Litchfield enquirer. [volume] (Litchfield, Conn.) 1829-current, 1848-04-27

oar was suspended TO hear our voices ring
among the rocks. Then stepping on Shore
| cIambered up the cliff, and crepI into The
bermit's cell, Here saw on the rock, the
name of Walter Scott. A soldiers wife,
Who runs about the glen to show the spot,
and nick up few shillings from Visiters,
had her story to tell, how she helped Sir
Waller Up the rocks with her own hands
She said, ole was a great, big, roHnd>
Shorldered man and he wore round cap,
and his hair was almost all white"
The Bed of 81 Kelvin is famous from
dts connecucn with a noted character of
s modern times-a kind of Rob Roy, who
was the terror of the countr, at the begin
hing of this century. After the Rebellion
of 1873 was suppressed, one Michael DwY-
er still kept mp resistance TO the English
government. AT the head of a body Of his
countrymen, hiding in the Businesses of the
mountains, he maintained for years the
unequal contest. But al length his PROS
pect grew DIT rlz, as many Of his friends had
fallen. At this time a melancholy and re-
@ligious feeling, such as sometimes visits
the sternest natures, led him to the sacred
Vale of Glendalough. Here he was one
day discovered by the troops which were
constantly in search Of him. He was ly>
ing in the Bed of St. Kelvin. INSTANTLY,
they poured their bullets like hail against
the rock, The outlaw fell into the Lake,
and the soldiers rushed forward TO secure
their prize. But he was not dead and as
they made a circuit round the water to
reach his body. he glded across it to the
opposite shore, and made rapid and safe
retreat. He finally gave himself up to the
Govarnn ent, on condition that his life
should be spared and, being exiled, went
to America.
From Glendalough, walked to this val
ley, celebrated by Moore in the lines
There is not in the wide world valley SO
sweet, [mtet
As the vale in whose bosom thy brgh, waters
o. the last rays of feeling and life must depart,
Ere the bloom of that valley shall fade from
my heart
The approach to it is very beautiful; the
road for several miles being shaded with
beech trees, which affords refreshing cool
ness to the traveller as he winds down to the
Meeting of the Waters. The scene is here
a deep, narrow valley the hills on either
side thckly wooded to the top; and in the
bottom two mountain. streams joining to
form the Ovoca, a clear river, running over
a white pebbled bed. A lovely valley it is,
but after all the principal charm is in its
poetical associations. Moore himself con.
iesses that there was something which add
ed Il beauty 10 nature:
Yet it was not that nature had shed DER the
scene,
Her purest of crystal and brightest Of green;
Twas not the soft magic of streamlet or hill
o not was something more exquisite still.
Twas that friends, the beloved of my bosom.
were near,
Who made each dear scene Of enchantment
more deT:
And who felt how the best charms Of nature
improve,
When we see them reflected from looks thai,
We love-
With this addition, could, perhaps, join
in his closing lines
Sweet Vale of Ovoca how calm could rest
In thy bosom of shade with the friends ! love
best;
Where the storms ttat We feel in this cold
world shall cease.
And our hearts, like Thy waters, be mingled
in peace.
AS the charm of British scenery is chiefs
ly association, love to think what interest
will our own la nd possess, when every wild>
wood and mountai Upstream shall have its
poet Nature is on a grander scale in A.
merica than in England. The mountains
Of Wales. wild and grand as they are, are
not TO be compared with the White Noun
tains of New Hampshire. have seen no
landscape here more beautiful than the
view of the valley Of the Connecticut from |
Mount Holyoke. No days ride has pres
scented to me more rich and beautiful
scenes than ride through my own loved
Berkshire. The ponds that lie on those
mountains would here be called lakes, and |
set poets in frenzy and, perhaps, attract
pilgrims from across the Atlantic, who des-
pissed their own sparkling waters. What
then, will America be to the future travels
Ter, when our wales shall be halo wed by the
footsteps of genius; when pastoral melo-
dies shall make more lovely every rural
scene and the laborer shall go TO his toll
singing the songs of his own native hills?
But it is time for rest. sleep to>night
in this enchanted valley. My room is
close by the Ovoca. see under my win
dow the stars reflected in the stream. The
clock from the height of Castle Howard,
toiling the hour, sends its sweet tones
through the Vale and the soand ofIushing
water soOtheS me 10 rest.