THE LIBRARY 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 Songs of 
 Somerset.
 
 ongs of Somerset 
 by Joseph Henry 
 Stephenson, M.A. 
 
 Rector of Lympsham^ and Treasurer 
 and Prebendary of Wells Cathedral. 
 
 Taunton : Printed and Published by 
 Barnicott &^ Pearce, Athenaeum Press, 
 44, Fore Street, mdcccxcviii.
 
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 for a quarter of a century, 
 
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 in ^er atiopteo County of ^omer^et 
 
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 Preface. 
 
 HERE is a wonderful diversity between 
 all our fifty-two English and Welsh 
 counties. Many, indeed, may have 
 their analogies, but each has its own special 
 idiosyncrasies. 
 
 This is nowhere truer than in Somerset. Our 
 landscapes, except in the western district, may 
 not rival the glories of our more beautiful sister ; 
 but Devon is less "chiselled-out" than Somerset, 
 and has not the variety of hills and plains. Ex- 
 cept on Haldon and Dartmoor, you fail to find 
 such extensive and almost panoramic prospects as 
 those that charm your eye from Dundry, Mendip, 
 Quantock, Brendon, Blackdown, and Dunkery.
 
 viii preface. 
 
 Some of these I have in this unpretending volume 
 attempted to portray. 
 
 I have personally visited all of our British 
 counties, and all but two of those in the Scottish 
 department of our United Kingdom, but no- 
 where have I found brighter or lovelier scenery 
 than in my native county. We cannot measure 
 beauty by dimension. I remember to have heard 
 a tasteful tourist say of Cheddar Cliffs, " When 
 I saw them first, I admired them greatly, but 
 then I had seen nothing : now, I have been 
 everywhere, and have seen everything, and have 
 come back to admire them more than ever ! " 
 
 Many of the following poems have appeared 
 in volumes which have long been out of print. 
 
 Lympsham Manor, 
 
 April, 1898.
 
 Contents. 
 
 
 
 
 1 
 
 Page 
 
 Preface 
 
 
 
 • • 
 
 Vll 
 
 Otir Somerset Churches 
 
 
 
 
 
 I 
 
 Willett Tor . . 
 
 
 
 
 
 8 
 
 Dunkery . 
 
 
 
 
 
 lO 
 
 Culbone 
 
 
 
 
 
 15 
 
 Quantock . 
 
 
 
 
 
 21 
 
 Egremont Inn at Williton 
 
 
 
 
 
 23 
 
 Adieus from Mendip 
 
 
 
 
 
 25 
 
 Autumn Lights on my Native Hills . 
 
 
 
 
 28 
 
 Friends in Familiar Objects 
 
 
 
 
 30 
 
 Crook's Peak ..... 
 
 
 
 
 32 
 
 Away to the Quantocks 
 
 
 
 
 35 
 
 Shadows on Mendip . 
 
 
 
 
 . 36 
 
 Wells from Mendip . 
 
 • f 
 
 • 
 
   
 
 
 . 38
 
 Content0. 
 
 Pve seen the Wild Hielands 
 
 40 
 
 The Grange Walk at Lympsham 
 
 42 
 
 Mendip on an Autumn Morning 
 
 44 
 
 To tJu Clump of Scotch Firs on Bleadon Hill . 
 
 45 
 
 A Brean Down Parable ..... 
 
 46 
 
 Siiggested by Passing the Glastonbtiry Churchyard 
 
 49 
 
 Marriage of H.R.H. The Prince of Wales 
 
 50 
 
 Morning after a Hurricane .... 
 
 52 
 
 A Morning Walk on the Severn Shore 
 
 55 
 
 Home, Sweet Home ...... 
 
 57 
 
 To my Lympsham Bells . . . . 
 
 60 
 
 The Kilve Shore ...... 
 
 62 
 
 Bretit Knoll 
 
 64 
 
 The Brean Down Cloud ..... 
 
 79 
 
 Autumn ........ 
 
 81 
 
 The Firs have Fallen ..... 
 
 83 
 
 Btmcombe Hill on a Summer s Evening . 
 
 84 
 
 Greenaleigh ....... 
 
 86 
 
 The Glastonbury Gathering .... 
 
 88 
 
 Early Snow i?t Autumn ..... 
 
 90 
 
 Easter Even 
 
 94 
 
 Christmas ........ 
 
 96
 
 Contents. 
 
 XI 
 
 Pleasure and Duty .... 
 
 lOI 
 
 / Pace the Ocean'' s Rugged Shore 
 
 . 103 
 
 Falling Bells 
 
 . 105 
 
 Wordsworth's Grave .... 
 
 108 
 
 The Bee Hive 
 
 , . 112 
 
 Appendix ...... 
 
 . 113
 
 Songs of Somerset. 
 
 f 
 
 / Our Somerset Churches. 
 
 ■* 
 
 IS Christmas Eve ! and thoughts that burn 
 In quick succession each return ; 
 And soon the spell is woven round 
 
 Wherein my waiting soul is bound. 
 
 Yet once again this Christmas joy, 
 
 Unchecked and boundless in the boy, 
 
 Looks in e'en still upon the man. 
 
 Though life has well-nigh reached its span. 
 
 Fond memory turns tow'rds scenes long past, 
 
 As setting suns their radiance cast 
 
 O'er long-left plain and distant hill, 
 
 Where beams of even linger still. 
 
 Such recollections in me wake 
 
 Whene'er towards Wells my course I take. 
 
 B
 
 ^ongs of Somerset. 
 
 And stand beneath the minster fair, 
 Counting each saint depicted there ; 
 In stone without, in glass meanwhile. 
 In storied pane, through long-drawn aisle. 
 The charm of infantine surprise, 
 When first these glories met mine eyes — 
 Led blindfold by a father's hand, 
 Bidden by him where first to stand. 
 And then with lifted lids survey 
 This wondrous church on summer day — 
 In loved retention may not part 
 From the recesses of my heart ! 
 No fane in Albion's length outvies 
 The features which our church supplies. 
 When Cynthia flings her silver light 
 O'er the grey pile in silent night ; 
 Or when meridian rays aspire 
 To gild the arches of our choir ; 
 When pillar, niche, and cusped recess 
 Stand forth the golden beam to bless. 
 And melodies come stealing o'er 
 The soul, well-nigh entranced before. 
 If peace on sin-struck earth might dwell, 
 And build below her tranquil cell,
 
 ^ongsi of Somerset 
 
 Surely beneath yon drawbridge tower 
 She would select her secret bower 
 Where softly sleeps the guardian moat, 
 Where snow-winged swans in silence float, 
 And lawn, and shrub, and bright parterre 
 Combine within the pleasaunce fair. 
 In larger cities of our land. 
 Where still our grand cathedrals stand, 
 * The church seems lost 'mid smoke and din. 
 Hidden decaying walls within ; 
 But here the town forgotten lies. 
 As triple towers arrest the eyes ; 
 And proud St. Andrew's sacred fane 
 O'er the whole scene is felt to reign ; 
 While house, and hall, and close, and street 
 Seem to do homage at his feet. 
 Mark where yon shapely knoll on high 
 Lifts brave St. Michael to the sky, 
 With ruined abbey 'neath the crest. 
 Once the chief glory of the West, 
 From good King Ina's distant reign 
 The wonder of the verdant plain, 
 Till Henry's sacrilegious hand 
 The Church despoiled throughout the land.
 
 ^ongs of Somerset. 
 
 Here, ages back, the pilgrim came, 
 
 Who bore St. Joseph's noble name, 
 
 Whose magic staff has blossoms borne 
 
 Since with his comrades, spent and worn. 
 
 He rested on the grassy hill 
 
 Whose name records the legend still, 
 
 And, as the shades of evening fall, 
 
 Proclaims itself as "Weary-all." 
 
 Few towers in Somerset outvie. 
 
 In stateliness and symmetry. 
 
 That which St. John doth patron claim, 
 
 A shrine well worthy of his name. 
 
 O Somerset ! thy lordly fanes, 
 
 So thickly scattered o'er thy plains, 
 
 May rival well the structures tall 
 
 Through England's counties one and all. 
 
 Norfolk and Suffolk proudly boast 
 
 Of goodly churches down their coast ; 
 
 Northampton, Lincoln, both acquire 
 
 Their well-won palm for soaring spire ; 
 
 But neither region stands possessed 
 
 Of towers like those within the West. 
 
 Go, traveller, to Taunton, Wells, 
 
 To Evercreech, and Leigh, and Mells,
 
 ^ongs of Somerset, 
 
 To Bruton, Petherton, Fitzpaine, 
 To Hewish, Kingsbury on the plain ; 
 To Chewton, Winscombe, where the hill 
 Gives grander elevation still ; 
 To Backwell, Wraxall, Dundry high, 
 Piercing with pinnacles the sky ; 
 To Zoyland, Lympsham, Lydeard, Lyng ; 
 To Banwell, Cheddar, where the spring 
 •* Flows from each rock, like Horeb's stream, 
 And sparkles in the summer beam ; 
 To Kilmersdon, amongst them all, 
 To Portishead, so stern and tall ; 
 To Abbots Isle, and Kingston, too, 
 Proceed ere closing thy review ; 
 And Wellington, whose noble name 
 Entwines itself with Albion's fame ; 
 Keynsham and Batcombe pass not by 
 Should they within your circuit lie ; 
 But last, not least, with joy survey — 
 A sight to last full many a day — 
 Wrington, by architects confessed 
 Of all his compeers first and best ! 
 Devon, in grove and sylvan glen. 
 Hides her meek sanctuaries from men,
 
 ^ong5 of Somerset. 
 
 Who here and there delighted see 
 Some tower 'neath verdant canopy ; 
 But Somerset her fanes displays, 
 To meet the wondering tourist's gaze, 
 On hill, in dale ; through plains abroad 
 Rise the grand temples of our God ! 
 No Christmas Eve, or opening year. 
 Can in these western climes appear 
 Unwelcomed by the steeple's voice, 
 That would responsively rejoice 
 At break of day, when changes ring 
 Glad greetings to the newborn King. 
 And shall these structures perish all ? 
 These bells be still, these steeples fall ? 
 And reckless hand of rude decay 
 Tear their proud minarets away ? 
 Shall sanctuaries forsaken lie, 
 And rifled roofs reveal the sky ? 
 Shall school and parsonage disappear. 
 With summer treat and Christmas cheer ? 
 And pastor's voice no longer bless 
 The pastures of the wilderness ? 
 The lady's hand no healing bring, 
 Causing the widow's heart to sing ?
 
 ^ongs of Somerset. 
 
 Shall hungry pauper cease to share 
 With parson's family their fare ? 
 And loving little ones no more 
 Bring the full basket to the door ? 
 Say : shall torn shrub and untrimmed bower 
 Tell of a brighter bygone hour ? 
 And warbling note of spring-tide song 
 No more its melody prolong ? 
 •X Forbid it, Heaven ! My country rise ! 
 Rend off the veil that blinds thine eyes ; 
 ^ Let not Philistia's envious band 
 
 Despoil the strength of Samson's hand, 
 Nor Liberation's treacherous sway 
 Lead the proud Nazarite away !
 
 ^onff0 of ^ometiset 
 
 Willett Tor; 
 
 HE mountain pines are sighing, 
 On Willett's lonely height ; 
 The landscape round is lying, 
 All bathed in golden light. 
 
 Before us, Quantock rises, 
 
 Still queen of all around ; 
 Each wondering eye surprises 
 
 With her enchanted ground. 
 
 Behind us, Brendon swelling, 
 Her widening fields displays ; 
 
 Beneath, her knolls are telling 
 Of spring's returning days. 
 
 Below, fair Lydeard sleepeth, 
 
 Her verdant meads among : 
 And sweet Combe Florey peepeth 
 
 Forth from her groves of song. 
 
 There's Cothelstone and Hartrow, 
 And many a lordly seat : 
 
 » Set Appendix, Note i.
 
 ^ong0 of Somerset* 
 
 Gay Crowcombe and blithe Bagbro' 
 Shine smiling at our feet ! 
 
 Yonder the silvery ocean 
 
 Fringes the cliff-bound strand, 
 
 With scarce a wave in motion 
 'Twixt this and Cambria's land. 
 
 O God of beauteous nature, 
 Thy glorious works we praise : 
 
 From creature to Creator, 
 
 Our raptured thoughts we raise.
 
 lo ^ongg of Somerset. 
 
 Dunkery^ 
 
 From my Shrubbery Walk at Lympsham. 
 
 jON mountain grey, 
 Lies miles away, 
 
 'Mid moorland and 'mid heather : 
 Seen dim or clear, 
 Far off or near, 
 He tells the coming weather. 
 
 I've climbed his crest, 
 
 Where mist-wreaths rest, 
 Alternate bright and darkling ; 
 
 As storm awoke. 
 
 Or sunbeam broke. 
 Around the Beacon sparkling. 
 
 So still and lone, 
 
 Upsoared his cone, 
 'Mid streams from Exe's fountain ; 
 
 The desert's king. 
 
 He seemed to fling 
 His sceptre o'er the mountain. 
 
 I Sci Appendix, Note 2.
 
 ^ong0 of Somerset. 
 
 From base to crest, 
 
 His sides were drest, 
 In purple heath, wide waving ; 
 
 And whortle wild, 
 
 The " mountain's child," 
 The morning dews were laving. 
 
 Deep in his side, 
 / In virgin pride, 
 
 Young oak and birch lay sleeping ; 
 
 And down the glen, 
 
 The ear might ken. 
 The gurgling streamlet leaping. 
 
 His foot below. 
 
 In ebb and flow. 
 The blue-wave crests were gleaming ; 
 
 And pebbly beach. 
 
 Round every reach, 
 A silver border seeming. 
 
 In dales between, 
 From woodland screen. 
 The modest towers were peeping ; 
 
 1 1
 
 i2 ^ong0 of Somerset. 
 
 And hamlets fair, 
 Lay here and there, 
 All up the hill-sides creeping. 
 
 On this side Wales, 
 
 Her heights and vales 
 In landscape soft was lending ; 
 
 On this, upsprung 
 
 The clouds among, 
 The Dartmoor peaks ascending. 
 
 Here Malvern high,' 
 
 Assails the sky. 
 With Bredon's summit hoary ; 
 
 And Mendip blue, 
 
 And Cotswold too. 
 Add each their share of glory. 
 
 And nearer still. 
 
 Lie Brendon Hill 
 And Croydon range, his brother ; 
 
 This clear and bare. 
 
 With forehead fair. 
 With heath-capt brow the other, 
 
 ' This may be a little poetical licence.
 
 ^ongs of Somerset, ^3 
 
 Here Exmoor wide 
 
 May be descried, 
 His dingy downs outspreading ; 
 
 With many a steed, 
 
 Of mountain breed. 
 The countless acres treading. 
 
 No beacon bright 
 I Gleams now at night. 
 
 Its war-behest displaying ; 
 Yet as of yore 
 Are hearthstones four, 
 
 And furnaces decaying. 
 
 •\ 
 
 The warrior's dust, 
 
 In sacred trust. 
 The craggy crest defendeth ; 
 
 And shrill sea mew, 
 
 And wild curlew, 
 Their notes for requiem lendeth. 
 
 Dunkery, adieu ! 
 'Twixt me and you 
 Strange sympathy ariseth ;
 
 14 ^ongs of Somerset 
 
 The heart's desire 
 Thy wilds inspire, 
 My wondering friend surpriseth ! 
 
 But few there are, 
 
 Or near or far. 
 Who taste the hidden pleasures 
 
 That Nature lends 
 
 To him who bends 
 Meek thought upon her treasures. 
 
 Then farewell still, 
 
 Immortal hill, 
 My friend and chosen brother : 
 
 Till time her drooping wing shall fold, 
 
 Mysterious converse will we hold. 
 Deep meanings tell each other !
 
 ^ongs of Somerset 15 
 
 Culbone/ 
 
 After the manner of Scott. 
 
 ^ 
 
 |HE slanting beams of closing day, 
 
 Gleamed golden o'er our westward way ; 
 As ravished with prolonged delight 
 
 We left the mountain's cloud-capt height, 
 /Where, lingering through the summer hours, 
 
 Amid the heather's purple flowers, 
 
 Enchanted by the landscape's spell, 
 
 We gazed on grove, and gorge, and fell ! 
 
 And now, just verging on the deep. 
 
 Like infant soft in cradled sleep, 
 
 A peaceful hamlet smiling lay, 
 
 Reposing in its pebbly bay, 
 ' To guard each fishing boat and barge, 
 
 Rude hands had piled the fragments large — 
 
 Which, crumbling from the crags on high. 
 
 In many a rugged mass would lie — 
 
 That seaman's hand might bravely steer 
 
 His pinnace round the rocky pier, 
 
 Where, anchored safely and at rest, 
 
 I See Appendix, Note 3.
 
 1 6 ^ongs of %omer0et. 
 
 She might dance gaily on the breast 
 
 Of rippling wave, which soft and slow 
 
 Came eddying round her heaving prow. 
 
 The village hostel might you see 
 
 Uprising from the rustic quay ; 
 
 And at its portal, trimly drest, 
 
 Mine hostess to invite her guest, 
 
 And point the way up oaken stair, 
 
 To tourist or to lady fair. 
 
 Without — the myrtle and the vine 
 
 Their varying hues and scents combine ; 
 
 Within — the generous walls afford 
 
 Sleep, shelter, and a frugal board. 
 
 Behind the house, the matron's care 
 
 Had decked each border and parterre 
 
 With hardier plants, which blossomed free, 
 
 Despite the vapours of the sea. 
 
 And western gale that oft would sweep, 
 
 Athwart the salt waves of the deep. 
 
 The garden crossed, a pathway leads 
 
 Through waving corn and fragrant meads. 
 
 Which, sloping 'neath the neighbouring height 
 
 The shingles with the cliffs unite. 
 
 A sylvan farm now greets the view,
 
 ^ongs of Somerset. 17 
 
 With cattle-shed and straw-yard too, 
 And just above, on terraced height, 
 Ashley-Combe Lodge appears in sight, 
 With ivied walls, fantastic deckt, 
 With battlement and minaret, 
 Art of Italian architect. 
 Pass we with silent step the door, 
 f O'er velvet turf that slopes before ; 
 Then plunge into yon tangled screen 
 The fair domain and cliffs between ; 
 Tread yonder bank, " with footing nice " 
 By the o'erhanging precipice. 
 Where oak and mountain ash on high 
 Have weaved their verdant canopy. 
 Along the cliff we wend our way. 
 Which skirts the margin of the bay ; 
 Now through luxuriant copse-wood led, 
 Now winding round the rocky head. 
 Two lonely miles the path proceeds, 
 Resistless in enchantment leads 
 To a green patch of forest glade, 
 Emerging from the coppice shade ; 
 The heath-clad hill swells round and bold,
 
 1 8 ^ongs of Somerset 
 
 And blends with Exmoor's desert wold ; 
 Till, soaring to the bending sky, 
 It blazes in the beams on high, 
 Which visit rare the dale below, 
 Where winding cliffs shut out the glow. 
 And change the summer hues so bright. 
 To watery winter's paler light ! 
 Leaping from off the lichened rock, 
 Deep rifted by the lightning's shock, 
 The brooklet brown hoarse murmurs past ; 
 Now lost to sight, now widening fast, 
 Till down the gorge our feet beside. 
 It mingles with old ocean's tide. 
 Soft sheltered in this lonely glen, 
 So distant from the haunts of men, 
 The modest spirelet points to Heaven, 
 And, when each blest first day of seven 
 Gladdens the weary peasant's bower. 
 Steals the gay chime from tiny tower. 
 Till valley soft, and splintered fell 
 Are echoing back the Sabbath bell. 
 No "storied window richly dight " 
 Greets antiquary's ravished sight.
 
 ^ongs of Somerset. 19 
 
 But gothic mullion sharp and true, 
 Gable and buttress may you view, 
 And oaken bench and rough rood screen. 
 The altar and the nave between. 
 Without — the cross seems watch to keep 
 O'er villagers who round it sleep ; 
 And yew, that furnished many a bow, 
 .J Sighs drooping o'er the bowmen low. 
 The hamlet fair has passed away : 
 Yet linger still, despite decay. 
 Two smiling cots in village pride. 
 With garden-patch around supplied ; 
 And higher up the opening glade, 
 'Mong widening meads, and rarer shade, 
 The homesteads with low barn and byre, 
 'Mid walls of mossy stone retire ; 
 Where fleecy flocks the slopes adorn, 
 And huntsman winds his bugle horn. 
 
 But cease my strain ! This rustic lay 
 I weave for love of thee, dear Grey ; 
 For ne'er shall Culbone's wilds arise. 
 In golden tints to memory's eyes. 
 But thoughts of him shall with them glide.
 
 20 ^ongs of Somerset. 
 
 Who walked fraternal at my side, 
 When last our Highland steeps I viewed, 
 Majestic in their solitude ; 
 And knoll, and rill, and glen and grove, 
 Shall each recall a brother's love !
 
 ^ongs of Somerset. 21 
 
 Quantock' 
 
 From my Study Window. 
 
 jUANTOCK, as I gaze on thee 
 Bounds my heart with ecstacy ! 
 Now the darkling shadows sleep, 
 Now the sparkling sunbeams leap, 
 Now thy slopes resplendent gleam, 
 Now thy valleys slumbering seem. 
 Now so near 'neath clouds on high, 
 Now so far 'neath azure sky. 
 I have gashed the lordly tree, 
 Quanto6k, to make room for thee ; 
 Gothic arch of leaflets light. 
 Frames the picture blue and bright. 
 Burnham's lighthouse in the plain, 
 Rises silvery from the main. 
 Backed by Aisholt's heathery glen. 
 Crowned by Bagborough's heights again. 
 Roams my fancy, while I stand. 
 Through thy groves, dear Quantock land ; 
 
 I See Appendix, Note 4.
 
 22 ^ongs of Somerset 
 
 Where the brooks glide murmuring on, 
 Twinkling in the noontide sun : 
 Where the aromatic air, 
 Charms away fatigue and care, 
 Where the landscapes rich supply 
 Gorgeous canvas for the eye. 
 Where sweet Nature tints hath twined, 
 Purple, golden, green combined : 
 Woodland, ocean, dark morass. 
 Jutting crag and hollow pass : 
 Cultured slope, and wild forlorn. 
 Heather blue and yellow corn. 
 From my turret oft I trace 
 Smiling welcomes in thy face. 
 Looking through the leafy screen, 
 Where my elms are gashed between.
 
 7^ 
 
 ^ongs of Somerset 23 
 
 Egremont Inn, at Williton. 
 
 1856. 
 
 [TILL smiles the welcome in the village inn, 
 Still swings the sign before the well-known 
 door : 
 I flyi'from busy scenes of dust and din, 
 
 To seek repose, where frequent found before. 
 
 Once with a parent, passed into his rest. 
 Twice with a partner dear as life to me. 
 
 Often with friends and kind companions blest. 
 Sometimes alone, fair inn, I've entered thee. 
 
 The morrow's dawn must break my slumbers light, 
 The mountain heather waits my joyous tread ; 
 
 Yonder the heath bell and the gorse so bright, 
 On the lone hillsides lie all richly spread. 
 
 I go to quaff a draught of mountain air : 
 
 I go to gaze on loveliness below : 
 I go to meet the God of nature there. 
 
 Where cliffs are climbing, and where brooklets flow.
 
 24 ^onp of Somerset. 
 
 I go to bathe my jaded spirit weary, 
 
 Within the soft, the beautiful, the wild : 
 
 I go to solitudes that men call dreary. 
 
 But 'mid whose stillness I'm again a child ! 
 
 Lord of creation, meet me on the mountain : 
 Smile in each valley, speak from crag and tree ! 
 
 My spirit may not drink the living fountain, 
 Save in Thy works, my God, I witness Thee.
 
 ^ongg of Somerset. 25 
 
 Adieus from Mendip, 
 
 On leaving home for a temporary absence. 
 
 |N Mendip's brow I turned me round, 
 To sigh a last adieu, 
 To trees, and streams, and dales, and downs, 
 'Fast fading from my view. 
 
 Good-bye, old Bleadon, just below, 
 
 Snug in thy sheltering glade ; 
 Thy tower looks sadly, while I go, 
 
 All sombre in the shade. 
 
 Good-bye, Brent Knoll, with silver spire. 
 
 Heaven-pointing 'neath thy crest. 
 Thou peerless diamond of our shire. 
 
 Thou emerald of the west. 
 
 Good-bye, fair Burnham, Berrow, Brean, 
 
 With lighthouse, shore, and Down, 
 Good-bye, ye islets, grey or green 
 
 As ye or smile or frown.
 
 26 ^ongs of Somerset. 
 
 Good-bye, dear Quantock, bold and blue, 
 
 And Dunkery 'neath the sky. 
 With Brendon, Croydon, Grabhurst, too, 
 
 Porlock, and Greenaleigh. 
 
 Good-bye, soft Polden's lengthy line, 
 
 So modest in thy rise, 
 Where elm, and oak, and darkling pine. 
 
 Ravish the gazer's eyes. 
 
 Good-bye, famed Glaston's sacred Tor, 
 
 And Montacute behind. 
 With Badgworth, Nyland, and Wedmore, 
 
 And Weare's green slopes combined. 
 
 And last not least, my cherished home. 
 
 My old grey tower, good-bye : 
 Where'er through this wide earth I roam, 
 
 Thou shalt not leave mine eye ! 
 
 For memory's glance, so keen and clear, 
 
 Shall fondly turn to thee ; 
 To childhood, youth, and manhood dear. 
 
 In sorrow and in glee.
 
 ^ongs of ^ometsct. 27 
 
 Wrapt in thy vest of ancient shade, 
 
 The glory of the plain, 
 I shall not see a goodlier glade, 
 
 Till I see thine again. 
 
 I dashed away the dimming haze, 
 That welled around mine eye, 
 Nor suffered it again to gaze, 
 ./ With this, my last good-bye.
 
 28 
 
 ^ongs of Somerset. 
 
 Autumn Lights on my Native Hills. 
 
 [HE richest glow of autumn's red 
 On swelling Mendip lay, 
 And Cheddar's rocks, with glistening head, 
 Flung back their roseate ray. 
 
 No storm disturbed the gentle scene. 
 
 So calm the valleys slept ; 
 You might have thought the whole had been 
 
 By painter's pencil swept. 
 
 How soothing is the beautiful, 
 
 'Mid turmoil, and 'mid strife, ^ 
 
 If with a spirit dutiful, 
 
 Man will but taste her life. 
 
 It is not sensuous pleasure 
 
 That charms my ravished eye ; 
 'Tis richer, costlier treasure 
 
 That beauty doth supply. 
 
 I converse with creation 
 Daily delight to hold ;
 
 ^ongs of Somerset. 29 
 
 Full many a sweet sensation, 
 Glows from her mine of gold. 
 
 These mountains are my brothers, 
 Yon swelling Knoll my friend ; 
 
 Hours glide, like time with lovers, 
 That we together spend ! 
 
 / My human friends may fail me, 
 
 Stern death may lay them low ; 
 But let the worst assail me. 
 These loved ones cannot go. 
 
 Sweet Quantock, and dear Mendip, 
 
 I'll gaze my last on you, 
 Till pulses of fond friendship. 
 
 Shall sink in death still true. 
 
 Then let your gorse and heather. 
 
 Weave my bier's coronal : 
 Thy fern my hearse's feather, 
 
 Thy sedge my funeral pall !
 
 30 ^onp of Somerset 
 
 Friends in Familiar Objects. 
 
 IjHOUGH friends be gone and hopes be fled, 
 And loved ones numbered with the dead ; 
 Still, as I view each cherished scene, 
 I cannot lack dear friends, I ween. 
 
 Still giant Mendip rises fair, 
 And cliff, and crag, and peak are there ; 
 Still widening Severn's silver band. 
 Links our loved coast to Cambria's land. 
 
 Still queenly Quantock soareth high. 
 And Dunkery leaning on the sky ; 
 And lowly Polden gently swells. 
 With grassy slopes and elm-clad dells. 
 
 Still the grey tower smiles as of yore, 
 'Mid weather-stains and lichen hoar ; 
 And vocal clock, and soothing chime. 
 Cheat memory of the lapse of time. 
 
 Still elm, and oak, and laurel screen, 
 Are yet, as they have ever been ;
 
 ^ongs of Somerset 31 
 
 And shrubbery soft, and summer flowers, 
 Smile as in childhood's careless hours. 
 
 
 tower, and trees, and hills, with ye 
 
 1 cannot solitary be : 
 
 While ye your soothing influence lend, 
 I cannot be without a friend !
 
 32 
 
 ^ong0 of Somerset. 
 
 Crook's Peak. 
 
 (ORDERED beneath by emerald plain, 
 Wide stretching westward to the main, 
 Thou flinty peak arise : 
 And with thy kindred heights around. 
 Scorn trees and towers on humbler ground, 
 And lift thee to the skies ! 
 
 Within the crags that form thy crest 
 The mountain swallow builds her nest, 
 
 While storm comes howling past : 
 And winter snow-clouds silent fall, 
 Weaving their silvery virgin pall. 
 
 Over thy slopes to cast. 
 
 Bleak desolation yonder reigns, 
 
 As turn we from the southern plains. 
 
 Where sunbeams glow and smile : 
 And far 'mid Mendip's forest lone 
 We gaze o'er sedge and " cold grey stone 
 
 For many a dreary mile.
 
 ^onp of Somerset. 33 
 
 One soft green patch you yet may trace 
 On the bluff" mountain's furrowed face, 
 
 Inviting us to climb : 
 'Tis where yon aged stunted yew 
 Looks out upon us, fresh and true. 
 
 As friend of olden time ! 
 
 Embosomed in its leafy glade, 
 >* Beneath the hill's protecting shade, 
 
 In gentle contrast sleeps 
 Yon peaceful hamlet, coy and meek. 
 Like modesty with blushing cheek. 
 
 That in retirement keeps. 
 
 Never a Sabbath morn appears 
 
 Through the long course of changeful years, 
 
 Over yon eastern trees. 
 But you may hear each tuneful bell 
 In varying cadence sink and swell, 
 
 Borne on the balmy breeze. 
 
 Hail modest manse, and lichened tower ! 
 Hail village green, and garden bower, 
 And school-house just below ;
 
 34 ^ongs of ^ometjset. 
 
 And homesteads scattered here and there, 
 'Mid copse-wood gay and pasture fair ! 
 I linger as I go.
 
 ^ongs of Somerset. 3s 
 
 Away to the Quantocks. 
 
 |WAY to the Ouantocks, come wander with me, 
 As fleet as the wild deer, as blithe as the bee : 
 The heather is blooming on Cothelstone's crest, 
 The bracken is waving o'er Bagborough's breast ; 
 The dingles of Aisholt are verdant and gay. 
 Nor Autumn's fell finger hath seared e'en a spray ; 
 And Ely's bright brooklets are sparkling along. 
 Meandering so bonnie 'mid sunshine and song. 
 
 No monarch stands prouder in purple and gold, 
 
 'Mid courtiers all countless and cohorts untold. 
 
 Than we shall this noontide on Wills-neck's fair height, 
 
 'Mid gorse and 'mid heath-bell so blue and so bright ! 
 
 Then point not to Devon, and boast not to me, 
 
 Our famed southern sister a rival is she : 
 
 A brave three-times-three for our county we'll raise. 
 
 As " Garden of England," we'll Somerset praise !
 
 36 ^ongs of Somerset. 
 
 Shadows on Mendip. 
 
 HE skies that true poets love 
 
 Are not of your cloudless blue ; 
 But the storm-streaked fields above, 
 With colours of every hue. 
 
 We love not the dimming haze 
 That waits on the summer's ray : 
 
 We love on those wreaths to gaze, 
 That are passing the desert's way. 
 
 For now they are giant towers. 
 
 All battle-despoiled and riven ; 
 And now they are angel-bowers, 
 
 Or silvery steps to Heaven. 
 
 We love not unbroken brightness, 
 Outpoured on the mountain's breast : 
 
 We love the ascending whiteness, 
 That shews but his peering crest.
 
 ^onp of Somerset. 37 
 
 For Mystery reigns in the vapours, 
 Enshrined on her throne unseen ; 
 
 And gleams through storms are her tapers, 
 To flash us a glimpse within ! 
 
 /
 
 38 ^ongs of Somerset 
 
 Wells from Mendip 
 
 December, 1858. 
 After the manner of Scott. 
 
 |EEK I for beauties rich and rare ? 
 Scarce may I find a scene more fair, 
 'Mid valley or 'mid down, 
 Than greets the eye from Mendip bold. 
 Where first thy features I behold, 
 " Mine own romantic town ! " 
 
 There's Glaston, lifting straight on high 
 Brave old St. Michael to the sky, 
 
 'Mid sunshine and 'mid storm ; 
 With many a terraced height beneath. 
 Now clear, now wrapt in misty wreath, 
 
 In strange fantastic form. 
 
 Ashcot, and Montacute, and Brent, 
 Pennard, and distant hills of Trent, 
 With Quantock blue behind ;
 
 ^ongs of Somerset 39 
 
 Blagdon, and Brendon, Dunkery too, 
 Crowding the panoramic view 
 Of hill and dale combined. 
 
 Then come thy minster's massy towers, 
 Rising from out the trees and bowers 
 
 That here spontaneous rise : 
 And cloistered halls and ruins grey 
 * Sleep in the shade of parting day. 
 
 As fail these wintry hours !
 
 40 ^ongs of Somerset 
 
 I've Seen the Wild Hielands. 
 
 I'VE seen the wild Hielands, far off in the north, 
 The Frith of the Clyde, and the Frith of the 
 Forth ; 
 
 But there's nought in mine eye like my ain cliff and sea : 
 The brave Bristol Channel and Mendip for me ! 
 
 I've climbed up Ben Lomond, cloud-capped in the air, 
 I've sailed down Loch Katrine, enchantingly fair, 
 I've marked the bright Tweed, rushing forth to be free ; 
 But there's nought like the Exe and old Dunkery for 
 me ! 
 
 Loch Ard, and Loch Arklet, and sweet Loch Achray, 
 Loch Lomond's green islets have gladdened my way, 
 The Eden-like Trosachs and Vennachar's lea ; 
 But there's nought like the dingles of Quantock for me ! 
 
 Loch Lubnaig's sweet copses and Tay's verdant side, 
 
 Dunkeld in her beauty, and Blair in her pride — 
 
 All these in succession have mine been to see ; 
 
 But there's nought like the woodlands of Loxton for me !
 
 ^ongg of ^ometget 4^ 
 
 The Cheviots, and Eildons, and Pentlands so blue, 
 The Grampians have burst on my ravished view, 
 And Arthur's high Seat looking forth o'er the sea ; 
 But there's nought like the Knoll or the old " Crook " 
 for me !
 
 42 ^ong0 of ^omet0et. 
 
 The Grange Walk at Lympsham. 
 
 A Summer Evening's Stroll. 
 
 [MERGING from the closer shade, 
 By frequent trees so densely made, 
 I love to wander fresh and free 
 Up the green sward of broader lea ! 
 
 To catch the breeze of sea-borne air, 
 To gaze upon the summits fair, 
 That north, south, east, and westward rise, 
 Attractive to their kindred skies. 
 
 Here swells the Knoll with modest head, 
 With emerald mantle overspread, 
 And silver spire 'mid elms below. 
 And woodlands as you upward go. 
 
 Behind us soars the statelier crest 
 Of the grey " Crook " in silent rest, 
 With steepy side of limestone blue. 
 Piercing the grassy covering through.
 
 ^ongs of ^omcr0et. 43 
 
 Yonder's the undulating down, 
 Breasting the Severn's waters brown, 
 That bids the outward-bound adieu. 
 And welcomes each returning crew. 
 
 Quantock is stretching far away, 
 Where sinks the sun's declining ray, 
 ^ And Dunkery with his triple cone 
 ■' Looms lofty from his desert lone. 
 
 O, Somerset ! thy hills and plains. 
 Dear as the life blood of my veins. 
 Linked with the shades of days gone by, 
 The very apple of mine eye, 
 
 No fleeting years which change must see, 
 Shall ever witness change in me, 
 Thy worthless but most constant son. 
 Till life her latest course hath run !
 
 44 
 
 ^ongs of Somerset. 
 
 Mendip, on an Autumn Morning. 
 
 jF thou would'st view stern Mendip best, 
 Go when the mist steals o'er its breast : 
 Go while autumnal tints are gay, 
 Ere the seared leaf has passed away. 
 Go while the slopes are crimsoned o'er, 
 Ere yet the rugged heights are hoar : 
 Go ere the flakes of wintry snow 
 Have veiled the verdant plain below. 
 Go when the sunbeam from the cloud 
 Streaks the grey Crook " with lustre proud," 
 And, gently gliding from its crest, 
 Bids Compton smile beneath its breast. 
 Then, following up the mist-wreath's way, 
 Gilds Cheddar with departing ray !
 
 ^onp of Somerset. 
 
 45 
 
 To the Clump of Scotch Firs on 
 Bleadon Hill. 
 
 ITATELY and still, on Mendip's brow ye rise, 
 Wet with the mist-wreath darkling as it flies. 
 Sparkling all gaily through the summer shower, 
 Silvered with snowflakes in the wintry hour, 
 Moaning so sadly 'mid the autumn's wail, 
 Whisp'ring so softly in the springtide gale !
 
 46 
 
 ^ongs of Somerset 
 
 A Breane Down Parable. 
 
 NDENTED on a rocky ledge 
 A shallow basin lay, 
 Reflecting from its rugged edge 
 The cliffs that closed the bay. 
 
 I marked beneath the radiant west, 
 
 The glistening waters swim ; 
 Till swelling waves with golden crest 
 
 Rose to that basin's brim. 
 
 They mingled with that melting blue, 
 
 Convulsed the mirror's face ; 
 And jets of living diamonds flew 
 
 Forth from their wild embrace. 
 
 No longer did the lakelet still 
 Give back the mountain's form ; 
 
 But you might mark proud breakers fill 
 And lash its calm to storm.
 
 ^ongs of Somerset. 47 
 
 Meanwhile, I wandered to-and-fro 
 
 Along the sounding shore ; 
 Then said, " 'Methinks before I go 
 
 I'll see this pool once more." 
 
 The tide had sunk beneath the ledge, 
 
 For hours had passed away ; 
 And once again the glassy edge 
 ■* Reflected the fair bay. 
 
 Breakers no more tossed high their surge, 
 
 But, bending low, retired ; 
 The wave that kissed the lakelet's verge 
 
 Sighed gently and expired. 
 
 Still, as I gazed, that pool to me 
 
 A parable supplied ; 
 Each stage of man I seemed to see 
 
 Before my vision glide. 
 
 In early childhood, calm and blest, 
 
 The lake of life doth sleep ; 
 And, dancing on its quivering breast, 
 
 Youth's softest shadows keep.
 
 48 ^onp of ^omer0ct. 
 
 But passion's rising surf at length 
 
 Comes swelling to the shore ; 
 And billows, in resistless strength, 
 
 That tranquil pool explore. 
 
 Yet, as the tide of time retires. 
 
 Contending passions cease : 
 Heaven tranquillizes earth's, desires : 
 
 Once more the lake is peace !
 
 ^ong0 of Somerset 49 
 
 Suggested by passing the Glastonbury 
 
 Churchyard 
 
 Now no longer a bufial ground, but a garden, since the opening 
 
 of the new cemetery. 
 
 |HEN last I marked the minster grey, 
 Within its rood of hallowed ground, 
 Full many a hillock round it lay, 
 And open graves were gaping round. 
 
 But nojy mortality hath flown, 
 
 And sepulchres have disappeared ; 
 Taste hath with flowers the graveyard strewn. 
 
 And many a smiling shrub hath reared. 
 
 How sweet the emblem ! Now, within 
 Her upheaved yard the church appears : 
 
 Death lies' around, the curse of sin. 
 
 With tombs, and mourners, graves, and tears. 
 
 But in the Resurrection Morn, 
 
 'Mid changeless bays the church shall stand 
 No more among her graves forlorn. 
 
 But smiling on her risen band ! 
 
 H
 
 50 ^ongs of Somerset. 
 
 Marriage of H.R.H. the Prince of Wales 
 March loth, 1863. 
 
 CLIMBED my tower when the darkness 
 
 Came stealing along the ground, 
 And the falling bells of the valley 
 Were hushing their joyous sound. 
 
 And I gazed around on the prospect, 
 
 All radiant with bonfire glow, 
 That told of county rejoicings. 
 
 As far as the eye could go. 
 
 Old " Crook " was twinkling in twilight, 
 And Mendip had caught the flame ; 
 
 And Worlebury, bright o'er the Channel, 
 Had rivalled her ancient fame. 
 
 Fair Quantock began to sparkle, 
 
 And Polden opened her eye. 
 And hoary tower-crowned Glaston 
 
 Gleamed red on the eastern sky.
 
 ^ongs of Somerset. 51 
 
 But of all the enkindled beacons, 
 
 The bonniest of the whole 
 Was fed by the crackling faggots 
 
 That laughed on our own Brent Knoll. 

 
 52 ^ongs of Somerset. 
 
 Morning after a Hurricane. 
 
 After the manner of Longfellow. 
 
 HAD opened a rustic window 
 
 Through the boughs of yon stately trees, 
 That I might catch the mountains 
 Across the southern seas. 
 
 And oft to my verdant casement 
 
 Those heights would their blue crests bring, 
 
 At morn like some blushing maiden, 
 At eve like some crowned king. 
 
 And thus did I glimpse the hillsides, 
 
 Within but a tiny span ; 
 Though the eye of imagination 
 
 Away o'er their summits ran. 
 
 At length a jealous tornado 
 
 Came straight from those southern seas. 
 Despoiling the goodly hedgerow. 
 
 And maiming the lordly trees.
 
 ^ongs of Somerset. 53 
 
 And as their gnarled branches 
 Came crashing about the ground, 
 
 I wept like a very infant 
 
 On the ghastly scene around. 
 
 But now the hurricane's over, 
 
 And the sky is again serene, 
 I gaze on the far blue mountains, 
 * And the emerald dale between. 
 
 No longer a single summit. 
 
 Or a soaring crest I see. 
 Just peeping but through the branches 
 
 Of my long-loved fallen tree. 
 
 Quantock herself appeareth, 
 
 With her undulating line : 
 I have lost my leaf-clad brother. 
 
 But the mountain is yet more mine. 
 
 And thus the rude storms of sorrow, 
 That our cherished joys lay low, 
 
 That strew, with the wrecks that are dearest, 
 These earthly abodes of woe,
 
 54 ^onp of Somerset. 
 
 But open our distant prospects, 
 That afar may be seen to rise 
 
 Those fair Delectable Mountains 
 That lean on eternal skies !
 
 ^ongs of Somerset. 55 
 
 A Morning Walk on the Severn Shore. 
 
 EARY and sad I sought the wave-washed shore, 
 And found refreshment for my toil-worn 
 brain : 
 
 Sweet nature sympathized and brought relief ! 
 I was a very child in joy once more, 
 Happy as when long since I castle raised, 
 Or fondly traced upon the level sand 
 Some much-loved name ! As I approached, 
 The farther Holm smiled recognition, bright beneath 
 The ray, and Dunkery, triple-crested, soared on high : 
 Cambria all grey, through her thin azure veil. 
 Loomed coyly to my gaze, and then retired ; 
 While in the foreground the more rocky isle 
 Looked blue and wan beneath the passing cloud. 
 At length the mist withdrew, and one by one 
 Its cliffs all radiant caught the beam and glowed ! 
 And so at last the whole stood forth illum'd, 
 As if some angel-wing had swept the sky. 
 Meanwhile, the sinking storm that last night raged, 
 And tore from forest tree the bending bough.
 
 56 ^ongs of Somerset. 
 
 Soothed, as some infant, softly-cradled, slept ; 
 
 And heavenly calm breathed hallowed influence round. 
 
 And thus life mirrored rose before my view. 
 
 Now cloud portentous, now returning ray. 
 
 Now darksome mountain-isle in frowning guise, 
 
 Now peaceful haven where the wavelets dance. 
 
 Sparkling in diamonds as they kiss the shore. 
 
 Lord, give me patience in the ills of life. 
 
 And faith to trust Thee with the cloud between ! 
 
 It will not always blow, nor ever frown. 
 
 The Bow of Promise gleams athwart the storm.
 
 ^ongs of Somerset 57 
 
 Home, Sweet Home. 
 
 HERE are who leave their ancient home 
 In foreign lands afar to roam, 
 And feast their eye 'neath mountain pine 
 
 From snowy Alp or Apennine ; 
 
 Tb glide beneath the " Bridge of Sighs " 
 
 In gondola, where Venice lies ; 
 
 To view each painting, rich and rare, 
 
 In studios of Florence fair ; 
 
 To wander through Eternal Rome, 
 
 And gaze upon Saint Peter's dome ; 
 
 Or mark where Strasbourg's soaring fane 
 
 Lifts to the clouds its topmost vane ; 
 
 Or ask, " Did skill of sprite or fay 
 
 Create thee, beautiful Beauvais ? " 
 
 Yet be it mine through life to dwell 
 
 'Mid cherished scenes remembered well. 
 
 Where tower, nor tree, nor glen, nor stone, 
 
 Nor sinks, nor soars to me unknown ! 
 
 When, worn by long-continued toil. 
 
 Mine be the rest of Aberfoyle ;
 
 58 ^ongs of ^ometjSEt 
 
 In Newark's " beechen bowers " to stray, 
 
 Where Ettrick stretches far away ; 
 
 Helvellyn and Scawfell for me, 
 
 Soft Grasmere's vale and Esthwaite's lea, 
 
 And Ingleborough's broad incline. 
 
 Or Cheviot's undulating line. 
 
 Few goodlier Goshen's gazers greet 
 
 Than those which lie 'neath Malvern's feet. 
 
 No panorama may compare 
 
 With Dunkery's prospect high in air. 
 
 Give me blue Mendip's arching form, 
 
 Whether in sunshine or in storm. 
 
 Or Quantock's groves, where angels stray, 
 
 Awhile delayed on mercy's way ; 
 
 For me let Lincoln's booming bell 
 
 " Fling o'er the fen its ponderous knell," 
 
 And Chichester and Sarum rise. 
 
 Pointing their needles to the skies ; 
 
 Or thou, old Wells, with triple towers, 
 
 Lichened and stained with frequent showers. 
 
 Which circling Mendip's heights detain 
 
 On their way landward from the main. 
 
 Mine be the " Crook," to childhood dear. 
 
 With Compton nestling in the rear ;
 
 ^ong0 of Somerset 59 
 
 Mine the more modest verdant Knoll, 
 
 The spire below, on high the pole ; 
 
 And mine the home, two miles away, 
 
 Where first these eyes beheld the day ; 
 
 And mine the manor, church, and tower, 
 
 And wind-stripped elm and summer bower ; 
 
 And mine the visions that remain, 
 
 And memories that recur again ; 
 ■' And mine the sacred spell that binds 
 
 To life-known scenes accordant minds. 
 
 No throstle warbles on the spray. 
 
 No blackbird pipes through summer-day. 
 
 No cawing rook, or twittering wren 
 
 Can sound but childhood comes again. 
 
 And intervening periods fade 
 
 Like shadows on the mountains laid. 
 
 O Recollection ! kindly given 
 
 To cheer our pilgrimage to heaven, 
 
 'Tis thine the mystic charm to throw 
 . O'er God's objective world below.
 
 6o ^ongs of Somerset. 
 
 To my Lympsham Bells. 
 
 LOFT within my old church tower 
 I placed ye, tuneful five : 
 Once more the belfry, hour by hour, 
 With music seems alive. 
 
 Your ancient forbears so long hung 
 
 That melody had fled. 
 Whether some wedding peal were rung. 
 
 Or knell to mourn the dead. 
 
 Regenerate now, with melting voice 
 
 Ye woo the swains to pray, 
 And bid the region round rejoice 
 
 Upon the festal day. 
 
 But that a still more perfect stave 
 
 Might from our steeple sound, 
 A virgin sister-sixth I gave 
 
 To swell the gladsome round.
 
 ^ongs of Somerset, 6i 
 
 Yet, when this new-born sister came, 
 Her voice sang strange and shrill : 
 
 The note was clear, the key the same. 
 Far from accordant still ! 
 
 But when the tuner's magic hand 
 Two hours had worked one day. 
 
 It seemed as if at his command 
 My Six rolled right away. 
 
 Sweetly those sisters, singing true. 
 
 In harmony combined. 
 When Cynthia shews herself to view 
 
 Fling music on the wind !
 
 62 ^ongs of Somerset. 
 
 The Kilve Shore. 
 
 Inscribed to the Rev. Hay Sweet-Escott, M.A., Rector of 
 Kilve-cum-Stringston. 
 
 |F peace I seek, oppressed with strife, 
 Or solace midst surrounding care. 
 Or respite from the toils of life. 
 Where shall I find them ? — tell me where ! 
 
 Follow the rivulet that flows 
 
 Down Kilve's green valley to the sea : 
 
 Its very murmur breathes repose. 
 Its every wave is melody. 
 
 No angry billows surge the main, 
 No tempest's voice is heard to roar : 
 
 The Channel seems one crystal plain, 
 
 'Twixt this and yonder Cambrian shore ! 
 
 The fleecy cloud is stealing slow 
 
 O'er queenly Quantock's swelling side ; 
 
 Now cradled in the combe below, 
 
 Now stretching o'er the mountain wide.
 
 ^ongs of Somerset. 63 
 
 The modest belfry hides its head 
 
 The ivied priory beside : 
 Around it sleep the silent dead, 
 
 Who the Archangel's trump abide. 
 
 I wonder not that Wordsworth found 
 
 Sweet solace in this soft retreat, 
 Where hospitalities abound, 
 
 And cherished friendship's whispers greet. 
 
 Escott ! long may thy lot be cast 
 
 Within Kilve's manse, serene and free, 
 
 Till thou shalt rise to join at last 
 " The minstrels on the glassy sea ! "
 
 64 ^ong0 of Somerset 
 
 Brent Knoll. 
 
 This poem requires a few words of explanation. It is a very 
 juvenile production, having been written when the author was a lad 
 of seventeen, on leaving home for a six years' exile, after the death 
 of a beloved father. As it was out of print, and has been asked for, 
 it is again given to the pubHc, but must be read with indulgence. 
 
 jONIAN Nymphs, my feeble voice inspire, 
 Nerve ye the hand that strikes a rustic lyre ! 
 And, gentle stranger, kind attention pay, 
 While I attune my unadorned lay. 
 Yon shapely Knoll that greets the traveller's eye 
 ' Swells from the vale ' and rises to the sky, 
 Pleasing in detail, yet august in form, 
 Called by the mariner — " The Isle of Storm." 
 Be this my theme, the subject of my song, 
 While fingers sweep the varying chords along. 
 What though sad memory tells of beauties flown. 
 And woodlands fair that by-gone times have known, 
 Which now, alas, the climber fails to find 
 On the bare shoulder of the hill reclined ; 
 What though the tower that lately crowned the height 
 Lies now demolished — buried out of sight ;
 
 ^ongs of Somerset 65 
 
 What though the pine that formed the upland's crest 
 Has drooped its head and softly sunk to rest ; 
 What though the forest oak no more appears, 
 Nor from the summit his proud form uprears ; 
 Yet verdure still is found in every glade, 
 And hazel-nut and tangled copse-wood shade : 
 Cowslip and primrose still adorn each lea. 
 And court the visit of the passing bee ; 
 And gurgling brook still trickles down the dell. 
 Though vanished now the pious hermit's cell. 
 And when we climb the summit of the hill 
 We find the same inviting prospect still. 
 Surrounding objects seeming ever new, 
 And Nature smiling in her fairest hue. 
 Brent Knoll is like old age : if but to heaven 
 Each passing year has been devoutly given. 
 Though shorn of dignity and robbed of grace, 
 Though bent the frame and wrinkled deep the face, 
 The happy prospect still the same appears, 
 Nay, gathers glory with revolving years ! 
 Loved eminence ! I mount thy breezy height 
 Each time I ramble with a fresh delight ; 
 Yet oft that joy is mingled with a tear 
 When I recall the recollection dear 
 
 K
 
 66 %om^ of Somerset. 
 
 Of by-gone scenes and happy childhood's days, 
 When blithe I gambolled as yon lamb that plays ; 
 Or, panting hard, thy slippery summit gained. 
 And, to complete the task, each muscle strained. 
 What now the view that greets my ravished gaze, 
 That all around Jehovah's power displays ! 
 Which beauteous portion shall I earliest trace 
 Of these fair lineaments of Nature's face ? 
 Mendip ! thy lengthy range first meets mine eye. 
 Rising from far, then melting into sky : 
 Thy form at first a mountain's aspect wears. 
 Near where proud minster its high head uprears. 
 Wells is thy birthplace ! with its thousand rills 
 Which bubble forth from all surrounding hills. 
 O sacred spot ! so made by generous heaven. 
 Which to thy share has choicest blessings given. 
 Thy city like the fair Jerusalem — 
 Jehovah's dearest, richest, brightest gem — 
 Securely rests defended on each side 
 By mountain ramparts, that shall e'er abide. 
 When storms that rage and hurricanes that blow 
 Shall prostrate bastions and lay fences low, 
 Which art hath builded and which men have reared 
 Against the enemy whose force they feared ;
 
 ^onp of Somerset. 67 
 
 Thy minster's honours who can duly raise, 
 
 Or give those holy walls their meed of praise ? 
 
 Who shall describe her stately towers that rise 
 
 From firm foundations to eternal skies, 
 
 Or who shall count the various saints that grace 
 
 The gorgeous niches of her western face : 
 
 Who shall depict her storied windows true, 
 
 Bedight with colours of each rainbow hue ? 
 
 Vaii^ the attempt ! beyond my feeble lyre — 
 
 I can but gaze, and wonder, and admire ! 
 
 Proceed we now along proud Mendip's height, 
 
 Whose every feature fills us with delight. 
 
 Now naked, rocky, barren, sterile, bare. 
 
 Now richly carpeted with bracken fair. 
 
 Now without broom, or fern, or furze-bush clad. 
 
 Now made by flower and copse and heather glad. 
 
 Cheddar ! thy chasm next arrests our eyes. 
 
 Thy towering rocks that high and heavenward rise, 
 
 Which seem to scorn the lowly plain of earth. 
 
 And upward mount towards Him who gave them birth. 
 
 Say ! whose the hand yon great convulsion made. 
 
 That forced through Mendip's range that rocky glade. 
 
 Was it some current vast that urged its way 
 
 Through every barrier that before it lay ?
 
 68 ^ongs of Somerset 
 
 Was it some earthquake with destructive might 
 That cleft' the mountain from its topmost height ? 
 Go, ask the Angel Host, the place that guard. 
 Nor seek an answer from an humble bard. 
 And they will tell thee in that solemn day 
 When sun withdrew and hid his face away. 
 When on the Cross the Lamb for sinners slain 
 Hung in His anguish and His dying pain ; 
 When His lips, quivering in the pangs of death. 
 Uttered that shout which spent His latest breath, 
 These conscious rocks began to quiver too. 
 Burst from each other and exposed to view 
 The fertile country and the rugged shore, 
 Which, intercepting, they had hid before ! 
 But other summits court a passing glance : 
 See yonder Peak, his pointed form advance, 
 Which seems to scorn a gaze on aught abroad, 
 And points us upward to fair Nature's God, 
 How oft I've clambered up yon rugged steep. 
 Though difficult the slippery path to keep. 
 When hoary frost has hung upon its brow. 
 And in huge flakes has fallen winter's snow ; 
 Then in the stony rostrum I have stood, 
 And all around the beauteous prospect viewed ;
 
 ^ongs of Somerset 69 
 
 Then mocked the orator's persuasive tongue, 
 And of each object in succession sung 
 To early friends and many a playmate dear, 
 Who deigned to listen and stood round to hear. 
 But pass we now through Shiplate's shady groves 
 Which seem in Mendip's bosom to repose. 
 Towards the wind-swept height of Bleadon Hill, 
 Which human hand has never toiled to till, 
 Thbugh slumber here the ashes of the slain. 
 The Saxon victor and the vanquished Dane. 
 Bleadon ! thy bracken forms the warrior's crest, 
 Marks out his tomb and blossoms o'er his breast, 
 And tells the traveller winding up the dell, 
 "'Twas here thine ancestor in battle fell ! " 
 But, gracious audience ! pardon if I stray. 
 Led by the Muse from Mendip's range away ; 
 Or if abrupt I leave the towering height. 
 Since in the plain my home appears in sight ! 
 The lagging courser, when his stall he nears. 
 Quickens his pace, his eager head uprears, 
 Lightly he steps along the well-known road. 
 When distant seen he eyes his loved abode, 
 Snuffing the breeze which softer seems to come, 
 Because 'tis wafted from the groves of home.
 
 70 ^ongs of Somerset. 
 
 Then when yon steeple greets my longing eye, 
 
 With winged footsteps I towards it fly, 
 
 Faster than steel impelled by loadstone's force. 
 
 To that dear object I direct my course. 
 
 How oft in childhood, when compelled to leave 
 
 My own loved birthplace, would my bosom heave 
 
 With many a heavy sigh, and grief would start 
 
 Through every secret channel from my heart. 
 
 When to yon tower I've breathed a last adieu, 
 
 As rolling wheels along the turnpike flew ; 
 
 How oft I've turned with trembling hand to dry 
 
 The scalding tear which gathered in mine eye : 
 
 And, oh, at length, when many a month has passed, 
 
 I've caught the longed-for minarets at last, 
 
 How have I hailed the soul-inspiring sight, 
 
 My spirit almost melting with delight ! 
 
 And have these boyhood feelings disappeared ? 
 
 Or like yon leaf, which autumn's hand hath seared. 
 
 Begin they now to wither and decay ? 
 
 Not so, kind reader, gentle listener — nay, 
 
 If less enthusiastic now my love. 
 
 Time hath not, cannot, the affection move 
 
 That still I cherish for my native place, 
 
 While earlier haunts with eager step I trace.
 
 ^ongs of Somerset. 71 
 
 No, never shall I catch thy tower from far, 
 
 By blaze of day, by twinkling light of star, 
 
 Without emotion kindling in my breast, 
 
 And thoughts of love and tenderness confessed. 
 
 Lympsham ! to thee I'll consecrate my days. 
 
 Promote thine interest, raise thy lasting praise. 
 
 If one so humble can extend thy fame. 
 
 Or aught advance thy dearly loved name. 
 
 No 'sacred bay that grows on classic tree. 
 
 Which brings not grace, or good, or pride to thee. 
 
 Shall I e'er think it worth my while to gain. 
 
 Though within reach and easy to obtain ; 
 
 Nor is there any which might haply tend 
 
 Thy peace, or joy, or glory to extend, 
 
 I would not strive to grasp with all my might, 
 
 Although it grew on labour's rocky height. 
 
 That, when secured, my proud reward might be. 
 
 To weave with it a verdant wreath for thee. 
 
 No happier prospect is before mine eyes. 
 
 No higher castle build I in the skies 
 
 Than in my birthplace all my days to spend, 
 
 The peasant's pastor and the poor man's friend. 
 
 Dearer to me the daisy of thy lea. 
 
 Thy woodbine wild, the haunt of many a bee.
 
 72 ^ongs of Somerset. 
 
 Thy cowslip yellow and thy scarlet rose, 
 That on its leaf of green seems to repose, 
 Than loveliest flow'rets brought from foreign shores, 
 Which the delighted botanist explores : 
 Dearer to me thy circumscribed lawn, 
 Sparkling with dew on summer morning's dawn, 
 Than boundless parks that stretch their wide domain 
 O'er hill and dale, and eminence and plain. 
 Where sportive deer and nimble stags do play 
 From morn till eve, and weary out the day : 
 Dearer to me thine honoured rectory ! 
 With windows dight with Gothic tracery. 
 With pointed portico and crested towers. 
 Around whose bases blossom summer flowers. 
 Than all the lodges and the halls of state. 
 Where dwell the mighty and repose the great. 
 Dearer to me thine ancient steeple grey. 
 Raised by some pious hand some bygone day. 
 With massy buttresses and niches fair. 
 And towering pinnacles that pierce the air ; 
 Than e'en proud Salisbury's spire, amazing sight. 
 Which rises upwards just four times the height : 
 Dearer to me thy churchyard, planted o'er 
 With dingy cypress and green sycamore,
 
 ^on00 of Somerset 73 
 
 With sable yew and weeping willows brave, 
 
 That droop their branches o'er some new-made grave : 
 
 Thy broken tombstones whose inscriptions traced 
 
 Time's ruthless hand hath nearly now effaced ; 
 
 Than the proud sepulchres of potent kings, 
 
 Over whose ashes fame her dirges sings, 
 
 That rest in state within the groined aisle 
 
 Of ancient Westminster's distinguished pile ; 
 
 Andv dearer, too, each honest rustic's face. 
 
 Who smiles, on passing, with a country grace. 
 
 Than aught 'twere possible for me to tell, 
 
 If tuned my lyre, though harped my fingers well. 
 
 Return we now to Mendip's range once more. 
 
 New scenes to contemplate and sights to explore ; 
 
 And, passing Uphill's bleak and barren height, 
 
 Brean Down's bold outline will appear in sight, 
 
 Whose mighty rocks are lashed by Severn's waves, 
 
 Whose inmost caverns the proud breaker laves. 
 
 Dashing the silvery spray from side to side, 
 
 As in full grandeur swells the advancing tide. 
 
 How often on yon summit have I stood, 
 
 And the fair landscape stretched around me viewed ; 
 
 Sometimes beheld the main convulsed with storm, 
 
 With billows rising in terrific form ;
 
 74 ^ongs of Somerset 
 
 And sometimes eyed the undisturbed expanse 
 
 In which the rocks reflected seemed to dance. 
 
 Oft in yon mossy caverns I have stayed, 
 
 From hour to hour my homeward course delayed, 
 
 Till lengthening shadows and fast closing eve 
 
 Chid my delay and bade me take my leave. 
 
 Surely Mount Carmel, where the Seer of God 
 
 Held for a time his solitary abode, 
 
 Somewhat resembles this fair hill in form. 
 
 In situation drear ; exposed to storm 
 
 Both mounts appear : each is a promontory. 
 
 Stretching its barrier towards a western sea ; 
 
 And from Brean Down, as from famed Carmel's height. 
 
 There shone from far a solitary light. 
 
 In bygone centuries, when Gildas here 
 
 Led his ascetic life with heart sincere ; 
 
 Whose bright example, like a beacon ray. 
 
 Chased brooding darkness and black mists away. 
 
 How often, like the prophet, Gildas toiled. 
 
 With vest ungirdled, and by clambering soiled, 
 
 Up the steep path of yonder rough ascent, 
 
 With eye upon the summit fixed intent ; 
 
 And when at length the topmost turf he trod, 
 
 Away from nature up to nature's God,
 
 ®ong0 of Somerset 75 
 
 How would he turn his heaven-glistening eye, 
 
 Lifted in transport upwards to the sky ; 
 
 And then, descending from the height once more. 
 
 How would he pace along the sea-girt shore, 
 
 Enter the humble sanctuary of God, 
 
 And sound His power. His truth. His grace abroad, 
 
 To honest rustics who attentive stand ; 
 
 Come at His bidding, go at His command. 
 
 In later years a second Gildas came. 
 
 And dear shall ever be his honoured name. 
 
 While memory sighs o'er many a bygone scene. 
 
 With him connected and the shores of Brean. 
 
 The time would fail me did I stop to tell 
 
 Of Burnham's lighthouse or its wondrous well. 
 
 At Quantock's beauteous range I next must glanie, 
 
 Which borders on the channel's wide expanse, 
 
 Whose silver surface is bestudded o'er 
 
 With islets twain 'twixt this and t'other shore. 
 
 Quantock ! thy summits have before been sung 
 
 In softer notes and with a sweeter tongue 
 
 Than I possess : e'en from this very place 
 
 Yeatman thy beauties often loved to trace ; 
 
 Thy wood-clad slopes, now gilded by the beam 
 
 Of evening sun, a lovely contrast seem
 
 76 ^ongg of Somerset. 
 
 To Mendip's sterile heights which mostly rise 
 In naked grandeur to the arched skies ; 
 As if in sooth great Nature's partial hand, 
 When weaving tapestry to deck our land, 
 Had spent on Quantock all her worsteds fair, 
 And left the canvas stretched o'er Mendip bare, 
 Except within the far secluded glade. 
 Where e'en for Mendip ornaments she made. 
 Rising beneath old Quantock's eastern ridge. 
 Where river's banks are joined by iron bridge, 
 Wrapt in the dingy smoke of many a fire. 
 Behold Bridgwater's elevated spire. 
 Here busy commerce leads her laden train 
 Of vessels proud, that plough the mighty main. 
 And bustles fast through every crowded street. 
 Like fabled Mercury with " winged feet." 
 But, leaving now a scene of constant change, 
 Observe we Polden's gently-rising range. 
 So called, perhaps, because in time of war, 
 From Polden's summit might be seen afar 
 The royal standard floating in the breeze. 
 High waving o'er the tops of neighbouring trees. 
 But farther south a fairer hill is seen. 
 Wrapt in a verdant vest of evergreen ;
 
 ^ongs of Somerset 77 
 
 Few bards have ever dared to sing its praise 
 
 Since none could reach it with inferior lays ; 
 
 For the same reason I, too, must be mute, 
 
 And only give its name " sweet Montacute ! " 
 
 Mention we now but one fair summit more. 
 
 And that the far-famed Glastonbury Tor, 
 
 Where the last abbot suffered shameful death. 
 
 And into murderous hands resigned his breath. 
 
 'Twas here that many centuries before, 
 
 As those report who boast of ancient lore, 
 
 A holy visitor unlooked-for came. 
 
 Of birth illustrious and of noble name, 
 
 And planted firm on Glaston's height forlorn 
 
 The never-dying, because sacred, thorn. 
 
 No Christmas yet hath whitened Glaston's brow, 
 
 With its accompanying fall of snow. 
 
 That hath not witnessed this fair thorn in bloom, 
 
 Which blossomed first near Joseph's new-made tomb. 
 
 This precious relic I myself have seen, 
 
 And plucked from off its boughs a sprig of green. 
 
 For sake of him whose honoured name I bear. 
 
 That I with Glaston might the present share. 
 
 But closing evening bids me hush my lay. 
 
 With which I've wearied out a summer's day ;
 
 78 ^ongs of ^omerset^ 
 
 The sun descending sheds his latest beam, 
 
 Causing yon glittering vane afar to gleam, 
 
 And form, apparently, a crest of fire 
 
 Around the apex of yon lofty spire ; 
 
 And now the orb has sunk his glowing head, 
 
 And in yon ocean made his tranquil bed; 
 
 And now the blue wave and the snowy spray 
 
 Steal all his glory, take his crown away ; 
 
 Nor aught appears, save the last ray that steals 
 
 From lost Apollo's radiant chariot wheels. 
 
 Brent Knoll ! accept a minstrel's parting tear : 
 
 Thy flowery summit shall be ever dear 
 
 To him, who with frail hand and faltering tongue 
 
 Thy loveliness has harped and feebly sung ; 
 
 Who, now descending through the mossy dell. 
 
 Sighs forth to thee, blest mount, a sad farewell !
 
 ^ongs of Somerset* 79 
 
 The Brean-down Cloud.* 
 
 iLEEPING upon the lone hill side, 
 The sombre shadow lay ; 
 While all around the landscape wide 
 Smiled in the autumn ray. 
 
 t 
 
 I looked into the clear blue skies 
 That shadow's cause to trace : 
 
 'Twas one fair cloud, to my surprise, 
 Darkened the mountain's face. 
 
 On high, the fleecy mist was bright, 
 
 Radiant in silver sheen ; 
 Below, the wreath of virgin-white 
 
 In sable guise was seen. 
 
 * " As I was passing Brean-down on the rail, I saw a dark shadow 
 resting on the bare side of the hill. Seeking its cause, I saw a little 
 cloud, bright as light, floating in the clear blue above. Thus it is 
 with our sorrow : it is dark and cheerless here on earth ; but look 
 above and you see it to be but a shadow of His brightness whose 
 name is Love." — Extract from Dean AlfonVs Journal. — See Life, p. 2<:[0.
 
 8o 
 
 ^onp of Somerset. 
 
 And thus the chastisements of love 
 
 Drop shadows as I go ; 
 But in yon azure vault above, 
 
 Like noon-tide beams they glow.
 
 >c^ 
 
 ^ongs of Somerset. si 
 
 Autumn. 
 
 After the manner of Scott. 
 
 |UTUMN yet lingers ! Still the verdant spray 
 Gleams in the coppice, midst the branches 
 bare ; 
 While through the watery cloud the struggling ray 
 
 Flings o'er the forest-glade a lustre fair, 
 As if the waning year would proudly dare 
 
 To vie in radiance with the summer sheen, 
 Charms of October vainly to compare, 
 
 With August-glances through the tangled screen. 
 When in their pomp of power Apollo's steeds are seen ! 
 
 Autumn yet lingers ! Mendip's swelling breast. 
 
 In richest purple royally arrayed, 
 No hour anticipates when soaring crest 
 
 Shall 'neath a silvery veil of snow be laid ; 
 When the sad shepherd, pensive and dismayed. 
 
 Shall seek the covert of the sheltered vale, 
 Of chill December's angry blasts afraid, 
 
 As howls Boreas with terrific wail. 
 Driving him home at last to tell the winter's tale. 
 
 M
 
 82 ^ongs of ^omerm. 
 
 Autumn yet lingers ! and methinks its days, 
 
 As years roll onward, seem more dear to me ; 
 I covet now no summer's gorgeous rays, 
 
 No spring-tide blossoms, garnishing the lea. 
 Nay give me now the yellow half-stripped tree : 
 
 I yield thee back gay bird and gayer iiov/er : 
 Nature decaying sheds more sympathy : 
 
 No more I ask for pleasure, pomp, or power ; 
 But only woo the spell that wakes in Autumn's hour.
 
 ^ongs of Somerset 83 
 
 The Firs have Fallen. 
 
 |HE firs have fallen, and the Knoll looks in, 
 Smiles recognition through the opened glade. 
 Long have I loved both Knoll and fair domain ; 
 But they were sundered by the envious grove. 
 Now they are one ; and, both more beautiful, 
 Seem to rejoice that they each other know. 
 Thus have I brought together friends beloved ; 
 And never to our view has each appeared 
 So lovely, as at length, when both combined, 
 Have blessed each other, and the charm confessed 
 Our heart which ravished, when admiring both.
 
 84 ^ongs of Somerset. 
 
 Buncombe Hill on a Summer's Evening. 
 
 OT only in the distant North, 
 Beyond the Pentlands and the Forth, 
 Had he the landscape scanned ; 
 Albion from shore to shore he knew, 
 From many a cairn had caught the view 
 In Cambria's mountain land. 
 
 Had climbed dark Mona's summit lone, 
 Where erst King Orrey reared his throne 
 
 In the enchanted isle ; 
 While softer scenes 'twas his to trace. 
 Where southern seas in still embrace 
 
 Round Norman islets smile. 
 
 But never was it his to see 
 Beneath wide heaven's high canopy 
 
 A richer, goodlier land 
 Than he may view in summer bright 
 Who rests reclined on Quantock's height, 
 
 Or doth on Willsneck stand.
 
 ®ongs of Somerset 85 
 
 Here hill and dale and timbered plain, 
 
 And cliff-bound shore and outstretched main 
 
 Feast the admiring eye ; 
 And modest towers rise here and there, 
 And manse, and cot, and homestead fair, 
 
 Clustering around them lie. 
 
 If calm enjoyment you would find, 
 •* Repose for wearied frame and mind, 
 
 Come to the favoured West ; 
 With loving daughter wander free : 
 Not mountain moth, nor bird, nor bee 
 
 Shall claim completer rest !
 
 ^^ ^ongs of Somerset. 
 
 Greenaleigh. 
 
 [UTE on the spot the climber stood, 
 And all around the landscape viewed, 
 Ravished v/ith glad surprise ; 
 And praised the land that gave him birth. 
 As fairest in the bounds of earth. 
 In his admiring eyes ! 
 
 Beneath his feet old Minehead lay, 
 With pebbly beach and placid bay : 
 
 And 'thwart the inland sea 
 Stretched Cambria, from Carmarthen's height, 
 To where the Wyndcliff meets the sight. 
 
 Rising o'er Chepstow's lea. 
 
 Yonder rose Croydon's desert line : 
 Beneath, the blending braes combine, 
 
 Behind him in the rear : 
 Brendon looks skyward overhead. 
 With purple garniture o'erspread ; 
 
 And Dunkery's crests appear.
 
 ^ong0 of Somerset. 87 
 
 Nor Is there In the goodly whole 
 A gem more peerless than the knoll 
 
 Where Conigar doth stand 
 Midst verdant bowers of tufted trees, 
 That still the battle and the breeze 
 
 Defy on Luttrell's land ! 
 
 O Somerset ! my cherished home, 
 ■* Ne'er from thy limits can I roam 
 
 In search of scenes more fair ; 
 Let others wander where they will, 
 ril rest upon the western hill, 
 
 In satisfaction there !
 
 88 ^ongs of ^omctset 
 
 The Glastonbury Gathering. 
 
 OSEPH a pilgrim from Mount Zion came, 
 (So says the legend of the days gone by) 
 Planting his staff, and leaving his fair name 
 To favoured Glaston's plain and hills on high. 
 
 No Christmas since has over Glaston flown. 
 Leaving its snows on dale and upland spread. 
 
 When this famed wand hath not like Aaron's blown, 
 And e'en in winter richest fragrance shed. 
 
 But greater annals have I lived to see. 
 
 In later days when centuries have passed : 
 
 Within the year of Diamond Jubilee 
 
 Have Church and Queen left memories long to last. 
 
 A hundred bishops in the ruined fane 
 
 Have met, from North and South, and East and West, 
 To shew that common faith must ever reign 
 
 'Mongst those in Christ in sweet communion blest.
 
 ^onp of ^omer0et 89 
 
 Surely no fitter time could ever come, 
 
 Our long-loved prelate's statue to display, 
 
 Whose dust reposes in the silent tomb, 
 
 Whose ransomed spirit rests above for aye. 
 
 Long will Lord Arthur live in every heart 
 
 That claimed his friendship whilst he lingered here ; 
 
 And fondest memories can ne'er depart 
 Till the blest Rising-morning shall appear. 
 
 Specially gracious to our favoured West 
 
 Has " the Chief Shepherd " been, in bishops given : 
 
 Still with an ardent prelate are we blest. 
 
 Succeeding him recalled from earth to heaven. 
 
 N
 
 90 ^onp of Somerset. 
 
 Early Snow in Autumn. 
 
 WAS an October Sabbath eve, 
 
 The groves and glades were green, 
 And only here and there a leaf 
 Glimmered in golden sheen. 
 
 When back my window-blind I drew 
 
 Upon the Sabbath morn, 
 Lo there appeared before my view 
 
 A wintry waste forlorn ! 
 
 For in the night the chilly skies 
 
 Had dropped their fleecy pall, 
 And now, to my profound surprise. 
 
 Cold snow had covered all. 
 
 Yes ! on the lawn, parterres, and trees, 
 
 The flakes of winter lay : 
 You might have thought the northern breeze 
 
 Had brought our Christmas-day.
 
 t 
 
 ^ongs of Somerset 9^ 
 
 Never before did I behold 
 Snows in October lie : 
 Our parish patriarch — so I'm told — 
 Astonished was as I. 
 
 As I surveyed the elms, still gay, 
 
 Yet silver-mantled o'er. 
 The laurel bright, and glossy bay. 
 
 Like winter's trophies — hoar ; 
 
 These were the thoughts that came to me 
 
 Upon the Sabbath-day : — 
 I set them down right speedily. 
 
 Lest they should pass away : — 
 
 Thus, when our life has reached its prime. 
 
 Ere yet our leaves are sere, 
 Come change and death, before their time, 
 
 With icy hand severe. 
 
 While all around is green and fair, 
 The snow-cloud gathers high ; 
 
 And death descends in iron car 
 From out the angry sky.
 
 92 ^ong0 of ^ometsct* 
 
 Prospects, and plans, and hopes, and schemes, 
 
 Are prematurely riven ; 
 And joys, like morn-dissolving dreams, 
 
 By sudden griefs are driven. 
 
 I looked again. The scene was bright. 
 Though hoar with winter's breath ; 
 
 All sparkling in the Sabbath light, 
 Too beautiful for death ; 
 
 And as I gazed upon each spray, 
 
 All clothed in silver snow, 
 Methought 'tis joy and life this day 
 
 Portrays ; not death and woe. 
 
 A vision then before me smiled 
 
 Of Christ's return from heaven ; 
 When robes of whiteness, undefiled. 
 
 Shall to His Church be given. 
 
 Some shall be living on that night, 
 
 All green, like yonder grove : 
 Then shall descend the virgin light, 
 
 All spotless, from above ;
 
 ^ongs of ^omer^et 93 
 
 And " clothed upon " each living tree 
 
 In purity shall shine, 
 Life melt in immortality, 
 
 At Jesu's glance divine.
 
 94 ^ongs of Somerset, 
 
 Easter Even, April ii, 1857. 
 
 A day of howling storm, occasional showers, and warm sunshine 
 
 combined. 
 
 jHE darkling cloud is overhead, 
 The storm comes howling by ; 
 Anon the golden beams are shed, 
 And smiles the deep blue sky. 
 
 Sure nature brings her sympathy 
 
 To Revelation's shrine ; 
 Responsive thrills with Calvary, 
 
 Where sun and storm combine. 
 
 That howling blast in echo spoke 
 
 Stern Justice's behest ; 
 Then melting Mercy gently woke 
 
 In sunbeam, and caressed ! 
 
 Those heavy drops are Sion's tears 
 
 On Golgotha that fell ; 
 But pardon in those tints appears 
 
 Which in yon rainbow dwell.
 
 ^ongs of Somerset 
 
 Dear April and sweet Eastertide, 
 Ye meetly come together : 
 
 Our dying Lord would thus provide 
 A preacher in the weather ! 
 
 95
 
 96 
 
 ^ongs of Somerset. 
 
 Christmas. 
 
 AIL sacred festival ! I haste to-day 
 To greet thine advent with a rustic lay. 
 Ye angels, tune my lyre, 
 While I with willing fingers sweep 
 Those chords that bid me smile and weep, 
 As I to sing aspire. 
 
 Since Constantine the Roman throne 
 Climbed but to make the world his own, 
 
 And scatter heaven's pure light, 
 Albion has greeted Bethlehem's star. 
 Around her coasts, or near or far, 
 
 Beaming with radiance bright. 
 
 Each rolling age some tribute brings. 
 Some offering to the King of kings. 
 
 As did the seers of old ; 
 When frankincense with myrrh entwined. 
 Their varying hues and scents combined. 
 
 With gifts of Eastern gold.
 
 ^onp of ^ometset. 97 
 
 In earlier times the festal board, 
 Encircled by the serf and lord, 
 
 The ample hall displayed ; 
 While youth and age rejoiced in pairs, 
 Both auburn locks and hoary hairs, 
 
 The matron and the maid. 
 
 . Turkey, and goose, and capon fair. 
 Furnished the festival so rare. 
 
 And brave old oxen fell ; 
 And toast-brown'd ale and wassail bowl. 
 From host to guest stirred every soul, 
 
 Prompting grim tales to tell. 
 
 Holly, and mistletoe, and yew. 
 Hung round as thick as if they grew 
 
 Forth from the 'scutcheoned wall ; 
 And brave yule log its lustre shed, 
 Blazing from out its ashy bed 
 
 Along the ancient hall. 
 
 And carol-band before the gate. 
 With brightened eye and heart elate, 
 Advance for Christmas cheer ;
 
 98 ^ongs of Somerset 
 
 And sing of shepherds' watch by night, 
 When lustrous beams of heavenly light 
 Kindled both hope and fear. 
 
 Forth from the ivied tower hard by 
 Rose the loud peal's rich melody, 
 
 Borne on the midnight breeze ; 
 While winter o'er the churchyard hung. 
 And cold his snowy mantle flung 
 
 O'er tombstones, graves, and trees. 
 
 Sober the garb religion wore, 
 Sincere yet sober thoughts of yore 
 
 Rose in the churchman's breast ; 
 Then holy hymns for " Church and King ! " 
 And sacred carols, would men sing 
 
 Ere came the hour of rest. 
 
 Meek deference then her charm would weave, 
 And lowliness her curtsey give, 
 
 With mute and blushing grace ; 
 Ere liberalism's fatal spell 
 Scorched as with blasting flames of hell 
 
 The present century's face.
 
 ^ongs of Somerset 99 
 
 O fair and happy days gone by, 
 When Albion's aristocracy 
 
 Graced well their feudal halls ! 
 And banner waved from dungeon keep, 
 And turrets frowned from craggy steep 
 
 Along the lichened walls. 
 
 Yet up and down in England yet 
 There linger those who would forget 
 
 The spirit of the day ; 
 Old tory hearts that still would sing 
 Their "three-times-three for Church and King ! " 
 
 From eve to morning ray. 
 
 If on your rounds you chance to light 
 On such a true-born ancient wight. 
 
 Bid him to Lympsham come ; 
 Essay our door on Christmas-eve, 
 When jovial welcomes we will give — • 
 
 Make such a guest at home. 
 
 Still shall he see the yule log glow, 
 All blazing on the hearth below, 
 Still taste the Christmas cheer.
 
 loo ^ongs of ^omer^et. 
 
 Still see the berried holly smile, 
 Still with gay song the gloom beguile 
 That waits the changing year ! 
 
 Hurrah once more for Church and King 
 Ye lads and lasses each one sing ! 
 
 The altar and the throne ; 
 " What God hath joined let none divide : " 
 He can be nought but parricide 
 
 Who would our Church disown ! 
 
 May fair Victoria's latest days 
 
 Be crowned with amaranthine bays, 
 
 Peace, plenty, and renown ; 
 And love, and loyalty, and truth, 
 Refresh our age, adorn our youth, 
 
 And on our babes look down.
 
 Mil E^3t 
 
 ^ongs of ^ometsct. loi 
 
 Pleasure and Duty. 
 
 WAS a fine summer morning, and bright shone 
 the sun, 
 As forth from the mountains his race he begun ; 
 Miss Pleasure passed by me, all radiant in glee, 
 And gaily invited, " Come trip it with me ! " 
 
 So away we both rambled all through the green wood. 
 While plucking the flowerets to twine in her snood ; 
 And the ring of her laughter was merry and gay, 
 As blithe as the brooklet that danced in our way. 
 
 Yet the sun had scarce climbed to his throne in the sky, 
 Ere her smiles were all darkened and sullen her eye ; 
 And while I was musing the reason to trace, 
 She turned round and gave me a slap in the face. 
 
 'Twas a bleak winter dawning, and driftings of rain 
 Rattled rudely in gusts on the dark window pane ; 
 Dame Duty awoke me, as sternly she said, 
 " Thy slumbers are over, arise from thy bed ! "
 
 I02 ^ongsi of Somerset. 
 
 So away we set forth on the round of the day, 
 The wild winds were out o'er the snow as it lay ; 
 While sternly she wended her course up the hill, 
 And as we ascended walked moody and still. 
 
 Yet, when we had climbed it, so pleasant she grew. 
 That, says I to myself, " What ! can it be you ? " 
 And when I looked next on the face of my guide, 
 Methought 'twas an angel that walked at my side !
 
 )^ 
 
 ^ongs of Somerset 103 
 
 I Pace the Ocean's Rugged Shore. 
 
 PACE the ocean's rugged shore, 
 And listen while its billows roar ; 
 And wide across their crested foam 
 
 My far-stretched eye delights to roam ; 
 
 And written on the boundless sea, 
 
 I read my God's Infinity. 
 
 I climb at morn the heathery glen, 
 Apart from haunts of busy men ; 
 And 'neath the soaring mountain's breast 
 I watch the cloud that crowns his crest ; 
 Half veiled within the silent sky, 
 I read, my God, Thy majesty ! 
 
 I wander through the cultured plain. 
 And mark the heavy-laden wain ; 
 And number o'er the shocks of corn. 
 And flocks which sunny slopes adorn ; 
 And ere the river meets the flood, 
 I hear it sing " My God is good ! "
 
 I04 ^ongs of Somerset 
 
 I steal within the sylvan bower, 
 And breathe the fragrance of the flower 
 That wastes its odours on the air, 
 Displays unseen its colours rare ; 
 Soft breezes through the coppice rove, 
 And whisper that my " God is love ! " 
 
 And is it thus, O Lord, to me 
 Thy works are witnesses of Thee ; 
 And sea, and mountain, field, and flower, 
 Proclaim thy wisdom, love, and power? 
 What must it be in heaven to trace, 
 And see without a veil Thy face !
 
 4 
 
 ^ongs of Somerset 105 
 
 Falling Bells. 
 
 [HE music of the falling chime 
 
 Recalls each scene of by-gone time — 
 Now eddying swell, now sinking sound, 
 Thrilling the soul in rolling round. 
 
 Ye tuneful six, from steeple grey, 
 Have gladdened my sad heart to-day ; 
 And woke once more that deeper joy 
 That seems refined from earth's alloy. 
 
 O tell me, wise Philosophy, 
 Why droops the heart 'midst revelry ; 
 But ofttimes, 'midst surroundings sad. 
 Why is the soul so deeply glad ? 
 
 The mystery wouldst thou seek to know ? 
 
 So is it ordered here below : 
 
 No star can shed its mystic light 
 
 Till darkness shrouds the skies with night.
 
 io6 ^ongs of Somerset. 
 
 The hurricane the earth must shake 
 Ere yet " the still small voice " can wake : 
 If heaven's bright arch its tints would twine, 
 On the black cloud the bow must shine. 
 
 No spring-tide flowers can deck the spray 
 Till winter drear has held its sway : 
 Birds from that bush their lays must pour 
 Where icicles have hung before. 
 
 The snowdrop blossoms by the way 
 Where long the frozen snow-drift lay : 
 Descending rains must sweep the fell 
 That brooks may warble down the dell. 
 
 This, after all, the cause may be, 
 Not yet from bondage is earth free ; 
 " The creature " waits for that blest hour 
 That vanquishes corruption's power. 
 
 Then cloudless skies shall gild the span 
 That arches o'er redeemed man ; 
 Deep seas of bliss rise swelling o'er, 
 Without a shallow or a shore.
 
 ^ongs of Somerset 107 
 
 Rich melodies around shall float, 
 Unmingled with a minor note ; 
 While quenchless suns that never set 
 Shall bathe each golden minaret, 
 
 And flash from out each sparkling stone 
 That garnishes the City's zone, 
 And lustre lends to that deep flood 
 That girds the paradise of God. 
 
 O Jesu ! through that pearly gate 
 May I, Thy servant, wend and wait ; 
 And, ransomed by Thy blood alone, 
 Wonder and worship at Thy throne ! 
 
 /
 
 io8 ^ongs of ^omergct, 
 
 Wordsworth's Grave.* 
 
 |HOU slumberest not near royal dust, 
 
 With many a kindred bard : 
 I The village churchyard claims the trust 
 Thy cherished form to guard. 
 
 And meet it is that thou shouldst rest, 
 
 Just where they laid thee down ; 
 Till the Archangel comes in quest 
 
 Of those he seeks to crown. 
 
 The mountains watch thy lowly grave. 
 
 The brooklet murmurs near. 
 The thorn and yew tree o'er thee wave, 
 
 Drop evening dews their tear. 
 
 Right fitly chosen are the trees 
 That grace thy modest mound, 
 
 * The grave of the poet Wordsworth lies in the south-east corner of 
 Grasmere Churchyard, together with those of his family, and that 
 of Hartley Coleridge. It has a thorn on one side and a yew tree on 
 the other. The stream brawls below, beyond the churchyard wall.
 
 4 
 
 ^ong3 of Somerset. 109 
 
 That softly sigh when evening breeze 
 Whispers through hallowed ground. 
 
 The thorn — it meekly seems to say, 
 
 " Life's thorns disturb not now ; 
 My Saviour took them all away, 
 
 And wreathed them round His brow." 
 
 / 
 
 The mystic everlasting yew. 
 Proclaims that thou shalt rise ; 
 
 And, budding like itself anew, 
 Shalt flourish in the skies. 
 
 Wordsworth ! thy memory's more dear, 
 
 Since to thy vale I came. 
 Where many a rustic sheds the tear, 
 
 And smiles to hear thy name. 
 
 They knew thee, and they loved thee well, 
 
 And love to speak of thee, 
 And gladly will they to me tell 
 
 Of how thou used to be. 
 
 How thou didst walk these lonely fells. 
 And climb these living heights,
 
 no ^ongs of ^omereet. 
 
 And in their solitary dells 
 Enjoy thine own delights. 
 
 And how men met thee in the grove, 
 
 Or by the mountain force, 
 And heard the poet of their love 
 
 Unto himself discourse. 
 
 For ofttimes thoughts would language claim, 
 
 All welling from within, 
 Thoughts that so wild and vivid came. 
 
 Thou couldst not keep them in. 
 
 Men heard thee " muttering on thy way,"* 
 
 With earnest head bowed down ; 
 Nor guessed they what they heard thee say 
 
 Was winning thy renown ; 
 
 That holy poesy from thee 
 
 Would to the world be given. 
 To teach to men truth's mystery. 
 
 To guide their steps to heaven. 
 
 * This was the description given me of the poet by the Cumbrians 
 themselves. They said, " You could hear Mr. Wordsworth mutter- 
 ing to himself a long time before he came up to you."
 
 ^ongs of Somerset m 
 
 E'en while I weave this simple lay, 
 
 Dear Wordsworth, o'er thy tomb, 
 Full many a pilgrim on this day 
 
 Like to myself doth come 
 
 To write thy brief memorial down, 
 
 To shed the silent tear 
 O'er virtue, truth, and just renown 
 
 That crowned our laureate's bier !
 
 112 
 
 ^ongs of ^omer0et 
 
 The Bee Hive. 
 
 LEADON, Burnham, Berrow, Brent, 
 Sir, your bees will all be spent ! 
 Nay, Sir, we have several more, — 
 
 Badgworth, Biddisham, yet in store, 
 
 Blagdon, Bridgwater, and Brean, 
 
 Stock our bee-hive full, I ween.
 
 Appendix.
 
 I 
 
 Appendix. 
 
 Note I. 
 
 WiLLETT Tor rises on the property of the late J. Blommart, 
 Esq. It is an outHer of the Brendon range, and commands a 
 rich prospect of all that lovely part of the country between the 
 Quantock and the Brendon hills. I visited it first on a day 
 peculiarly favourable to the tourist — in the spring of 1853, — 
 when the surrounding woods were bright in their early 
 freshness. 
 
 Note II. 
 
 " DuNKERY " is a lofty mountain lying about eight miles south 
 from Minehead. From the church at Wootton Courtenay, 
 the ascent to its summit is three miles. Its altitude is 
 estimated at about seventeen hundred feet above the level of 
 the sea. It is covered almost entirely with heather, inter- 
 mixed with the whortleberry plant, and some rare bog and 
 other mosses. On a clear day " the view," from the Beacon,
 
 ii6 appenmr. 
 
 says Mr. Savage, in his History of the Hundred of Carhampton, 
 " extends on the south-west to the high lands near Plymouth ; 
 and on the north to the Malvern Hills in Worcestershire ; two 
 parts of the country which are more than two hundred miles 
 distant from each other. On the west and north-west, the 
 Bristol Channel, for nearly one-hundred-and-thirty miles in 
 length, lies under the eye, with the greater part of South 
 Wales, from Monmouthshire down to Pembrokeshire, rising 
 in a line ampitheatre beyond it. To the east and south the 
 greater part of Somersetshire, Dorset, and Devon, \vith some 
 parts of Hants and W^ilts, appear in view. \^hen the air is 
 clear and not too bright, the line which bounds the horizon 
 cannot be less than five hundred miles in circumference, 
 circumscribing fifteen counties. On the top of Dunkery there 
 is a vast collection of rough loose stones, from one pound to 
 two hundred pounds in weight each ; and among them the 
 ruins of three large fire-hearths, about eight feet square, and 
 built of rough unhewn stones. These fireplaces form an equi- 
 lateral triangle, and in the centre there is another hearth con- 
 siderably larger than the rest These are the 
 
 remains of those beacons which were formerly erected on this 
 elevated spot, in order to alarm the country in times of civil 
 discord or foreign invasion. Hence, the highest point of this 
 hill is called Dunkery Beacon. To the north, south, and east 
 of the ridge on which the Beacon stands, the mountain slopes 
 down for a long distance ; but on the western side it joins the 
 high lands which connect it with the Forest of Exmoor. , , ,
 
 The Beacon is often covered with clouds, and then becomes a 
 stupendous local barometer ; for on such occasions rain is 
 certain speedily to follow." — (Savage's History of the Hundred 
 of Carhainpton, pp. 5, 7.) 
 
 Note III. 
 
 This fragment describes a walk with a friend from Porlock 
 Weir to the romantic village of Culbone, after we had spent 
 t'he morning on Dunkery. The situation of the hamlet is thus 
 described by the Rev. R. Warner, of Bath, in his Walk through 
 some 0/ the Western Counties of England: "A small cove of 
 an oval form opened upon us, the bottom of which is formed 
 by a little verdant carpet of two or three acres. Around this 
 hollow the hills, on every side save on that which is next the 
 sea, tower up in a direction nearly perpendicular, to the 
 subHme height of twelve or thirteen hundred feet, fretted with 
 jutting rocks and laden with venerable woods. Here the 
 oak's solemn shade is reheved by the bright berry of the 
 mountain ash ; and there the light satin of the airy birch is 
 chastened by the gloom of the melancholy yew, whilst the 
 feathering fir and the luxuriant beech lend their contrasting 
 foliage to give a wider variety to the enchanting scene. At 
 the mouth of the cove, the land suddenly falls to the shore in 
 an abrupt descent of four or five hundred feet, rough with 
 enormous crags and stones, but enlivened with verdure and 
 foliage quite to the beach. In the centre of the little recess
 
 II 8 appentiir. 
 
 thus surrounded and defended from the intrusion of the 
 stranger, stands the lilliputian church of Culbone, a gothic 
 structure, thirty-three feet in length and twelve in breadth, 
 with a cemetery of proportionate dimensions stretching around 
 it, appropriately ornamented with broken modest gravestones, 
 and the remains of an ancient stone cross. Two cottages, 
 planted just without the consecrated ground, are its only com- 
 panions in this secluded dell." — (See Warner's Walk through 
 so7ne of the Western Counties of England, pp. 94, 95). 
 
 The scene opens with a description of Porlock Weir, with 
 Lord Lovelace's beautiful grounds adjoining, through which 
 the path leads to Culbone. 
 
 Note IV. 
 
 The range of Quantock (Celtic Gwantog, i.e., abounding in 
 openings), is about fifteen miles in length by four in breadth, 
 extending from North Petherton and West Monkton on the 
 east, to Quantoxhead and St. Audries on the west. Its highest 
 summits are Cothelstone, Willsneck, and Danesborough, the 
 loftiest of which (Willsneck) reaches an altitude of nearly 
 thirteen hundred feet above the level of the sea. From Wills- 
 neck, particularly, the prospect is exceedingly rich and ex- 
 tensive. On the south stretches the Vale of Taunton Deane, 
 clad in the most luxuriant foliage of elm, beech, and oak, 
 studded with villages and fair churches, and bounded by the
 
 appenDijc. 119 
 
 blue line of Blagdon, on which the Wellington column stands 
 boldly prominent. Towards the east, you have a number of 
 inferior summits, amongst which the triple knolls of Monta- 
 cute, wrapped in their vest of evergreen, are very conspicuous. 
 Beyond these the eye wanders towards the more distant 
 heights of Frome and Warminster, till the bleak wolds of 
 Dorset bound the horizon. Northward, you have the indented 
 coast of Wales, separated b)' the intervening Channel, with 
 its two rocky islets of Flat and Steep Holm, the bold promon- 
 *tories of Brean Down and St. Thomas's Head, Crook's Peak, 
 Cheddar, and the whole Mendip range, in the undulations of 
 which may be glimpsed at intervals the line of Wraxall 
 Down stretching behind, till it terminates in the misty point 
 of Portishead. Turning to the west, a sea of miniature moun- 
 tains meets the cHmber's gaze ; Willett, Brendon, Treborough, 
 and Nettlecombe, with old Dunkery in the background, 
 tossing up its heathy head, a very mountain-monarch, to the 
 height of over seventeen hundred feet above the waters of Por- 
 lock Bay, of which he stands the guardian, and who, with his 
 Exmoor brethren, terminates the landscape ; all beyond being 
 dim cloud and misty vapour. But the glory of Quantock is, 
 after all, its almost countless combes — towards the east more 
 luxuriant and richly wooded — towards the west wilder and 
 more majestic in their character, with " heath and fern all 
 waving wide," and " cold greystone " darting up at intervals 
 amidst the tufted grass. In wandering along the soft silvery 
 stream banks by which Cockercombe and Sevenwells combe
 
 I20 appenUir. 
 
 are watered, you might fancy yourself nearing " Loch -Katrine" 
 and " Ellen's Isle." In climbing Bicknoller Gorge, carpeted 
 with mountain fern for some eight hundred feet above you, 
 till the purple heather brightens into a blushing border higher 
 up, a very slight stretch of imagination would fix you in " Rob 
 Roy's country," or the wilder Highlands. 
 
 ^^rint^ti anti publioljeti fap Barnicott anti ^eatce, 
 
 at t^t Sit^mamm ^tt00, Taunton. 
 
 mlicccrcbui 
 
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