H. Woodhall


I got me up to Asher edge,
and standing on a rocky ledge,
I looked around, and lo! from there
I peeped into four counties fair.

I turned me north and through the haze
of mist and smoke, which met my gaze,
and 'yond the far framed Crooked Spire,
I spied the bounds of dour Yorkshire.

I turned me south, and past the pile
of ruined Eastwood, mile on mile.
The vale of Amber swept to view,
the outline of far Leicester, too.

I turned me east, and to my sight,
the hall of Hardwick glittered bright
and 'thwart its battlements there came
a glimpse of lovely Nottingham.

And then at last I turned me west
to me, of all the sights, the best,
the vale of Asher at my feet,
its garments spread my eyes to greet.

I saw far Overton and Slack,
I saw bold Robins quarried back,
and in the middle distance, there,
arose a steeple tall and rare.

I saw the Butts, the Gregory Wood
in solemn isolation stood
and over all as day was done,
the glory of the setting sun.

Why is the beauty of the west,
to me of all the sights the best?
why of its glories never tire?
it is my native Derbyshire.