The Book of South Wales, the Wye, and the Coast

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Virtue & Company, 1861 - Wales, South - 152 pages
 

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Page 150 - If this Be but a vain belief, yet, oh! how oft In darkness and amid the many shapes Of joyless daylight; when the fretful stir Unprofitable, and the fever of the world, Have hung upon the beatings of my heart — How oft, in spirit, have I turned to thee, O sylvan Wye! thou wanderer thro' the woods, How often has my spirit turned to thee!
Page 11 - There is a gentle Nymph not far from hence, That with moist curb sways the smooth Severn stream : Sabrina is her name, a virgin pure ; Whilom she was the daughter of Locrine, That had the sceptre from his father Brute. She, guiltless damsel, flying the mad pursuit Of her enraged stepdame Guendolen, Commended her fair innocence to the flood That stayed her flight with his cross-flowing course.
Page 518 - FORTY DAYS IN THE DESERT, ON THE TRACK OF THE ISRAELITES; or, a Journey from Cairo by Wady Feiran to Mount Sinai and Petra. By WH BARTLETT.
Page 130 - Had not such retreats been scattered here and there, among the huts of a miserable peasantry, and the castles of a ferocious aristocracy, European society would have consisted merely of beasts of burden and beasts of prey.
Page 133 - Insuperable height of loftiest shade, Cedar, and pine, and fir, and branching palm, A sylvan scene, and as the ranks ascend Shade above shade, a woody theatre Of stateliest view.
Page 308 - Now winding bright and full, with naked banks; And seats, and lawns, the Abbey and the wood, And cots, and hamlets, and faint city-spire; The Channel there, the Islands and white sails, Dim coasts, and cloud-like hills, and shoreless Ocean It seem'd like Omnipresence!
Page 519 - ... it is likely to be a most acceptable present to young or old, be their peculiar taste for religion, morals, poetry, history, or romance." — Christian Observer. " Unquestionably the production of an able hand, and a refined mind. We recommend it to all who love pure, healthy, literary fare."— Church and State Gazette.
Page 38 - Once again I see These hedgerows, hardly hedgerows, little lines Of sportive wood run wild ; these pastoral farms, Green to the very door ; and wreaths of smoke Sent up in silence from among the trees, With some uncertain notice, as might seem, Of vagrant dwellers in the houseless woods, Or of some hermit's cave, where by his fire The hermit sits alone.
Page 106 - The May-pole on the margin of that poetic stream completed the illusion. My fancy adorned it with wreaths of flowers, and peopled the green bank with all the dancing revelry of May-day. The mere sight of this May-pole gave a glow to my feelings, and spread a charm over the country for the rest of the day ; and as I traversed a part of the fair plain of Cheshire, and the beautiful borders of Wales, and looked from among swelling hills down a long green valley, through which " the Deva wound its wizard...
Page 249 - Again she plunges; hark! a second shock Tears her strong bottom on the marble rock ! Down on the vale of death, with dismal cries, The fated victims shuddering roll their eyes In wild despair; while yet another...

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