only
the total impression, without the separate details or the connexions
of its different points. So much however might be inferred from the
walls which lay near with respect to those which gleamed in the
distance--that the towers and buildings of the abbey had been for the
most part built upon prominent peaks of rock. Those only, which were so
founded, had resisted the hand of time: while the cross walls which
connected them, wanting such a rocky basis, had all fallen in. Solemnly
above all the chapels and turrets rose, brilliantly illuminated by the
moon, the main tower. Upon a solitary crag, that started from the deeps,
it stood with a boldness that seemed to proclaim defiance on the part
of man to nature--and victorious efforts of his hands over all her
opposition. Round about it every atom of the connecting masonry had
mouldered away and sunk into heaps of rubbish below--so that all
possibility of reaching the tower seemed to be cut off. But beyond this
tower Gothic fretwork and imperfect windows rose from the surrounding
crags; and in many places were seen pillars springing from two dissevered
points of rock--rising higher and higher--and at last inclining towards
each other in vast arches; but the central stones that should have locked
the architraves of the mighty gates were wanting; and the columns stood
to a fanciful eye like two lovers, whom nature and pure inclination
have destined for each other, but whom some malicious mischance has
separated for ever. Bertram shut his eyes, before the dazzling
spectacle: when he opened them again, his guide said with a tranquil
voice--in which however a tone of exultation might be distinguished,

"This is Griffith ap Gauvon, of which I lately spoke to you."

All words, as Bertram felt, would fail to express the strength of his
emotions: language would but have violated the solemnity of the
thoughts which riveted his gaze to the scene before him. He was silent
therefore; and in a few moments his companion resumed:

"Here, Bertram, do I often stand on the giddy precipice; and I look
down upon the dread tranquillity of the spectacle; and then often I
feel as though I wanted no friend; as though nature, the mighty mother,
were a sufficient friend that fulfilled all my wishes--a friend far
better and wiser than any which the false world can offer. But,
Bertram, come a little further!"

He led him, sideways, from that part of the building out of which they
had issued by t