Most beautiful! It fits not speech like mine,
Soul-stirring scene, to set thy features forth
In their true light. I have no hues that reach
Glories like thine. The watery tint alone
That moisteneth in the eye may tell of thee.
Yet should I ever, from my distant home
Tempted to roam, dare the wild deep once more
For Albion's sake, I'd watch two summer-moons
Waxing and waning o'er the purple peaks
Of Derbyshire, and from the sounding brass
And tinkling cymbal of absorbing care
Or vanity, and from the thunder-gong
Which the great world doth strike, delighted hide
In quiet Matlock, lulled by Nature's charms,
And hourly gleaning what she saith of God.
Thursday, October 8, 1840.
Our visit to Matlock was one of unmixed satisfaction. We had not been instructed to expect the romantic prospect that burst upon us, almost cheating us into the belief that we had wandered into one of the wild villages of Switzerland. Our descent from the post- chaise was simultaneous with taking a seat upon some well-bred donkeys, which, with their necks decorated with blue ribbands, were standing under the windows of our Hotel upon the Green. The excitement of thus traversing the mountain heights, and the odd appearance of our cavalcade so grotesquely
