“Sweeter than the odours borne on southern gales, Comes the clotted nectar of my native vales – Crimped and golden crusted, rich beyond compare, Food on which a goddess evermore would fare. Burns may praise his haggis, Horace sing of wine, Hunt his Hybla-honey, which he deem’d divine, But in …
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Legendary Dartmoor The many aspects past and present of Dartmoor