Cornish ballads & other poems . es of Bottreaux andDundagel, there is a fall of waters into a hollow cauldron of nativestone, which has borne for ten centuries the name of St. NectansKieve. He was the brother of St. Morwenna, and like her is oneof the storied names along this northern shore. He founded theStations, now the Churches, of Hartland and Wellcombe ; andbequeathed his name to other sacred places by the Severn Sea,in the former ages of Cornish faith. When I first visited his Kieve, in 1830, the outline of an oratory,or the reliques of a cell, stood by the brook, on a knoll, just where
Cornish ballads & other poems . es of Bottreaux andDundagel, there is a fall of waters into a hollow cauldron of nativestone, which has borne for ten centuries the name of St. NectansKieve. He was the brother of St. Morwenna, and like her is oneof the storied names along this northern shore. He founded theStations, now the Churches, of Hartland and Wellcombe ; andbequeathed his name to other sacred places by the Severn Sea,in the former ages of Cornish faith. When I first visited his Kieve, in 1830, the outline of an oratory,or the reliques of a cell, stood by the brook, on a knoll, just wherethe waters took their leap. There is a local legend linked withthis ruined abode, which was told me on the spot; and which Iexpanded at the time into the above ballad. I have recognized thecoinage of my brain in the prosaic paraphrases of Wilkie Collins,Walter White, and other subsequent writers; but with regard toany claimant for the original imagination, I must reply, in thelanguage of Jack Cade, No, no; 1 invented it ST. NEC IAN S KIEVE It is from Nectans mossy steepThe foamy waters flash and leap. THE SISTERS OF GLEN NECTAN. 29 Their speech was not in Cornish phrase,Their garb had signs of loftier days ;Slight food they took from hands of men,They withered slowly in that glen. One died—the others sunken eyeGushed till the fount of tears was dry;A wild and withering thought had she,• I shall have none to weep for me. They found her silent at the last,Bent in the shape wherein she passed;Where her lone seat long used to stand,Her head upon her shrivelled hand. Did fancy give this legend birth ?The grandames tale for winter hearth:Or some dead bard, by Nectans stream,People these banks with such a dream ? We know not: but it suits the scene,To think such wild things here have been:What spot more meet could grief or sinChoose, at the last, to wither in ?1832. [First printed, as The Sisters of the Glen, in Records of theWestern Shore, 1832, and again as Appendix A,
Size: 1242px × 2011px
Photo credit: © The Reading Room / Alamy / Afripics
License: Licensed
Model Released: No
Keywords: ., bookcentury1900, bookdecade1900, bookpublisheretcetc, bookyear190
