“Left Coventry at half past twelve, and passed through a pleasant
well-wooded country to Kenilworth. Almost every village over-topped with
lofty trees. Passed for some miles over Kenilworth Chase, by a straight
road of noble breadth, bordered with forest. Part of this forest was, in
former times, cut down, in order to dislodge robbers. The gate of the
castle, to which we drove up, is in the grey square tower, built on a
high rock, by Leicester. This gate being now a residence, the former
entrance by it to the court of the Castle is stopped up, and we passed
through the garden, at its side, into the green and open area, that was
once the grand court of the castle. Hence we looked up to the noble
masses of ruin, that still stand proudly, and form three broken and
irregular sides of what was once the inner court. Of the buildings that
formed the fourth side, there are now no vestiges, except the
_knolliness_ of the ground, where they once stood, may be called such,
and except part of the buildings still called Leicester’s, these having
been built by him. These are a fine mass of ruined walls, covered with
thickest ivy, on the left; on the right, stands a more noble mass, with
three lofty arches in a row, going the whole depth of the wall, sixteen
feet: this is called Cæsar’s Tower, and, though the oldest part of the
Castle, appears, on the outside, the freshest and newest. It is of a
greyer and more solid stone than the rest. This, too, is finely hung
with ivy. Between these masses, in perspective, forming the third side
of the court, is the most picturesque remainder of the castle, though
Cæsar’s Tower is the grandest. This was once the great hall, or
banqueting-room. Its three beautiful pointed window-frames are there
still; and the arch of a Gothic door, most elegantly twined with
vine-leaves, all now hung and clustered with the richest drapery of ivy.
The trunk of some of this ivy is of great thickness, and it is so old,
that in some places, the branches are sapless and leafless, and the grey
stalks seemed to crawl about the ruin in sympathy. Other remains of
buildings partly connect the three sides of the court, and are
intermingled and crowned with alder and ash plants. This view of the
ruin was very striking; the three chief masses great and solemn, without
being beautiful. They spoke at once to the imagination, with the force
and simplicity of truth, the nothingness and brevity of this
life—‘generations have beheld us and passed away, as you now behold us,
and shall pass away: they thought of the generations before them, as you
now think of them, and as future ages shall think of you. We have
witnessed this, yet we remain; the voices that revelled beneath us are
heard no more, yet the winds of Heaven still sound in our ivy.’ And a
still and solemn sound it was as we stood looking up at these walls.”