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Journals of Dorothy Wordsworth, Vol. 1 (of 2)
·
Dorothy Wordsworth
175
To
the
left
the
bright
silver
stream
inlaid
the
flat
and
very
green
meadows,
winding
like
a
serpent.
To
the
right,
we
did
not
see
it
so
far,
it
was
lost
among
trees
and
little
hills.
I
could
not
help
observing,
as
we
went
along,
how
much
more
varied
the
prospects
of
Wensley
Dale
are
in
the
summer
time
than
I
could
have
thought
possible
in
the
winter.
This
seemed
to
be
in
great
measure
owing
to
the
trees
being
in
leaf,
and
forming
groves
and
screens,
and
thence
little
openings
upon
recesses
and
concealed
retreats,
which
in
winter
only
made
a
part
of
the
one
great
vale.
The
beauty
of
the
summer
time
here
as
much
excels
that
of
the
winter,
as
the
variety
(owing
to
the
excessive
greenness)
of
the
fields,
and
the
trees
in
leaf
half
concealing,
and--where
they
do
not
conceal--softening
the
hard
bareness
of
the
limey
white
roofs.
One
of
our
horses
seemed
to
grow
a
little
restive
as
we
went
through
the
first
village,
a
long
village
on
the
side
of
a
hill.
It
grew
worse
and
worse,
and
at
last
we
durst
not
go
on
any
longer.
We
walked
a
while,
and
then
the
post
boy
was
obliged
to
take
the
horse
out,
and
go
back
for
another.
We
seated
ourselves
again
snugly
in
the
post-chaise.
The
wind
struggled
about
us
and
rattled
the
window,
and
gave
a
gentle
motion
to
the
chaise,
but
we
were
warm
and
at
our
ease
within.
Our
station
was
at
the
top
of
a
hill,
opposite
Bolton
Castle,
the
Ure
flowing
beneath.
William
has
since
written
a
sonnet
on
this
our
imprisonment.
Hard
was
thy
durance,
poor
Queen
Mary!
compared
with
ours....[75]
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