  Having given some lines on "Derbyshire Hills," by a "Wandering poet" totally unknown to fame, it will be well to follow it by others on "Derbyshire Dales," by one whose name is known throughout the length and breadth of the land—Eliza Cooke. I sigh for the land where the orange-tree flingeth Its prodigal bloom on the myrtle below; Where the moonlight is warm, and the gondolier singeth, And clear waters take up the strain as they go. Oh! fond is the longing, and rapt is the vision That stirs up my soul over Italy's tales; But the present was bright as the far-off Elysian, There was joy for my eye, there was balm for my breathing; Green branches above me—blue streams at my side: The hand of Creation seemed proudly bequeathing The beauty reserved for a festival tide. I was bound, like a child, by some magical story, Forgetting the "South" and "Ionian Vales;" And felt that dear England had temples of Glory, Where any might worship, in Derbyshire Dales. Sweet pass of the "Dove!" 'mid rock, river, and dingle, How great is thy charm for the wanderer's breast! With thy moss-girdled towers and foam-jewelled shingle, Thy mountains of might, and thy valleys of rest. I gazed on thy wonders—lone, silent, adoring, I bent at the altar whose "fire never pales:" The Great Father was with me—Devotion was pouring Its holiest praises in Derbyshire Dales. Wild glen of dark "Taddington"—rich in thy robing Of forest-green cloak, with grey lacing bedight; How I lingered to watch the red Western rays probing Thy leaf-mantled bosom with lances of light! And "Monsal," thou mine of Arcadian treasure, Need we seek for "Greek Islands" and spice-laden gales, While a Tempe like thee of enchantment and pleasure May be found in our own native Derbyshire Dales? There is much in my Past bearing way-marks and flowers, The purest and rarest in odour and bloom; There are beings and breathings, and places and hours, And when I shall count o'er the bliss that's departed, And Old Age be telling its garrulous tales, Those days will be first when the kind and true-hearted Were nursing my spirit in Derbyshire Dales. |
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