The seventh in the "Wellies and Wine" series
A good place for a sit down. Make use of the bench and have a picnic, or if you are here in the Autumn, why not recite Elizabeth Barrett Browning’s seasonal poem (she lived at Hope End House, which is only a short walk from here – do you think that this spot might have been her inspiration?). If you want to see Hope End, it's a ten minute walk along the Herefordshire Trail from the gate in front of you.
Oyster Hill’s name has nothing to do with mollusks! One possibility is that the area is named after the Roman General Ostorius, who fought Caractacus and the Silures in Gloucestershire and SE Wales (interestingly, the Silurian geological period - during which the rocks in these hills were formed - was named after the Silures tribe).
However, I prefer the other theory – that the hill is named after the pre-christian goddess of the rising sun, Eostre (who gave her name to Easter and Oestogen; her festival was at the spring equinox. I can certainly think of worse places to hold such a gathering!)
On a clear day you can see the Woolhope Dome, Black Mountains and the Long Mynd.
“The Autumn” by Elizabeth Barrett Browning.
Go, sit upon the lofty hill,
And turn your eyes around,
Where waving woods and waters wild
Do hymn an autumn sound.
The summer sun is faint on them -
The summer flowers depart -
Sit still - as all transform'd to stone, except your musing heart.
How there you sat in summer-time,
May yet be in your mind;
And how you heard the green woods sing
Beneath the freshening wind.
Though the same wind now blows around,
You would its blast recall;
For every breath that stirs the trees,
Doth cause a leaf to fall.
Oh! like that wind, is all the mirth
That flesh and dust impart:
We cannot bear its visitings,
When change is on the heart.
Gay words and jests may make us smile,
When Sorrow is asleep;
But other things must make us smile,
When Sorrow bids us weep!
The dearest hands that clasp our hands, -
Their presence may be o'er;
The dearest voice that meets our ear,
That tone may come no more!
Youth fades; and then, the joys of youth,
Which once refresh'd our mind,
Shall come - as, on those sighing woods,
The chilling autumn wind.
Hear not the wind - view not the woods;
Look out o'er vale and hill -
In spring, the sky encircled them -
The sky is round them still.
Come autumn's scathe - come winter's cold -
Come change - and human fate!
Whatever prospect Heaven doth bound,
Can ne'er be desolate.
Congrats to Neil-H for the FTF!