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tensive look-out to the sea, and a side view of the busy port of Shields, which is divided from the castle and the Abbey by the River Tyne. A few miles from this place is Seaton Dellaval, the seat and splendid domains of the Dellavals of Northumberland.
One moon-light evening, walking with a friend about a mile northward upon the sands and near the rocks, we were surprised to see a female all alone near the mouth of a cave, who had recently lost her lover near that spot, by being overset in a small vessel while they were sailing for a little recreation too near the shore, where he was unfortunately drowned. She was a handsome young woman, and appeared to be inconsolable, leaning upon her arm upon a large stone at the entrance of the cave; her situation
was pitiable, her sorrow excessive, nor could we prevail upon her with the most earnest entreaties to leave that mela ncholy sot. She acquainted us with the place of her residence, to which we made the best of our way, and told her friends of her unfortunate situation, but had the mortification of being informed by the neighbours, that she died on the morrow of a broken heart.
Being struck with the malady which attended this poor ill-fated fair one, the circumstance presented itself as no improper thesis; out of which I produced the following song, entitled the
MAID OF THE ROCK,
I sat out one eve with intention to roam
To the rock where the surges wantonly play; When the owl had stole out from her secret home, And bright-vested Hesperus clos’d in the day;
The moon was at full and with dignity rose,
And tissu'd with silver the green-mantl’d seas; The God of the Ocean was gone to repose,
And Æolus fann'd with a whispering breeze.
On reaching the cave where old legends report,
sung; Where blood-hunting robbers. had oft held their court,
On each side was some vestige of chivalry hung; My eyes were aların’d on beholding a maid,
Who near to the cavern sat silent in grief; Her head on her hand all in sorrow was laid,
A hard rocky pillow was all her relief.
She started with fear, and she fain wou'd have fled,
I begg'd her to stay and her sorrows relate; Then told her from me she had nothing to dread,
That I was brought there by the order of Fate; You came by the order of one, she reply'd,
Who has done all she can to distract my poor mind, O'erwhelm'd in the deep my dear William, my pride ;
Then sank, and she gave her last breath to the wind.
YARMOUTH is in the county of Norfolk, and lies near to the seacoast, about twenty-two miles east of that city; the town stands in a peninsula, and its bay and the extensive quay have often been said to resemble the quay and bay at Naples ; the streets are not very wide, but, upon the whole, tolerably well built.
The bathing here, in respect to purity, is equal to the most frequented watering place in England, but so much cannot be said in regard to its conveniency or accommodation, the whole town and the country round for many miles being one continued bed of sand; therefore, as the machines
are at some distance from the town, if you ride, the horse is up to the belly, and, if you walk, you are up to the knees in this troublesome soil.
The low-backed cart is a vehicle commonly used here, and I believe on account of the roads, but it is a disagreeable species of conveyance; you cannot help forming to yourself, from the slowness, its humble appearance, and your near acquaintance with your mother-earth, while
you are riding in one of these carts over the sandy roads, that you are in a sledge, drawn like a traitor, to some place of execution ; but when upon the rough pavement in the town, you are electrified with the bone-breaking motion, almost impossible to sustain it even when in health, but an invalid is in danger of annihilation.