Was it to disenchant, and to undo, That we approached the Seat of Charlemaine? To sweep from many an old romantic strain That faith which no devotion may renew! Why does this puny Church present to view 5 Her[483] feeble columns? and that scanty chair! This sword that one of our weak times might wear! Objects of false pretence, or meanly true! If from a traveller's fortune I might claim A palpable memorial of that day, 10 Then would I seek the Pyrenean Breach That[484] ROLAND clove with huge two-handed sway,[HC] And to the enormous labour left his name, Where unremitting frosts the rocky crescent bleach. _Where unremitting frosts the rocky crescent bleach._ "Let a wall of rocks be imagined from three to six hundred feet in height, and rising between France and Spain, so as physically to separate the two kingdoms--let us fancy this wall curved like a crescent with its convexity towards France. Lastly, let us suppose, that in the very middle of the wall a breach of 300 feet wide has been beaten down by the famous _Roland_, and we may have a good idea of what the mountaineers call the 'BRECHE DE ROLEND.'" (_Raymond's Pyrenees._)--W. W. 1822. "Thursday, 20th July.--... Descend towards the town of Aix-la-Chapelle, a chapel on the opposite side of the vale upon a high knoll, overlooking the spires and towers.... Wm., T. M., and myself walked to the chapel we had seen on the heights, said to be built by Charlemagne: a very interesting view of the town, and over a large space of the country beyond, and _into_ the country looking the other way. Wm. went higher to a monument recording that Buonaparte visited the spot with one attendant. We were too late to be satisfied here, the darkness only allowing us to form a notion of the outline, and to catch here and there a spire or a tower in the distance. The chapel here alluded to was not larger in appearance than the tiny rocky edifice at Buttermere. A Christ under the branches of a spreading oak, brought to my mind by contrast, a gay image of a brightly painted fox, on a sign board, among the branches of a flowing chestnut tree, which William and I saw gleaming in the setting sun, when walking through the village of Souldren." (From Mrs. Wordsworth's Journal.)