im to the

"Sand-strewn caverns cool and deep
Where the winds are all asleep;
Where the spent lights quiver and gleam,
Where the salt weed sways in the stream."

The dial on the tower also bears the figure of a mermaid. There must
have been some origin for such a legend; perhaps some youth was
drowned off the coast, and it was imagined that a mermaid had beguiled
him away. The same sea-lady appears to have been heard of later, for
it is said that "a long time after, a vessel lying in Pendour Cove
cast her anchor, and in some way barred the access to a mermaid's
dwelling. She rose up from the sea and politely asked the captain to
remove it. He landed at Zennor, and related his adventure, and those
who heard it agreed that this must have been the lady who decoyed away
the poor young man." But why poor? The connection may have been a
happy one; the mermaid was evidently courteous in manners, though her
representation on the Zennor bench-end is not exactly beautiful.
Zennor Hill or Beacon rises to 750 feet in desolate grandeur, and on
this high land, often haunted by foxes and badgers, is the great
Zennor Quoit or cromlech, thought to be the finest in Britain. Its
slab, 18 feet in length, has slipped from its rest. It is an immense
titanic monument, whose story no one can tell us; yet in this
district these things are common, and utterly disregarded by the
countryfolk. They have forgotten even the tales of the giants who used
to play "bob-buttons" with them. He who wanders among these undated
relics and wild stony moorlands may easily go astray; the cairns and
tors are very like each other, and paths are few. Sometimes also there
are blinding mists or fierce winds heavy with rain; at other times a
glamour of loveliness steals over the desolate wastes, sunsets wrap
them in atmospheric glory, or dreamy noons brood over them with deep
calm. Between Zennor and St. Ives is the parish of Towednack, where
they tried to build a hedge around the cuckoo. It is just a symbol of
our craving to keep the springtime ever with us; the hedge was not
high enough, and the cuckoo flew out at the top. The name of the
hamlet was formerly Towynnok, which evidently embodies a dedication to
St. Winnoc--probably the same saint as we find at Landewednack. The
low, sturdy little tower has no pinnacles; when the folk were building
it the devil came each night and pulled them down. But this parish
does not touch the sea at all. Off th