A COAST-PROSPECT. 69 



that receded away to the northward. Beautiful these 

 looked in their bold fantastic forms, as they receded, 

 headland after headland, from the palpable grandeur 

 of those close at hand to the hazy indistinctness of 

 those a dozen miles off; the ruddy hue gradually and 

 insensibly changing into the clear decided blue of the 

 distant line of coast. The handsome white villas 

 above Petit Tor and Watcombe reflected the sun, as 

 did presently the houses of Teignmouth, and its con- 

 spicuous church-tower, just opening behind a project- 

 ing cliff; and on the blue shore across the broadly- 

 incurved bay, the terraces of Exmouth were singularly 

 distinct. The little hamlet of Babbicombe was be- 

 hind, and below my feet were the gardens and shrub- 

 beries of several villas, the trees and bushes in which 

 were just beginning to burst their leaf-buds. I did 

 not hear the voice of the turtle, it is true, — it had 

 hardly as yet arrived — but the carol of the lark was 

 blithely pouring forth, " at Heaven's gate," as Shak- 

 speare says, far above even these elevated cliffs. Far 

 up, far up, higher and higher into the radiant dazzling 

 sky he soars, and still he struggles up and up, till the 

 watering eye can with difficulty find the tiny speck, — 

 yet his heart all the while is down in some humble 

 tussock of grass. 



" Wild is thy lay, and loud, 

 Far in the downy cloud, 

 Love gives it energy, love gave it birth : 

 Where on thy dewy wing. 

 Where art thou journeying ? 

 Thy lay is in heaven, thy love is on earth." 



Hogg. 



The very loftiest part of the down terminates in an 



k 



