After rambling about a mile, by a narrow and broken path, which winds along the margin of the river Dove, and that requires to be trod with caution, for fear of being precipitated from its slippery craggs into the stream, the Dale is seen to expand into a fine amphitheatre of gigantic rocks, that seem to have shot out of the bowels of the earth. They rise into high and massy pinnacles, from amidst rich clusters of foliage, which, on the Staffordshire side of the river, is particularly thick; producing an effect truly magical. The Dale once more closing, the road continues to wind under impending masses of rocks, that almost shut out the face of Heaven, and appear to forbid all further progress. Here the river, pent up into a narrow channel, struggles for vent, and rages and roars till it disengages itself from its confinement. Shortly gaining a more expansive sky, one huge solitary rock, perfectly insulated, attracts attention: this massy block, from the singularity of its form, has obtained the name of Dove-Dale Church. Nearly opposite, but high up from the river, is an opening in the rocks, called Reynard's Hall: and another smaller opening below it, has been named Reynard's Kitchen. Beyond this point the river sweeps round an open green; but on crossing the sward, it is soon met again. Here the Dale loses its interesting character, and is generally quitted near a considerable cavern on the right, called the For-Holes. To recapitulate the merits of Dove-Dale in a picturesque point of view, were to say in a few words, that it possesses an union of grandeur and beauty, not to be equalled by any thing I ever beheld. It is of that high cast of character, which Pallas holds among the females in poetry. Borrowdale, in Cumberland, is sublime from its magnitude; yet, being destitute of wood, it wants the power to please: all there is barren and desolate; here beauty reigns triumphant. Delightful Dove-Dale! In thee Nature exhibits one of the finest of her productions! Beautiful spot! Well may Cotton have spoken so rapturously of thy stream 66 none so bright, So pleasant to the taste, none to the sight; Happy is the man, who, divested of care, finds himself enabled to retire to such scenes as these, and who at the same time possesses sensibility to enjoy their excellence. To be feelingly alive to such wonderful works, is true piety; such as is not to be found in the bustle and artifice of society, where all pray to be forgiven their sins, rather than for that power which might enable them to avoid committing any. Great and beneficent Creator of the universe! deign to accept of this tribute of a feeling heart, while my soul overflows with gratitude: THOU who in thy goodness hast bestowed |