13-2 
To be flung off’ and uncreated by 
The first glad smiles of Spring-like sunniness. 
Mountains, those perpetual thrones of sublimity and gran¬ 
deur, acquire new beauty in this splendid season—the noon of 
the year. The rare plants peculiar to theii- rugged heights are 
mostly in bloom, and the wild thyme and the heather spread 
over waste and moorland their treasures of purple and crim¬ 
son flowers,—making glad many a solitary place, and cheer¬ 
ing the wanderer as he climbs crag above crag, till, from the 
crest of some mighty rock, he gains a scene of glory that 
were reward sufficient for thrice the labour he has spent. 
Perhaps his gaze is on one of the many spots of which Eng¬ 
land loves to boast, and justly too, that even the fabled 
happy Vale of Rasselas would suffer by comparison. Often 
such a scene gains added beauty from some stupendous 
work of other days, Castle, or Abbey’s grey monastic pile; 
and how many thoughts do these mouldering remnants sug¬ 
gest? How strangely beautiful it is to see flowers of the 
gayest hues dancing in the light breeze, and flinging round 
their young perfume over the lingering death-bed of a thing 
of centuries! The Wallflow'er, the Clove Pink, and the 
Snap-dragon, especially, may be seen growing in the most 
luxuriant profusion amid such spots, and literally making a 
garden of a grave. Daisies and Buttercups grow in the 
mouldered stone of the windows—Nettles spring on the sides of 
the crumbling buttress, and trees may often be seen w'aving 
their long arms from tower and donjon, as if in mockery of 
