And massy grove, so near yon blazing town,
Stirs and recedes—destruction to escape!
Yet all is harmless—as the Elysian shades
Where Spirits dwell in undisturbed repose—
Silently disappears, or quickly fades:
Meek Nature's evening comment on the shows
That for oblivion take their daily birth
From all the fuming vanities of Earth!
The only allusion in Mrs. Wordsworth's Journal to any noteworthy "sky-prospect from the plain of France," occurs when they rested at Fontainbleau. "Sept. 30.—... Seeing the forest rise at the end of a long vista of trees, our guide said that from that point we should have a fine view. Passed through the old-fashioned French flower garden, with its large sheet of water.... Surprised by the view from the hill, first towards the palace, and the expanse beyond, and immediately opposite this (what we so little expected to see) a rocky dell in that sandy region; most curious, the bank before us scattered thickly with rocks, by that dim light appearing like a large village. Glorious crimson light in the west, all the rest of the sky a clear cloudless blue. The evening star very large, and alone. An impressive silence in the air, so that we heard the sounds from the distant town distinctly."
"Saturday, 29th September. Fontainbleau.—In the very heart of the Alps, I never saw a more wild and lonely spot, yet curious in the extreme, and even beautiful. Thousands of white bleached rocks, mostly in appearance not much larger than sheep, lay on the steep declivities of the dell among bushes and low trees, heather, bilberries, and other forest plants. The effect of loneliness and desert wildness was indescribably increased by the remembrance of the Palace we had left not an hour before. The spot on which we stood is said to have been frequented by Henry the IVth. when he wished to retire from his court and attendants. A few steps more brought us in view of fresh ranges of the forest, hills, plains, and distant lonely dells. The sunset was brilliant—light clouds in the west, and overhead a spotless blue dome. As we wind along the top of the Steep, the views are still changing—the plain expands eastward, and again appear the white buildings of Fontainbleau, with something of romantic brightness in the fading light; for we had tarried till a star or two reminded us it was time to move away. In descending, we followed one of the long straight tracks that intersect the forest in all directions. Bewildered among those tracks, we were set right by a party of wood-cutters, going home from their labour." (From Dorothy Wordsworth's Journal, vol. ii.)—Ed.