Placed on this mount, what various views delight
The ravished soul, and captivate the sight!
Lo! yonder mountains high o’er mountains rise,
Each higher than the last, the highest strike the skies.
The beauty of rural scenery has engaged the attention and been the theme
of the poet and novelist under every clime and in every nation, from the
arctic regions of the North to the burning tropics of the South. It
arouses the slumbering energies of the mind, pours delight into the
heart, and beguiles the languishing understanding by its smiling,
soothing, refreshing loveliness, and wonderful effect. Where is there a
man so callous who has not felt the vivifying influence of nature, when
the summer’s sun in his meridian glory shoots abroad his dazzling rays
over many a fair and beautiful prospect, animating everything with the
warmth of his genial fire. The view is not bounded by tall houses and
slooping roofs, between which we can only get a bird’s eye view of a
narrow strip of sky, but we see across the fields, and meadows, and
landscape, for many miles, to a distant horizon, where sky, and earth,
and sea seem to meet, strongly reminding one of the following poetic
dash:—
God made the country, and man made the town.
In tracing the beauties of old Cambria through its length and breadth,
but few spots have given a more pleasing idea of its graces than those
seen from the summit of Holyhead Mountain, which is nearly 800 feet above
the level of the sea. Though it cannot boast of the wonders of the
untrodden glaciers of Switzerland, the mighty Alps, the stupendous Andes,
and the Himalaya of other hemispheres, still the mountain partakes
sufficiently of the magnitude to impress the beholder with feelings of
awe and admiration. If not on the largest scale, it can yet boast almost
every variety of the noblest characteristics of mountain scenery, even to
the terrible. Let the visitor make up his mind
To face the breeze and catch its sweetness.
Let him, pointing to the pomp of mountain summit, inspire his companions
in travel by exclaiming
Now for our mountain sport—up yon hill.
The stroll, which is only from two to three miles, will be most
delightful. On reaching the base of the mountain, I may just remind you,
that
To climb steep hills requires slow pace at first.
If you are a lover of nature many objects will attract your attention,
and beguile your moments, as you ascend higher and higher. Do you take a
pleasure in _Botany_? There are the shrub, bush, diversified flowers,
and rare plants, emitting a reviving fragrance; and there is not
A plant, a leaf, a blossom, but contains
A folio volume. You may read, and read,
And read again, and still find something new.
Do you delight in the study of _Ornithology_? There is the lark soaring
high, and pouring forth his lovely notes, and other songsters of the
feathered tribes in varied music warbling their wildest notes; and it is
hardly an unnatural suggestion, that a new laid egg has cleared the
rejoicing throat of the cuckoo that is loudly exulting. Has _Entomology_
any attractions for you? There is the _humble-bee_ pursuing his busy
course, too happy to keep his joy to himself, humming aloud while on the
wing; but suspending his monotonous song, if song it may be called, the
moment he alights upon a flower.—The _butterfly_ of no common kind
fluttering up and down the air with his companion, banquetting on
pleasure in the sunny beams, enjoying its fourth state of existence.
Stand and gaze for a moment on that pretty rainbow-tinted creature; and
as you look, consider the different grades of its
existence,—metamorphosis to its final transformation,—the egg of the
butterfly has one life, and the caterpillar which springs from it has
another, and the chrysalis into which the caterpillar changes has a
third, and the gay butterfly which rises from the chrysalis has a
fourth;—then there is the _gossamer spider_, which has just covered the
bush with its webs in every direction, and while spangling with dew, and
trembling in the breeze, they glitter in the sun-light like some silver
tissue woven with gems; and unnumbered species of insects, of peculiar
kind, may be seen buzzing and flying, creeping and jumping, above,
around, beneath;—
And each, within its little bulk, contains
A heart, which drives the torrents through its veins;
Muscles to move its limbs aright; a brain
And nerves disposed for pleasure and for pain:
Eyes to distinguish; sense whereby they know
What’s good or bad; is, or is not, its foe.
Is the tourist a _Geologist_? Here are unnumbered stones, of different
sizes, shapes, and colours, which Nature appears to have thrown up in one
of her wildest freaks.—Is he an _Antiquarian_? If he will follow the
path chalked out in these pages, he will find materials which will
furnish him with an intellectual repast, before he leaves the mountain.
But more of this anon.
What are these mast-like things just a-head, peeping over the mountain’s
brow? A few more steps, enquiring traveller, and they will answer for
themselves. Another minute, and you will reach the breathing point. The
panoramic view that suddenly opens, after gaining the eminence, baffles
all description. You will feel a thrill of pleasure as you stand and
gaze on the majestic ocean, ruffled by the breeze, giving back the
sun-beam from ten thousand glittering waves, rolling clear and deep,
carrying on her liquid bosom her rich and varied burdens. While,
however, you form a Pic Nic for a few minutes, I will amuse you with the
following apposite poetic effusion:—