An anonymous sonnet poem was written about the view from Hawkstone to Soulton in the early 1800s and it goes like this:
O, gentle Spirit of these fairy lands!
Where fragrant Bowers and peaceful Caves abound,
Where craggy Rocks with green eternal crown’d
Frown on the Vale, in which quiescent stands
The silver Lake expansive; where the Tower,
Relict of ages, casts a mournful shade
Along the turf, ‘neath which the bones are laid
Of warriors once exalted high in power,
Who wielded here, in martial line, the sword:-
Where Order dwells with rude Disorder wild,
In scenes-tremendous these, those sweetly mild: –
Spirit! a place in these thy haunts afford:”
Here gay and sad a calm retreat may find,-
Peace for the peaceless breast-Joy for the joyful mind
Can you figure out what “The Tower,/Relict of ages” might be…?
This poem dates from the time of the English Grand Tour, of which Hawkstone, Soulton and Ironbridge was the destination.
