Powis Castle (anciently called Poole Castle) the seat of Lord Clive, lies to the right, about one mile from Pool, on the ridge of a rock, retaining a mixture of castle and mansion. Here Lucien Buonaparte lived several years. It is built of red stone, and originally contained within its walls two castles: the entrance is between two round towers. There are several family portraits in a long gallery, measuring one hundred and seventeen feet by twenty. The gardens still retain that stiff formality so much in vogue many years ago; but the curious water-works, in imitation of the wretched taste of St. Germains-en-Laye, are now destroyed. The prospect from the castle is very extensive, comprehending a view of Welsh Poole, Vale, and Freiddin Hills. From hence to
MONTGOMERY,
the Ellesmere canal accompanied us part of the way; and at length, after a fatiguing walk, we reached the Green Dragon, a small and comfortable inn. The site of Montgomery is very pleasing, on a gentle ascent, and backed by a steep hill, beautifully clothed with the rich plantations belonging to Lord Powis. The town itself is a straggling place, and has little to recommend it. The remains of the castle are now too trifling to interest the passing traveller.
In the year 1094, this castle was gallantly defended by the Normans; but the Welsh, at last, finding means to undermine the walls, took it by storm; and after putting the garrison to the sword, levelled it to the ground. It was rebuilt by King Henry III., in the year 1221, as a check to the incursions of the Welsh; but a second time razed to the ground by Llewelyn the Great, Prince of Wales. It afterwards became the seat of the ancestors of the Lord Herbert of Cherbury, who was born here, and continued in possession of his descendants, till reduced to its present ruinous condition by the civil wars.
The road to
BISHOP’S CASTLE
brought us through a very rich country; and, on ascending a hill, about five miles from Montgomery, a retrospect of the far-distant mountainous country of Wales, to which we were now bidding a last adieu, irresistibly brought on a train of serious reflections. In a retrospect like this, where the subject and the scene must inspire serious thoughts, such traces are not unpleasing; they tend to promote one general effect—the love of contemplation. We enumerated the little incidents which had taken place, indulging reflections on scenes for ever past:—we erected on the spot which we esteemed most adapted to retirement, the visionary cottage: our schemes were instantly arranged: fancy fashioned its ornaments, adapted its appendages,—and fancy will ever exceed realities. But all our air-built plans of future happiness soon vanished: and, alas! when
. . . “fancy scatters roses all around,
What blissful visions rise! In prospect bright
Awhile they charm the soul; but scarce attain’d,
The gay delusion fades. Another comes;
The soft enchantment is again renew’d,
And youth again enjoys the airy dreams
Of fancied good.”
Bishop’s Castle is situated in a bottom. We found it a more extensive place than we expected; but being shortly convinced that there was nothing particular to require a long stay, and having recruited ourselves at the Castle Inn, we hastened to leave the town. The road, for the first seven miles, continually dipped into shallow valleys, well wooded, affording cursory views, with many a substantial farmer’s habitation lurking amongst the trees. At length a rich and noble vale, with extensive woods on our right, animated with several gentlemen’s seats, and watered by an overflowing stream running immediately close to the road accompanied us to