"So cruell prison howe could betide, alas, As proude Windsor, where I in lust and joye, With a kinges son my chyldysh years did pass, In greater feast than Priam's sonnes of Troy." The contrast was indeed cruel between Windsor as a palace and Windsor as a prison. Scott, like a true poet, lays hold of the romance of Surrey's reputed love for Geraldine, and entrusts to "Fitztraver of the Silver Song" that almost matchless ballad which tells how the wise Cornelius, across the ocean grim, showed to the gallant Surrey the vision of the peerless Geraldine. Who, asks Walter Scott-- "Who has not heard of Surrey's fame? His was the hero's soul of fire, And his the bard's immortal name, And his was love, exalted high By all the glow of chivalry." Our fancies are stirred, as we gaze on proud Windsor, by the thought of Surrey. What a view it is from the round and regal tower, over which, when our loved and honoured Queen is in state residence, floats our "glorious Semper Eadem, the banner of our pride!" Let us mount with our artist to the summit of the keep. The view is wide and winsome. Surely earth has not many things to show more fair, though the prospect is distinguished rather for soft beauty and placid loveliness than for grandeur or for wildness. I have stood on the summits of Mont Blanc, the Matterhorn, and of many another Alpine peak, and know well that there are outlooks in nature more sublime, more austere, more soul-stirring; but yet this English landscape (which includes twelve fair counties), so peaceful, soft, and smiling, has its own distinctive charm. The bright river, gleaming in sunlight, winds and stretches far through all the calm scene. There stand stately English trees; and the view includes broad green meadows, hedgerows, low, gentle hills in the far purple distance. It is a typical English landscape scene; and then over all there is to-day the splendour of a serene summer sky, and the glory of fantastic, sunlit cloud masses.