. Shakespeare's England . e cathedral aislesand are lost beneath the leafy arches of elm and oak;of little church towers embowered in ivy; of thatchedcottages draped with roses; of dark ravines, luxuriantwith a wild profusion of rocks and trees; and of goldengrain that softly waves and whispers in the summerwind; while, all around, the grassy banks and ghmmer-ing meadows are radiant with yellow daisies, and withthat wonderful scarlet of the poppy that gives an almosthuman glow of life and loveliness to the whole face ofEngland. After some hours of such a pageant — sonovel, so fascinating, so f
. Shakespeare's England . e cathedral aislesand are lost beneath the leafy arches of elm and oak;of little church towers embowered in ivy; of thatchedcottages draped with roses; of dark ravines, luxuriantwith a wild profusion of rocks and trees; and of goldengrain that softly waves and whispers in the summerwind; while, all around, the grassy banks and ghmmer-ing meadows are radiant with yellow daisies, and withthat wonderful scarlet of the poppy that gives an almosthuman glow of life and loveliness to the whole face ofEngland. After some hours of such a pageant — sonovel, so fascinating, so fleeting, so stimulative of eagercuriosity and poetic desire — it is a relief at last tostand in the populous streets and among the grimhouses of London, with its surging tides of life, and itsturmoil of effort, conflict, exultation, and misery. Howstrange it seems — yet, at the same time, how homelikeand familiar! There soars aloft the great dome ofSt. Pauls cathedral, with its golden cross that flashes IS ^l^ • .. ^3 ^ __> ^ » ^ ^ CHAP. XIII UP TO LONDON 171 in the sunset! There stands the Victoria tower — fitemblem of the true royalty of the sovereign whose nameit bears. And there, more lowly but more august, risethe sacred turrets of the Abbey. It is the same oldLondon — the great heart of the modern world — thegreat city of our reverence and love. As the wandererwrites these words he hears the plashing of the foun-tains in Trafalgar Square and the evening chimes thatpeal out from the spire of St. Martin-in-the-Fields, andhe knows himself once more at the shrine of his youth-ful dreams. To the observant stranger in London few sights canbe more impressive than those that illustrate the singu-lar manner in which the life of the present encroachesupon the memorials of the past. Old Temple Bar hasgone, — a sculptured grififin, at the junction of FleetStreet and the Strand, denoting where once it stood.(It has been removed to Theobalds Park, near Wal-tham, and
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Keywords: ., bookcentury1800, bookdecade1890, bookidshakespeares, bookyear1895
