The river now receives a succession of tiny rivulets, which augment its volume and force until, near the village of Kemble, it is crossed by a rustic bridge,--"the first bridge over the Thames," as depicted for us in the charming volume of Mr. and Mrs. S. C. Hall, with its three narrow arches, and its sides undefended by a parapet, with the solitary figures of the labourer and his boy, wending their way home after work.
* "The Ouse, whom men do Isis rightly name."--Spenser, Faerie Queen.
** The other three were the Fossway, or "entrenched road," running to the north-east, the Ikenild Street or "road to the Iceni," nearly due east, and Ermine or Irmin Street, passing through Cirencester, north-west to Gloucester, and south-east to Silchester. Akeman Street is a continuance of the Fossway, and runs south-west to Bath. Its name probably means, "Oak-man," or Forester.
What a contrast with the _last_ bridge that spans the river, with its mighty sweep of traffic below and above!
But we must dally yet among scenes of rural quietude. A few miles beyond Kemble, the Thames has acquired force sufficient to turn a mill. Hence, leaving the highway, and taking our path through pleasant meadows, we pass by one or two rural villages, and so to Cricklade, the first market-town on the Thames. And here a considerable affluent joins the stream--a river, in fact, that has come down from another part of the Cotswold Hills, with some show of right to be the original stream.
This is the Churn (or Corin; Keltic "The Summit"), which rises at "the Seven Springs," in a rocky hill-side, about three miles from Cheltenham, and runs by Cirencester (Corin-cester) down to Cricklade. I he claim of the Churn is the twofold one, of greater height in its source than the traditional meadows and beside quiet villages: much, to say the truth, like other rivers, or distinguished only by the transparency of its gentle stream. For, issuing from a broad surface of oolite rock, it has brought no mountain débris or dull clay to sully its brightness, no town defilement, nor trace of higher rapids, in turbid waves and hurrying foam. It lingers amid quiet beauties, scarcely veiling from sight the rich herbarium which it fosters in its bed, save where the shadows of trees reflected in the calm water mingle confusedly with the forms of aquatic plants. Meanwhile other streams swell the current. As an unknown poet somewhat loftily sings: