<g>Monmouthshire</g>.
Around us spread the hills and dales,
Where Geoffrey spun his magic tales,
And called them history: the land
Whence Arthur sprung, and all his band
Of gallant knights.--BLOOMFIELD.
[Illustration: I]t has been justly remarked by statistical writers,
that, in point of fertility, picturesque scenery, and classic remains,
the county of Monmouth is one of the most interesting districts in the
kingdom. Highly favoured by nature, it is literally studded over with
the labours and embellishments of art. Watered by noble rivers,
sheltered by magnificent woods and forests, interspersed with
industrious towns and hamlets, and enriched by the labour and enterprise
of its inhabitants, it presents all those features of soil and scenery
which contribute to the beauty and stability of a country. From whatever
point the traveller may enter this county, historical landmarks meet him
at every step: feudal and monastic ruins, rich in the history of
departed dynasties, divide his attention, and fill his mind with their
heroic deeds and pious traditions. In fields where the husbandman now
reaps his peaceful harvest, he traces the shock of contending armies;
whose deadly weapons still rust in furrows which their valour had won,
and which the blood of the Roman, the Saxon, and Briton had fertilized.
From these he turns aside to contemplate the fragments of baronial
grandeur, which attest the glory of chivalry, but now, like sepulchral
mounds, proclaim the deeds of their founders:--such is the Castle of
<g>Raglan</g>.
In another district, sculptures, pavements, altars, statues, coins, and
inscriptions, bear testimony to Roman sway:--such is the Silurian
settlement of <g>Caerleon</g>, with its classic vicinity.
On another hand, where the ivy has clasped its hallowed walls, as if to
prop their decay, the traveller halts at some monastic rain; and, amid
the crumbling fragments of its lofty arches, its richly-carved windows,
shafts, and capitals, dwells with a deep and melancholy interest on the
page of its eventful history. In such places the voice of Tradition is
never mute: the vacant niche, the dismantled tower, the desecrated
altar, the deserted choir--all discourse eloquent and impressive music;
and in places where the sacred harp was once strung, its chords seem
still touched by invisible hands:--such are the Abbeys of <g>Tinterne</g> and
<g>Llanthony</g>.
It is among these remains and monuments of the past--the early homes of
saints and heroes of the olden day--that we propose to conduct the
reader. In the tour projected, we avail ourselves of such materials as
personal investigation, with that of distinguished predecessors, poets,
and historians, has furnished from times of remote antiquity, down to
the present day.
The scenery of the <g>Wye</g> is of classic and proverbial beauty: it is the
theme alike of poet and historian, the annual resort of
pilgrims--whether admirers of the picturesque, or valetudinarians; and
nowhere in the kingdom is nature more lavish of those charms which
attract all classes of tourists, than in the course and confines of this
beautiful and romantic river.[1] There--
Be thine object health or pleasure,
Historic sites or classic treasure;
The Roman camp, the Norman grave,
Or war-tower crumbling o’er the wave;
Or fertile vale, or vocal woods,
Or hills, and flocks, and crystal floods;
[Illustration: CHEPSTOW CASTLE,