On the borders of the diocese of Ely, stands an old castle, now crumbling into ruins, below which is a place called by the people Wandlesbury; commemorating by this name the camp of the Vandals, which they pitched hard by this castle, after laying waste the country and cruelly slaughtering the inhabitants. The camp was on the summit of a hill, on a round plain; round about it ran a trench which
“The Vandal race
——long since in blood did trace;
The moor around was brown and bare,
The space within was green and fair,
The spot the village children knew,
For there the wild flowers earliest grew;
But wo betide the wandering wight,
That treads its circle in the night!
The breadth across, a bow-shot clear,