Few trees are more graceful than the willow when a slight breeze fans its branches, mingling the "hoar leaves" with the grey green of the upper side of the foliage; and many, before and since Shakespeare, have preserved in the "inward eye" such a vision, reflected in "the glassy stream" or more usually in the slightly ruffled surface below.

The level meadows, or sloping banks, which skirt the stream have a quiet charm, and beautiful indeed are they in June, when thickly carpetted with buttercups and ox-eye daisies.

At almost every turn rise the blue hills, completing the landscape and throwing the sunny meadows into relief.
We can hardly realise to ourselves the protective value of the river in old times without rowing both up and down the stream for a mile or more.

Above the town, before reaching the railway bridge we should look back and notice how steeply the land rises from the river on this side.

On the margin is the mill, and above are the houses, roof over roof, descending again in steps to the river bridge.