Uppingham by the Sea - a Narrative of the Year at Borth by John Huntley Skrine
page 86 of 95 (90%)
page 86 of 95 (90%)
![]() | ![]() |
|
reluctance to exchange these fair things for the bounded views and less
unstinted beauties of our midland home: forgive us, as you may the more readily because these thoughts, if any such lingered, were charmed away on the instant by the sight of the real Uppingham. There lay the path to our home, an avenue of triumphal arches soaring on pillars of greenery, plumed with sheaves of banners, and enscrolled with such words as those to whom they spoke will know how to read and remember. Our eyes could follow through arch after arch the reaches of the gently-winding street, alive from end to end with waving flags, green boughs, and fanciful devices, till the quiet golden light in the western sky closed the vista, and glorified with such a touch of its own mellow splendour the ranges of brown gables and their floating banners, that for a moment we half dreamed ourselves spectators of an historic pageant in some "dim, rich city" of old-world renown. Only for a moment, though; for when we drop our eyes to the street below us, those are our own townsfolk, well-remembered faces, that throng every doorstep and fill the overflowing pavements and swarming roadway. Yes, they are our own townsfolk, and they are taking care to let us know it--such a welcome they have made ready for us. We hardly know how to describe with the epic dignity which it merits the act by which they testified their joy at our return. We who saw the sight were reminded of an incident in the AEneid-- Instar montis equum divina Palladis arte Aedificant, sectaque intexunt abiete costas; Votum pro reditu simulant. * * * * * |
|