Corpus of Electronic Texts Edition
A Tour in Ireland, with general observations on the present state of that kingdom in 1776–78 (Author: Arthur Young)
entry 14
July 17. Took my leave of General Cunninghame, and went through the glen of the downs in my way to Powerscourt. The glen is a pass between two vast ridges of mountains covered with wood, which have a very noble effect. The vale is no wider than to admit
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the road, a small gurgling river almost by its side, and narrow slips of rocky and shrubby ground which part them. In the front all escape seems denied by an immense conical mountain, which rises out of the glen and seems to fill it up. The scenery is of a most magnificent character. On the top of the ridge to the right Mr. La Touche has a banqueting-room. Passing from this sublime scene, the road leads through cheerful grounds all under corn, rising and falling to the eye, and then to a vale of charming verdure broken into inclosures, and bounded by two rocky mountains, distant darker mountains filling up the scene in front. This whole ride is interesting, for within a mile and a half of ‘Tinnyhinch’ (the inn to which I was directed), you come to a delicious view on the right: a small vale opening to the sea, bounded by mountains, whose dark shade forms a perfect contrast to the extreme beauty and lively verdure of the lower scene, consisting of gently swelling lawns rising from each other, with groups of trees between, and the whole so prettily scattered with white farms, as to add every idea of cheerfulness. Kept on towards Powerscourt, which presently came in view from the edge of a declivity. You look full upon the house, which appears to be in the most beautiful situation in the world, on the side of a mountain, half-way between its bare top and an irriguous vale at its foot. In front, and spreading among woods on either side, is a lawn whose surface is
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beautifully varied in gentle declivities, hanging to a winding river.
Lowering the hill the scenery is yet more agreeable. The near inclosures are margined with trees, through whose open branches are seen whole fields of the most lively verdure. The trees gather into groups, and the lawn swells into gentle inequalities, while the river winding beneath renders the whole truly pleasing.
Breakfasted at the inn at Tinnyhinch, and then drove to the park to see the waterfall. The park itself is fine; you enter it between two vast masses of mountain, covered with wood, forming a vale scattered with trees, through which flows a river on a broken rocky channel. You follow this vale till it is lost in a most uncommon manner; the ridges of mountain, closing, form one great amphitheatre of wood, from the top of which, at the height of many hundred feet, bursts the water from a rock, and tumbling down the side of a very large one, forms a scene singularly beautiful. At the bottom is a spot of velvet turf, from which rises a clump of oaks, and through their stems, branches and leaves, the falling water is seen as a background, with an effect more picturesque than can be well imagined. These few trees, and this little lawn, give the finishing to the scene. The water falls behind some large fragments of rock, and turns to the left, down a stony channel, under the shade of a wood.
Returning to Tinnyhinch, I went to Inniskerry, and
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gained by this detour in my return to go to the Dargle, a beautiful view which I should otherwise have lost. The road runs on the edge of a declivity, from whence there is a most pleasing prospect of the river's course through the vale and the wood of Powerscourt, which here appear in large masses of dark shade, the whole bounded by mountains. Turn to the left into the private road that leads to the Dargle, and presently it gives a specimen of what is to be expected b a romantic glen of wood, where the high lands almost lock into each other, and leave scarce a passage for the river at bottom, which rages as if with difficulty forcing its way. It is topped by a high mountain, and in front you catch a beautiful plat of inclosures bounded by the sea. Enter the Dargle, which is the name of a glen near a mile long, come presently to one of the finest ranges of wood I have anywhere seen. It is a narrow glen or vale formed by the sides of two opposite mountains; the whole thickly spread with oak wood. At the bottom (and the depth is immense), it is narrowed to the mere channel of the river, which rather tumbles from rock to rock than runs. The extent of wood that hangs to the eye in every direction is great, the depth of the precipice on which you stand immense, which with the roar of the water at bottom forms a scene truly interesting. In less than a quarter of a mile, the road passing through the wood leads to another point of view to the right. It is the crown of
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a vast projecting rock, from which you look down a precipice absolutely perpendicular, and many hundred feet deep, upon the torrent at the bottom, which finds its noisy way over large fragments of rock. The point of view is a great projection of the mountain on this side, answered by a concave of the opposite, so that you command the glen both to the right and left. It exhibits on both immense sheets of forest, which have a most magnificent appearance. Beyond the wood to the right, are some inclosures hanging on the side of a hill, crowned by a mountain. I knew not how to leave so interesting a spot; the impressions raised by it are strong. The solemnity of such an extent of wood unbroken by any intervening objects, and the whole hanging over declivities, is alone great; but to this the addition of a constant roar of falling water, either quite hid, or so far below as to be seen but obscurely, united to make those impressions stronger. No contradictory emotions are raised; no ill-judged temples appear to enliven a scene that is gloomy rather than gay. Falling or moving water is a lively object; but this being obscure the noise operates differently. Following the road a little further, there is another bold rocky projection from which also there is a double view to the right and left. In front so immense a sweep of hanging wood, that a nobler scene can hardly be imagined; the river as before, at the bottom of the precipice, which is so
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steep and the depth so great as to be quite fearful to look down. This horrid precipice, the pointed bleak mountains in view, with the roar of the water, all conspire to raise one great emotion of the sublime. You advance scarcely twenty yards before a pretty scene opens to the left—a distant landscape of inclosures, with a river winding between the hills to the sea. Passing to the right, fresh scenes of wood appear; half-way to the bottom, one different from the preceding is seen; you are almost inclosed in wood, and look to the right through some low oaks on the opposite bank of wood, with an edging of trees through which the sky is seen, which, added to an uncommon elegance in the outline of the hill, has a most pleasing effect. Winding down to a thatched bench on a rocky point, you look upon an uncommon scene. Immediately beneath is a vast chasm in the rock, which seems torn asunder to let the torrent through that comes tumbling over a rocky bed far sunk into a channel embosomed in wood. Above is a range of gloomy obscure woods, which half overshadow it, and rising to a vast height, exclude every object. To the left the water rolls away over broken rocks—a scene truly romantic. Followed the path: it led me to the water's edge, at the bottom of the glen, where is a new scene, in which not a single circumstance hurts the principal character. In a hollow formed of rock and wood (every object excluded but those and water) the torrent breaks forth from
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fragments of rock, and tumbles through the chasm, rocks bulging over it as if ready to fall into the channel and stop the impetuous water. The shade is so thick as to exclude the heavens; all is retired and gloomy, a brown horror breathing over the whole. It is a spot for melancholy to muse in.
Return to the carriage, and quit the Dargle, which upon the whole is a very singular place, different from all I have seen in England, and I think preferable to most. Cross a murmuring stream, clear as crystal, and, rising a hill, look back on a pleasing landscape of inclosures, which, waving over hills, end in mountains of a very noble character. Reach Dublin.