To do this we had
to lie down, and it was not without a feeling of danger that we did so,
with so many hundreds of tons of rock above our heads, and the thought
that if the rock had given way a few inches we should have been reduced
to a mangled mass of blood and bones. Our friendly greeting was not of
long duration, and we were pleased when the ceremony was over. There is
a legend that in ancient times the natives of Borrowdale endeavoured to
wall in the cuckoo so that they might have perpetual spring, but the
story relates that in this they were not entirely successful, for the
cuckoo just managed to get over the wall. We now continued our journey
to find the famous Yew Trees of Borrowdale, which Wordsworth describes
in one of his pastorates as "those fraternal four of Borrowdale":
But worthier still of note
Are those fraternal four of Borrowdale,
Joined in one solemn and capacious grove;
Huge trunks! and each particular trunk a growth
Of intertwisted fibres serpentine
Up-coiling, and inveterately convolved;
Nor uniformed with Phantasy, and looks
That threaten the profane; a pillared shade,
From whose grassless floor of red-brown hue,
By sheddings from the pining umbrage tinged
Perennially--beneath whose sable roof
Of boughs, as if for festal purpose decked
With unrejoicing berries--ghostly shapes
May meet at noontide; Fear and trembling Hope,
Silence and Foresight; Death the Skeleton,
And Time the Shadow; there to celebrate,
As in a natural temple scattered o'er
With altars undisturbed of mossy stone,
United worship; or in mute repose
To lie, and listen to the mountain flood
Murmuring from Glaramara's inmost caves.
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