The approach to the domain of Kenilworth is through roads with trees,
winding along, and also across a narrow river, which we should call a
brook, glimpses of the castle towers appearing at every turn.
The grass was very wet, and I had no india-rubbers, and Mr. Hawthorne
went off with Una to buy me some, being resolved to make them, I
believe, if he could not find any in the only shop not explored, for
we had already tried for them. He returned with the only pair in
Kenilworth that would fit me--and the last pair the shopman had left
in his box. . . . The ivy, after climbing up the sides of the Castle
in a diffusive embrace, reaches the crumbling battlements; and to
conceal the gnawing teeth of time there, it rises into perfect trees,
full and round, where it does not find it lovelier to trail over and
hang in festoons and wreaths and tassels. Ivy and time contend for the
mastery, and have a drawn battle of it. Enormous hawthorn-trees,
large as our largest horse-chestnuts, also abound around the Castle,
and are now made rich and brilliant with scarlet haws. Mr. Hawthorne
and I were filled with amazement at their size. Instead of the rich
silk hangings which graced the walls when Elizabeth entered the
banqueting-room, now waved the long wreaths of ivy, and instead of
gold borders, was sunshine, and for music and revel--SILENCE--
profound, not even a breeze breaking it. For we had again one of
those brooding, still days which we have so often been fortunate
enough to have among ruined castles and abbeys.
Pages:
303
304
305
306
307
308
309
310
311
312
313
314
315
316
317
318
319
320
321
322
323
324
325
326
327