Rosedale

Rosedale

A pretty valley, though ’t is scant of trees,
Which always add much beauty to the scene;
And miles of purple heather intervene
Between the neighbouring dales. Pleasant the breeze
Now fans my fever’d brow. The hum of bees, 5
And zephyrs gently sighing, here are heard,
Blended with melodies of many a bird,—
Sounds which the Poet’s spirits ever frees
From worldly gyves; and all to me seems calm
E’en as when Stutevile’s Nuns first settled here,* 10
And English chivalry made them ne’er fear
God and true knights would heed each prayer and psalm:
Ere Byland’s Monks work’d Iron here, where now

The miner wins the Stone with weary sweat of brow.

George Markham Tweddell

*Rosedale Priory—whether for Benedictine or Cistercian Nuns
seems doubtful—was founded by Robert de Stutevile (or
Estotevile) about the year 1190, when the first Richard was on the
throne of England, or rather neglected all his royal duties at home
for knight-erranting abroad.