This is an interesting scene from the wild and wonderful in Nature.
Its romantic luxuriance must win the attention of the artist, and the
admiration of the less wistful beholder; while the philosophic mind,
unaccustomed to vulgar wonder, may seek in its formation the cause of
some of the most important changes of the earth's surface. Our esteemed
friend and correspondent _Vyvyan_, is probably familiar with the
locality of Lydford: his fancy might people it with pixies, and group
its scenery into a kind of topographical romance; probably not unaided
by its proximity to Dartmoor.[1]
Lydford is situated about seven miles north of Tavistock. It is, in the
words of its topographers,[2] a poor decayed village, consisting of rude
cottages. It was formerly a place of importance: for in Domesday Book,
it is rated in the same manner and at the same time with London. Some
remains of its ancient importance may still be seen in a square tower,
or keep of a castle, which was formerly used as a court and a prison,
where those criminals were tried and confined, who offended against the
Stannary Laws. This building is alluded to by William Browne[3]--
They have a castle on a hill;
I took it for an old windmill,
The vane's blown off by weather;
To lie therein one night, its guest,
'Twere better to be ston'd and prest,
Or hang'd--now choose you whether.
The scenery round the village is singularly picturesque: one of its most
prominent objects, _The Bridge_ is represented in the Engraving.
It bears great analogy, in situation and character, to the celebrated
Devil's Bridge in Wales. It consists of one rude arch, thrown across a
narrow, rocky chasm, which sinks nearly eighty feet from the level of
the road. At the bottom of this channel the small river Lyd is heard
rattling through its contracted course. The singularity of this scene
is not perceived in merely passing over the bridge: to appreciate
its character, and comprehend its awfully impressive effects, it is
necessary to see the bridge, the chasm, and the roaring water, from
different projecting crags which impend over the river. At a little
distance below the bridge, "the fissure gradually spreads its rocky
jaws; the bottom opens; and, instead of the dark precipices which have
hitherto overhung and obscured the struggling river, it now emerges into
day, and rolls its murmuring current through a winding valley, confined
within magnificent banks, darkened with woods, which swell into bold
promontories, or fall back into sweeping recesses, till they are lost to
the eye in distance. Thickly shaded by trees, which shoot out from the
sides of the rent, the scene at Lydford Bridge is not so terrific as it
would have been, had a little more light been let in upon the abyss,
just sufficient to produce a _darkness visible_. As it is, however,
the chasm cannot be regarded without shuddering; nor will the stoutest
heart meditate unappalled upon the dreadful anecdotes connected with the
spot."[4]
Scenes of this description frequently give rise to marvellous stories;
and Lydford Bridge has furnished many themes for the gossip's tongue.
It is related, that a London rider was benighted on this road, in a
heavy storm, and, wishing to get to some place of shelter, spurred
his horse forward with more than common speed. The tempest had been
tremendous during the night; and in the morning the rider was informed
that Lydford Bridge had been swept away with the current. He shuddered
to reflect on his narrow escape; his horse having cleared the chasm by
a great sudden leap in the middle of his course, though the occasion of
his making it at the time was unknown.
Two or three persons have chosen this spot for self-destruction; and in
a moment of desperation, have dashed themselves from the bridge into the
murky chasm.
[1] Dartmoor appears the head-quarters of dreariness and desolation,
forming a mountain tract of nearly 80,000 acres in extent,
strewed with granite boulders and fragments of rocks, and
appearing to set cultivation at defiance.--_Brande's Outline
of Geology_.
[2] John Britton and E.W. Brayley: in the Beauties of England and
Wales, vol. iv.
[3] A poet of considerable eminence in his day, born at Tavistock,
in the year 1590. He was noticed by Selden, Drayton, Brooke,
Glanville, and Ben Jonson.
[4] Warner's Walk through the Western Counties.
* * * * *
_Libels on Poets._--Cicero tells us, Democritus and Plato said that
there could be no good poet without a tincture of madness; and Aristotle
calls poets madmen.--P.T.W.
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