The mist lies low on Cleveland's hill,
A pressage of the noon-day heat;
From Glaidsdale's heights fall twinkling rills,
Making music silver sweet.
The yellow gorse is all ablaze,
The purple moors roll to the sea;
The glory of the summer days
Is here in Cleveland's moor and lea.
The grouse are calling in the ling,
The skylarks from the lush fields rise,
And, soaring on impulsive wing,
Are lost to sight in cloudless skies.
The Leven runs from Kildale's side
Through peaceful Ayton to the Tees,
Is gathered by the hungry tide,
And onward rolls to azure seas.
From Roseberry's Nab to Goathland End,
From fair Mt. Grace to Kettleness
The quiet roads that wind and wend
Their way, peace undisturbed by car.
Go. Walk where Cleveland breezes blow
The purple heather's scented bells,
And feel that sense of beauty grow,
Engendered by these sunkissed fells.
There's new life in this moorland air
That's absent from the flat lowlands,
And Cleveland hills are especially fair
Where Guisborough's ancient Abbey stands.
While nothing better could I crave
Than from the Loftus heights to spy
Out o'er the sea, on rolling wave,
The white sails flash 'twixt sea and sky.
The author of this poem is currently unidentified by us.
Beryl Carter, daughter of Oswald Carter and Elizabeth Evison, lived in Eston (near Middlesbrough) as a child. She moved to Canada as an eleven year old girl, with her family in 1927. She wrote this poem into her recipe book in approximately 1936. She wrote many poems there, but this one is the only one with no author credited. Above the poem she wrote "My OLD Home" and underscored it twice.
Dina E Cox only discovered her mother's recipe book and the poems therein several years after Beryl's death. She (and indeed I) would dearly love to discover who was the author of this poetic gem.