he carved with a chisel various dia- 
 grams explanatory of the most difficult pi-oblems in 
 Euclid, and the house itself was his chapel, as he was 
 never known to attend the parish church or any 
 other place of worship. The remains of this extra- 
 ordinary habitation were visited by Mr. Gilbert, in 
 1814, when he found the wall of the courtlage fallen, 
 and the whole in a dilapidated state. On the entrance 
 is inscribed " D. Gumb, 1735."
 
 20G XOTES TO DARTMOOR. 
 
 Note 42, Page 85. 
 A Granite God, 
 
 This is an enormous mass of stone or pile of rocks 
 upon Heighen Down in Manaton, rising to a heiglit 
 of more than 30 feet. At a distance it wears the 
 appearance of a rude gigantic figure, but, on a nearer 
 approach, it is found to consist of ledges of granite, 
 irregularly piled on each other. It is generally con- 
 sidered as a rock idol, and bears the name of Bovver- 
 man's Nose, of which name there was a person in the 
 Conqueror's time, who lived at Huntor or Houndtor 
 in Manaton. In the road from Two Bridges to 
 Tavistock Dr. Berger and his friend "Mi-. Necker were 
 both struck at once with the resemblance of a granite 
 rock to the Egyptian Sphinx in a mutilated state. 
 
 Note 43, Page 86. 
 'T'is said that here 
 
 The Druid ioander\l. 
 
 Many have doubted, whether the Druids were even 
 acquainted with the Moor, and much less that they 
 there celebrated their superstitious rites, but the cir- 
 cles, the logans, the cromlech, and the rock basins, 
 still remaining on or near the spot, leave no room for 
 scepticism concerning the fact.
 
 NOTES TO DARTMOOIl. 207 
 
 The two circles on the higher part of Dartmoor, 
 above Ladle Bottom, and directly under Sittaford tor, 
 which adjoin each other, and are known by the name 
 of the Grey "Wethers, from their fancied resemblance, 
 at a short distance, to sheep, are of themselves alone 
 sufficient to prove it. They consist of 30 stones, each 
 varying from 3 to 5 feet in height, and from 7 to 9 
 feet apart, according to their size- Not more than 
 half of them are erect, some being thrown down, and 
 others removed. Both circles are GO feet in diameter. 
 
 Quarnell Down contains a number of columns or 
 circles, one of them inclosing a kistvaen or sepulchral 
 chest. On Buckland Down is a small circle of the 
 same kind, and another between Quarnell tor and 
 Sharpitor. 
 
 At Drewsteignton is a logan or rocking stone. 
 
 The logan, when rocked, emits an audible mur- 
 mur, of a peculiarly awful nature, and from the 
 circumstance of its moving to and fro when touched, 
 takes its name. But Vallency adopts a nicer defini- 
 tion, tracing it from the Irish logh, divine power, or 
 spirit, which the Druids conceived to be infused into 
 the stone, and thence consulted it as an oracle. These 
 craft}"^ priests had the art of inducing their infatuated 
 votaries to believe that they alone could make a logan 
 move, and using it as an ordeal, they thereby con- 
 demned or acquitted criminals. They likewise
 
 2U8 VOTES TO DARTMOOR. 
 
 employed it in divination, and to perambulate it was 
 a signal mode of acquiring sanctity. Uetween Wid- 
 dicombe churcb and Kijjpen tor there was formerly a 
 logan, called the Nutcrackers, and another on East 
 down, named the "Whooping Rock, from the noise it 
 jdelded in tempestuous weatlier, but the functions of 
 both have long ceased. On the top of Lustleigh Cleve 
 is another small logan. Bryant, in his Ancient 
 ISfythology, says, " It was usual for tlie ancients to 
 place one stone upon another for a religious memo- 
 rial." AppoUonius E-hodius, in his first book, also 
 speaks of one. 
 
 The only cromlech on the Moor is at Drewsteign- 
 ton. In the parish of Shaugh, and other places, there 
 are many rocks, which have a druidical semblance ; 
 but nature here is sportive in her operations, and the 
 mind of the visitor, heated with enthusiasm, imagines 
 some of them to have been consecrated to religious 
 objects, and in most, if not all cases, excepting those 
 specified, erroneously. 
 
 On the summit of Meerdon near Moreton, was once 
 a large cairn, denominated the Giant's Tomb, and on 
 the opposite side, near Blackstone, is a collection of 
 stones, generally supposed to be druidical, and thence 
 called the Altar. Some of the tors wear a sublime 
 appearance, and even of art, as if anciently appropri- 
 ated to the same worship, to which their being split 
 both perpendicularly and horizontally into various
 
 NOTES TO DARTMOOR. 209 
 
 shapes and sizes, some regular and some irregular, 
 mainly contributes. Puttor is one of these. 
 
 The number of rock basins is comparatively few, 
 as, though there are numberless rocks and tors, yet 
 all of them do not possess this distinction. Willistone 
 and Elackstone rocks in jNIoreton, Sharpitoi', Pentor, 
 Miltor, Beltor, Kestor, Heytor, several rocks at 
 Holne, and INIistor Pan exhibit them in greater or 
 less perfection. Tliey are always on the verge, and 
 the Druids used them to obtain rain or dew pure and 
 unadulterated from the heavens for lustral waters. 
 Dr. Mac CuUoch ascribes rock basins to the decompo- 
 sition of the stone from the presence of water or the 
 alternate action of air and water, the decomposed 
 matter or gi'avel being mostly borne away by winds, 
 but in some of the deeper hollows it continues. 
 
 Barrows, " the dark and narrow place of the grave," 
 are not, perhaps, of druidical origin, but they often 
 accompany the places resorted to by the followers 
 of that worship. They are common in ]\Ioreton, 
 Hennock, Widdicombe, Roborough, Dartmoor, on 
 Quarnell, Ilamel, and other downs, and West Beacon 
 Hill, near Ivy Bridge has several. On Quarnell 
 down in particular there is a barrow 94 paces 
 round. One of the tors is so named from its having 
 three barrows. Some of the barrows have been 
 opened, but only bones and fragments of urns were 
 found.
 
 210 NOTES TO DARTlMOOn. 
 
 A cell was dug up at Insdon a few years ago- 
 
 In addition to these relics of former ages, many 
 single erect stones, some inscribed and some not, are 
 to he met Avith at different spots, wliich were either 
 designed to commemorate the deatli of a hero, or a 
 battle, or as a guide across the pathless wilds and 
 bogs. At lAistleigh is an inscribed stone, with letters 
 said to resemble tiiose of an inscription mentioned by 
 Mr. ]Morier, at Nashki Huston, near Persepolis, in 
 Persia. Two or three j^ears since was an inscribed 
 stone at Slowford, but it has been defaced and fitted 
 as a step to ]Mr. Bowden's chapel, at Ivy Bridge. 
 Anotlier Avas in the bed of the river Erme at that 
 place, full of carved work. 
 
 On the top of Cosson hill is alarge cairn, and there 
 are mounds of earth at the bottom, both of wliich 
 may be referred to the druidical era, though not per- 
 haps in themselves of druidical erection.
 
 NOTES TO DARTMOOR. 211 
 
 Note 44, Page 87. 
 
 Moss, ivy, lichen — rises o'er the broad 
 Luxurious sivard. 
 
 There is nothing in which Dartmoor and its sister 
 commons display more beauty than in their tors and 
 rocks embossed with vegetation, which, in the lan- 
 guage of the author of the Philosophy of Nature, 
 "become more endeared to the eye of taste, from 
 Nature having in a manner made them her own, by 
 covering them with moss, lichen, and with ivy." 
 
 Clothed with JNIusci, Hepaticae, Fungi, &c., the 
 commons of Dartmoor afford a rich harvest to the 
 botanist and to the philosoplier ; a proof that vege- 
 table life and joy are not confined to the less sterile 
 parts of the earth. 
 
 END OF NOTES TO DARTMOOR,
 
 MY NATIVE VILLAGE.
 
 MY NATIVE VILLAGE. 
 
 Totjch'd by the sunlight of the evening hour, 
 The elm still rises near thy aged tower 
 Dear, pensive Harewood, and in that rich ray 
 E'en tliy old lichen'd battlements seem gay : — 
 Through the bowed windows streams the golden glow. 
 The beam is sleeping on the tombs below ; 
 While, with its million flowers, yon hedge-roAV fair 
 Girts with green zone thy lowly House of Prayer. 
 No breeze plays with the amber leafage now, 
 Still is the cypress — still the ivy bough. 
 And but for that fleet bird that glances round 
 Thy spire, or darting o'er the sacred ground
 
 216 MY NATIVE VILLAGE. 
 
 Twitters for very joj, how strange and deep 
 The silence where the lost — the lov'd ones sleep ! 
 Beside — there is nor lay, nor voice, nor breath, 
 A happy, living thing, where all around is— Death. 
 
 Dear, pensive Harewood ! let no wanton feet 
 Profane the calmness of thy bless'd retreat ; 
 For here dove-eyed Aifection seeks relief. 
 And tastes, unmark'd, the luxury of grief. 
 How sweet to trace where on those hillocks green 
 The sacred hand of Piety has been ! ' 
 Rich hues are mingling with the pleasant grass, 
 The western gales breathe fragrance when they pass ; 
 The daisy lifts its unassuming head — 
 The jasmine droops above the honour'd dead — 
 Around the hawthorn flings its rich perfume — 
 And roses — earliest roses, bud and bloom ; — 
 The woodbine clasps the monumental urn, 
 And oft when Friendship hither hastes to mourn, 
 She hears the wild bee hum — the wild bird sing, 
 And all the tend'rest melodies of Spring ;
 
 MY NATIVE VILLAGE. 217 
 
 While one clear silvers rill that hastes along, 
 Chaunts in her car its own sweet undersong. 
 
 So ghould the dead bo honour'd, so should be 
 Their last dear resting place by brook and tree ; — 
 So should Affection sprinkle round the tonil> 
 As Spring awakes, Ihe loveliest flowers that bloom. 
 Sun, shower, and breeze should quicken, — cherish, 
 
 here 
 The freshest, fairest verdure of the year ; — 
 The elm with leaf untouch'd, with bough unriven. 
 Lift his majestic trunk, and soar to heav'n ; — 
 The oak of nameless age should proudly wave 
 Tlis liundred hoary arms above the grave; — 
 While birds of plaintive voice should through the 
 
 grove 
 Pour the heart-soothing lay of Pity and of Love ! 
 
 Tree of the days of old— time-honour'd Yew — 
 Pride of my boyhood — manhood — age — Adieu ! 
 Broad was thy shadow, mighty one, but now 
 Sits desolation on thy leafless bough !
 
 218 MY NATIVE VILLAGE. 
 
 That huge, and far fam'd trunk, scoop'd out by age. 
 
 Will break, full soon, beneath the tempest's rage ; 
 
 Few are the leaves lone sprinkled o'er thy breast, 
 
 There's bleakness, blackness on thy shiver'd crest ! 
 
 When Spring shall vivify again the earth, 
 
 And yon blest vale shall ring with woodland mirth. 
 
 Morning, noon, eve, — no bird with wanton glee 
 
 Shall pour anew his poetry from thee ; 
 
 For thou hast lost thy greenness, and he loves 
 
 The verdure and companionship of groves — • 
 
 Sings where the song is loudest, and the spray, 
 
 Fresh, fair, and youthful, dances in the ray ! 
 
 Nor shall returning Spring, o'er storms and strife 
 
 Victorious, e'er recal thee into life ! 
 
 Yet stand thou there — majestic to the last, 
 
 And stoop with grandeur to the conquering blast. 
 
 Aye stand thou there— for great in thy decay 
 
 Thou wondrous remnant of a far-gone day, 
 
 Thy name, thy might, shall wake in rural song, 
 
 Bless'd by the old — respected by the young ; 
 
 While all unknown, uncar'd for, — oak on oak 
 
 Of yon tall grove shall feel the woodman's stroke ;
 
 MY XATIVE VILLAGE. 210 
 
 One common, early fate awaits them all, 
 No sympathising eye shall mark their fall ; 
 And beautiful in ruin as they lie 
 For them shall not be heard one rustic sigh ! 
 
 One wither'd bough leans o'er an infant's tomb. 
 Von simple stone records his early doom ! — 
 Sweet Boy ! the winter struck thee, and when Spring 
 "Wav'd o'er the earth his rainbow-tinted wing, 
 The sun gave warmth and music to our vale. 
 And health, we fondly deem'd, fill'd every gale ; 
 In vain ! He pin'd, although his mother smil'd 
 Over a sinking heart, and bless'd her child ; 
 And could not — would not — see that Death was near, 
 But, strong in hope, calm'd every rising fear ! 
 And still, through all to Love and Nature true. 
 Bore him where flowers in fairest clusters grew, 
 And loiter'd in the sunny grass, and rov'd 
 By the clear rills, and pluck'd the gems he lov'd ;— 
 The primrose that hangs o'er a sunny stream, 
 The king-cup with its glossy, golden gleam,
 
 220 MY NATIVE VILLAGE. 
 
 And that old favourite— the Daisv— born 
 
 By millions in the balmy, vernal morn 
 
 The child's own flower ;— and these her gentle hands 
 Would join, to cheer him, in sweet verdurous bands. 
 Then he would smile, oh, when that smile would 
 
 break 
 A moment o'er his worn, and pallid cheek. 
 How she would gaze upon her angel-boy ! 
 How in the mother triumph'd. Love— Hope — Joy ! 
 And then the birds would flutter by, and he 
 Through the calm hour, would watch their motions 
 
 free ; 
 And when that haunter of green depths—the thrush 
 Flung his full melody from brake and bush, 
 'Twas beautiful to mark his mute surprise. 
 And the quick glances of his fitful eyes. 
 But harmonies of birds, and lapse of brooks, 
 And calm and silent hours in sun-touch'd nooks, 
 And charms of flowers, and happy birds and trees. 
 And healthful visitings of vernal breeze 
 Avail'd not ; ceaseless gnaw'd that worm which lies 
 So ambush'd in our English hearts,— and dies
 
 MY NATIVE VILLAGE. 221 
 
 But with the life it takes. Consumption now 
 Sat all reveal'd upon his marble brow, 
 And, sometimes, as in fierce derision, threw 
 O'er those fine features an angelic hue- 
 Quick shifting;- that strange, sudden bloom which 
 
 glows 
 As falsely as those colourings of the rose 
 Which seem so beautiful, and wear so well 
 Health's purest tint, while in its deepest cell — 
 Its depths of loveliest foldings, lurks a foe — 
 A canker that shall lay its splendor low ! 
 
 He linger'd thus— this Human Blossom — till • 
 The life-gales of the Spring— those airs that fill 
 Our veins with fresh, young health, had pass'd away 
 And then a change came o'er him ; yet he lay 
 Fixing with unmov'd calm his glassy eye 
 Intense, upon his mother wandering nigh 
 His snow-white couch. And she would bend above 
 Her boy (how quenchless is a mother's love !) 
 And hope, aye against hope, but soon drew near, 
 Chasing all doubt, the hour of mortal fear —
 
 222 MY NATIVE VILLAGE. 
 
 He droop'd ; and as the Summer-day grew hot 
 There came a voice of anguish from that cot 
 Like Hachel's. 
 
 Sacred is the voice of grief, 
 And tears, that give the heart a sure relief, 
 Must flow uncheck'd. 'Tis Time alone can bring 
 Relief, and pluck from Sorrow its keen sting; 
 And deaden the fierce feelings of the mind 
 And shed, at last, the wish and will resign'd. 
 Years roU'd, — and though within that mourner's door 
 The tones of gladness never enter'd more, 
 Yet pensive peace, and meek content were there, 
 Strong, ardent faith, and solitude, and prayer ; 
 And from her lowly cot, at morn and even, 
 The meekly warbled lay arose to Heaven ! 
 
 Bard of the village ! o'er thy peaceful grave 
 The bay should brighten, and the laurel wave ; —
 
 >IY NATIVE VILLAGE. 223 
 
 Thy lyre no more shall charm the sylvan bower 
 Or soothe the hearth in winter's dreary hour. 
 Harewood ! thy hard's was still the usual lot 
 Of genius, to be prais'd— and be forgot; — 
 To pour to wealth and rank the dulcet strain, 
 Yet dwell with penury and shrink with pain ;— 
 "With Labour still to live from day to day, 
 And walk with Toil along life's rugged way. 
 Yet when blest freedom came with accents kind 
 And brief repose refresh'd his sinking mind, 
 How many a simple pleasure was his own ! 
 How many a joy to vulgar minds unknown ! 
 For Nature op'd to him — her darling child 
 The beautiful, the wonderful, the wild. 
 And he would wander forth where quiet dwells 
 In the dim depths of woods and forest dells, 
 Musing the hour away ; and where the shades 
 Grow darker, and the baffled sun-ray fades, 
 Amid the dark-wove foliage of the grove 
 He ever had a strange delight to rove. 
 Yet sometimes, where our lov'd Devonia yields 
 The noblest treasures of our southern fields,
 
 224 MY NATIVE VILLAGE. 
 
 He stray'd, and gave to memory loveliest themes 
 And swept his lyre to hail — The Land of Streams ! 
 Anon the wayward wight would fearless scale 
 The black-brow'd cliff that overhung the dale, 
 And careless resting on tliat mountain throne, 
 IMake the vast wealth of Prospect all his own 
 With rich appropriation. Far below • 
 
 Rush'd the loud moorland torrent, dash'd to snow 
 By the rude rocks, and he would deeply pore 
 On that mad stream, and listen to its roar 
 Till haply the bold falcon, sweeping by. 
 Would scare him from some noon-day phantasy — 
 Some wild and wondrous fancies that retain 
 A strange and deep possession of the brain. 
 Ere Reason reassume her empire there, 
 And dash the mystic visions into air. 
 
 His wanderings and his musings, — hopes and fears, 
 His keen-felt pleasures, and his heart-wrung tears 
 Are past ; — the grave clos'd on him ere those days 
 Had come when on the scalp the snow-wreath plays;
 
 MY NATIVE VILLAGE. 225 
 
 lie perisli'd ere his prime; but they who know 
 
 What 'tis to battle with a world of woe, 
 
 From youth to elder manhood, feel too well 
 
 That grief, at last, within the deepest cell 
 
 Of the poor heart will bring decay, and shake 
 
 So fierce the soul — that Care like Age will make 
 
 " The grasshopper a burden." Slowly came 
 
 The mortal stroke, but to the end the flame 
 
 Of Poesy burn'd bright. With feeble hand 
 
 He touch'd his harp, but not at his command 
 
 Came now the rich, old music. Faintly fell 
 
 On his pain'd ear the strains he lov'd so well 
 
 And then his heart was broken. 'Neath yon sward 
 
 Flower-sprinkl'd now, rests Harewood's peasant bard ; 
 
 While power and opulence with senseless prate, 
 
 And useless pity seem to mourn his fate ; 
 
 With fulsome epitaph insult his grave. 
 
 And eulogize the man they would not save. 
 
 The village fane its noble tower uprears, 
 Safe from the tempests of a thousand years ; — 
 
 Q.
 
 22(J MY NATIVE VILLAGE. 
 
 Still in their ancient strength these walls arise, 
 
 And brave the rudest shocks of wintry skies ! 
 
 And see, within — how beautiful! — time-proof, 
 
 O'er aisle and nave light springs the embowed roof ! 
 
 The massive door is open ; — let me trace 
 
 With reverential awe the solemn place ; — 
 
 Ah, let me enter, once again the pew 
 
 Where the child nodded as the sermon grew ; 
 
 Scene of soft slumbers ! I remember now 
 
 The chiding finger, and the frowning brow 
 
 Of stern reprovers, when the ardent June 
 
 Flung through the glowing aisles the drowsy noon ; 
 
 Ah, admonitions vain ! a power was there 
 
 Which conquer'd e'en the sage, the brave, the fair, — 
 
 A sweet oppressive power — a languor deep. 
 
 Resistless shedding round delicious sleep ! 
 
 Till, clos'd the learn'd harangue, with solemn look 
 
 Arose the chaunter of the sacred book, — 
 
 The parish clerk (death-silenc'd) far-fam'd then 
 
 And justly, for his long and loud — Amen ! 
 
 Rich was his tone, and his exulting eye 
 
 Glanc'd to the ready choir, enthron'd on high.
 
 MY NATIVE VILLAGE. 22? 
 
 Nor glanc'd in vain ; the simple-hearted throng 
 Lifted their voices, and dissolved in song ; 
 Till in one tide deep rolling, full and free 
 Rang through the echoing pile, old England's psal- 
 mody. 
 
 See, halfway down the vale whose vagrant stream 
 Rolls its bright waters, oft the poet's theme. 
 True to the call of his own village bells — 
 Sweet call to him, the village pastor* dwells. 
 Shepherd of Harewood, peace has bless'd thy days, 
 A calm half century of prayer and praise ; — 
 The snows of time are on thy honour'd head 
 
 Yet is thy step not weak — thy vigour fled ; 
 
 Not yet those snows that on thy temples lie 
 Have dimm'd the fires that sparkle in thine eye ! 
 Clear are the tones of that persuasive voice 
 Which bids the sinner fear, the saint rejoice ; — 
 How oft to wake the unrepentant, falls 
 The burst of eloquence around these walls ! 
 
 * " One to whom solitude and peace were given. 
 Calm village silence and the hope of heaven."
 
 228 MY NATIVE VILLAGE. 
 
 How, thronging deep, the irstening crowd admire 
 That eye of lightning, and that lip of fire ! 
 Hang on the cheering truths that sweetly flow, 
 AVarm with the theme, and share the holy glow. 
 List that love-breathing voice at morn or even 
 And wake the hymn that lifts the soul to heaven. 
 
 My native village, thou hast still the power 
 To charm me, as in boyhood's far-gone hour ! 
 Years have flown on—" chance, change" have i)assM 
 
 o'er me 
 Since last I gamboU'd on thy peaceful lea ; — 
 Years have flown on — and from the oft -trod brow 
 Of the old hill, I gaze upon thee now ; — 
 And tearful mark each scene, so known, so true, 
 The very picture which my memory drew. 
 Ah, Harewood, early doom'd from thee to roam, 
 The sketch was fair which Fancy form'd of Home ! 
 Care — absence — distance — as to thee I turn'd 
 But fed the Local Fire which inly burn'd ; 
 And Hope oft whisper'd that, all perils past. 
 In thy dear bosom I should rest at last.
 
 MY NATIVE VILLAGE- 229 
 
 AVhence is this wondrous sympathy that draws 
 Our souls to Home by its mysterious laws 
 Where'er we wander ; and with stronger love 
 Sways the touch'd heart, more distant as we rove ? 
 Ask of the soldier who, in climes afar, 
 Stands undismay'd amid the ranks of war ; — 
 Who, with unfaltering foot where thousands fall, 
 Advancing gives his bosom to the ball ; — 
 Or with a passive courage nobler still, 
 Undaunted bears of strife the every ill ; — 
 Unmurmuring suffers all that man may bear, 
 Firm to sustain, and resolute to dare ! — 
 Ask of him what has nerv'd his arm in fight, 
 And cheer'd his soul in visions of the night ; — 
 That 'mid the deep, dark gloom — the tempest's wrath, 
 Oft flung a ray of comfort on his path ! 
 'Twas the sweet wish once more to view the strand 
 Far — far away — his own, blest, native land : — 
 To live again where first he drew his breath, 
 And sleep, at last, with those he lov'd — in Death ! 
 Dear Home, wherever seated,— plac'd on high 
 Some cot amid the mountains where the cry
 
 230 MY NATIVE VILLAGE. 
 
 Of the king-eagle mingles with the gale, 
 And the storm shrieks that never scares the vale ; — 
 Or found in dells where glows the southern ray, 
 Flowers bloom, birds sing, and fragrant zephyrs 
 
 play ;— 
 Dear Home, wherever seated, — loveliest, best 
 Of all on earth to him — his hope, his rest, 
 'Twas thy resistless influence that gave 
 Hope in the field and comfort on the wave ; — 
 'Twas that which, doom'd an exile yet to be, 
 Attracts my soul, sweet village, thus to thee ! 
 
 Yes, ye are fair as ever, — field and wood, 
 And cots that gem the calm, green solitude. 
 And harvest ripening in the golden gleam. 
 And flowers, rich fringing all yon wayward stream. 
 The village play-ground lifts its age-worn trees, 
 And flings young voices on the evening breeze ; — 
 The rill which flow'd of old yet freshly flows, 
 The lake yet spreads in beautiful repose ; — 
 There waves the very grove whose walks among 
 I oft have stray'd to hear the blackbird's song,
 
 MY NATIVE VILLAGE. 231 
 
 Long may the wild bird that sweet refuge know ; — 
 Curs'd be the axe that lays its foliage low ; — 
 Long, bless'd as now with minstrelsy and flowers, 
 Rise, Harewood, rise, among thy blushing bowers ; — 
 And as yon stream, its moorland journey past, 
 Glides smoothly through the unechoing vales at last, 
 So, spent with toil, in Life's tumultuous day, 
 A pilgrim fainting from his rugged way, 
 Sweet on thy peaceful bosom let me rest 
 Like a tir'd bird in its own quiet nest ; 
 And find (how exquisite to find it) there 
 Life's stormy noon crown'd with a sunset fair.
 
 232 NOTE TO MY NATIVE VILLAGE. 
 
 Note, Page 21G. 
 
 How sweet to trace where on those hillocks green 
 The sacred hand of Piety has been ! 
 
 " Sweet" indeed ! This custom of ornamenting 
 ■with flowers, &c. the graves of the deceased, is still 
 to be found in Wales, in Switzerland, and in several 
 parts of France. It is a beautiful — an interesting — 
 a holy custom ! What truly can be more touching 
 than to behold one friend bending over the grave 
 of another, sprinkling seeds, or inserting lovely plants 
 in the enamelled turf? But such heart-stirring 
 scenes are almost unknown in England !
 
 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS.
 
 THE TWINS OF LAMERTON.* 
 
 'TwAS pleasant to behold them — side by side 
 Sunk in soft slumber, with their arms enlac'd 
 Around each other's ivory neck — a smile 
 Playing upon the angel cheek, as swam 
 Delicious fancies through the brain — young joys 
 Renew'd in golden dreams ; while now and then 
 The snow-white coverlid, by Love's dear hand 
 Spread o'er them carefully, was flung aside 
 By a fair, graceful foot, disclosing half 
 
 * For an historical sketch quaintly but beautifully written, of these 
 really remarkable brethren, read Prince's Worthies of Devon. 
 
 " In the parish church of Lamerton," writes the same author, "is 
 a noble memorial erected, not only to these two brothers, but to 
 several others of them, whose images are there lively represented." 
 
 There were eight sons and eight daughters in this family, of whom 
 six were twiris.
 
 23(j THE TWINS OF LAMERTON. 
 
 The form of a young Hercules. How sweet, 
 
 How beautiful in rest, the seraph pair 
 
 To all who mark'd them thus; but, oh, to lier — 
 
 The mother that bent over them — how full 
 
 Of Heaven the raptur'd gaze ! And then the morn 
 
 When, sleep's light visions flown, upon her ear 
 
 Bi'oke their first, welcome voices, and her lip 
 
 Revell'd on their's, insatiate ! The earth 
 
 Through all her millions, such another tAvain 
 
 Possess'd not — one in feature, and unknown 
 
 Apart, but that affection on the arm 
 
 Of the dear younger playfully entwin'd 
 
 An azure chaplet. Nor alone in form. 
 
 In stature, lineaments, wore they the same 
 
 Perplexing, undistinguishable semblance, — one 
 
 In soul they liv'd ; — a sympathy divine 
 
 Mix'd in their wondrous being, and they lov'd, 
 
 Dislik'd, fear'd, hated, languish'd, as at once 
 
 That common spirit sway'd. E'en distance had, 
 
 'Tis said, no power to part them, for they felt — 
 
 Asunder and remote, the self same moods —
 
 THE TWINS or tAMERTON. 237 
 
 Felt mutual hopes, joys, fears,— and ever held 
 Invisible communion ! 
 
 Thus they grew 
 To their strange manhood ; for they rose to man 
 Unchang'd in mien, and oft perplexing still 
 The charm'd beholder,— baffling e'en the glance 
 Parental : — thus they grew, and inlv mov'd 
 Bv the mysterious feeling which had sway'd 
 Their infancy. Twin roses were they, nurs'd 
 « From bud to beauty," by the summer gale 
 And summer sun. Alas that fate should blight 
 Those flowers — the ornament, delight, love, hope, 
 Of their fair, native bower ! 
 
 But fiercely swept 
 The unexpected gale ! The storm of Life 
 Burst loud and terribly, as calmly flew 
 The love-wing'd moments of the sacred band 
 Of brethren, and of sisters, who look'd on. 
 And, wondering, gaz'd to ecstacy. Their home 
 Was as a c^uiet nest embosora'd deep
 
 238 THE TWINS OF LAMEIITON. 
 
 In woods of some soft valley where the hand 
 Of plunderer comes not, and the sudden gale 
 But seldom shrieks, and silence kindly spreads 
 O'er all her downy wing. 
 
 Loud blew the blast 
 Of war, and shook the nations. France unroll'd 
 Her lilied flag, and England in the breeze 
 Wav'd her dread lion banner. Then the cot, 
 The palace, sent its children forth, to fall 
 By thousands, at Ambition's startling voice. 
 And man his brother man infuriate met 
 In the death grapple ; — shedding oft his blood 
 Unmark'd, in battle fields, that but to few 
 Give e'en the dear-bought recompence to live 
 In stories of the future ! 
 
 From the arms 
 Of sweet affection — from the dear caress — 
 The agonizing and enduring clasp 
 Of home's beloved circle— forth they came 
 The inseparable brethren, soon to prove
 
 THE TWINS OF LAMERTON. 239 
 
 Far other scenes than in the rural shade 
 Had bless'd their rare existence. Soon, amid 
 The shock of conflict — side by side, they stood. 
 That matchless pair — the beautiful, the brave — 
 Winning all hearts : and, as the two of old, 
 " Lovely and pleasant in their lives," they were 
 In death not separated, for they met 
 (So it should be) one common fate, and sank 
 Together to a soldier's grave !
 
 240 THE sailor's fate. 
 
 THE SAILOirS FATE. 
 
 A peasant, in pursuing some sheep which had wandered from 
 their accustomed pasturage, discovered, in the middle of the nalicd 
 solitude (Dartmoor) that stretches from Lydford nearly twenty miles 
 in a south-eastern direction, the body of a sailor, much emaciated, 
 and in such a state as gave reason to think he had been lying on the 
 spot five or six weeks. His countenance, however, was serene, and his 
 posture composed ; a small bundle of linen supported his head, and 
 the remains of a faithful dog lay at his feet. 
 
 Warner's Walk through the Western Counties. 
 
 He perish'd on the Moor ! The pitying swain 
 Found him outstretch'd upon the wide, wild plain ; 
 There lay the wanderer by the quivering bog, 
 And, at his foot, his patient, faithful dog. 
 Thrice gallant brute ! that through the weary day 
 Shar'd all the perils of the lonely way, 
 Fac'd the fierce storm, and, by his master's side, 
 In the cold midnight, laid him down and died !
 
 THE sailor's fate. 241 
 
 Thrice gallant brute ! to thee the local bard 
 Shall sweep his lyre, fidelity's reward ; 
 Thy fate shall wake the frequent sigh, and Fame, 
 At least in moorland annals, grave thy name ! 
 
 AVas it for this (so Fancy sings) the Tar 
 Consum'd his vigorous youth in climes afar, 
 And nobly dared, in danger's every form, 
 The ocean battle and the ocean storm ; 
 Undaunted stood where on the blood-red wave 
 The death-shot peal'd among the English brave ; 
 Or scal'd the slipp'ry yard, where, pois'd on high, 
 As the dread lightning burn'd along the sky. 
 He fearless hung, though, yielding to the blast, 
 Beneath him groan'd the rent and trembling mast ? 
 Ah ! haply fired by home's enchanting name, 
 Fi-om tropic shores the enthusiast sailor came ; 
 To the fleet gales his bounding vessel gave. 
 And reach'd, at last, the fresh, wild, western wave; 
 Till, soon descried, upon the eager view 
 Dark from the surge the old Bolerium* grew : 
 
 * The Land's End, Cornwall.
 
 242 THE sailor's fate. 
 
 Then, as he heard the shoreward billows roll, 
 High glow'd the local fire within his soul; 
 And now he raptur'd cried, " All dangers o'er, 
 My native land we meet to part no more." 
 "While England, England on the foam-swept lee 
 Uprose, proud peering o'er the subject sea, 
 Disclos'd at once to him her matchless charms, 
 And woo'd the wearied exile to her arms. 
 
 Where the swift Torridge, Tamar's sister, flows 
 Through northern fields, perhaps his cot arose ; 
 And stout of heart, and strong of foot, he pass'd 
 With rapid course along the lessening waste. 
 'Twas a wild path, by e'en the peasant shunn'd. 
 But then his beck'ning Canaan lay beyond. 
 Already, fancy -fired, he saw each scene 
 Well known and lov'd— the church, the village- 
 green — 
 Saw the hills sweetly rise, his native dells 
 Soft sink, and heard the music of the bells- 
 Delightful melodies, that still engage 
 The love of youth and joy the heart of age.
 
 THE sailor's fate. 243 
 
 Illusions all ! down rush'd the moorland night ; 
 
 He met the mountain tempest in its might. 
 
 No guide to point the way, no friend to cheer ; 
 
 Gloom on his path, the fateful snow-storm near ! 
 
 Alone ! — ah, when the ocean conflict grew 
 
 More loud, more fierce, and swift the death-shot flew, 
 
 Or round his bark the infuriate billows rag'd, 
 
 'Twas sympathy that all his toUs assuag'd ; 
 
 With dauntless hearts, with friends and comrades 
 
 dear 
 He shar'd the danger, and he smil'd at fear. 
 But now — man far away — an exile poor. 
 He wander'd cheerless on the untrodden moor ! 
 Swift from the cloud the arrowy lightning flash'd. 
 Fierce o'er the waste the impetuous waters dash'd. 
 Beep was the howl of torrents ; and when broke. 
 Drowning the torrent's voice, the thunder-stroke, 
 Wide horror reign'd : again the deathful flash 
 Hiss'd on his track — again the mighty crash 
 Startled, but conquer'd not, the brave ! He stood 
 Amid the storm, in that great solitude.
 
 244 THE sailor's fate. 
 
 With all a seaman's high, enduring so\il, 
 Eyed the keen fires, and heard the fate-peal roll ; 
 And though the warring elements had power 
 To crush him in that dark and trying hour, 
 They shook not that true spirit firm and fast, 
 Which sways a British seaman to the last ! 
 
 He perish'd on the moor ! No shelt'i'ing grave 
 Oped for the hapless hero of the wave ; 
 Till, rescued from the winter gale's dread wing, 
 Waked the lone desert at the touch of spring. 
 Then feet came o'er the wild ; — hy hill and rock 
 Sought the rude swain the wanderers of his flock. 
 There on the silent waste the victim lay. 
 The sport of winds through many a brumal day ! 
 And, rough though highland swain, a generous sigh 
 Burst at the lot of poor mortality : 
 So cold, so pale, so shrunk that manly brow, 
 That lip so mute, that eye so rayless now ; 
 That livid form which seem'd so rudely cast 
 From man, and whitening in the boreal blast !
 
 THE sailor's fate. 245 
 
 He saw and felt, and, mourning at the doom 
 Of the poor stranger, bore him to his tomb 
 In the lone moorland church-yard : — yet no stone 
 Records his name — his home, his race, unknown ; 
 And nought remains of him in village lore 
 I>ut this sad truth— he perish'd on the moor !
 
 246 CIIILDE THE HUNTER. 
 
 CHILDE THE HUNTER. 
 
 Few roam the heath, e'en when the sun — 
 
 The golden sun is high ; 
 And the leaping, laughing streams are bright, 
 
 And the lark is in the sky. 
 
 But when upon the ancient hills 
 
 Descends the giant cloud, 
 And the lightning leaps from Tor to Tor,* 
 
 And the thunder peal is loud : — 
 
 * For a description of tiie Tors of Dartmoor see Note 8 of llie 
 Poem on that subject.
 
 CHILDE THE HUNTEK. 247 
 
 Heaven aid that hapless traveller then 
 
 Who o'er the Wild may stray 
 For bitter is the moorland storm, 
 
 And man is far awav. 
 
 Yet blithe the highland hunter leaves 
 
 His cot at early morn, 
 And on the ear of Winter pours 
 
 The music of his horn : — 
 
 The eye of highland hunter sees 
 
 No terrors in the cloud ; 
 His heart quakes not at the lightning flash, 
 
 Nor the thunder long and loud I 
 
 Yet oft the shuddering peasant tells 
 Of him, in days of yore, 
 
 Who in the sudden snow-storm I'ell— 
 The Nimrod of the Moor !
 
 248 CIIILDE THE IIUNTEll. 
 
 And when the Christmas tale goes round 
 
 liy many a peat fireside, 
 The children list, and shrink to hear 
 
 How Childe of Plymstoke died ! 
 
 The lord of manors fair and broad — 
 
 Of gentle blood was he — 
 Who lov'd full well the mountain chace 
 
 And mountain liberty. 
 
 Slow broke the cheerless morn— the cloud 
 
 Wreath'd every moorland hill ; 
 And the thousand brooks that cheer'd the heath. 
 
 In sunny hours, were still. 
 
 For Winter's wizard hand had check'd 
 Their all-rejoicing haste ; 
 
 And flung a fearful silence o'er 
 The solitary waste.
 
 CHILUE THE HUNTER. 249 
 
 When Childe resolv'd with hound and horn, 
 To range the forest wide ; 
 , And seek the noble red-deer where 
 The Plym's dark waters glide. 
 
 Of sportsmen brave who hunted then 
 
 The leader bold was he, 
 And full in the teeth of the dread north wind 
 
 He led that company. 
 
 They rous'd the red-deer from his lair 
 AVhere those dai'k waters glide ; — 
 
 And swifter than the gale he fled 
 Across the forest wide. 
 
 With cheer and with shout, the jovial rout 
 
 The old Tor hurried by ; — 
 And they startled the morn with the merry horn, 
 
 And the staunch hound's echoing cry !
 
 250 ClIILDE THE HUNTER. 
 
 The moorland eagle left his cliff — 
 The hawk soar'd far away — 
 
 And with that shout and cheer tliey scarM 
 The raven from his prey. 
 
 They foUow'd through the rock-strew'd glen ;- 
 Tliey plung'd through the river's bed : — 
 
 And scal'd the hill top where the Tor 
 Uplifts his hoary head. 
 
 But gallantly that noble deer 
 
 Defies the eager throng, 
 And still through wood, and brake, and fen 
 
 He leads the chace along. 
 
 Now through the flashing stream he darts 
 
 The wave aside he flings ; 
 Now o'er the cataract's bright arch 
 
 AVith fearless leap he springs !
 
 CHItDE THE HUNTER.! 251 
 
 And many a chasm yawning wide 
 
 Witli a desperate bound lie clears ; — 
 
 Anon like a shadow he glances by 
 The rock of six thousand years ! 
 
 But noAv swift sailing on the wind 
 The bursting cloud drew near ; 
 
 And there were sounds upon the gale 
 Alight fill the heart with fear ! 
 
 And, one by one, as fast the clouds 
 The face of heav'n deform, 
 
 Desert the chase, and wisely shun 
 The onset of the storm. 
 
 And some there were Avho deem'd they heard 
 Strange voices in the blast ; — 
 
 And some — that on the shudd'ring view 
 A form mysterious pass'd ; —
 
 252 CIIILDE THE HUNTER. 
 
 Who rode a shadowy courser, that 
 A mortal steed might seem, — 
 
 But left no hoof-mark on the ground. 
 No foam upon the stream ! 
 
 'Twas fancy all ; — yet from his side, 
 The jovial crew are gone ; 
 
 And Childe across the dark'ning heath 
 Pursues his way — alone. 
 
 He threaded many a mazy bog — 
 
 He dashed through many a stream ; — 
 
 But spent — bewilder'd — check'd his steed, 
 At evening's latest gleam. 
 
 For far and wide the highland lay 
 One pathless waste of snow ; — 
 
 He paus'd ! — the angry heav'n above, 
 The faithless bog below.
 
 CHILDE THE HUNTER. 
 
 253 
 
 He paus'd !_and soon through all his veins 
 
 Life's current feebly ran ; 
 And — heavily — a mortal sleep 
 
 Came o'er the dying man : 
 
 The dying man — yet love of life 
 In this his hour of need, 
 
 Uprais'd the master's hand to spill 
 The heart-hlood of his steed ! 
 
 And on the ensanguin'd snow that steed 
 Soon stretch'd his noble form ;— 
 
 A shelter from the biting blast — 
 A bulwark to the storm : — 
 
 In vain— for swift the bleak vrinCi piled 
 The snow-drift round the corse ; 
 
 And Death his victim struck within 
 The disembowell'd horse.
 
 254 (IlILDK TIIK HUNTER. 
 
 Yet one dear wish — one tender tliouirlit 
 Came o'er that hunter brave ; — 
 
 To sleep at last in luillow'd ground, 
 And find a christian grave — 
 
 And ere he breath'd his latest sigh 
 And day's last gleam was spent, 
 
 He with unfaltering finger wrote 
 His bloody testament ; — 
 
 tUljc fgr^t t\M fgntic0 $j: bvtngs mc to mj) grafac, 
 ^l)e lantJS of ^Igmstoltc \)t gl)al \)nbc. 
 
 Kote.—"K tradition has existed in the Moor, that 
 John Childe, of Ply mstock, a gen tleman of large posses- 
 sions, and very fond of hunting, whilst enjoying tliat 
 amusement during an inclement season, was benigiit- 
 ed, lost his way, and perished through cold, near 
 Fox Tor, in the south quarter of the IMoor ; after 
 taking the j)recaution to kill iiis horse, and, for the
 
 CHILDE THE HUNTER. 255 
 
 sake of varmth to creep into its belly, leaving a 
 jiaper denoting that Avhoever should bury his bod^^, 
 sliould have his lands at Plymstock. 
 
 " These circumstances coming to the knowledge 
 of the monks of Tavistock, they eagerly seized the 
 bod}"^, and were conveying it to that place, but learn- 
 ing on the way, that some people of I'lynistock were 
 waiting at a ford to intercept the prey, they cunningly 
 ordered a bridge to be built, out of the usual track, 
 thence jiertinently called Guile Bridge, and succeed- 
 ing in their object, became possessed of, and enjoyed 
 the lands until the dissolution of the monasteries, 
 when the Hussell family received a grant of them, 
 and it still retains them." 
 
 In memory of Childe, a tomb was erected to him 
 in a plain, a little below Fox Tor, which was standing 
 about twenty years since, when a Mr. Windeatt, hav- 
 ing received a new " take" or allotment, in which the 
 tomb was included, nearly destroyed it, hy a2)proprial'iiig 
 some of the stones for building, and door steps ! ! ! The 
 Avhole, when perfect, wore an antique and impressive 
 a])pearance.
 
 256 THE DRUIDS. 
 
 THE DRUIDS. 
 
 WRITTEN ON THE BORDERS OF DARTMOOR, 
 1826. 
 
 How beautifully hangs 
 The leaf of the old wood above the rocks 
 That strew the moorland border. Every bough 
 Is grasp'd by the devouring moss, and Time, 
 Age after age, has thinn'd the verdurous locks 
 Of the hoar foresters ; — the scalp is bare 
 Of many a noble oak, but from the glance 
 Intense, of summer, there is shelter yet. 
 And the red deer amid the temperate shade 
 Delights to sti-ay ; — the while a gentle brook. 
 That from a fresh, exhaustless moorland fount 
 Descends, is music to his ear. The beam
 
 THE DRUIDS. 25^ 
 
 Which struggles through the amber leafage, plays 
 
 Fitfully on the pleasant grass, and holds 
 
 Divided empire with the grateful gloom 
 
 All the long listless day. And in the glades — 
 
 The rich sun-lighted glades that lie around, 
 
 Liike islands in this leafy ocean, rise, 
 
 Of every hue, sweet flowers, that bud and bloom 
 
 And die by thousands, scarcely seen or bless'd, 
 
 Save by some wanderer who comes to gaze 
 
 On Nature's holiest sanctuai-ies, where 
 
 The wind, the shower, the sun delight to shed 
 
 Their influences all divine, amid 
 
 The everlasting, silent sabbath held 
 
 On moor and movmtain. 
 
 In yon vale, a stream 
 Is singing to the birds — the answering birds 
 That in the under-forest safely build 
 Their innocent, quiet homes. E'en now their lays 
 Full-hearted roll, and in the sunshine grow 
 Louder and louder : — chief the speckled thrush — 
 First, best musician of the thicket — he
 
 258 THE DRUIDS. 
 
 Who loves the hawthorn, and from that sweet bower 
 
 Of fragrance and of beauty flings his note 
 
 Upon the morning gale, is heard above 
 
 The feather'd mj^riads. But not always thus 
 
 Came on the ravish'd ear the mingled strains 
 
 Of stream and bird : — 
 
 Tlie unhallow'd h^ynin arose 
 E'en from this very s]iot (so legends say) 
 To Jupiter. The oak* that nobly stood 
 Lovely in age, sole monarch of the grove, 
 
 * The fairest and talle-t oak whicli the forest could produce, was 
 the symbol of Jupiter, and when properly consecrated and prepared 
 became his actual ropresentative. 
 
 Sometimes their sacred groves were fenced in with rude palisades, 
 and at other times the hill was enclosed with a mound of earth to 
 mark the )imit» of consccraiion, to awe the profane, and to prevent 
 all intrusion on their sacred mysteries. Within the precincts of this 
 enclosure, every tree was sprinkled with human blood. 
 
 But beside the sacrifice of beasts, which was common to the Druids, 
 they had a custom, which in point of cruelty and detestation surpas-es 
 all that we have hitherto surveyed. This consisted in the offering of 
 human victims at the polluted shrines of their imaginary gods. At 
 the>e altars their enemies were sacrificed, and their friends were 
 offered. Sometimes the vigorous youth and comely virgin were 
 immolated on these sanguinary altars, and sometimes the smiling 
 infant was carried from the bosom of its mother to the flames, which 
 terminated its life.
 
 THE DRUIDS. 259 
 
 Was his, and on the mighty stem, inscribed 
 
 In mystic characters, the Druid fix'd 
 
 His name tremendous. On the sacred trees 
 
 That rose, as these now rise, in all their strength 
 
 And loveliness, his hands polluted flung 
 
 A baptism unholy ; — aye that priest 
 
 Sprinkled upon the beautiful foliage— blood ! — 
 
 And Time has not yet flung to earth the rude 
 
 Romantic altar, where he ruthless shed 
 
 Life's purple current to appease the gods 
 
 Revengeful ! Still the awful circle stands 
 
 Majestic — venerable — time-worn— hung 
 
 With wreaths of the gloss'd ivy, drooping on 
 
 In fanciful festoons from stone to stone ; 
 
 And waving in the melancholy breeze 
 
 That moans through the lone moorland. Pale, 
 
 depress'd, 
 Trembling, beneath yon giant pillars pass'd, 
 Haply, the Druid's victims. Not unmov'd 
 I tread where erst, fierce darting to the skies, 
 Quiver'd the flame of the dread Moloch, gorged 
 AVith blood e'en to the full. O here the fair,
 
 2G0 THE DUUIDS. 
 
 The brave — the mother and her spotless babe — 
 
 The maid, blooming in vain,— the wise, the good, 
 
 Felon and captive — age and shuddering youth, 
 
 In one vile holocaust, to fancied gods 
 
 Pour'd out their souls in fire ; amid the blast* 
 
 Which the loud trumpet flung — the deafening clash 
 
 Of cymbal — and the frantic, frenzied yell 
 
 Of an infuriate priesthood, drowning deep 
 
 In one infernal burst of sounds, the shriek 
 
 Of suffering humanity ! 
 
 '* While tlicy were performing these horrid rites, the drums and 
 trumpets sounded without intermission, that the cries of the miser- 
 able victims might not be heard, or distinguished by their friends; it 
 being accounted very ominous if the lamentations of either children 
 or parents were distinctly heard while the victim was burning 
 
 Drew's History of Cornwall.
 
 LYDFORD BBIDGE. 261 
 
 LYDFORD BRIDGE.* 
 
 Stream of the mountain ! never did the ray 
 Of the high summer pierce the gloom profound 
 Whence rise the startling and eternal sounds 
 Of thy mad, tortur'd waters ! Beautiful 
 Are all thy sister streams — most beautiful — 
 And rill and river lift their sweet tones all 
 Rejoicing ; but for thee has horror shap'd 
 A bed, and curs'd the spot with cries that awe 
 The soul of him who listens ! From the brink 
 The traveller hies, and meditates, aghast, 
 How, e'en when winter tenfold horrors flung 
 
 # For the incident on which this poem is founded, the reader is 
 referred to " Warner's Walk in the Western Counties."
 
 262 LYDFOnU BRIDGE. 
 
 Around the gulpli, a fellow being — here — 
 Through darkness plung'd to death ! 
 
 His fate is still 
 Fresh in the memory of the aged swain, 
 And in the upland cottages the tale 
 Is told with deep emotion ; for the morn 
 Of life rose o'er that Suicide in rich 
 And lovely promise, as the vernal day 
 O'er nature oft ; though thus it closed, abrupt 
 As the shades drop upon Ausonian fields 
 When rains the black volcano ! Hapless youth ! 
 The daemon that in every age has won 
 Millions of souls— won thine. If Gaming hold 
 On high her fascinating lure, let man 
 Beware; — to conquer is to flee. He heard 
 Who perish'd here,— he heard the tempter's tale 
 Bewitching ; and from Play's short dream awoke 
 To misery. Swift through the burning brain 
 Shot the dread purpose, and remorse and shame 
 Heated his blood to madness. Should he dare 
 The world's dread sneer, and be a loathed mark
 
 I-YDFOllD BRIDGE. 2C3 
 
 For its unsparing finger ? — rather rush 
 To death and to forgetfulness ; — thus breath'd 
 The Ijing fiend. In vain that fatal night 
 Rag'd the loud winter storm, — the victim fled 
 From friends and home. The lightning o'er his path 
 Flash'd horribly — the thunder peal'd — the winds 
 Mournfully blew ; yet still his desperate course 
 He held ; and fierce he urg'd his gallant steed 
 For many a mile- The torrent lifted high 
 Its voice, — he plung'd not yet into the breast 
 Of the dark waters ! By the cliff he pass'd, — 
 He sprang not from it — gloomier scenes than these, 
 And death more terrible, his spirit sought — 
 The caverns of the Lyd ! 
 
 Why seeks tlie man 
 A- weary of the world to quit it thus ? — 
 To leap through horrors to the vast unknown, 
 And haste to dread eternity by ways 
 That make the heart-blood of the living chill 
 To think on ? — To the destin'd goal he swept 
 With eye unflinching and with soul unawcd, 
 
 T
 
 i,»>4 LVDFOUn IiRIDGE. 
 
 Through the wild night ; by precipice and peak 
 Tremendous, — over bank, and bridge, and ford — 
 Breasted the torrent— climb'd the treacherous brink — 
 Scal'd the rock-crested hill, and burst anon 
 Into the valley, where a thousand streams, 
 Born of the mountain storm, with arrowy speed 
 Shot madly by. His spirit scorn'd them all — 
 Those dangers and those sounds — for he was strong 
 To suffer ; and one master aim possess'd, 
 With an unnatural and resistless power, 
 That lost, lost victim ! — On he sternly plung'd 
 Amid the mighty tumult ; — o'er his brow 
 Quicker and brighter stream'd the lightning; — loud 
 And louder spoke the thunder ; still, on — on 
 He press'd his steed — the frightful gulf, at last, 
 Was won, — the river foam'd above the dead ! 
 
 Note. — The scenery round Lydford is singularly pic- 
 tui'esque and romantic ; but the most jjroniinent 
 objects of curiosity and admiration are, the Bridge 
 and two Cascades. The former bears great analogy,
 
 LYDFOUD BRIDGE. 2C5 
 
 in situation and character, to the celebrated Devil's 
 Bridge in Wales. It consists of one rude arch, 
 thrown across a narrow rocky chasm, which sinks 
 nearly eighty feet from the level of the road. At the 
 bottom of this channel the small river Lyd is heard 
 rattling through its contracted course. The singu- 
 larity of this scene is not perceived in merely passing 
 over the bridge : to appreciate its character, and 
 comjjrehend its awfully impressive effects, it is neces- 
 sar}-^ to see the bridge, the chasm, and the roaring 
 water, from different projecting crags whicli impend 
 over the river. A little distance below the bridge, 
 the fissure graduall}'^ spreads its rocky jav/s ; the bot- 
 tom opens ; and instead of the dark precipices which 
 have hitherto overhung and obscured the struggling 
 river, it now emerges into day, and rolls its murmur- 
 ing current through a winding valley, confined within 
 magnificent banks, darkened with woods, which swell 
 into bold promontories, or fall back into sweeping 
 recesses, till they are lost to the eye in distance. 
 Thickly sliaded by trees, which shoot out from the 
 sides of the rent, the scene at Lydford bridge is not 
 so terrific as it would have been, had a little more 
 light been let in upon the abyss, just sufficient to 
 I^roduce a darkness visible. As it is, however, the 
 chasm cannot be regarded without shuddering; nor 
 will the stoutest heart meditate unappalled upon the 
 dreadful anecdotes connected with the spot. 
 
 Among the many recorded traditions it is related,
 
 200" LYUFOni) UUIUGE. 
 
 that ii London rider was benighted on this road, 
 in a heavy storm, and, wishing to get to some place 
 of shelter, spurred his horse forward witii more 
 than common speed. The tempest had been tremen- 
 dous during the night ; and in the morning the rider 
 was informed that Lydford Eridge iiad been swept 
 away. He shuddered to reflect on iiis narrow escape ; 
 his horse having cleared the chasm by a great sudden 
 leap in the middle of his course, though the occasion 
 of his making it was at the time unknown. 
 
 Two or three persons have chosen this spot for 
 self-destruction ; and in a moment of desperation, 
 have dashed themselves from the bridge into the 
 murky chasm. The scene is in itself highly terrific ; 
 and with these awful associations, has an extraordi- 
 nary effect on the feelings. About half a mile south 
 of the bridge is the first Cascade, formed by the waters 
 of a small rivulet, which rises on the moors in the 
 neighbourhood ; and at this spot unites with the Lyd. 
 The fall is not very considerable in its usual quantity 
 of water ; but, like most mountain streams, is greatly 
 augmented by storms, when a large sheet rushes over 
 a rocky ledge, and throws itself down a perpendicular 
 precipice of above one hundred feet. But tliougli 
 the cascade is a pleasing and interesting part of the 
 scene, this single feature is almost lost in contem- 
 plating tlie whole of the landscape. 
 
 Beauties of Enyland and Wales.
 
 THE riXIES 01' DEVON. 267 
 
 THE PIXIES OF DEVON- 
 
 The enthusiast gazed, like one bewildered 
 And breathless with immortal visitings, — 
 He sat in chill delight; nor stirr'd his head. 
 Lest all should pass away like shadowy things : 
 Now would his eye be dazed with the wings 
 Of spangled fay, hovering o'er blossoms white ; — 
 And now he listen'd to lone thrilling strings 
 Of magic lutes — and saw the harebell, bright 
 In its blue veins, for there nestled a form of light. 
 
 Ilomancc of Youth. 
 
 They are flown, 
 Beautiful fictions ! Hills, and vales, and woods, 
 Mountains and moors of Devon, ye have lost 
 The enchantments, the delights, the visions all-— 
 The elfin visions that so bless'd the sight 
 In the old days, romantic. Nought is heard 
 Now, in the leafy world, but earthly strains — 
 Sounds, yet most sweet, of breeze, and bird, and 
 brook.
 
 2G8 THE PIXIES OF devon- 
 
 And waterfall ; the day is voiceless else, 
 
 And night is strangely mute ! — the hymnings high, 
 
 The immortal music men ol" ant lent times 
 
 Heard ravish'd oft, are flown ! O ye have lost, 
 
 Mountains, and moors, and meads the radiant throngs, 
 
 That dwelt in your green solitudes, and fill'd 
 
 The air, the fields, with beauty and with joy 
 
 Intense ; — witla a rich mystery that awed 
 
 The mind, and flung around a thousand hearths 
 
 Divinest tales, that througli the enchanted year 
 
 Found passionate listeners ! 
 
 The very streams 
 Brighten'd with visitings of these so sweet 
 Etherial creatures ! They were seen to rise 
 From the charm'd waters which still brighter gi"ew 
 As the pomp pass'd to land, until the eye 
 Scarce bore the unearthly glory. Where they trod 
 Young flowers, but not of this world's growth, arose, 
 And fragrance, as of amaranthine bowers 
 Floated upon the breeze. And mortal eyes 
 Look'd on their revels all the luscious night ;
 
 TI[E PIXIES OF DEVON. 269 
 
 And unreprov'd, upon their ravishing forms 
 Gaz'd, wistfully, as in the dance they mov'd 
 Voluptuous, to the thrilling touch of harp 
 Elysian ! 
 
 And by gifted eyes were seen 
 Wonders — in the still air, — and beings bright 
 And beautiful — more beautiful than throng 
 Fancy's ecstatic regions, peopled now 
 The sunbeam, and now rode vipon the gale 
 Of the sweet summer-noon. — Anon they touch'd 
 The earth's delighted bosom, and the glades 
 Seem'd greener, fairer, and the enraptur'd woods 
 Gave a glad, leafy murmur, — and the rills 
 Leap'd in the ray for joy ; and all the birds 
 Threw into the intoxicating air their sonirs 
 All soul. — The very archings of the grove, 
 Clad in cathedral gloom from age to age, 
 Lighten'd with living splendours ; and the flowers 
 Tinged with new hues, and lovelier, upsprung 
 By millions in the grass, that rustled now 
 To gales of Araby !
 
 270 THE rixiEs of devov. 
 
 The seasons came 
 In bloom or l)light, in glory or in sliade, 
 The shower or sunbeam fell or glanc'd as pleas'd 
 Those potent elves. They steer'd the giant cloud 
 Through heaven at will, and with the meteor flash 
 Came down in death or sport ; aye, when the storm 
 Shook the old woods, they rode, on rainbow wings, 
 The tempest, and, anon, they rein'd its rage 
 In its fierce, mid career. But ye have flown, 
 Beautiful fictions of our fathers ! — flown 
 Before the wand of Science, and the hearths 
 Of Devon, as lags the disenchanted year. 
 Are passionless and silent ! 
 
 Note — The age of Pixies, like that of chivalry, is 
 gone. There is, peHiaps, at present, scarcely a house 
 where they are reputed to visit. Even the fields and 
 lanes which they formerly frequentedseem to be nearly 
 forsaken. Their music is rarely heard ; and they 
 appear to have forgotten to attend to their ancient 
 midnight dance. — Dreiv^s Cornwall. 
 
 END OF VOL. I. 
 
 II. E. CARBINCTON, PRINTER, BATH.
 
 This book is DUE on the last 
 date stamped below. 
 
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