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"A rough track leads from West Down to a retired nook, where, sheltered by the overhanging heights, is the confluence of the Tavy and the Walkham. Two gentle rivers are they in this favoured spot. The Tavy glides around the promontory of great sylvan loveliness, and flows softly onward to meet its murmuring tributary. The peculiar beauty of this confluence gave rise to the following poem...", (Rachel Evans, 1846).

THE WATER'S MEET

The meeting of the waters,

With murmurs low and sweet !

Like beauty's modest daughters,

When they first kindly greet.

The mountains o'er them bending,

The bank of radiant flow'rs,

To each a shadow lending,

Unite their magic pow'rs.

The bird above them winging

His flight to realms of day,

In liquid measure singing,

Repeats their soothing lay.

The zephyr, gently stealing,

Glides o'er their mingled streams,

Whose fairy chimes are pealing,

Like music in our dreams.

A magic charm has bound them

Within their channel deep,

With earth's strong arms around them.

Still murmuring they sleep.

A sunny ray is glancing

Athwart the shady trees,

On the still waters dancing,

Or waving in the breeze.

Oh mem'ry oft steals o'er us,

Bringing that valley sweet,

Where aye in chiming chorus,

The sister rivers meet.