In the civil wars between Charles I. and his Parliament, Goodrich Castle was alternately possessed by both parties. It was first seized by the Parliamentary army; but afterwards fell into the hands of the Royalists, who sustained a siege of nearly six weeks against Colonel Birch. The colonel began the siege on the 22nd of June, 1646. On the third of August, as appears from Whitelocke, “Colonel Birch entered some of the works of Gotherich Castle, whereupon the garrison hung out a white flag for parley, which Birch refused, and went on storming, until they all submitted to mercy. In the castle, besides the governor, were 50 gentlemen and 120 soldiers, with arms, ammunition, and provisions.” On the twenty-fifth the Parliament gave orders that the Countess of Kent should be informed that there was a necessity for demolishing the castle; and that “on the demolishing thereof, satisfaction should be made to her. On the first of March following, they finally resolved that the castle should be totally disgarrisoned, and slighted. The breaches of the Ladies’ tower, which is the most effectually ruined, were said to have been chiefly occasioned by the battering of the cannon during the siege.”[195]

RAGLAN CASTLE,
Monmouthshire.

“Stranger! ponder here awhile;
Pause in Raglan’s ruined pile;
All that wealth and power, combined,
With skill to plan, and taste refined,
To rear a structure fit to be
The home of England’s Chivalry,
Was lavished here!—where, met in hall,
Mailed Barons kept their festival;
The night in lordly wassail spent—
The day in tilt and tournament:
Yet still, when England’s woes began,
Were first to arm and lead the van;
To shield the Monarch in his need,
In Freedom’s glorious cause to bleed;
To Loyalty surrendering all—
Then, with their falling King to fall!”

The Castle of Raglan is one of the most picturesque ruins in the kingdom, and closely associated with a momentous period of our national annals. Though roofless, tenantless, and dismantled, it still presents a majestic and venerable aspect. No visitor of taste or sensibility will ever traverse its spacious but long-deserted halls, without feeling a deep interest in its eventful history.

It was on a bright autumnal evening that we quitted the comfortable little inn, the “Beaufort Arms,” at Raglan, to make our first survey of this baronial stronghold; and at that hour, and season of the year, it was seen through its embowering trees in all its glory. Ascending the gentle eminence on which it stands, we came to the outer gate, or barbican, portions of which still remain, and crossing the ballium, now covered with rich verdant pasture, we were received by the intelligent Warden, who conducted us to the majestic gateway, and pointed out to us, as we proceeded, the more imposing features of the Castle, as they alternately met and receded from the eye.

The Avenue.

Raglan Castle.

The vista through the Gateway, taking in the Great Court—once adorned with statues and fountains, but now, like everything around it, abandoned to the weather, is very striking; while the absolute silence which pervades the scene, contrasts forcibly with its ancient stir and splendour, and compels us, while fancy is peopling it with troops of chivalry and their retainers, to exclaim, “Where are they?” A long wooden table with benches, the last symbols of that hospitality for which its noble owners were once conspicuous, stood on the grassy floor. But these were no relics of the ancient banquet-hall, but of a modern festive meeting, when the tenants upon the estates had met to express their attachment to the noble Marquess and his family. The manner in which the kitchen had been refitted for their entertainment, showed that it must have been ‘got up’ in a style not unworthy of its feudal renown; and, “as for the venison,”—