Dear hills do lift their heads aloft From whence sweet springes doe flow Whose moistvr good both firtil make The valleis covchte belowe Dear goodly orchards planted are In frvite which doo abovnde Thine ey wolde make thy hart rejoice To see so pleasant grovnde The obvious limitations imposed by the size of this volume upon its contents, and the brief character of the reference to localities that require separate treatment to do them justice, would call for an apology if it were not made clear that the object of the book is but to introduce the would-be traveller in one of the fairest quarters of England to some of its glories, both of natural beauty and of those due to the skill and labour …
Your support pays for translating these classics into more languages.
Support for $12/month DonateSubscribers read with instant translation, without waiting for the free daily limit.