Twelve golden lamps, from the fretted doom,
Shed a radiant light through the cavern gloom,
Twelve altars of onyx their incense fling
Round the jewell’d throne of an eastern king.
It may not be sung what treasures were seen,
Gold heap’d upon gold, and emeralds green,
And diamonds, and rubies, and sapphires untold,
Rewarded the courage of Walter the Bold.
A hundred strong castles, a hundred domains,
With far spreading forests and wide flowery plains,
Claim one for their lord, fairly purchas’d by right,
Hight Walter, the son of Sir Robert the Knight.
The tradition of the “Wizard’s Cave” is as familiar to the inhabitants and visitors of Tynemouth, as “household words.” Daily, during the summer season, even fair damsels are seen risking their slender necks, to ascertain, by adventurous exploration, whether young Walter the knight might not, in his hurry, have passed over some of the treasures of the cave: but alas! Time on this, as on other things, has laid his heavy hand; for the falling in of the rock and earth, and peradventure the machinations of the discomfited “spirits,” have, one or both, stopped up the dark passage of the cavern at the depth of ten or twelve feet. The entrance of the cave, now well known by the name of “Jingling Geordie’s Hole,” is partly formed by the solid rock and partly by masonry, and can be reached with some little danger about half way up the precipitous cliff on which Tynemouth castle and priory stand. It commands a beautiful haven, or sandy bay, on the north of Tynemouth promontory, badly sheltered on both sides by fearful beds of black rocks, on which the ocean beats with a perpetual murmur.
London, Dec. 4, 1827. Αλφα