Forget Me Not/1826/Bolton Abbey

The sun had just risen, when Emma, De la Roche, and myself, mounted our horses, and set forward on our expedition to the abbey. It was one of those sultry days common towards the end of summer, and which contribute to render the cooling breezes of autumn, so soon to refresh the air, doubly welcome. Every thing seemed to foretell that the day would be intensely hot: as we rode along through a rich and highly cultivated country, we could observe the cattle collecting themselves to the sides of the pools or river, endeavouring to catch the slight breezes which played upon the face of the waters; while some, venturing into the stream, sought to cool their burning limbs in its waves, but even here they could find no repose: the warmth of the day had brought out all the insect tribes, which, buzzing around, stung them almost to madness. In vain they fled; the watchful foe pursued; nor could any stratagem elude his insatiable thirst for blood, until, worn out with the ​race, the poor animals returned, wearied and dispirited, to the place from which they had commenced their career. Every now and then, we could discern small companies of reapers busy with the early harvest; even their work seemed to go listlessly on. In general the wheat remained uncut: while its rich golden waves, spreading in every direction over the face of the country, gave a pleasing variety to the landscape. "It is wonderful," I observed to De la Roche, "that you, who have been accustomed to all the magnificence and luxuriance of a southern climate, can still contemplate with pleasure the comparatively homely scene before us: I should always fear one of the effects of travelling would be, to render me dissatisfied with my own barren country." "Far otherwise," he replied: "the lofty mountain and the foaming cataract strike us at first with pleasure, with admiration, and with awe; the mind soars, as it were, above itself: but the higher its flight the sooner it becomes fatigued, and we gladly turn from scenes of lofty grandeur to the more smiling beauties of the plain. Besides all this, there is a magic in the name of home and country, which he only who has quitted them for a time can fully know. In a foreign land, we wander amidst the charms of nature, lonely, unconnected beings: separated from our kindred and our friends, we have none to sympathise in our feelings; we are, as it were, alone in ​the world. But here we are identified in a manner with the scene around us; every peasant that we meet is a countryman and a kind of brother."

In conversation such as this we reached the abbey. It is now enclosed with a high park-wall, on opening a door in which the ruins in all their grandeur burst upon our view. Although the remaining vestiges but faintly shew what it was in the days of its former magnificence, in point of situation it can hardly be equalled. Close to the venerable pile, the Wharfe rolls peacefully along, overhung by rocks of a thousand various tints, from the deep rich purple to the more sober saffron; the tops of these cliffs are crowned with overhanging brushwood; from several of their apertures fall cascades, sending their white foam high into the air, and swelling the stream below with their tributary waters. Crossing the river, by means of large stones placed at equal distances from each other, we sauntered along the foot of the rocks, which served as a protection from the powerful rays of the sun, until the river, narrowing at every step, rushes with impetuous fury (forming a kind of whirlpool) between two rocks, known by the name of "The Stride." It was the fatal spot where "the Boy of Egremond," the last of his race, was dashed to pieces, as he attempted to leap the pass. The place is still shunned by the peasantry: oft in the silence of the night as the wind moans heavily by it, they ​fancy they distinguish the screams of the childless mother mingling with the blast; fulfilling, as it were, her own reply to the herdsman, which has been handed down by tradition, and is still used as a kind of proverb by the men of Wharfedale.^[1]

The heat at last obliged us to return to the ruin, in the hope that it might afford us a temporary retreat, until sufficiently refreshed to pursue our ramble. We soon reached the spot, where it stood screened by large venerable trees, and entered what had formerly been the nave of the church by one of the numerous breaches which time, or the still more destroying hand of man, had made in the wall. There was a kind of silent awe in the scene, which suited well with ​ the tone of my feelings. Can anything remind us more forcibly of the brevity of human existence, than the sight of a vast edifice, raised with a care and a skill which seemed to promise that it should remain coeval with time itself, now mouldering in the dust; weeds and grass usurping the site of the fair pavement! Where once the window, stained with armorial bearings, “ shed a dim religious light,” is seen the creeping ivy; and instead of “the loud pealing organ,” and swelling voices, hymning the praises of the Deity, are heard at times the screaming of the bittern, and the low complaining of the owl. And where are they, the proud founders of the building? where are the lordly abbots, with their long train of attendant monks? —all, all, are vanished! not one trace remains, to point out the spot which contains their ashes! The dust of the chivalrous baron and the mitred churchman is mingled in one indiscriminate mass, or scattered by the winds to the four corners of heaven. A few more revolving years, and they who now move sa lightly and so gaily over the green turf, will, like those who sleep below, be swallowed up in the vast ocean of eternity, and be forgotten, as though they had never been!

Thus musing, or at times sauntering listlessly among the ruins, I heeded not the passing time, nor perceived that my companions had wandered far from me. In the morning no cloud had ob​scured the serene azure of the sky, but for some time one black spot had been visible in the distance; it had for the last half hour been rapidly increasing in size, and every now and then I could distinguish the low mutterings of the distant thunder, accompanied by a few faint flashes of lightning. Aware that the storm would not now pass away, I was on the point of leaving the building, when a peal of thunder shook it to its very foundation; at that moment my companions joined ‘me. We wished to have reached the inn; but the storm was now raging with a violence which drowned the sound of our voices: the peals of thunder, bursting with sudden crashes over our heads, were reverberated by a thousand echoes amongst the rocks and dilapidated buildings; and long ere one sound died away, it was renewed by claps, each of which seemed longer and louder than the last, while the forked and vivid lightning flashed from every window and crevice, rendering the horrors of the scene without distinctly visible. We had entered that part of the abbey where divine service is still performed, and arranged ourselves in silence round the altar. Thus we remained for more than an hour, when the fury of the storm began to abate, but the thunder had been succeeded by floods of rain; and being at some distance from the inn, we’ were detained prisoners some time longer. We reached it at last; but the shower had been followed by ​a kind of drizzling rain, which threatened to be of longer duration, and we were reluctantly obliged to give up all thoughts of returning home that night. Seated round a cheerful fire, talking over the pleasures and dangers of the day, our little party soon recovered its gaiety, nor se- parated until a late hour. The window of the apartment which I occupied looked towards the abbey; and as I gazed from it, I could not but feel surprised at the change which a few hours had made in the scene. Nothing could be more profound than the calm which had succeeded the storm. The moon was risen, shedding her silver light on all around, and the outline of the abbey was beautifully defined by her soft rays. I could not sleep, nor resist the wish, at this still and beautiful hour, when all around me were asleep, to revisit the scene of past pleasures, I proceeded about two hundred yards from the house, and then a feeling of the most perfect loneliness made me pause; I could proceed no further. Earth below seemed so peaceful, and the heavens above presented such an image of calm majesty; I alone seemed the only living being in the vast expanse. Evening certainly is the time for holy devotion; but Night, even when most beautiful, brings with her feelings of solemnity and awe. She speaks so forcibly of the end of all things, of our last long sleep! I had, however, seen Bolton by the pale moonlight. Beautiful

C ​Bolton! four long years have passed away since the events I have been relating; and how have the little party, which on that day visited those ruins, been dispersed; how much of earth and ocean now separates hearts still as fondly united! But the only one of the three who still remains shall never see thy mouldering walls without a thought to the memory of her lost friends, and a tear to the recollection of their love. FLORA