Vignette, Vista of Cassel Hill
Pen and ink, approx. ? × ? cm (image only).Through many a shady soft retreat
Where the broad willow semblance gave
Of weeping beauty to the wave
And elm with massy foliage prest
And feathery aspens quivering crest
And many a spiry poplar glade
And hazels rich entangled shade
While onward as advancing still
From Omars plain 1 to Cassels hill 2
Far yet more far the landscape threw
Its deep immeasurable blue
Oh beautiful those plains were showing
Where summer sun was hotly glowing
Many a battle field lay spread
Once the dark dwelling of the dead
But fruitful now their champaigns wave
With bending grain on soldiers grave.
While far beneath in long array
The priestly orders wound their way 3
Heavy the massive banners rolled
Rich wrought with gems and stiff with gold
While as the cross came borne on high
Beneath its crimson canopy
Many the haughty head that bowed
Sunk his high crest the warrior proud
The priest his glance benignant cast
And murmured blessings as he past
While round the hillside echoing free
Rung the loud hymning melody
Many a monkish voice was there
Many a trumpet rent the air
And softer, sweeter yet the same
The sounds in failing cadence came
No marvel that the pomp and pride
Of Romes religion thus should hide
The serpent folds beneath that roll
The poison mantling in the bowl. 4
Vignette, Corpus Christi Procession at Cassel
Pen and ink, approx. 6.2 × 7 cm (image only).Vignette, Windmills on Cassel Hill
Pen and ink, approx. 6.2 × 13.7 cm (image only).able hill. 5 Bend after bend we have been ascen‐
ding for the last half hour every successive
turn disclosing a weary length of way, and
those tiresome windmills at the top seem as far
from us as ever. Windmills have long been
celebrated for gesticulation, celebrated with Cer‐
vantes all over the world, but never saw I wind‐
mills more provokingly alive than at present
with their long stretchy arms bending to the
breeze that flew over the hilltop, they seemed
beckoning us up ironically, while, the slow
measured step of our booted postillion as
he tramped it up the hill as much encum‐
bered as a cat with walnut shells, told
us of many a weary moment ere those
becks should, could, or would be obeyed.
We are on the summit, a green plateau
of turf, that looks round on the wide
plains of France without a single emin‐
ence to rival it and few that can obstruct
its view. —. Fifteen battle‐fields are in
view from that spot, telling a fearful tale
of the ready ire of nations, yet looking as
green and peaceful as if they had never
been watered with blood,— c They say the
cliffs of England are visible from Cassel—
the sea certainly is, so I looked in the
direction, and I did see something—. I had
some lurking suspicions it was a cloud,
but I chose to believe it was my own Eng‐
land and it did quite as well to bid fare‐
well to.— d
I love a view like this, for it seems as if you
were looking over all the wide wide world
and were ruling it. Throughout all our
after journey I have seen nothing more
beautiful or more wonderful of its kind
than the view from the little, humble, neg‐
lected village of—. e Cassel.