we here observed the ruins of an old mansion, belonging to Mr. Farmer, of
Monmouth; this house appears of an old date, and might probably claim the
attention of the curious antiquary, was he not so wrapt up in
contemplating the venerable Abbey, which presents its Gothic pile, in
solemn majesty. This august building, great in ruins, and awfully grand
in appearance, impels the stranger, as it were, imperceptibly, to land
and inspect its noble arches, its tottering pillars, and its highly
finished windows; the specimens of ancient architecture, which formerly
were delicately wrought by the hand of art, are now finely decked by that
of nature. On our first entrance, our attention was too much engrossed,
to exchange the mutual communication of thought; but the care which has
been officiously taken to remove every fragment, lying scattered through
the immense area of the fabric, and the smoothness of the shorn grass,
which no scythe should have dared to clip, in a great measure perverts
the character of the ruin: these circumstances but ill accord with the
mutilated walls of an ancient ruin, which has braved the pitiless storms
of so many centuries. In this respect, we by no means agreed with
Gilpin, who thus describes it: “We excuse—perhaps we approve—the neatness
that is introduced within. It _may_ add to the _beauty_ of the scene—to
its _novelty_ it undoubtedly _does_.” But when this disgust was a little
abated, we indulged those reflections, which scenes of ancient grandeur
naturally recall.
This beautiful ruin is cruciform, measuring two hundred and thirty feet
in length, and thirty-three in breadth; the transept stretches north and
south, one hundred and sixty feet. {194} This cistertian abbey was
founded by Walter de Clare, in the year 1131, and dedicated to St. Mary,
in the reign of Henry VIII. It experienced the same fate with many other
monasteries, and was granted, at its dissolution, to the Earl of
Worcester, in the year 1537.
As we receded from the banks, Tintern Abbey, with the Gothic fret-work of
the eastern window, seemingly bound together by the treillage of ivy,
appeared in the most pleasing point of view; sloping hills and rich woods
forming a fine back-ground. As we drew nearer