. The White hills; their legends, landscape, and poetry. dges that are embossed with gi-een. Then, still higher up, wherethe rocks grow more uneven, Ave are held by the profuse beauty ofthe hues showm upon the bright stones at the bottom of the littletranslucent basins and pools. Still above, we come to the remark-able fissure in the mountain, more than fifty feet high, and severalhundred feet long, which narrows, too, towards the upper end, till itbecomes only twelve feet wide, and which, doubtless, an earthquakemade for the passage of the stream which the visitors are now to THE PEanCEWASSET
. The White hills; their legends, landscape, and poetry. dges that are embossed with gi-een. Then, still higher up, wherethe rocks grow more uneven, Ave are held by the profuse beauty ofthe hues showm upon the bright stones at the bottom of the littletranslucent basins and pools. Still above, we come to the remark-able fissure in the mountain, more than fifty feet high, and severalhundred feet long, which narrows, too, towards the upper end, till itbecomes only twelve feet wide, and which, doubtless, an earthquakemade for the passage of the stream which the visitors are now to THE PEanCEWASSET VALLEY. 12a ascend. We go up, stepping from rock to rock, now walking alonga little plank pathway, now mounting by some rude steps, here andthere crossing from side to side of the ravine by primitive littlebridges, that bend under the feet and that are railed by birch-poles,and then climbing the recks again, while the spray breaks upon ugfrom the dashing and roaring stream, till we arrive at a little bridgewhich spans the narrowest part of the How wild the spot is ! Which shall we admire most,—the glee ofhe Httle torrent that rushes beneath our feet; or the regularity andsmoothness of the frowning Avails through which it goes foaming outinto the sunshine ; or the splendor of the dripping emerald mosses 124 THE WHITE HILLS. that line them ; or the trees that overhang their edges ; or the hugeboulder, egg-shaped, that is lodged between the walls just over thebridge where we stand,—as unpleasant to look at, if the nerves areiiresolute, as the sword of Damocles, and yet held by a grasp out ofwhich it will not slip for centuries ? Was ever such an amount ofwater put to more various and romantic use, in being poured down afew hundred feet for calmer and prosaic service in the river below ? The struggling Rill insensibly is grown Into a Brook of loud and stately march, Crossed ever and anon by plank or arch; And, for like use, lo! what might seem a zone Chosen for orname
Size: 1614px × 1548px
Photo credit: © The Reading Room / Alamy / Afripics
License: Licensed
Model Released: No
Keywords: ., bookcentury1800, bookdecade1870, booksubjectwhitemo, bookyear1876
