—“From their sides,
The troublous insects lashing with their tails,
Returning still,”
formed a “rural confusion.” The velocity of the stream shortly brought us to that noble scenery, about four miles from Ross, which so eminently distinguishes and constitutes the beauty of the Wye: before us the noble remains of Goodrich Castle, cresting a steep eminence, enveloped with trees, presented themselves; behind, the thick foliage of Chase Woods closed the picture. The happiest gradation of tints, and the liveliest blending of colours were here conspicuous. On the right hand we landed on the shore, in order to make a minute investigation of the castle: it is certainly a grand ruin, and stands on an eminence, naturally so steep as to render it in former times capable of some resistance against a formidable enemy. On our first entrance into the ruin we naturally indulged reflections on past scenes, contemplated the traces of ancient splendor; and, connecting what remains with what is destroyed, we pondered on the vanity of human art and the ravages of time, which exhibit in this ruin their completest triumph. The warrior who strove to preserve its original grandeur against the attacks of Cromwell is buried in Walford Church, situated on the opposite side of the river, and seen from the castle. The different parts of the building bear evident marks of its having been erected at various times: from a seat in the castle-yard is the most advantageous spot for surveying, in one view, the whole of this ruin: [310] an octagon pillar of light and elegant workmanship, is seen to great advantage through the gateway, and adds considerably to the magnificence of this ancient pile: it now belongs to Dr. Griffin, of Hadnock, the lord of the manor.
To return to our boat, we took a different and more circuitous route, for the purpose of inspecting the remains of Goodrich Priory, now converted into a farm. The chapel has experienced the same vicissitude; and those walls, which formerly re-echoed with the chanting of voices and the solemn peal, now repeat the continued strokes of the flail. In many parts of the walls the initials of names of persons who have long since paid the debt of nature, and left behind no other memorial, are carved with characteristic rudeness, showing to every passing stranger the prevalency of that universal passion—the love of fame. The Gothic windows, and the cross erected on each end of the building, show evident marks of its former purpose. The boat usually meets the passengers at another reach of the river; but it is a plan by no means to be recommended; since by missing a circuit round the castle, its different tints and variety of attitudes, occasioned by one of the boldest sweeps of the Wye, are entirely lost. A short time after we had taken our last retrospect of Goodrich Castle, the spire of Ruredean Church [311] appeared in front, just peeping from among the woody skirts of the forest of Dean; a little below Courtfield House, belonging to Mr. Vaughan, was seen in a very picturesque point of view, with the ruins of the chapel, forming the back-ground. In Courtfield House, tradition reports, the warlike King Henry the Fifth was nursed; and in the church of Welsh Bicknor, situated to the right in a noble amphitheatre enclosed with rocks, first embraced the Christian religion.
A busy scene of craft loading and unloading, and coals shipping for various parts from the quay at Lidbrook, presents a picture of cheerful activity, and forms a pleasing contrast to the quiet, rich, and retired spots we had left behind us: such spots as were well adapted to form the mind of Britain’s glory—the virtuous Henry. The banks now became richly clothed with wood, from the summits of the highest rocks to the water’s edge; and a hill in front, called Rosemary Topping, from the mellow luxuriance of its sides, closed the prospect. Almost every sweep presents a new object to strike the admiration of the spectator; the transitions are sudden, but never so harsh as to disgust. Even the contrast between the embellishments of art we had just left, and the wild rocks which here exhibit nature in her most striking attitudes, gave an additional impression to each other.
We now reached the fine mass of rocks called Coldwell, one of which, Symond’s Yacht to the left, it is customary for company to ascend, in order to view the mazy and circuitous course of the river, and the extensive prospect around. The forest of Dean, the counties of Monmouth, Hereford, and Gloucester, were extended before us, studded with villages, diversified with clusters of half-visible farm-houses; with many a grey steeple, “embosomed high in tufted trees.” In painting the several views from this summit the happiest description would fail; the impression can only be conveyed by the eye. The river here makes a most extraordinary winding round the promontory; and having completed a circuit of more than five miles, flows a second time immediately under Symond’s Yatch. [312] The whole of this mazy course may be traced from this eminence. From hence we discovered a very remarkable polysyllabical articulate echo, and we reckoned twelve distinct reverberations from the explosion of a gun fired on this spot. It is here again customary for the boatmen to impose on strangers, and if they can prevail on them, during their walk to Symond’s Yacht, will take the boat round the circuit of five miles, and meet them at New Weir, in order that no time should be lost; but this laziness we by no means encouraged; and the whole course of this extraordinary and romantic sweep proved highly gratifying. Goodrich Spire, which we again wound round, presented itself: huge fragments of massy rocks which have rolled down from the precipices opposite Manuck Farm, here almost choked up the course of the stream. The changing attitudes and various hues of Symond’s Yacht, lifting its almost spiral head high above the other rocks, as we receded and drew near it, supplied a combination of tints surprisingly gay and beautiful; and having accomplished a sweep of five miles, we reached, within a quarter of a mile, the spot where we began our ascent to this steep eminence.
The view of New Weir next unfolded itself; but a disagreeable scene here generally occurs, and interrupts the pleasure of contemplation: a large assemblage of beggars, men, women, and children, on the banks, bare-footed and scarcely a rag to cover them, followed our boat, imploring charity; and several almost throwing themselves into the water, to catch your money, which every now and then the bigger seize from the less.
But I have omitted to mention, that before we reached the New Weir, the spire of Haunton on Wye, cresting a hill at the extremity of a long reach, and a fantastic barren rock, jutting out from the green foliage which encircles it, presenting itself bold and conspicuous, formed prominent and interesting features in the landscape; this is called Bearcroft, receiving its appellation from the very respectable and learned counsellor of that name. Several rocks, indeed, particularly in this part of the river, are named by the counsel, who have long made it a practice of exploring the rich and bold scenery of the Wye on their assize circuit. Gilpin, considering New Weir as the second grand scene on the Wye, thus describes it:
“The river is wider than usual in this part, and takes a sweep round a towering promontory of rock, which forms the side screen on the left, and is the grand feature of the view. On the right side of the river the bank forms a woody amphitheatre, following the course of the stream round the promontory: its lower skirts are adorned with a hamlet, in the midst of which volumes of thick smoke thrown up at intervals from an iron forge, as its fires receive fresh fuel, add double grandeur to the scene. But what peculiarly marks this view is a circumstance on the water: the whole river at this place makes a precipitate fall, of no great height, indeed, but enough to merit the name of a cascade, though to the eye above the stream it is an object of no consequence. In all the scenes we had yet passed, the water moving with a slow and solemn pace, the objects around kept time, as it were, with it; and every steep and every rock which hung over the river was solemn, tranquil, and majestic. But here the violence of the stream and the roaring of the waters impressed a new character on the scene: all was agitation and uproar; and every steep and every rock stared with wildness and terror.”—The accuracy and elegance of this description, drawn by so masterly a pen, I hope will amply compensate for the length of this quotation. The extensive iron works mentioned in this passage belong to Mr. Partridge.
Below the New Weir a continuation of the same rich scenery still arrested our attention, and rocks and wood seemed to contend which should be most conspicuous; till the winding of the river round Doward’s Rock, on which was formerly a Roman station, brought us under the house of Mr. Hatley, which commands a view of the river as far as Monmouth, when it is terminated by the town and bridge of six arches. As we drew near