I saw two beings in the hues of youth, Standing upon a hill, a gentle hill, Green, and of mild declivity; the last, As ’t were the cape of a long ridge of such, Save that there was no sea to lave its base, But a most living landscape, and the wave Of woods and corn-fields, and the abodes of men Scattered at intervals, and wreathing smoke Arising from such rustic roofs:--the hill Was crowned with a peculiar diadem Of trees in circular array, so fixed, Not by the sport of Nature, but of man. A most living landscape it is indeed, including all the objects so vividly here given; amongst them, the most conspicuous, the house of his living ancestors, and the house where he has joined them in death; and extending from the woody skirts of Sherwood Forest to the mill-crowned heights of Nottingham. By the way, a strange mistake of Moore’s here presented itself. Immediately after the passage just quoted, Byron proceeds to speak further of this young pair, and says:-- Even _now_ she loved another, And on the summit of that hill she stood, Looking afar, if yet her lover’s steed Kept pace with her expectancy, and flew. Moore, commenting on this, tells us that the image of the lover’s steed was suggested by the Nottingham race-ground,--a race-ground actually nine miles off, and moreover lying in a hollow and totally hidden from view; had the lady’s eyes, indeed, been so marvellously good as to discern a horse nine miles off! Mary Chaworth, in fact, was looking for her lover’s steed along the road as it winds up the common from Hucknall.