Healey Dell Poem by William Baron

O, sweet to the vision is Healey's famed dell,
With its shady retreats, and its pathways so green!
What pen can describe it ?—what language can tell
The charms and the beauties surrounding the scene ?
'Tis a picture as fair as the Eden of old—
Where mankind's first parents were tempted and fell;
Our hearts are enraptured whene'er we behold
The rich works of nature in Healey's cool dell.

How grand to stroll there at the coming of Spring,
When the buds and the blossoms are fresh on the trees!
To list to the song-birds, that soar as they sing,
And inhale the pure fragrance that comes on the breeze.
Our fancies, our thoughts, how delightful they are!—
Too deep for expression, our bosoms they swell;
Life brings many pleasures, but dearest by far
To me is a ramble through Healey's sweet dell.

When the leaves by the zephyrs at nightfall are stirred,
And darkness is lowering upon the earth's breast.
The voice of the woodlark may often be heard
As he calls for the mate of his choice to his nest.
And the murmuring stream as it ripples along,
Looks up at the daisy and nodding blue-bell,
Which open their petals to list to its song
That awakens their slumbers in Healey's fair dell.

When the moon sheds her rays on the old ruined mill,
There the maiden of Shawclough roams forth with her swain ;
And with breast beating high, in that spot calm and still—
He pleads for her hand, and he pleads not in vain.
When troubles oppress me I thither repair,
And roam o'er the scenes that I love, oh, so well !
For the Almighty's goodness is shown to me there,
In the unrivalled beauties of famed Healey Dell.