Picturesque views on the river Wye, from its source at Plinlimmon Hill, to its junction with the Severn below Chepstow

Bending our course down the Wye we pass a promontory, from whence the eastern extremity of the abbey presents itself; but here all is flat and uninteresting, compared with the scene we have just quitted. In this point of view the tottering and solitary pillar, remaining in the centre of the great east window, appears to be scarce able to support itself; thus circumstanced it is fortunate for the antiquary that very little of the fabric depends upon it, or a great part of that venerable structure would, ere long, inevitably come to the ground with it.

We were soon deprived of any further view of this elegant remain by a strong wind and tide, which quickly hurried us down the stream; but scenes like these, on which the mind has long dwelt in pleasing meditation, are not easily effaced by a mere change of place: they on the contrary are rather cherished by the preceding scenery, by the gloom of the rock, the repose of the meadow, and the stillness of the gliding stream; nor do they disappear till we mix in the busy hum of men, till we plunge into the more tumultuous scene of human life and human passions.

Having passed much beautiful scenery nearly of the style and character of that which we witnessed about Tintern, here we again discover the eastern bank of the Wye screened with rocky substances, not unlike those at Cold-well. These substances are called the Thorn, and Black Cliffs. The water at this place is much discoloured, and acquires a thick and clayey hue, evidently produced by the influx of the tide, which is here very visible, and which from the Severn sea, and the low marshy land on its shores is so impregnated with mud, and imports it in such quantities as to foul the pearly tresses of the Wye, even to a degree of deformity.

We now approach the rocks that terminate the grounds of Persfield; these are tremendous projections hanging over the river, and in their form resemble so many bastions of a castle. They are twelve in number, and bear the name of the Twelve Apostles; a thirteenth in the same range is terminated by a slender stone about five feet in height, which is called St. Peter’s Thumb. In this spot we are struck with a wonderful reverberation of sound, such as must afford a curious speculation to the philosophical inquirer into the nature and properties of air, and that conformation of earth and rock and woody accompaniment, which are necessary to produce with such continued repercussion, an echo so clear and distinct. A little below these rocks a person, some years ago, fell unhurt from an immense height into the woods on the margin of the river. This almost miraculous interposition on his behalf, wrought very little effect upon his life and manners, for so hardened and incapable was he of being acted upon, either by the recollection of mercies or the dread of punishment, that, having not long after attended the execution of a friend for a robbery, he conceived in his mind the plan of a similar crime, perpetrated it, and suffered the same fate. So that his rescue from a watery grave seems to have served little purpose beyond that of verifying the adage, that he, who is destined to the halter, may brave the precipice and the flood. A little lower down the river we pass the rocks, from the sudden and precipitate fall they present, called the Lover’s Leap. Had he not happily been caught by the shrubbery planted below, Mr. Morris the former possessor, had here fallen a sacrifice to his passion for those simple charms of nature, which he explored and dressed with a correspondent taste. He added to their variety without lessening their interest. Since that time a professed improver has been let in, and the consequence, not the natural consequence, has been that with his roller and shears, insipid uniformity has identified the ever changeful scene; and the slime of this snail has scarce less deformed its dells, its craggy hills, and its groves, than has the mud of the Severn that polluted its waters. To prevent any such accident in future this gentleman soon after fixed a rail on the edge of the precipice. By a steep and unpleasant path, the traveller, from these rocks, has sometimes ascended to the grounds of Persfield. A circular bend of the river now displayed to our view the noble ruin of Chepstow castle. The situation of this venerable building is striking. It is built on the summit of an immense perpendicular rock, into which it appears rivetted, or rather to be growing out of it; as from the top of the battlements, down to the base of the cliff on the margin of the river, it is one continued range of precipice.

This majestic remain, is from the present point of view peculiarly interesting, and in its effect highly picturesque. The ancient Gothic entrance partly in ruin, the irregular breaks and prominencies in the general form of the building, which is a mixture of the Norman and Saxon style, are in many parts overgrown with large clumps of ivy and variegated shrubs, sometimes beautifully clustered among the fragments of the castle, and again falling down and enriching the white and awful cliff below.

The adjoining bridge from its height, singular construction, and relative situation to the castle has a romantic air, and is well calculated to give general effect to the landscape.

On the opposite shore, the different forms of the cliffs and rich verdure with which they are cloathed, and the masts of the vessels from behind the bridge breaking on the eye, complete the scene, and render it altogether a happy group of objects for the pencil. This bridge is built with timber, and the boards which compose the floor, are so laid as to yield to the water and play some inches. It is seventy feet above the surface of the river, and is so constructed in consequence of the impetuosity of the tide, which, just as it rushes in from the Severn sea, being here suddenly confined within a narrow channel, is frequently known to have risen forty feet. As it divides the counties of Gloucester and Monmouth, it is kept in repair at their joint expence.

According to some accounts, Chepstow castle appears formerly to have occupied a considerable space of ground, not less it is presumed than five acres. About six hundred years since, it was rebuilt by Gilbert Earl of Pembroke, surnamed Strongbow. This Gilbert was second son of Gilbert de Clare, from him it came after various grants to Charles Somerset, a son of the third Duke of Beaufort, afterwards Earl of Worcester, and from him it descended to the present duke.

The premises have been for many years under a lease for lives, the last of which is at present in 1794, an aged woman who shews the castle in which she was born. Amongst the several buildings still remaining, the chapel demands attention, it is spacious and has been much ornamented. Twelve large niches with semicircular arches over them, are formed in the walls. They have seats which are chair high above the floor. The uses to which they were appropriated is not clearly ascertained. The grand entrance on the east side, is a noble and venerable remain of the Norman stile of building, it stands between two lofty towers, and is in a good state of preservation. Much of the Roman wall, in the north west angle of the chapel, appears in the courses of bricks between the stone facings.

In the civil dissentions of the last century, this castle was considered of great importance to both parties, and a garrison was continued here after the restoration. A spacious apartment is still shewn in which Henry Martin, one of the king’s judges, was confined a sole prisoner for twenty seven years.

The life of this remarkable man was spared, he having surrendered himself conformable to the proclamation issued, when that event took place. His estates in Berkshire, which were considerable, were sequestered, and here he resided till 1680, when according to Anthony Wood, he died suddenly while at dinner, at the age of 78. He was buried in Chepstow church, and on his tomb stone were engraved the following lines. As they are now obliterated and are said to have been written by himself, they may be thought worth preserving. The Epitaph is an Acrostic.

Some years after its interment, by order of the then clergyman, the body was removed to an obscure situation, that the church might not be disgraced by containing the ashes of a regicide. Chepstow parish church, formed a part of the old priory belonging to the Benedictine monks founded in the reign of King Stephen. Leland says this was a cell to Bermondsey abbey, but it does not appear to be so in the First Fruits Office; as no rent, or pension by way of acknowledgement, is there recorded to that abbey.

The style of building of this church is pure Norman, the arches of the nave are circular, which are supported by square massive pillars in a very perfect state. The entrance to the west front is in a very fine style, of the same architecture, the proportions are just, and the pillars and mouldings are richly decorated in the taste of that period. As we have quoted one monumental inscription, from this ancient receptacle of the dead, we flatter ourselves that we may without making an obituary of this work, be permitted to contrast the two following. The first was on a sea captain, who died in 1774.

The following is on John Davis, a jockey of this town, who seems determined in his technical phrases to outdo, not only the captain, but to distance all that may hereafter be said on the subject.

From Chepstow by a very pleasant ride we visited the charming grounds of Persfield, a spot where nature has been uncommonly profuse, not only in the disposition of the beautiful slopes and waving lawns that enrich and compose the grounds themselves, but in the extensive and diversified scenery that strikes the eye, from every point of view. I have here selected from amidst a profusion of magnificent and fascinating objects, rarely to be met with in this or any other country, a very extensive sketch that includes Chepstow castle, and the town beneath, together with the rocky cliffs designed as it were by nature to bound the course of the Wye, whose beautiful meandering extends for a distance of three miles, and then loses itself in the greater waters of the Severn. Here

This enchanting scene is bounded by the Gloucestershire and Somersetshire hills, and affords a subject for landscape, more sublime and picturesque than the most fertile imagination can conceive. An attempt to describe every beautiful object that presents itself within the circuit of these grounds, would in the recital be tedious and uninteresting, I shall therefore only observe, that the scenery on this spot is perpetually diversified, and nature every where rises beyond the reach of art. The enclosed view, though I may in my attempt have merited the praise of fidelity, will I hear convey but a faint and unimpressive idea of that scenery which is adapted only to the talent and pencil of a Claude Lorraine.

In contemplating this magnificent and stupendous assemblage of nature and art, we are led as it were instinctively to deplore the melancholy reverse of fortune, that saddened the last days of the original designer and owner of this charming spot; of him whose elegant mind and munificent hand could, out of the rude uncultivated mass, project and raise to the highest state of perfection a monument of taste, that must remain an ornament to his country.

We could not take our leave of Chepstow, without giving a retrospective view of the castle, and its tremendous rocky base and distant scenery over which we had just passed. The romantic bridge and busy scene on the water, all combined to aid the landscape, and to give a further illustration of this fascinating place. Chepstow, the grand and central port of the commerce of our river, is here finely displayed by the throng that lined the wharf, and the grove of trading vessels through which we passed. The lofty and high impending screen of rocks, on either side the river, rendered our passage down the stream delightful. Amongst these the red rocks and Hardwick cliff are peculiarly attractive, in the latter many large apertures have been dug that are passable, and extend forty, or fifty yards from the entrance, and in the vicinity is a remarkable fine well of water, that gives the name of Thornwell to a beautiful range of woods, adjoining the termination of Hardwick cliff.

The annexed view of what are called the Red Rocks, will give a general idea of the face of the river, in our passage down to the mouth of the Wye, where we found the tide uncommonly rapid, and where if the wind is brisk, the waters are troublesomely rough.

It is here matter of much regret, that we cannot with fidelity introduce the distant Severn, which would have rendered the view more complete. At Ewen’s rocks, about a mile below, that noble river breaks extensively on the eye, and presents a beautiful scene, but it is altogether an inferior one to that before us.

At the conflux of the Wye, or in the vicinity of Beachley, (the old passage house) the Severn is seen to greater advantage. The distant hills of Gloucestershire and Somersetshire, beautifully intersecting each other in varied tints, while intervening objects of castles, villages, and mansions of the wealthy and great on the opposite shore, richly diversify and compleat the whole. The distance, composed of Walton hills about ten miles below, breaks beautifully on the eye, and forms a happy termination across King’s-road and the Bristol channel.

From hence the groups of vessels that are constantly moored near the mouth of the Bristol Avon, although at a distance of near three miles, are perfectly distinguishable. The immense quantity of shipping perpetually passing and repassing before the eye, convey a magnificent idea, both of that celebrated mart of our country, the city of Bristol, and of the extensive commerce of the Severn, a river, memorable and sacred almost as the wizard Dee in ancient song; a torrent before the grandeur of whose flood, our more beautiful Wye feels diminished and submits her humbler and tributary stream, a torrent whose guardian spirit we shall at another, and we trust no very distant day hope to invoke, and with