When sounds of Roman arms through valley rung,
And rose that glorious morn upon our isle,
No night can hide, or cloud conceal its smile,
That dazzling morn, which out of darkness sprung.
Enduring cenotaph of Roman fame--
More than this record of their mighty name!


I reached the ancient town of Ripon as the bells were merrily ringing in
the towers of its old collegiate minster, for it was the anniversary of
its patron saint, St. Wilfred. After refreshment, and a walk of three
miles, I arrived at _Studley Park_. The fairy effect produced on entering
this beautiful retreat is almost indescribable. We suddenly exchange the
field and forest scenery for all the poetry of prospect. On the right is
a declivity clothed with laurel, and stretching far away; and on the left
a lofty and well trimmed fence of laurel, forms a screen or curtain to
the valley beneath; the sighing of distant woods and the dashing of
waterfalls, break on the enraptured ear, and cause the anxious eye to
long for some opening in the verdant shroud. Anon the valley is seen; and
through an aperture in the laurel wall, cut in imitation of a window,
breaks as sweet a scene as ever _Claude_ immortalized! Unwilling to
hazard a formal description, I will merely attempt an outline. Far below,
the silver waters of the _Skell_ meander softly amongst statues of
tritons, throwing up innumerable fountain streams. These are masterly
executions after the ancient sculptors, and give the scene an air of
Grecian classicality. Around these triumphs of art, rise lofty woods of
graceful birch, varied by dark fir, and interspersed with erections of
Roman and Gothic design. It is in the contemplation of these beauties
that fancy recalls the mythology of rocky woods, peopled with Dryads and