"The cottages, bridges, villas, towers, rocks, and dark ruins of Gothic antiquity, are in unison with the surrounding objects, and the attention is frequently called from beholding the beauties of nature to pause on the works of art. In the centre of the long valley which stretches to Llangollen, is erected a most stupendous aqueduct, by which the canal is conveyed from a lofty hill over a wide chasm in the mountains; the length of this amazing work of art and human industry, is, I was informed, three hundred yards, the aqueduct composed of cast iron, is supported on fifty stone pillars and arches, and the view of this immense pile bestriding the valley is grand beyond description, and contributes much to heighten the effect produced by the whole scenery; for here grandeur and sublimity sit enthroned on the mountains, and solitude and human privacy, with their attendant charms, have fixed their abode in the vallies. "The beauties of the Vale of Llangollen certainly exceed every idea I had formed of their grandeur, and on my arrival at the inn in the village, the muse embodied the following "LINES ON VISITING LLANGOLLEN. 'Much have I heard, Llangollen, of thy scenes, And the wild landscapes of thy mountain greens, The rushing streams, that dash thy rocks among, Thy snow-topt mountains, thy wild harper's song, Thy fruitful vallies deep, where oft between Rise hamlets, rocks, and tow'rs to grace the scene. Where solitude and calm contentment dwell, And contemplation roves each rocky dell, Or climbs the snow-topt mountain's cloudy height To watch the sinking shades of evening light; To view the foaming torrent's misty shower, To list' the brooding tempest's rising roar, Mark the blue mists the silvery moonbeams shroud, Or golden ev'ning edge the dusky cloud; Yet, till this hour my doubting heart has thought Thy glowing scenes by fancy's pencil wrought, Or drest in poetry's enchanting hues, And all the flatt'ring colours of the muse; But if in winter's storms thy beauties charm, If the cold breast thy varying landscapes warm, In summer's smiles it surely stands confest, That he who draws thee fairest paints thee best.'"