t r\ 
 
 1376 
 
 
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 Middleton 
 Poetical sketches
 
 
 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES

 
 r
 
 POETICAL SKETCHES, 
 
 #c. <5fc.
 
 POETICAL SKETCHES 
 
 OF A 
 
 qfCDWUi 
 
 IN 
 
 THE WEST OF ENGLAND. 
 
 Heavens ! what a goodly prospect spreads around 
 Of hills, and dales, and woods, and lawns, and spires, 
 And glittering towns, and gilded streams, till all 
 The stretching landscape into smoke decays! 
 Happy Britannia ! where the queen of arts, 
 Inspiring vigour, liberty abroad 
 Walks unconfined, even to thy farthest cots, 
 And scatters plenty with unsparing hand. 
 
 Thomson. 
 
 PRINTED FOR THE AUTHOR, 
 
 BX J. MONTGOMERY, IRIS OFFICE, HARTSHEAD, SHEFFIELD. 
 
 [For private Distribution only.'] 
 
 1822.

 
 TO THE 
 
 MISSES STRUTT, 
 
 OF BRIDGE-HILL, NEAR BELPER, DERBYSHIRE, 
 THE FOLLOWING PAGES, 
 
 (WRITTEN TO DIVERT THE SOLITARY HOURS OF AFFLICTION,) 
 
 ARE DEDICATED, 
 
 WITH GREAT RESPECT, 
 
 BY THEIR OBEDIENT SERVANT, 
 
 THE AUTHOR. 
 
 Leam, Feb. 28, 1822. 
 
 Q^QCH
 
 SKETCHES OF A TOUR ; 
 
 4ro. 4fc 
 
 PART I. 
 
 Uncertain where my devious steps might roam, 
 
 I left without a sigh my once-loved home, 
 
 Where after absence I no longer prove 
 
 The happy object of connubial love; 
 
 For there no wife, with smile serenely sweet 
 
 And fond embrace, my wish'd return shall greet ; 
 
 B
 
 But joyless solitude asserts her reign, 
 And shews all human happiness is vain. 
 In less than twelve short months death's fatal dart 
 Struck two, from whom 'twas almost death to part : 
 As sister one, as wife the other proved 
 How fondly and how faithfully they loved : 
 They, in the sphere that Providence ordain'd, 
 The grateful hearts of poorer neighbours gain'd ; 
 And long their memory will be held revered 
 By those their bounty has so often cheer'd ; 
 For where their hands relieved, from looks most 
 
 kind, 
 Flow'd balmy comfort to the wretched mind. 
 
 Farewell, bless'd sisters, destined to enjoy 
 Unfading pleasures, bliss without alloy ! 
 Aware this trial is the will of God, 
 I bow submissive to his chastening rod. 
 
 While far from home, divested of each charm 
 Affliction's crowded quiver to disarm, 
 By changing scenes I strove to calm that mind, 
 Which left whate'er it loved on earth behind,
 
 And heavy at the heart I wound my way, 
 
 Save when the voice of friendship soothed my stay : 
 
 Now at Penzance arrived, each varied view, 
 
 Which o'er my mind its soothing influence threw, 
 
 I fain would notice, and in artless verse 
 
 My route through famed Dumnonium rehearse. 
 
 Leaving at Bridgewater the usual road, 
 At Minehead first I take up my abode, 
 And spend the Sunday, where, alas, is traced, 
 How ruthless fires its beauties have defaced : 
 Here twice to church my willing steps are led, 
 To hear the service with devotion read ; 
 And from the hill above the sacred dome, 
 My eyes with pleasure long delighted roam 
 O'er Bristol's Channel, gay with many a sail, 
 That courts the influence of the favouring gale, 
 And the fine vale where Dunster Castle stands, 
 Which proudly towers above the neighbouring lands. 
 Through bowery lanes at Porlock I arrive, 
 Where cottage-myrtles all the year survive : 
 But this fair scene, and all its verdure past, 
 You're doom'd to face the churlish mountain blast ;
 
 So steep the' ascent, you think the crow alone 
 Could make the summit of the hill his own; 
 But that once gain'd, for many miles your way 
 Lies on a ridge which overlooks the sea, 
 From whence to Linmouth's harbour you descend, 
 And hail its beach as an acknowledged friend ; 
 For bad the path-way down the cliffy steep, 
 Whence restive horse might plunge you in the deep; 
 Nor vain the fear, for once a wedded pair, 
 Who of the vast descent were unaware, 
 In gig proceeding, saw with wild dismay 
 Towards the steep cliff their steed pursue his way ; 
 Out sprung the driver, and with looks aghast 
 Down with the carriage saw his consort cast : 
 But that great Power who rules this earthly ball, 
 Without whose word " a sparrow cannot fall," 
 Snatch'd from the jaws of death his victim fair, 
 Who by some bushes caught was hung in air, 
 Till, ready help procured, a husband's arms 
 Proved a safe refuge from her late alarms. 
 To Linmouth come, when seems your journey o'er, 
 A sudden turn conducts you from the shore ;
 
 But now your carriage quit, might I advise, 
 And walk to Linton up the dangerous rise, 
 For there no friendly fences intervene, 
 But close a threatening precipice is seen : 
 Besides, on foot, at leisure here you view 
 Scenes ever changing, landscapes ever new; 
 Behind, the Bristol Channel broad expands, 
 
 j 
 
 O'er which are seen fair Cambria's distant lands, 
 While on each side with Alpine grandeur rise 
 Huge hills whose summits seem conceal'd in skies : 
 Before, a mountain's base two streams divides ; 
 The one with peaceful murmur gently glides ; 
 While o'er its rocky bed the other raves, 
 Till the vale echoes with its dashing waves ; 
 Then tired its rage, so long in tumult toss'd, 
 It meets the calmer stream, and is in ocean lost. 
 These of mankind examples may afford, 
 From the poor peasant to the titled lord : 
 While some charm listening senates in debate, 
 Or guide through stormy seas the helm of state, 
 Or marshal armies on the' embattled plain, 
 Or lead her gallant navies o'er the main ;
 
 Others in scenes far more contracted move ; 
 Their' s the smooth current of domestic love ; 
 Unwilling they such dangerous shores to prove. 
 Various in life their fate, but at its close 
 The great, the humble sink to like repose, 
 And those of abject, those of soul sublime, 
 Must meet at last in the vast tide of time. 
 
 Now to the vale of rocks your course pursue, 
 To which the neighbours think attention due ; 
 And though the natives of a fertile plain 
 May gaze with wonder on the drear domain, 
 I from the church-yard far prefer the scene, 
 Where sea, and hills, and valleys intervene. 
 
 Linton is left. Again with joy I hail 
 The rushing torrent and the woody vale ; 
 But soon the lovely scene I leave behind. 
 O'er barren hills my rugged course to wind, 
 Till Barnstaple, with river and with fields, 
 To what I've past a smiling contrast yields. 
 After eight miles and just at day's decline, 
 At a good inn in Bideford I dine ;
 
 Next day at dawn my journey I pursue, 
 Clovely Court the object of my view ; 
 Here is your carriage left, the town below 
 Being much too steep its entrance to allow : 
 Conducted by the gardener, now I stray 
 Where charming grounds the owner's taste display, 
 In which, if art with nature ere combine, 
 'Tis done to make the landscape more divine. 
 Far, far beneath the murmuring ocean laves 
 The base of rocks, high rising from the waves ; 
 And on their beetling summit when you stand, 
 Fine is the scene these lofty cliffs command ; 
 Below is spread Barnstaple's silvery bay, 
 Reflecting light from Sol's meridian ray. 
 When clear, the coast of Wales you well descry, 
 And Lundy Island meets the gazer's eye; 
 Though high, 'tis warm ; the arbutus is seen, 
 Whose blushing fruit glows through its leafy green, 
 And other shrubs adorn this blest domain, 
 Whilst oaks, broad-branching, decorate the plain : 
 From these, the native tenants of the shade, 
 The startled deer oft bound across the glade,
 
 Seeming surprised that any footsteps rude 
 Should on their peaceful residence intrude. 
 
 Leaving my guide, I next resolve to stray 
 Where chance directs me on my lonely way, 
 And soon a well-form'd road, but lately made, 
 Whose rising line with pleasure I survey'd, 
 Appears my warmest wishes to befriend ; 
 For could an eagle his strong pinions lend, 
 A finer view the flight could not display 
 Than from the summit of this charming wav, 
 From which a stone, impell'd by nervous hand, 
 Would reach the sea-wave breaking on the strand ; 
 Yet in the fisher's boat you scarcely spy 
 Those who their oars with toil incessant ply: 
 Here as I gaze, hush'd zephyrs seem to sleep 
 On the smooth bosom of the tranquil deep, 
 From which the dusky vapours, rising high, 
 Their parent-sea with numerous tints supply, 
 Forming a changing scene of every hue, 
 From dark to light, from green to' ethereal blue.
 
 Evening advances ; scarce a passing breeze 
 Now gently murmurs through the leafless trees ; 
 E'en my own bosom feels a calm serene, 
 While stillness seems to consecrate the scene : 
 Thus as I stray, fond memory from her store 
 Draws pleasures past which must return no more; 
 But every blessing we enjoy is given 
 By Him whose sceptre rules both earth and heaven 
 And it is doubtless selfish to complain, 
 When those we loved celestial pleasures gain. 
 As deeper shades involve the curtain'd sky, 
 I quit the lovely prospect with a sigh, 
 And to retrace my loitering steps begin, 
 To what is dignified by name of Inn ; 
 In narrow street here boys with dogs combine 
 To aid the harmony of squeaking swine ; 
 While in the house, like geese in pannier pent, 
 The fishermen to noisy mirth give vent ; 
 And some gay sailors, too, dull care deride, 
 Who for Hibernia sail at ebbing tide, 
 Which serves at midnight ; when, in open boat, 
 With them five women on the ocean float, 
 
 c
 
 10 
 
 Wives of the crew ! Oh, sex divinely fair/ 
 Who with your husbands every danger share; 
 Whate'er his station, be it high or low, 
 'Tis you on man must happiness bestow; 
 But then let love unite the silken bands, 
 And hearts congenial join with willing hands ; 
 For when dull interest only conies in view, 
 To bliss connubial and to peace adieu ; 
 For how with those can Cupid converse hold, 
 Who sacrifice their faith to sordid gold? 
 
 Ere fair Aurora rose, my road is traced 
 Along a dreary, solitary waste, 
 Where here and there a mud-built cottage rose, 
 And mounds of earth the half-till'd fields inclose, 
 The turnpike road to reach, ere light's last ray 
 Shall faintly glimmer on departing day; 
 I pass Kilhampton, nor at Stratton wait 
 Longer than while mv man and horses bait; 
 But vain the attempt, for if they here intend 
 The carriage-building business to befriend, 
 They do it well, as such vile roads, I ween, 
 For wheels to travel hardly e'er were seen ;
 
 11 
 
 And when the shady night with ebon wand 
 
 Resumes her influence o'er the darken'd land, 
 
 Floundering through these, uncertain of the course, 
 
 We're cheer'd at last by an approaching horse, 
 
 And gladly hear the mounted traveller say, 
 
 That he to Camelford will point the way. 
 
 Next morn we pass Wadebridge's lengthening line, 
 
 And reach St.Columb ere the day's decline ; 
 
 On the next morrow well-built Truro greet, 
 
 And a kind welcome at St. Agnes meet. 
 
 Here rugged cliffs defy the Atlantic storm, 
 
 And nature's face assumes a barren form, 
 
 Where the drear waste around each humble cot 
 
 Excites your pity for its inmates' lot ; 
 
 Yet oft content, that loves the peaceful cell, 
 
 Quits the proud palace 'mid these scenes to dwell ; 
 
 For to the bowels of the teeming earth 
 
 This country's treasures owe their darksome birth ; 
 
 Where lodes abound, from whence is raised the ore, 
 
 That for the miners forms a little store ; 
 
 This with a wife they then incline to share, 
 
 And mutual pleasure taste and mutual care;
 
 12 
 
 They build the cot, the heathy waste inclose, 
 While day's hard labour sweetens night's repose ; 
 Bounded their wishes, and with homely cheer 
 An offspring hardy as their sires they rear; 
 Rich in their goats, they covet nothing more, 
 And prattling children crowd their happy door: 
 The different mining works each sex engage, 
 And thousands occupy of every age ; 
 Busy the scene, and well-conducted here, 
 Does each department of the mines appear : 
 But still of human art to see the power, 
 To the crown-engine works extend your tour, 
 Where at Botallack mine, with wondrous skill, 
 The art of man bends nature to his will ; 
 High on a cliff your dizzy station take, 
 (At whose firm base the' Atlantic billows break,) 
 From whence, (vast work ! ) before they search for 
 
 ore, 
 Down the steep rock, two hundred feet and more, 
 A huge steam-engine must descend from high, 
 And far beneath, its powers mechanic ply ; 
 Aided by this, the miners raise the ore, 
 From depths below the ocean's ceaseless roar.
 
 13 
 
 But I the objects of this place resign 
 
 For pens more able to pourtray than mine, 
 
 Where art with nature seems at once to vie, 
 
 Subjects of thought and wonder to supply. 
 
 Ye who enjoy the luxury of ease, 
 
 While naught your minds but fancy's phantoms 
 
 teaze, 
 Think of the dangers miners undergo, 
 For scanty pittance toiling far below, — 
 Debarr'd the blessings of a single ray 
 To cheer their spirits from the orb of day ; 
 Think well on these, the blessings then review 
 With which Almighty Power has favour'd you, 
 And with due homage bend the grateful knee 
 To the great God of all eternity. 
 
 Cape Cornwall now high rises from the tide, 
 And forms of Whitsand Bay the northern side, — 
 A place well known to fame in days of yore, 
 When his gay bark the royal Stephen bore, 
 And here that monarch hail'd the British shore. 
 Crouch'd at his feet when conquer'd Erin lay, 
 Victorious John relanded in this bay ;
 
 14. 
 
 And when our seventh Henry ruled the land, 
 Here Perkin Warbcck sought the Cornish strand 
 Onward proceeding by the shelly shore, 
 You reach that point where land appears no more, 
 Where with a friend I went, the nineteenth day 
 Of dark December, but 'twas mild as May ; 
 And such a scene there struck my wondering sight, 
 As mingled awe with exquisite delight : 
 Climbing the 1'ocks, we gain'd the utmost verge, 
 Almost surrounded by the roaring surge ; 
 Below, the cormorant took his daring stand, 
 Safe from the murderous gun by sea or land, 
 Urged o'er the watery plain his rapid flight, 
 And on its tossing waves would oft alight ; 
 While quick as winged arrow from the bow, 
 The gull unerring strikes his prey below ; 
 The broad Atlantic roll'd each mighty wave, 
 As if resolved our granite strand to brave ; 
 Some on the long ship-rocks expend their force, 
 While some towards shore resistless urge their 
 
 course, 
 Which, while a haze half veil'd the lamp of day, 
 Tipp'd with bright emerald, tumbled into spray;
 
 15 
 
 The rest, with giant-pride, assault the shore, 
 Tumultuous raging with a deafening roar, 
 Scale the steep rocks, then back again recoil, 
 And as indignant at their bases boil, 
 When, high the whitening foam on ether toss'd, 
 Like a bright meteor soon as seen is lost. 
 Placed on a rock the farthest from the land, 
 The towering light-house must a view demand, 
 Which, though so high the panes that light convey, 
 Are sometimes broken by the tempest's spray ; 
 They who their useful labours here pursue, 
 Good store of food should have, and patience too, 
 For oft for weeks, when stormy seas prevail, 
 To mountains rising with the wintry gale, 
 Through the wild surf no friendly boat can reach, 
 Their sea-girt prison from the neighbouring beach. 
 
 Various the ways by which we mortals strive, 
 
 When gone ourselves to keep our names alive; 
 
 Some from posterity attention draw 
 
 In church, in physic, or in learned law ; 
 
 Some build the costly fabric, and adorn 
 
 Those scenes which nature's hand had left forlorn ;
 
 16 
 
 Of yore, for glory fill'd with strange desire, 
 
 One Dian's splendid temple set on fire ; 
 
 And one in later days, with daring hand 
 
 To Portsmouth's dock-yard had applied the brand, 
 
 Had not of Heaven the all-seeing eye 
 
 Kindly averted such calamity ; 
 
 Him gold corrupted ; but we cannot find 
 
 What could possess a gallant soldier's mind, 
 
 Who hither came, and (as the story's told), , 
 
 Wanting in prudence and too rashly bold, 
 
 Down the green slopes that to the Land's End lead, 
 
 Resolved to ride his highly mettled steed, 
 
 Which, when the sea on either side he saw, 
 
 Scorning control, but true to nature's law, 
 
 Made every effort from the dreaded place 
 
 His steps, with dangers compass'd, to retrace ; 
 
 But all in vain : determined on the deed, 
 
 The desperate horseman spurs the fiery steed, 
 
 Far more dismay'd than when in battle-ranks ; 
 
 Now blood portentous stains his panting flanks ; 
 
 Starting convulsive, his round eye-balls glare, 
 
 Foaming, his crest is shaken in the air ;
 
 17 
 
 Unlike a victor o'er the Beacon course, 
 He rears, he plunges with unruly force. 
 What hope is left ? Nor skill nor curbing rein 
 Can his increasing fury now restrain ; 
 Vainly his rider strives himself to free, 
 And late repentant would the danger flee ; 
 Now he is hurried to the very steep, 
 Where frowns the precipice o'er the foaming deep ; 
 Destruction waits him, — when with desperate bound, 
 Clearing the saddle, he regains the ground ; 
 From rock to rock in dread concussion hurl'd, 
 Through the mid air the hapless horse is whirl'd : 
 Now the spectators all attention lend, 
 And from his fearful fate conduct their friend ;— 
 With cautious steps a place of safety gain, 
 Far from the ridge upon the open plain, 
 When, the dire struggle pass'd, and peril o'er, 
 Fainting he falls upon the verdant floor ; 
 Thus oft it happens ;— in terrific hour, 
 The mind, collected, will retain its power, 
 But when, reflecting on that danger miss'd, 
 We almost cease to feel, or know that we exist. 
 
 o
 
 18 
 
 From the first inn in England next we trace, 
 Our road to Castle Trcryn, — stupendous place ! 
 So named, because the site, as some suppose, 
 Where once an ancient British fortress rose, 
 And still hi till mounds remaining there are seen, 
 Which seem to shew that such it might have been* 
 As late along fair Belgium's fertile plain, 
 Luxuriant waving with its golden grain, 
 The brazen trumpet summon'd hostile bands 
 In battle-fray to draw their flashing brands ; 
 The sabres clash ; the muskets, heard afar, 
 Loudly proclaim' d the horrors of the war, 
 While black artillery dealt dark fates around, 
 And men unwarlike trembled at the sound ; 
 So, when at eve we hither bent our way, 
 And fog obscured the faintly glimmering day* 
 The waves of ocean breaking on the strand 
 Breathless attention, though unseen, demand ; 
 But when the billows reach'd the opposing rock, 
 And Neptune's caverns trembled with the shock ; 
 Equal to fell artillery's dismal roar, 
 The noise resounds along the echoing shore.
 
 19 
 
 Here nature shews, magnificently wild, 
 Masses of granite upon masses piled, 
 Which high aloft exalt their awful form, 
 Hang over ocean, and defy the storm ; 
 Here poised sublime in air, the Logan rock 
 Has stood for centuries time's rudest shock ; 
 Though ninety tons a single man may move, 
 This massy stone, which boldly towers above, 
 No mortal arm it there could ever place, 
 Resting so firmly on its pointed base ; 
 For on that base securely it has stood, 
 Since brought to light from chaos' dark abode, 
 And seen, like ocean's waves which roll below, 
 Years after years in quick succession flow. 
 Here druid priests were said to hold their rites, 
 And this strange place profane with horrid sights ; 
 The warrior here, firm as his native rock, 
 By shield protected may have stood the shock 
 Of battle-axe and spear in combat's strife, 
 When man infuriate sought his brother's life ; 
 Now here gay parties often will resort, 
 And Castle Treryn is pleasure's lively court.
 
 20 
 
 Perhaps e'en now, on this projecting land, 
 In widow's garb may some fond mother stand, 
 While her dear ship-boy on the rocking mast 
 Braves the wild horrors of the wintry blast, 
 And quits the comforts of his native home 
 Across the Atlantic waters far to roam : 
 A sail appears ; 'tis the same ship she knows, 
 In which to distant realms her darling goes; 
 Brisk blows the favouring breeze, the canvass swells, 
 And swift down Channel the gay bark impels; 
 With gallant prow she cleaves her watry way, 
 Her white sails shining in the sunny ray, 
 And, as a swan that skims the glassy lake, 
 Steady her outward course is seen to make : 
 Long the lorn mourner on that rocky steep, 
 Thinks on the terrors of the faithless deep, 
 Straining ber sight to sigh a fond adieu, 
 Till fancy paints the bark no more in view ; 
 Silent and pensive, then, she quits the scene, 
 And though composure marks her humble mien, 
 Yet woe's mute eloquence you may descry, 
 When tears of sorrow fill a mother's eye;
 
 21 
 
 With sickening heart her life's last stay she mourns, 
 Her tears prophetic prove he never more returns. 
 
 Now from the busy haunts of men enshrined, 
 Amongst Boskenna's pleasing walks we wind, 
 Which, slightly touch'd by taste's improving hand, 
 Grandeur and beauty would at once command. 
 But stay, my muse, nor longer let us roam 
 From what at present I account my home, 
 Lest, 'mid this rocky scene and shady grove, 
 Too long forgetful we delighted rove ; 
 And though, Penzance, thy beauties to display, 
 Demands some favour'd poet's nobler lay, 
 A ccept the grateful tribute I attempt to pav.
 
 SKETCHES OF A TOUK, 
 
 #c. 3fc. 
 
 PART II. 
 
 When first, Cornubia, for thy distant hills, 
 I left that home, whose recollection chills, 
 From anxious friends it was my lot to part 
 With shattcr'd health, and almost broken heart ; 
 Nor had I far upon my journey pass'd, 
 Ere sickness seized me, which appear'd my last ;
 
 24 
 
 But raised again by that Almighty Power, 
 
 Whose high behest must fix our final hour, 
 
 I hither came, nor did I hope in vain 
 
 That these calm scenes might mitigate my pain ; 
 
 For at Penzance arrived, with joy I meet, 
 
 From my own county, friends, whom soon I greet, 
 
 But 'tis with pleasure, not unmix'd with grief, 
 
 As one from illness came to seek relief, 
 
 And health regain ; attended by a pair, 
 
 (Who ease a brother's pain with anxious care,) 
 
 In each of whom the kind enquiring eye 
 
 Beams with affection's pure philanthropy : 
 
 But oh, ye charming fair, you're doom'd to feel 
 
 Wounds, which Religion's aid alone can heal ; 
 
 Yet cease to weep ; — your brother's virtues raise 
 
 His spirit far above all earthly praise; 
 
 To those who yet survive alone he dies, 
 
 When heavenly seraphs waft him to the skies. 
 
 Me, though so distant from my native home, 
 
 Distressful tidings reach where'er I roam; 
 
 For though we oft with calm indifference hear 
 
 The echoing horn proclaim the mail is near,
 
 25 
 
 And scarce a transitory thought bestow 
 On what may bring to us or joy or woe ; 
 Fate's bow is bent, and oft her rapid dart 
 Strikes with fell aim the unsuspecting heart ; 
 Again it flies, and o'er the Channel's wave 
 My wife's last brother finds an early grave j 
 But kindness here her ready hand extends, 
 And the sad wanderer meets with many friends, 
 Of whom remembrance, when he leaves the place, 
 Nor time nor distance ever can efface. 
 
 Now let my muse extend her daring wing, 
 
 The numerous beauties of that bay to sing, 
 
 To which yon mount high-towering gives its name — 
 
 Yon mount, distinguished in the rolls of fame ; 
 
 There to St. Michael's shrine, in days of yore, 
 
 His staff the way-worn pilgrim often bore, 
 
 When with bare foot the steep ascent he trod, 
 
 To the archangels's favorite abode. 
 
 But change the scene. The monks no longer raise 
 
 The pealing anthem to St. Michael's praise ; 
 
 No more cowl'd heads in long procession wait, 
 
 To gain admittance at the chapel-gate ; 
 
 £
 
 26 
 
 But the mai'ld warrior soon usurps their place, 
 
 The hardy offspring of a different race: 
 
 Then oft the mount is shaken with alarms, 
 
 And war's loud clarion summons all to arms, 
 
 While the plumed chieftains, at high honour's call, 
 
 In council meet within its banner'd hall ; 
 
 And ancient chronicles the stories tell, 
 
 Of other fates which this famed place befell. 
 
 But quitting these, a theme for abler hands, 
 
 We'll view St. Michael's Mount as now it stands : 
 
 Rising sublime, with surf- encircled base, 
 
 From every point of view its beauties trace, 
 
 And still the more you look, the more you'll find 
 
 To please the fancy, and engage the mind : 
 
 High on the summit of this lofty cone, 
 
 Its castle stands majestic, and alone: 
 
 And proud in mien, surveying all below, 
 
 With grandeur crowns the mountain's rugged brow: 
 
 From its high summit is a view supplied 
 
 Of the Atlantic Ocean's mighty tide ; 
 
 From hence the Bristol Channel you command, 
 
 And Irish Sea at distance over-land ;
 
 27 
 
 Hence, too, are seen that Channel's flowing waves, 
 
 Which the south shore of far-famed Britain laves, 
 
 And to the north and west an inland view, 
 
 EqualFd by some, surpass'd by very few : 
 
 Oft is the fabric, rising thus on high, 
 
 By a thin mist half hid from every eye ; 
 
 As with her sex's art, the lovely maid 
 
 With veil transparent will her features shade : 
 
 But nature chiefly will her charms display, 
 
 To those who, sailing on the swelling bay, 
 
 Enjoy a scene at once so grand and gay. 
 
 St. John ! to you I cannot .here refuse 
 
 The humble tribute of my grateful muse ; 
 
 Your offer gave me from your bark a view, 
 
 Winch I should ne'er have had except for you, 
 
 In whom, of manly but of gentle mind, 
 
 I met a stranger, but a friend I find ; 
 
 Proud should I be to see your envied name 
 
 Foremost emblazon'd on the roll of fame, 
 
 And at the summit placed, by just decree, 
 
 Of that profession which commands the sea;
 
 28 
 
 For from my heart 1 wish you to obtain 
 
 All that your merits might so justly gain. 
 
 Entering the boat, we quickly leave the shore, 
 
 While sinewy arms keep time with feathering oar ; 
 
 On rising waves the cutter soon we reach, 
 
 And much admire the now receding beach ; 
 
 To swell the canvass favouring gales prevail, 
 
 While o'er the forest we delighted sail : 
 
 For old traditions tell us that this bay, 
 
 Where stately ships now speed their trackless way, 
 
 Was wood-land once, and at low water-mark 
 
 Of trees sometimes is seen the russet bark. 
 
 When the Almighty said, " Thus let it be !'' 
 
 And at his word the land became a sea, 
 
 And where of late appear'd the leafy grove, 
 
 The finny inmates of the ocean rove, 
 
 It is not known, nor can our minds convey 
 
 Remotest notions of that fearful day ; 
 
 That God alone who bids the billows cease, 
 
 And to the hurricane can whisper peace, 
 
 He, only He, could this vast work perform, 
 
 " Who rides on whirlwinds, and directs the storm."
 
 29 
 
 By later years are many facts supplied, 
 
 That prove the progress of the encroaching tide ; 
 
 For where, short time ago, upon the green, 
 
 The youths engaged in active sports were seen ; 
 
 Not many yards will now conduct you o'er, 
 
 From Newlyn road unto the wave-wash'd shore, 
 
 Where fishing-boats laid up on land appear, 
 
 To wait that season of the circling year, 
 
 When from the seas where northern tempests rave, 
 
 The annual pilchards seek the western wave 
 
 In countless shoals ; then on each cliffy steep, 
 
 With eyes attentive, huers mark the deep, 
 
 And shew the fishers where their splendid prey, 
 
 Like streams of liquid silver, win their way; 
 
 Then crowding sails are seen, and the glad oar 
 
 Resounds along Cornubia's busy shore; 
 
 Here first the youth embarks those scenes to brave, 
 
 Which form the sailor, cradled on the wave, 
 
 In whom, as bearing off the scaly prize, 
 
 Delight and pleasure, sparkling in his eyes, 
 
 Augur bright hope, that he may one day share 
 
 Prizes to claim a naval hero's care ;
 
 30 
 
 So first the eaglet from bis eyry's height 
 Essays with doubting wing his infant fligbt, 
 Till, bolder grown, on pinion strong he soars 
 High o'er the rocky cliffs of Plebrid shores, 
 Darts on his quarry with resistless sway, 
 And with his trembling victim skims away. 
 Some make the nets, by some the fish are cured, 
 The poor are fed, the barren land manured ; 
 Some raise the salt, while some the casks prepare, 
 And countless numbers various profits share: 
 Thus as ye hail the blessed boon with joy, 
 May grateful thoughts to Heaven your minds 
 employ. 
 
 Safely we pass, without the smallest fear, 
 Insidious rock, the lately dreaded geer, 
 Which at low water only does appear ; 
 For to the interest of the seaman true, 
 A mark, now fix'd conspicuous to view, 
 Points to each ship where danger lurks below, 
 Which oft before produced sad scenes of woe : 
 For this the sailor's mother, sister, wife, 
 And all the tender relatives of life,
 
 31 
 
 The honour'd name of Pcnneck shall revere, 
 
 Who placed that mark which banishes all fear. 
 
 Now shews the mount, by sol's bright rays reveal'd, 
 
 Like orient pearl display'd in azure field, 
 
 And the pleased eye, behind it roving, sees 
 
 Fair Marazion woo the southern breeze ; • 
 
 Next bless'd Penzance its pleasing scenes imparts, 
 
 The abode of science, and the nurse of arts, 
 
 Where oft we meet her sons with talents rare, 
 
 And see her daughters exquisitely fair : 
 
 There Newlyn's pier the bay again invades, 
 
 Which oft is noticed for its black-eyed maids; 
 
 Along the shore white villas, too, are seen, 
 
 Forming a contrast to the verdant green, 
 
 For here through winter nature seems to wear 
 
 The vernal livery of the opening year ; 
 
 And they who England quit abroad to roam, 
 
 Might find as mild a climate nearer home. 
 
 Now over swelling emerald waves we rove, 
 
 To near Le Morna's far-sequester' d cove; 
 
 And as Porternis, then, is left behind, 
 
 Events which there occurr'd engross the mind :
 
 32 
 
 In its small bay, where chiefly fishers dwell, 
 
 "Who in allegiance to their king excel 
 
 Their other neighbours, and with anxious care 
 
 For wintry wants their summer earnings spare; 
 
 'Twas when Elizabeth the sceptre sway'd, 
 
 And England gloried in the royal maid, 
 
 One morn a fog the sea obscured from sight, 
 
 Converting early day to dingy night ; 
 
 Thus, as when, waiting for the' expected play, 
 
 Where tragic actors must their powers display, 
 
 The scene forbids us to behold the stage, 
 
 And ardent feelings every mind engage, 
 
 Till the slow-rising curtain gives to view 
 
 Acts which with tears the maiden cheek bedew; 
 
 So on that morn, when day's refulgent orb 
 
 Appear'd the ocean's vapours to absorb, 
 
 The natives see from shore, in war's array, 
 
 Four hostile gallies seek the tranquil bay; 
 
 They man their boats, their flaming brands prepare, 
 
 Burn down the village, and to Paul repair, 
 
 There fire the church, and then again retreat, 
 
 Nor wait the doubtful chances of defeat ;
 
 8S 
 
 Landing again, the flames through Newlyn spread, 
 
 And towards Penzance the' infuriate band are led : 
 
 Was it for this the fire-eyed god of war 
 
 With fleetest steeds impell'd his iron car, 
 
 To slay, while flames the mother's house invest, 
 
 The sleeping infant " pillow'd on her breast," — 
 
 Towns to destroy where no one can oppose, 
 
 And only vanquish unresisting foes? 
 
 In vain Godolphin, with a little band, 
 
 Strives in the market-place to make a stand ; 
 
 The dastards fly, and useless every art 
 
 To make his followers play a soldier's part ; 
 
 In vain persuasive arguments he tries, 
 
 Then through the ranks with flashing falchion flies; 
 
 For his attendants all command disown, 
 
 And the white eagle almost stands alone. 
 
 Now smoky volumes fill the ambient air, 
 
 And plunge the fated town in wild despair : 
 
 Next morn again the gallies seek the strand ; 
 
 But now more valiant grown, a chosen band 
 
 With force prepare opposing force to meet, 
 
 And drive with arrowy showers the hostile fleet ;
 
 34 
 
 Clifford advances, too, with bristly spears, 
 And off the Lizard Albion's flag appears ; 
 But there detain'd, our ships inactive lay, 
 Whilst with a favouring breeze the foe-men steer 
 away. 
 
 To the grand scene the sailing cutter yields, 
 
 Of towns, of villas, and of verdant fields, 
 
 Bring that proud man who dares his God deny, 
 
 And to these questions let his heart reply : — 
 
 Who bade yon mount high tower above the wave? 
 
 Who bade yon cliffs the howling tempest brave? 
 
 Who form'd the fish that range the boundless deep, 
 
 And all the reptiles that within it creep ? 
 
 When the blue lightnings glare, when thunders crash, 
 
 And rocky shores the surgy billows dash, 
 
 What but a voice omnipotent can say, 
 
 * Be still 1' and straight the elements obey ? 
 
 Awe-striking sight ! — I think it ne'er can be, 
 
 That any infidel can view the sea," 
 
 And so remain. He must, he must adore 
 
 That mighty God, who rules on every shore, 
 
 And whose vast power extends as far as oceans roar.
 
 35 
 
 Now rougher waves induce us to retire 
 
 From scenes which noble sentiments inspire, 
 
 And which impart, as my good friend design'd, 
 
 A calm composure to my wounded mind; 
 
 For from that mind where rooted sorrow dwells, 
 
 The painful thought no gaiety expels ; 
 
 Vain to pursue the path by folly trod, 
 
 But rather contemplate the works of God, 
 
 For which no scene is equal to the sea, 
 
 Where the soul wanders unrestrain'd and free, 
 
 Seeming to quit its tenement of clay 
 
 To soar in regions of eternal day, 
 
 Where dwell the spirits of the good and just, 
 
 Whose mortal ashes sleep in silent dust. 
 
 Ocean ! I love, when Cynthia sheds her ray 
 O'er the bright beauties of the rippling bay, 
 And with a silvery line of chasten'd light 
 Appears my wandering footsteps to invite, 
 To ramble silent on thy lonely shore, 
 And hear the dashing of the distant oar 
 From the small boat to yonder bark assign'd, 
 Where closing waters leave no trace behind :
 
 36 
 
 'Tis thus in childhood, (wisely so ordain'd,) 
 That sorrow's pangs are seldom long retain'd, 
 But in maturer years we're doom'd to feel 
 Wounds thai long fester, and may never heal. 
 Hail, mighty deep ! hail, ocean all sublime ! 
 Great source of wonder from primeval time ! 
 The life of man would hardly days bestow, 
 To tell the blessings which to thee we owe ; 
 Placed as a barrier by the' Almighty's hand, 
 Thou great defender of our happy land, 
 Britain to thee that liberty must owe, 
 That rests secure from every foreign foe : 
 True to ourselves, we need not fear alarms, 
 Thouiih a whole world should rise in hostile arms ; 
 But when apostates to their country's cause 
 Sap her religion and defy her laws, 
 Neglect those rites which their great God ordain'd, 
 And which their country has so long sustain'd, 
 Desert their nation, and in other climes 
 Leave their own virtues to import new crimes ; 
 Then, Britain, then, is spread a fatal snare, 
 Of which it well becomes thee to beware,
 
 37 
 
 For no protection can thy island give, 
 
 If in its vitals thy destroyers live. 
 
 Ocean ! on thee we see, with woven wing, 
 
 The laden ship the distant produce bring; 
 
 Whilst Britain's shores, by thy auspicious tide, 
 
 With wholesome footl are ever well supplied ; 
 
 And as the famed Bethesda's pool of yore 
 
 Could, with an angel's touch, the lame restore, 
 
 So oft in thy most salutary wave 
 
 With great success the impotent may lave. 
 
 On thee I love to see the rapid sail 
 
 Imbibe the influence of the freshening gale, 
 
 Or when light breezes on thy bosom play, 
 
 View the slight skiff pursue her silent way. 
 
 But with what awe do we the deep behold, 
 When wintry storms its mighty powers unfold ; 
 And this we witness'd, when within the bay, 
 Shunning the gale, a brig at anchor lay ; 
 But still unmindful of such danger near 
 Refused protection from the sheltering pier ; 
 The gale increases — far as eye can roam, 
 Billow on billow rolls with ceaseless foam ;
 
 38 
 
 Dark, murky clouds the face of day deform, 
 (Where ride the demons of the gathering storm,) 
 Move slowly onwards with tremendous sweep, 
 Adding fresh horrors to the maddening deep; 
 O'er the firm pier the broken surges dash, 
 Then downward fall, and with terrific crash 
 The briny spray like wintry snows is cast 
 High o'er the summit of each towering mast: 
 Now from the rigging signals are display'd, 
 Which shew distress, and call for friendly aid ; 
 To sailors never is such call in vain, 
 Who brave all danger, and despise all pain; 
 But from the harbour not a boat can steer, 
 And scarce a man can walk the deluged pier; 
 Meantime we all in mute attention wait, 
 And watch the waves, big with the vessel's fate : 
 See, heaven-directed, on the swelling tide, 
 Two boats of largest size appear to glide 
 From the small port at Mount St. Michael's base, 
 Whose movements all with ardent wishes trace; 
 On each stout mast, to brave the driving gale, 
 The daring crew extend the concave sail,
 
 39 
 
 O'er bounding billows bravely leave the land, 
 Whilst anxious comrades crowd the busy strand ; 
 There, too, perhaps, is seen the tender wife, 
 And maid that loves her sailor dear as life ; 
 Onward they dash, like guardian-angels now, 
 Through yielding surges with adventurous prow ; 
 Now upwards lifted by a mountain wave, 
 Then seem to sink within a watery grave ; 
 Yet fear disdaining still they persevere, 
 Each for humanity a volunteer ; 
 At length the vessel reach'd ; some spring on deck, 
 Resolved to save her from impending wreck ; 
 They cut the cables, hoist the scanty sail, 
 And o'er the tempest's rage the pilot's arts prevail. 
 Would all like these their duties thus perform, 
 And safely guide each vessel through the storm, 
 The muse with pleasure would their deeds record, 
 Nor would the Mount's bay-pilots be aBhorr'd, 
 Of whom 'tis said that conscience they discard, | 
 And wreck the vessels they are bound to guard : 
 So, 'mongst the men who study England's laws, 
 Deserving well their countrymen's applause,
 
 40 
 
 Too oft is found a pettifogging hand — 
 
 Disgrace and nuisance of our native land — 
 
 Who, harpy-like, will plunder whom they can, 
 
 And prey remorseless on their fellow-man. 
 
 Penzance, be warn'd; though on the flowing tide 
 
 Of golden fortune you at present ride, 
 
 And though you see your yet unrivalfd port, 
 
 Of many trading vessels the resort, 
 
 That port must fail, if still you prey on those 
 
 Who in its bosom seek a short repose, 
 
 And hither come, with shatter'd mast and sail. 
 
 The sad mementos of a recent gale : 
 
 Let not a stranger, when he walks thy pier, 
 
 And loves thy 'habitants, this statement hear : — 
 
 " That sailors oft of shipwreck run the chance, 
 
 Rather than seek the harbour of Penzance, 
 
 Where the high charges make them dread it more 
 
 Than all the dangers of a leeward shore." 
 
 The time will come, nor distant far the date, 
 
 When you shall curse this folly, — then too late; 
 
 For see e'en now St. Michael's lengthening pier 
 
 A barrier 'gainst the waves begins to rear,
 
 41 
 
 Forming a haven, where from every wind 
 
 The storm-toss'd vessel may protection find, 
 
 And at a day perhaps not far remote, 
 
 Here will a grove of masts triumphant float ; 
 
 This port each tide expanding sails shall see, 
 
 And what Penzance now is, shall Marazion be. 
 
 I speak of trade, for still of those the friend, 
 
 Whose steps or health or pleasure there may bend, 
 
 Penzance will ever prove the fond resort, 
 
 Where bland Hj/geia holds her blooming court ; 
 
 For there, as through enchanting walks you stray, 
 
 The wintry breeze resembles northern May ; 
 
 There, books the studious please, and ample store 
 
 Of fossils interest geologic lore, 
 
 Whilst in the ball-room's glare the young and gay 
 
 In mazy dance conclude the happy day : 
 
 At morning's dawn the hunters oft repair 
 
 To rouse sly reynard from his rocky lair ; 
 
 And levell'd tubes deal frequent death around, 
 
 Where woodcocks in the silent glade abound. 
 
 Yet still these scenes the' indignant muse must shew, 
 
 Are oft productive of heart-rending woe ; 
 
 G
 
 42 
 
 As when the mountain-torrent, swoln by ruins, 
 Resistless pours along the deluged plains, 
 The thoughtful swain beholds, with cruel sway, 
 His winter stores and cattle swept away, 
 And twelve months' labour lost in one short day : 
 So when by storms a hapless bark is driven, 
 And on this coast her planks asunder riven, 
 From distant hills full oft a desperate band 
 With dreadful purpose hasten to the strand, 
 With savage joy the floating cargo view, 
 Nor lend a hand to aid the shipwreck'd crew ; 
 In vain to them the merchant pleads the toil 
 Of bringing produce from a distant soil ; 
 In vain the sailor tells of perils past, 
 When on an unknown coast their ship was cast, 
 And every hour they thought must prove their last 
 But where the natives, when a wreck they saw, 
 Though guided only by rude nature's law, 
 Haste to assist, and, generous as brave, 
 Rescue the strangers from a watry grave : 
 To the appeal of woe they close the ear, 
 Whose eyes ne'er glisten with meek pity's tear ;
 
 43 
 
 And hard the seaman's fate, on native soil, 
 
 To meet with wretches who, from love of spoil, 
 
 Remorseless see a fellow-creature's pain, 
 
 And to whose marble breasts e'en beauty pleads in 
 
 vain. 
 Are there no human laws to curb this race 
 Of fiend-like plunderers, Albion's disgrace ? 
 If not, by them let safety now be given 
 'Gainst those who thus despise the laws of Heaven ; 
 But if there are, say why this dire alarm, — 
 Why slumbers justice with a nerveless arm ? 
 
 Eight weeks have pass'd, since the dear scenes I 
 
 knew, 
 To which reluctantly I bid adieu; 
 But time's swift flight, which never brooks delay, 
 Tells me from hence to hasten far away, 
 And, sad the thought, perhaps for ever part 
 From friends whose kindness oft has cheer'd my 
 
 heart. 
 Penzance, farewell ! I quit thy lovely bay, 
 The numerous beauties which its shores display,
 
 44 
 
 Thy verdant meadows and salubrious air, 
 Thy sons of science and thy daughters fair, — 
 Destined once more through various scenes to roam, 
 Ere I shall reach my distant, joyless home, 
 From whence its brightest, dearest gem is torn, 
 And now to me 'tis wretched and forlorn : 
 But on the mournful theme I will not dwell, 
 Kind friends, adieu, — Penzance, once more farewell !
 
 
 SKETCHES OF A TOUR, 
 
 <5f<\ 4fc. 
 
 PART III. 
 
 The second month of the revolving year 
 Had just commenced its brief but cold career* 
 When, parting from my friends, again I range, 
 Through a far different route the scene to change 
 Dark was the morn I bade Penzance adieu, 
 "While through mid-ether hasty vapours flew, 
 Quickly concealing each known point from view.
 
 46 
 
 In journeying onward through the dreary day. 
 Little oecurs to interest the way, 
 Till nearer Falmouth, from high-rising land, 
 I see its harbour, mirror-like, expand, 
 Where her whole navy, sea-girt Britain's boast, 
 Might find protection on her friendly coast. 
 At the Green Bank Hotel, again I find 
 Objects which fail not to amuse the mind ; 
 For from its windows seen, on swelling tide 
 To different nations bound, the packets ride, 
 Which, safely moor'd, await the' appointed day, 
 When, weighing anchor, they pursue their way 
 With passengers aboard and sails unfurl'd, 
 The panorama of a little world. 
 There, to arrest disease's dread career, 
 The invalid seeks climate less severe ; 
 There, to his faithful wife, her husband true 
 Bids with reluctant gaze a long adieu ; 
 And while the merchant, diligent for gain, 
 Embarks with pleasure on the buoyant main : 
 To the gay youth, joining his martial band, 
 Whom stern Bellona calls to distant land,
 
 47 
 
 From some dear maid, the parting is severe, 
 Whose glistening eyes betray the tender tear, 
 Which pity teaches clown her cheek to rove, 
 " And pity oft is near allied to love." 
 View the sad mien of one by fate's decree 
 Induced to ramble on the faithless sea, — 
 Banish'd by heart-felt sorrow from the place, 
 Where oft fond memory would with joy retrace 
 The time his youthful path was strown with flowers, 
 And rosy hope led on the laughing hours ; 
 But now he comes, companion'd by despair, 
 With haggard eye and contemplative air ; 
 For sad remembrance proves how vain each art 
 To ease the throbbing breast and sickening heart, 
 When of repose tired nature stands in need, 
 And faithless visions sleepless hours succeed ; 
 Hard is his task to brave the' unequal fight, 
 When hope's bright star seems set in endless night, 
 Leaving no distant, faintly glimmering ray, 
 To cheer the gloom that marks his darksome way : 
 Yet stay the desperate wish, the' impassion'd thought, 
 Which with rebellion against Heaven is fraught,
 
 48 
 
 Nor let him murmur at the high behest, 
 
 For God, who wills his fate, knows what is best : 
 
 Perhaps, ere long, returning hope may shed 
 
 Her balmy influence on his aching head ; 
 
 For as Aurora, chasing night away, 
 
 Hails the bright glories of refulgent day, 
 
 So to the mind with darkness compass'd round, 
 
 Comfort, when least expected, oft is found. 
 
 Behold with him embark a youthful band, 
 Joyous returning to their native land, 
 And e'en the softer sex shew no alarms, 
 Impatient hastening to a parent's arms, 
 For home to them retains its pristine charms. 
 Endless, indeed, the different hopes and fears 
 The steady helmsman in each packet steers, 
 And various, too, hid in the book of fate, 
 The fortunes which each gallant ship await ; 
 Can we observe the circling seasons glide, 
 Nor mark what different fates our friends betide ? 
 On learning's pinions some will soar sublime, 
 Others ambition's slippery summit climb ;
 
 49 
 
 While some in private life receive their lot, 
 " The world forgetting — by the world forgot," 
 Others in scenes far different engage, 
 And teach the bloody battle where to rage ; 
 Some quit the stage of life at early date, 
 And some in later years submit to fate ; 
 So of these packets, some with favouring gale 
 Soon at their destined harbour furl the sail ; 
 While baffling breezes others may engage, 
 And some encounter the fell tempest's rage ; 
 Or, urged by fate, on shoal insidious tost, 
 Others with cargo and with crew are lost. 
 
 Now in swift boat again I steer away 
 With rapid oars across the glassy bay, 
 To see Pendennis Castle, — last to yield 
 To Cromwell, victor of the hard-fought field ; 
 Here from a veteran, well-inform'd and kind, 
 I great attention, though a stranger, find, 
 And must the kindness of another own, 
 To whom I only was by letter known.
 
 50 
 
 While on this hill embattled lines appear 
 
 With black artillery frowning, tier o'er tier, 
 
 On the opposing side St.Mawes' proud tower, 
 
 From heavy guns, destructive shots could pour, 
 
 When enfilading fire would render vain 
 
 All hope this passage by assault to gain : 
 
 The town itself can little beauty claim ; 
 
 But near the river, whence it takes its name, 
 
 Arise fair mansions, elegant and gay, 
 
 While hanging woods a thousand shades display, 
 
 And near to which my road to Truro lay. 
 
 Next morn, advancing at an early hour, 
 
 I reach St.Austle's ornamented tower ; 
 
 Short was the time I at Lestwithiel spent ; 
 
 On gaining Liskeard in the evening, bent 
 
 My fellow-travellers again to greet, 
 
 Whom favouring chance this morn had given to 
 
 meet ; 
 And there, when joining at a late repast, 
 We talk of hills which we so lately pass'd, 
 And make agreement on succeeding day 
 To Dock together to pursue our way :
 
 51 
 
 So clear next morning favouring Phoebus shone, 
 
 That summer's self the brilliant day might own ; 
 
 And as we climb'd each eminence's brow, 
 
 Fair were the valleys spreading far below ; 
 
 But how delightful, when from summit high 
 
 Majestic Tamar first salutes the eye, 
 
 Where England's bulwarks rode, with canvas 
 furl'd, 
 
 The dread and wonder of a conquer'd world; 
 
 There, too, a proof that Janus' gates were closed, 
 
 Many laid up, inactively reposed. 
 
 To those, whose country's weal can warm the heart, 
 
 What gi'and sensations must this scene impart ! 
 
 And undeserving he a Briton's name, 
 Who is not proud to celebrate the fame 
 Of that unvanquish'd navy, here beheld, 
 W T hich every flag in every clime has quell'd : 
 Cherish these bulwarks, then, my country, more 
 Than all the treasures of thy happy shore ; 
 And let the sons of ocean ever prove 
 A nation's gratitude, a nation's love.
 
 52 
 
 A boat in readiness appears in view — 
 
 We Hamoaze cross,— to Cornwall bid adieu : 
 
 Again by letter introduced, I meet 
 
 A stranger friend, with kindness all replete, 
 
 By whom conducted, I the dock-yard view, 
 
 Where at each step my admiration grew, 
 
 As from their keels the mighty vessels rose, 
 
 Britannia's safeguard from her foreign foes, 
 
 Which, though like floating castles they appear, 
 
 Ingenious artists under structures rear, 
 
 Where they their work pursue throughout the year. 
 
 On every side the buildings that arise 
 
 The most indifferent person must surprize ; 
 
 With noise incessant, like the thundering storm, 
 
 Here sons of Vulcan ponderous anchors form ; 
 
 The well-made cable there, with numerous bends, 
 
 Lengthening along the rope-houses extends, 
 
 And in a basin of dimension vast, 
 
 Steeping, we witness many a yard and mast ; 
 
 The rigging-house we see most amply stored, 
 
 O'er which of sails observe a plenteous hoard,
 
 53 
 
 Ready, should foes again our nation brave, 
 
 To waft her squadrons o'er the distant wave ; 
 
 And these might seem, when view'd with hasty eye, 
 
 Enough a nation's navy to supply. 
 
 Within these walls of architectural art, 
 
 Behold that dome a specimen impart, 
 
 Where officers and workmen may resort 
 
 On every sabbath to Jehovah's court : 
 
 But the vast works which the pleased eye engage 
 
 Are much too numerous for the tourist's page, 
 
 And would demand, their uses to display, 
 
 The noblest efforts of the poet's lay ; 
 
 Well, then, may I, unskill'd to weave the verse, 
 
 Shrink from the task such subjects to rehearse. 
 
 Rash was the man, who gallantly could dare, 
 Spurning the earth, to soar through liquid air, 
 And with balloon his course erratic trace 
 Through the vast regions of unbounded space : 
 And not less bold, though far more useful he, 
 Who undertook., beneath the briny sea,
 
 54 
 
 Full many fathoms deep for hours to stay, 
 
 Where finny tribes around him sporting play ; 
 
 And there in labours actively engage 
 
 By mechanism of the present age, 
 
 Which, rising from the deep we now behold, 
 
 Thinking what mortals dare for love of gold, 
 
 And how, delighted, future times will tell 
 
 The wonderous uses of the diving bell. 
 
 Next, (made acquainted by my worthy friend,) 
 
 On board the Windsor Castle I attend 
 
 One of her officers, and with him view 
 
 The stately Caledonia, lately new. 
 
 From ships in Hamoaze laid, yon work of art, 
 
 With lengthening line, extending to impart 
 
 Its kind protection, is effective found 
 
 To break the booming billows of the Sound ; 
 
 Which oft, before the mighty bulwark rose, 
 
 Proved to our navy most destructive foes : 
 
 The merchants, too, will venerate the day, 
 
 When engineers were order'd to essay 
 
 From ocean's base to raise this useful lee, 
 
 Which saves Catwater from the stormy sea :
 
 55 
 
 The ponderous masses that this fabric form, 
 
 So well adapted to resist the storm, 
 
 By able workmen, whom experience taught, 
 
 Are on a rail-way from the quarries brought 
 
 In trucks, which through the ready port-holes glide 
 
 Into the vessels, which at anchor ride 
 
 Close to the quay ; and many sails are seen, 
 
 Floating these blocks upon the liquid green, 
 
 Which, raised by creaking cranes, with care they 
 
 place 
 In order due above the watery base : 
 To this, with kindness of a long-known friend, 
 My new acquaintance offers to attend, 
 And as our little boat the sailors row, 
 Objects which interest most, delights to show ; 
 For from the sea and the adjacent land, 
 Countless the subjects which a view demand ; 
 While deep-mouth'd cannon from the batteries roar, 
 To give protection to their naval shore, 
 Humanity erects the spacious dome, 
 Which to the wretched yields a welcome home,
 
 56 
 
 Where yonder building meets the admiring eye, 
 And wounded sailors lind a good supply 
 Of what, by saving from a timeless bier, 
 May check the widow's or the parent's tear* 
 Brave sons of Neptune ! though no verse of mine 
 Can round your brows the laurell'd chaplet twine, 
 Accept for kindness I so oft receive, 
 The only tribute that my muse can give, 
 Who sighs in vain for language to impart 
 The friendly feelings of a grateful heart : 
 W T herever doom'd through distant seas to range, 
 Your steady courage knows not how to change ; 
 'Tis your's with firmness gallantly to brave 
 The southern suns that warm the equator's wave. 
 Which ever there with " cloudless ardour shine, 
 And pour the dazzling deluge round the line ;" 
 Or where the driving sleet and arrowy hail, 
 Add to the horrors of the arctic gale, 
 While fields of ice the frozen seas enchain, 
 And ceaseless winter holds her drear domain : 
 Kind without pride, obliging without fear, 
 In friendship faithful, and in love sincere,
 
 57 
 
 Your names shall live as long as oceans roar, 
 
 And fame record your deeds on every distant shore. 
 
 If not fatigued, but still inclined to stray? 
 
 To fair Mount Edgecumbe let us bend our way, 
 
 Where the pleased visitor delighted roves 
 
 'Mongst roseate bowers and majestic groves; 
 
 What, though no spicy breezes we inhale, 
 
 Such as, when wafted by the tropic gale, 
 
 Shed aromatic fragrance from the shore, 
 
 Where roaming lions and fell tigers roar; 
 
 What, though no stately palm-trees deck the glade, 
 
 Or broad bananas spread their leafy shade,— 
 
 When summer suns illume our tranquil skies, 
 
 Here countless blossoms, of a thousand dies, 
 
 Shed their sweet perfume and delight the eyes; 
 
 Here cork-trees, cedars of eternal green, 
 
 And proud magnolias towering high are seen. 
 
 From these, more distant walks meandering run 
 
 Through shady groves impervious to the sun, 
 
 Where various trees that grace our happy isle 
 
 In forest grandeur elegantly smile, 
 
 i
 
 58 
 
 And branching oaks their ample arms expand 
 Hicjh o'er the sea they're destined to command. 
 Here for refreshment and repose we find 
 Seats which display the liberal owner's mind, 
 Who gives to strangers all the live-long day 
 Permission through these lovely walks to stray, 
 Of which, description to attempt were vain, 
 I leave it, then, to fancy's loosen'd rein. 
 Far in the offing, from its wavy bed, 
 See yonder light-house rear its lofty head, 
 On rocks erected, where remorseless Fate, 
 On whom Destruction's ministers await, 
 Held her lorn court, and l'ear'd her awful form 
 To' invoke the whirlwind and to woo the storm, 
 Until that fabric, from the dark blue wave, 
 Its light display'd the mariner to save : 
 Hard to short-sighted mortals seem'd the doom, 
 That here consign'd unto a watery tomb 
 The first projector, whom the tempest's sweep 
 With his own building buried in the deep : 
 Another rose ; but that on hapless day 
 Fell to devouring flames a signal prey :
 
 59 
 
 See, Phcenix-like, from this destructive fire, 
 A third to proud pre-eminence aspire ; 
 And long may this, from its exalted head, 
 O'er the dark wave its radiant influence shed, 
 And high Omnipotence protect the dome, 
 To light the wanderer of the ocean home. 
 
 At length reminded by the rustling trees, 
 
 Sighing responsive to the freshening breeze, 
 
 That in returning I again must float 
 
 Across the river in an open boat, 
 
 I haste away ; each lovely scene is lost, 
 
 And my light skiff is o'er the Tamar tost : 
 
 Through busy Plymouth soon my course is run, 
 
 Finely illumined by the setting sun ; 
 
 At Ivy-bridge the welcome pillow, press'd, 
 
 Invites the weary to oblivious rest. 
 
 Next morn was Sunday ; but, from some dispute, 
 No duty done, and every bell was mute, 
 For the third week. Why on the sacred day 
 Such great neglect, 'tis difficult to say ,•
 
 60 
 
 Blame must rest somewhere, and let conscience tell 
 Those who have acted the reverse of well. 
 Ere I depart, a ramble up the stream 
 Shews the place worthy of the tourist's theme, 
 Whom calm-sequester'd vales have power to please, 
 Where the wild torrent gushes through the trees, 
 And where naught else is heard, save when the bell 
 Tells in the fields where fleecy tenants dwell. 
 
 The noble service of the church I share, 
 And well frequented see the house of prayer, 
 Where Totness Castle my attention calls, 
 Whose mantling ivy clasps its mouldering walls ; 
 From whence meandering Dart is seen to flow, 
 With beauteous current, through the vale below, 
 Down which to Dartmouth I would gladly sail, 
 But for such deviation time would fail. 
 When evening shades the distant land conceal'd, 
 And her full orb the queen of night reveal'd, 
 By her befriended I in safety reach, 
 Through narrow lanes, Torquay's- attractive beach,
 
 61 
 
 And all alone contemplative I stray 
 
 Along the margin of the noted bay. 
 
 This town, like others on Devonia's coast, 
 
 A rapid rise from poverty may boast ; 
 
 For where small fishing-huts alone appear'd, 
 
 Commodious dwellings are for strangers rear'd: 
 
 And here conducted by fate's guiding hand, 
 
 Her crowding votaries seek the charming strand. 
 
 Though chill next morning wintry breezes blew* 
 I walk the neighbouring scenery to view ; 
 For, thanks, Penzance ! I am enabled now 
 To scale to Babicome the lofty brow, 
 O'er which the foot-path leads, and from this height 
 O'er scenes of splendour to extend the sight : 
 Here fancy paints that navy's grand array, 
 Triumphant riding in the wide-spread bay, 
 
 When fifty line of battle-ships appear'd, 
 And full four hundred other vessels rear'd 
 Their towering masts, and from Batavia bore 
 The great King William to our favour'd shore, 
 Where, when his boats approach'd the welcome land, 
 Rejoicing thousands hail'd him to the strand.
 
 62 
 
 Advance to Babicome's sequester'd dell, 
 
 Where peace and harmony delighted dwell, 
 
 And happy inmates pass their tranquil life, 
 
 " Far from the madding crowd's ignoble strife:" 
 
 From hence o'er sea-commanding hills I stray, 
 
 And to Tor Abbey mark the pleasing way, 
 
 By which the passenger on foot is led 
 
 To where the modern mansion rears its head, 
 
 "Which on the ancient vaults erected stands 
 
 Amongst its stately groves and cultured lands, 
 
 "While ivy'd remnants of its former towers 
 
 Appear amidst the garden's shady bowers, 
 
 And on a tablet amongst these I trace 
 
 The' ensuing lines, descriptive of the place : 
 
 " Here meek religion's ancient temple rose, 
 
 How great, how fallen, the mournful ruin shews ; 
 
 Of sacrilege, behold what heaps appear, 
 
 Nor blush to drop the tributary tear. 
 
 Here stood the font ; here, on high columns raised, 
 
 The dome extended ; there the altar blazed ; 
 
 The shatter'd aisles, with clustering ivy hung, 
 
 The yawning arch, in rude confusion flung —
 
 »J 
 
 » 
 
 63 
 
 Sad sinking remnants of a former age — 
 To pity now might melt the spoiler's rage 
 Lo, sunk to rest the wearied votary sleeps 
 While o'er his urn the gloomy cypress weeps ; 
 Here silent pause, here draw the pensive sigh 
 Here musing learn to live, here learn to die." 
 
 At Dawlish next two happy days I spend 
 With his fair daughters and a worthy friend ; 
 One lovely face, where late I saw the rose 
 O'er cheeks angelic soften'd shades disclose, 
 Drooping in illness, now, alas, is pale 
 As shews (sweet flower) the lily-of-the-vale; 
 But may health's blooming goddess soon replace 
 Strength to the form and roses to the face, 
 And let the maid again to scenes repair, 
 Where oft she shone the fairest of the fair. 
 Romantic Dawlish ! round whose charming site 
 Delightful scenes to ride or walk invite ; 
 No wonder thou on numbers shouldst prevail 
 The genial airs of Devon to inhale,
 
 64 
 
 Who, as they ramble under tranquil skies, 
 
 View thy red cliffs majestically rise, 
 
 On pebbly beach thy wave-worn caves explore, 
 
 Old ocean seems to have forgot to roar : 
 
 Now at short distance see the Exe expand 
 
 Her gradual waves o'er far-extended sand, 
 
 Which at the ferry crossing, on I haste, 
 
 And friendship's joys again at Limpstone taste, 
 
 Kindly invited to prolong my stay, 
 
 Which fate must limit to a single day. 
 
 From gardens here with every fruit supplied, 
 
 Let the eye wander o'er the flowing tide, 
 
 Where Manchead's obelisk erects its head, 
 
 Whose woods majestic far extending spread, 
 
 To where Haldown displays his towering height, 
 
 Whence every traveller the views delight ; 
 
 The distant charms of Oxton there unveil, 
 
 Here Powderham Castle lords it o'er the vale ; 
 
 But now, alas, the dome neglected stands, 
 
 Its owner resident in foreign lands, 
 
 Like many others who at distance live 
 
 Upon the wealth which British acres give :
 
 65 
 
 Say ye, who, skill 'd in legislative lore, 
 The vital interests of each state explore, 
 Whilst laws, enacted with an equal hand, 
 Protection give throughout our favour'd land, 
 And every subject's property maintain, 
 Which happy chance or industry may gain ; 
 Is it not fair that those should aid its store, 
 Who live far distant from their native shore ? 
 Why not compel their property to pay, 
 Who let the burden rest on those who stay ? 
 For they encourage what their country yields, 
 They plant the forest, they improve the fields, 
 They various arts promote, the poor employ, 
 And round their dwellings spread a general joy ; 
 Then why not lessen taxes upon these, 
 And lay a duty upon absentees ? 
 
 Leaving my friends, pale Cynthia's silvery light 
 Soon introduced Augusta to my sight, 
 Which for one night my brief abode I make, 
 And a long ramble the next morning take
 
 66 
 
 On the fine terrace of the Northern Hay, 
 
 Where well-dress'd belles attractive charms display ; 
 
 And through the streets, where stalls are amply 
 
 stored 
 With various viands to supply the board ; 
 Then to its ancient sacred pile I roam, 
 Hear its fine organ fill the spacious dome, 
 While well-taught chaunters tuneful voices raise, 
 To hymn, in strains divine, Jehovah's praise. 
 
 Now speeding onward with a swallow's flight, 
 
 Let us in Isle of Avalon alight, 
 
 And see far off its lofty Tor arise, 
 
 Near which the road to Glastonbury lies : 
 
 There let us pause to contemplate a scene, 
 
 Of business once, but now like death serene. 
 
 Four Christian centuries scarce their course had run. 
 
 Ere from the earth to rise yon pile begun, 
 
 In which, if legendary tales we trust, 
 
 Some mighty ashes mingle " dust with dust," 
 
 Where sainted Joseph rests, and Arthur there, 
 
 'Tis said, was carried on funereal bier :
 
 67 
 
 When twice four hundred years had pass'd their 
 
 round, 
 By earthquake part was levell'd with the ground ; 
 From whence the abbey to perfection rose, 
 When little more than two long centuries close ; 
 Then the embattled gateway proudly tower'd, 
 From whence destruction might on foes be pour'd : 
 From cluster'd columns elegantly light, 
 "Whose well-carved foliage crowns their lofty height, 
 Sprung pointed arches ; their rich mouldings view, 
 Which prove what splendour once the structure 
 
 knew : 
 As in this silent, sacred fane I stand, 
 So strongly mark'd by time's defacing hand. 
 Imagination to my mind recalls 
 The years long past, when in these hallow'd walls 
 Each from his humble couch and short repose, 
 On every morn, to early matins rose ; 
 When its high abbot sat within the hall, 
 Priors and priests attendant at his call, 
 While monks and laymen thro' the cloisters crowd, 
 To pay their duty to the abbot proud
 
 68 
 
 But ah, how changed ! Now, not a step we trace, 
 
 Or hear a voice re-echo through the space; 
 
 Gone is the roof ; the arches, in decay, 
 
 Of what they were a vestige scarce display ; 
 
 While some, regardless of the noble pile, 
 
 Like Goths and Vandals could the place defile, 
 
 By taking stones to make a public way, 
 
 Which here were wont their beauty to display ; 
 
 Yet still the ruins that remaining stand, 
 
 Shew in decay magnificently grand ; 
 
 So when the oak, that has for ages stood 
 
 The forest's pride, the monarch of the wood, 
 
 Shall yield at last to time's resistless sway 
 
 His branching antlers, one by one decay, 
 
 Till the old shatter'd trunk alone appears, 
 
 The noble relict of more glorious years ; 
 
 So each proud fabric of the present day, 
 
 Rising in turn, must in its turn decay. 
 
 Nature ! from thee reluctantly I part, 
 To visit gaudy scenes of tinsel art,
 
 69 
 
 Where fashion governs with despotic sway. 
 And folly's votaries folly's laws obey ; 
 For now in front the Mendip hills arise, 
 O'er which the road to Bladud's fountain lies; 
 As up the side of these next morn I wind, 
 To reach their snow-clad summit ill-inclined, 
 To countries pass'd I sigh a last adieu, 
 And end my Sketches with the lovely view.
 
 NOTES.
 
 NOTES. 
 
 PART I. 
 
 My route thro famed Dumnonium, fyc. Page 3. 
 Dumnonium is the ancient name of the west of England. 
 
 Hotv ruthless Jires its beauties have defaced. P. 3. 
 
 Minehead, now an insignificant port, appears formerly (to 
 judge from the pier) to have been a place of some consequence. 
 Its situation is singular, for it has the appearance of three dis- 
 tinct villages : at the lowest is the pier and a few houses ; the inn 
 is in the middle part, which is now the principal, for the highest, 
 in which the church is situate, has been twice greatly injured by 
 fires. In the last, about four years since, the lord of the manor, 
 Mr. Luttrell, of Dunster Castle, is said to have lost property to 
 the amount of £30,000. 
 
 Here is your carriage left, fyc. P. 7. 
 
 Clovely Court is the beautiful residence of Sir James Ham- 
 lyn Williams, who obligingly allows the carriages of those who 
 come to see the place to remain at his stables, as, from the very 
 steep situation of the little fishing-town of Clovely, it would 
 not be safe to attempt to take a carriage down the street.
 
 74 
 
 Placed on a rock the farthest, fyc. P. 15. 
 Upon the largest of a ridge of granite rocks, called the Long 
 Ships, a light-house was erected hy a Mv. Smith in the year 
 1797. The circumference of the tower at its base is 68 feet, 
 the height from the rock to the vane of the lantern 52 feet, and 
 from the sea to the base of the light-house it is 60 feet ; but 
 notwithstanding this elevation, its windows have been often 
 broken by the spray in a tempest. 
 
 Unlike a victor o'er the Beacon course. P. 17. 
 The Beacon course at Newmarket. The circumstance here 
 alluded to, is said to have happened about fourteen or fifteen 
 years ago. 
 
 From the first inn in England, fyc. P. 18. 
 At Sinnan church-town, about half a mile from the Land's 
 End, is a public-house, on the western side of its sign is in- 
 scribed, < The First Inn in England,' and on the eastern side, 
 ' The Last Inn in England.'
 
 75 
 
 PART II. 
 
 St. John, to you, 8jc. P. 27. 
 James St. John, Esq., Commander of His Majesty's Cutter 
 Fox. 
 
 Was woodland once, Sfc. P. 28. 
 We are assured both by tradition and history, that, at a very 
 remote period, the whole of the present bay was land, covered 
 by wood, which by an awfid convulsion was suddenly swept 
 away. It would appear, from the concurrent testimony of Flo- 
 rence of Worcester and the Saxon Chronicles, to have hap- 
 pened in November of 1099. I found trees under the sand 
 at a very low spring-tide, and brought home two specimens of 
 the wood. 
 
 With eyes attentive huers, Sfc. P. 29. 
 
 In the first volume of the Naval Chronicle is the following 
 account of the Pilchard fishery : — " About the middle of July 
 the pilchard appears in vast shoals off the Cornish coasts, from 
 Fowey harbour to the Scilly Isles. Their approach is known 
 by the same signs that indicate the arrival of the herring. Per- 
 sons, called in Cornwall huers, are placed on the cliffs, to 
 point to the boats stationed off the land the course of the fish. 
 By 1 Jac. I. cap. 23, fishermen are empowered to go on the 
 grounds of others to hue, without being liable to actions of 
 trespass, which before occasioned frequent law-suits."
 
 76 
 
 Mr. Pennant informs us " that the numbers taken at one 
 shooting out of the nets, are amazingly great. Dr. Borlase 
 assured him, that on the 5th of October 1767, there were at 
 one time in St. Ives's bay 7000 hogsheads, each hogshead con- 
 taining 35,000 fish, in all '245,000,000." 
 
 " This fishery is, in every respect, of the greatest advantage 
 to the county of Cornwall, it affords employment for at least 
 12,000 persons ; and the capital engaged cannot be estimated 
 at less than £350,000 or j€400,000.— The broken and refuse 
 fish are sold at about ten-pence per bushel for manure, and are 
 used throughout the county with excellent effects, especially for 
 raising all green crops." — Guide to Mount's Bay and Land's 
 End. 
 
 The honour 'd name of Penneck, S^c. P. 31. 
 
 Dr. Penneck, in his mayoralty, fixed a pole upon this dan- 
 serous rock, which lies near the entrance of Penzance harbour. 
 
 Which oft is noticed, fyc. Ibid. 
 
 The Newlyn fish-women are remarkable for the brilliancy of 
 their eyes and the delicacy of their complexion. 
 
 And as Portemis, Sfc. Ibid. 
 
 " Mousehole in Cornish is named Portemis, and in Latin 
 Portus Insidce, — both importing one sense, namely, the Is- 
 land Haven, and so called through a little island placed before 
 it." — CArew's Survey of Cornwall. 
 
 ' Twas ivhen Elizabeth, SfC. P. 32. 
 
 The same author informs us, (p. 381,) that " on the 23rd 
 
 of July, 1595, soon after the sun was risen, and had chased a 
 
 fog, which before kept the sea out of sight, four gallies of the 
 
 enemy presented themselves upon the coast over against Mouse-
 
 77 
 
 hole." He then proceeds to state, " that the Spaniards 
 landed, burnt many straggling houses and the parish-church of 
 Paul, by which the great stone-pillars were ruined ; that others 
 burnt Mousehole, &c." 
 
 And the white eagle almost stands alone. P. 33. 
 
 " Sir Francis Godolphin Godolghan, now called Godolphin. 
 In Cornish it signifieth a White Eagle, and such arms they 
 carry in this sort : — G. an eagle displayed with two heads be- 
 tween three fieurs de luce A." — Carew. 
 
 Clifford advances, SfC. P. 34. 
 
 " Sir Nic. Clifford arrived with troops from Plymouth, and 
 some ships arrived from thence off the Lizard Point, when the 
 wind, before unfavourable, suddenly changed, and the galleys 
 escaped." — Ibid. 
 
 There books the studious please, §c. P. 41. 
 
 Within a few years there have been established at Penzance, 
 a Cabinet of Minerals and a good Library, to the latter of 
 which strangers are admitted as subscribers.
 
 78 
 
 PART III. 
 
 / reach St. Austles, fyc. P. 50. 
 
 The tower of the church at St. Austlc is a good deal carved, 
 and, generally speaking, the church-towers in Cornwall are re- 
 markahly handsome. 
 
 Which, rising Jrom the deep, §c. P. 54. 
 
 We happened fortunately to be upon the place, just as the 
 diving-bell was raised from the water. 
 
 From ships in Hamoazc, fyc. Ibid. 
 
 Plymouth Breakwater, now carrying on under the direction 
 of Messrs. Rennie and W hidby, is built ac;oss the middle of 
 the entrance into the Sound, affording protection to the men- 
 of-war in Hamoaze, and the merchant-vessels which prin- 
 cipally lie in Catwater. The first stone for this stupendous 
 work was deposited on the 12th of August 1812, and on the 
 31st of March, 1813, the Breakwater made its first appearance 
 above the surface of the Sound at low water of the spring-tide. 
 About fifty vessels, averaging about fifty tons each, are em- 
 ployed in conveying stones from the quarries. By all these 
 vessels the quantity of stone deposited in 1812 was 16,045 
 tons— in 1813, 71, 198 tons— in 1814, 239,480 tons— in 
 1815, 264,207 tons— and in 1816, up to the Pith of Augnst, 
 206,033 tons, at which time the total quantity of stone sunk, 
 amounted to 896,963 tons, and at the conclusion of the year 
 to upwards of one million tons.
 
 79 
 
 Soon introduced Augusta, &$c. P. 65. 
 Exeter is the Augusta of the Romans. 
 
 Let us in Isle of Avalon, SfC. P. 66. 
 
 The site of the abbey and its environs, including the town 
 of Glastonbury and the adjacent hills, was formerly insular, and 
 was called the Island of Avalon, or Avalonia. One of these 
 hills is the celebrated Tor, which is crowned with the ruins of 
 a chapel dedicated to St. Michael. 
 
 Where sainted Joseph rests, fyc. Ibid. 
 
 This abbey is the reputed burial-place of Joseph of Arima- 
 thea ; and tradition informs us that King Arthur, slain in the 
 battle of Camlan, in Cornwall, was likewise interred here. 
 
 THE END. 
 
 ERRATA. 
 Page 61, line 7, for fate's read taste's. 
 
 — 64, — 1, for Who, as they ramble, tfC. read 
 
 Where, as we ramble, fyc. 
 
 — 64, — 13, for Manchead read Mamhead. 
 
 — 74, in the last note, for Simian read Soman. 
 
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