Hail to thee, Wye--famed river of Siluria! Well deserving fame, worthy of warmest salutation! From thy fountain-head on Plinlimmon's far slope, where thou leapest forth, gay as a girl on her skip-rope, through the rugged rocks of Brecon and Radnor, that like rude men would detain thee, snatching but a kiss for their pains--on, as woman grown, with statelier step, amid the wooded hills of Herefordshire, which treat thee with more courtly consideration--still on, and once more rudely assailed by the bold ramparts of Monmouth--through all thou makest way--in despite all, preserving thy purity! If defiled before espousing the ocean, the fault is not thine, but Sabrina's--sister born of thy birth…
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