You are here
قراءة كتاب The Mirror of Literature, Amusement, and Instruction Volume 20, No. 574, November 3, 1832 Title
تنويه: تعرض هنا نبذة من اول ١٠ صفحات فقط من الكتاب الالكتروني، لقراءة الكتاب كاملا اضغط على الزر “اشتر الآن"
The Mirror of Literature, Amusement, and Instruction Volume 20, No. 574, November 3, 1832 Title
LITERATURE, AMUSEMENT, AND INSTRUCTION.
|VOL. XX., NO. 574.]||SATURDAY, NOVEMBER 3, 1832.||[PRICE 2d.|
This is an interesting scene from the wild and wonderful in Nature. Its romantic luxuriance must win the attention of the artist, and the admiration of the less wistful beholder; while the philosophic mind, unaccustomed to vulgar wonder, may seek in its formation the cause of some of the most important changes of the earth's surface. Our esteemed friend and correspondent Vyvyan, is probably familiar with the locality of Lydford: his fancy might people it with pixies, and group its scenery into a kind of topographical romance; probably not unaided by its proximity to Dartmoor.1
Lydford is situated about seven miles north of Tavistock. It is, in the words of its topographers,2 a poor decayed village, consisting of rude cottages. It was formerly a place of importance: for in Domesday Book, it is rated in the same manner and at the same time with London. Some remains of its ancient importance may still be seen in a square tower, or keep of a castle, which was formerly used as a court and a prison, where those criminals were tried and confined, who offended against the Stannary Laws. This building is alluded to by William Browne3—
They have a castle on a hill;
I took it for an old windmill,
The vane's blown off by weather;
To lie therein one night, its guest,
'Twere better to be ston'd and prest,
Or hang'd—now choose you whether.
The scenery round the village is singularly picturesque: one of its most prominent objects, The Bridge is represented in the Engraving. It bears great analogy, in situation and character, to the celebrated Devil's Bridge in Wales. It consists of one rude arch, thrown across a narrow, rocky chasm, which sinks nearly eighty feet from the level of the road. At the bottom of this channel the small river Lyd is heard rattling through its contracted course. The singularity of this scene is not perceived in merely passing over the bridge: to appreciate its character, and comprehend its awfully impressive effects, it is necessary to see the bridge, the chasm, and the roaring water, from different projecting crags which impend over the river. At a little distance below the bridge, "the fissure gradually spreads its rocky jaws; the bottom opens; and, instead of the dark precipices which have hitherto overhung and obscured the struggling river, it now emerges into day, and rolls its murmuring current through a winding valley, confined within magnificent banks, darkened with woods, which swell into bold promontories, or fall back into sweeping recesses, till they are lost to the eye in distance. Thickly shaded by trees, which shoot out from the sides of the rent, the scene at Lydford Bridge is not so terrific as it would have been, had a little more light been let in upon the abyss, just sufficient to produce a darkness visible. As it is, however, the chasm cannot be regarded without shuddering; nor will the stoutest heart meditate unappalled upon the dreadful anecdotes connected with the spot."4
Scenes of this description frequently give rise to marvellous stories; and Lydford Bridge has furnished many themes for the gossip's tongue. It is related, that a London rider was benighted on this road, in a heavy storm, and, wishing to get to some place of shelter, spurred his horse forward with more than common speed. The tempest had been tremendous during the night; and in the morning the rider was informed that Lydford Bridge had been swept away with the current. He shuddered to reflect on his narrow escape; his horse having cleared the chasm by a great sudden leap in the middle of his course, though the occasion of his making it at the time was unknown.
Two or three persons have chosen this spot for self-destruction; and in a moment of desperation, have dashed themselves from the bridge into the murky chasm.
Libels on Poets.—Cicero tells us, Democritus and Plato said that there could be no good poet without a tincture of madness; and Aristotle calls poets madmen.—P.T.W.
THOU WERT THE RAINBOW OF MY DREAMS.
Thou wert the rainbow of my dreams,
To whom the eyes of Hope might turn,
And bid her sacred flame arise
Like incense from the festal urn;
But as the thunder clouds conspire
To wreck the lovely summer sky,
So Death destroyed the liquid fire
Which shone so brightly in thine eye!
The cypress weeps upon thy tomb:
But when the stars unfold their leaves
Amid their bow'rs of purple gloom,
More fervently my spirit grieves;
And as the rainbow sheds its light
In fairy hues upon the sea,
So this cold world appears more bright
When pensive Memory thinks of thee!
Translation of a letter written by Lord Byron, in Greek and Italian, to the Pacha of Patras.5
Highness.—A vessel containing several of my friends and servants, having been captured and conducted by a Turkish frigate to your fortresses, was released by your highness' command. I return you thanks, not for releasing a vessel bearing a neutral flag, and which being under British protection, no one had a right to detain; but for having treated my friends with great courtesy while at your disposal. Hoping it may not be unacceptable to your highness, I have requested the Greek Governor of this place to grant me four Turkish prisoners; which has been readily conceded. I send them therefore, free, to your highness, in order to return your courtesy as far as is in my power. They are sent without conditions, but if the affair is worthy of your remembrance, I would merely beseech your highness to treat with humanity such Greeks as are in your power, or may chance to fall into the hands of the Musselmen, since the horrors of war are sufficient in themselves, without adding on either side cruelties in cold blood.
I have the honour to be, &c.
NOEL BYRON, Peer of England.
Missolonghi, Jan. 23, 1824.
WHEN WILT THOU RETURN?
When wilt thou return?