Of our wet ride to Dungeon Ghyll A sketch, you say, would much delight you, And though I lack descriptive skill, A sketch I'll do my best to write you. We took the way at high forenoon— Three couples all on ponies mounted— 'Twas fair at first, but altered soon— A change on which we’d scarcely counted; For when we came to Yewdale head, Thick clouds old Raven Crag were cloaking, And as through Tilberthwaite we sped, 'Twas plain we’d catch a hearty soaking. As Brathay beck with previous rains Was flooded so we could not cross it— We therefore wended round by lanes, With mud and mire one _clarty_ posset. And after crossing Colwith Bridge,— The narrow ways forbade all other Course but jostling in the hedge, Or following after one another,— In single file through Fletcher’s wood Away we rustled, splashed, and clattered— The foremost steed threw up the mud, Bespattering me, whilst mine bespattered The next behind, and in this way We kept up one continued spatter, And helter-skelter, clothed with clay, We galloped on through Elterwater. And when we came to Chapel Stile, The heavy rain our spirits daunted, But after sheltering there awhile, It slackened, and again we mounted. And as we rode up Langdale flat, The lanes for many a rood with water Were flooded deep, we splashed through that, And came out looking something better. Because we kicked up such a spray— Our steeds abating none their paces— It washed off almost half the clay That stuck upon our clothes and faces. And when we reached the resting farm, We tied our ponies in the stable; And then, our stiffened limbs to warm, Ran off as fast as we were able. Right up the hill to Dungeon Ghyll We scudded like so many rabbits; The ladies all got many a fall By tripping in their riding habits; Till, straggling up the torrent’s course, We neared the fall whose ceaseless thunder Seemed roaring hoarse, behold the force That cleft this mighty rock asunder. I've said I lack descriptive skill, And now I really wish I’d held it, To tell of pealing Dungeon Ghyll When winter’s snows and rains have swelled it. We ventured up within the rent Where the vexed element was dashing, And came forth cleaner than we went, Receiving there a further washing. We then descended to the farm, And round the grateless fire we sauntered, Our toes and noses well to warm, Then back to Chapel Stile we cantered. We saw our steeds get corn and hay, And then enquired about our dinners, For riding in the rain all day Had left us six wet hungry sinners. And when for clothing dry we’d bawled, And some brief time to dress devoted, _Les dames_ came forth dry gowned and shawled,