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Title: Lays and Legends of the English Lake Country - With Copious Notes
Author: White, John Pagen
Language: English
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LAYS AND LEGENDS
OF THE
ENGLISH LAKE COUNTRY.
LAYS AND LEGENDS
OF THE
ENGLISH LAKE COUNTRY.
_WITH COPIOUS NOTES._
BY
JOHN PAGEN WHITE, F.R.C.S.
"In early date,
When I was beardless, young, and blate,
E'en then a wish, I mind its power,
A wish that to my latest hour
Shall strongly heave my breast;
That I for poor auld _Cumbria's_ sake,
Some usefu' plan or beuk could make,
LONDON: JOHN RUSSELL SMITH.
CARLISLE: G. & T. COWARD.
MDCCCLXXIII.
INTRODUCTION.
In submitting this Book to the Public, I have thought it best to
give it precisely as it was left in manuscript by my late Brother.
His sudden death in 1868 prevented the final revision which he still
contemplated.
The Notes may by some be thought unnecessarily long, and in many
instances they undoubtedly are very discursive. Much labour, however,
was expended in their composition, in the hope, not merely of giving
a new interest to localities and incidents already familiar to the
resident, but also of affording the numerous visitors to the charming
region which forms the theme of the Volume, an amount of information
supplementary to the mere outline which, only, it is the province of a
Guide Book, however excellent, to supply.
The Work occupied for years the leisure hours of a busy professional
life; and the feelings with which the Author entered upon and continued
it, are best expressed in those lines of Burns chosen by himself for
the motto.
B. J.
_July 1st, 1873._
PREFACE.
The English Lake District may be said, in general terms, to extend from
Cross-Fell and the Solway Firth, on the east and north, to the waters
of Morecambe and the Irish Sea; or, more accurately, to be comprised
within an irregular circle, varying from forty to fifty miles in
diameter, of which the centre is the mountain Helvellyn, and within
which are included a great portion of Cumberland and Westmorland and
the northern extremity of Lancashire.
After the conquest of England by the Normans, the counties of
Cumberland and Westmorland, the ancient inheritance of the Scottish
Kings, as well as the county of Northumberland, were placed by William
under the English crown. But the regions thus alienated were not
allowed to remain in the undisturbed possession of the strangers. For
a long period they were disquieted by the attempts which from time to
time were made by successive kings of Scotland to re-establish their
supremacy over them. Supporting their pretensions by force of arms,
they carried war into the disputed territory, and conducted it with a
rancour and cruelty which spared neither age or sex. The two nations
maintained their cause, just or unjust, with unfaltering resolution;
or if they seemed to hesitate for a moment, and a period of settlement
to be at hand, their frequent compromises only ended in a renewal of
their differences. Thus these northern counties continued to pass
alternately under the rule of both the contending nations, until the
Scottish dominion over them was finally terminated by agreement in the
year 1237; Alexander of Scotland accepting in lieu lands of a certain
yearly value, to be holden of the King of England by the annual render
of a falcon to the Constable of the Castle of Carlisle, on the Festival
of the Assumption.
The resumption, at no distant period, of the manors which had been
granted to Alexander, renewed in all their strength the feelings of
animosity with which the Scots had been accustomed to regard their
southern neighbours, and the feuds between the two kingdoms continued
with unabated violence for more than three centuries longer. The
dwellers in the unsettled districts lying along the English and
Scottish borders, being originally derived from the same Celtic stock,
had been gradually and progressively influenced as a race by the
admixture of Saxon and Danish blood into the population; and although
much of the Celtic character was thereby lost, they seem to have
retained in their mountains and forests much of the spirit, and many
of the laws and manners, of the ancient Britons. They continued to
form themselves into various septs, or clans, according to the Celtic
custom; sometimes banded together for the attainment of a common
end; and as often at feud, one clan with another, when some act of
personal wrong had to be revenged upon a neighbouring community. Thus
a state of continual restlessness, springing out of mutual hatred and
jealousies, existed among the borderers of either nation. The same
feelings of enmity were fostered, and the same system of petty warfare
was carried on, between the borderers of the two kingdoms. Cumberland
and Westmorland, from their position, were subject to the frequent
inroads of the Scots; by whom great outrages were committed upon the
inhabitants. They drove their cattle, burned their dwellings, plundered
their monasteries, and even destroyed whole towns and villages. A
barbarous system of vengeance and retaliation ensued. Every act of
violence and bloodshed was perpetrated; whilst the most nefarious
practices of free-booting became the common occupation of the marauding
clans; and a _raid_ into a neighbouring district had for them the
same sort of charm and excitement which their descendants find in a
modern fox chase. Even after the union of the two kingdoms under one
sovereign, when the term "Borders" had been changed to "Middle Shires,"
as being more suitable to a locality which was now nearly in the
centre of his dominions, the long cherished distinctions and prejudices
of the inhabitants were maintained in all their vigour; and it required
a long period of conflict with these to be persevered in, before the
extinction of the border feuds could be completely effected. These
distractions have now been at an end for more than two centuries. The
mountains look down upon a peaceful domain; the valleys, everywhere the
abode of quiet and security, yield their rich pasturage to the herds,
or their corn-fields redden, though coyly, to the harvest; and the
population, much of it rooted in the soil, and attached by hereditary
ties to the same plots of ancestral ground in many instances for six or
seven hundred years, is independent, prosperous, and happy.
Some evidences of the old troublous times remain, in the dismantled
Border Towers, and moated or fortified houses called Peles, which
lie on the more exposed parts of the district; in the ruins of the
conventual retreats; and in the crumbling strongholds of the chiefs,
which still retain something of a past existence in the names which
even yet cling about their walls, as if the spirits of their former
possessors were reluctant to depart entirely from them. Whilst a few
traditions and recollections survive of those stirring periods which
have left their mark upon the nation's history, and are associated for
ever with images of those illustrious persons whose familiar haunts
were within the shadows of the hills.
But the great charm of this region, which is not without attractions
also of a superstitious and romantic character, lies in the variety of
the aspects of nature which it presents; exhibiting, on a diminutive
scale, combinations of the choicest features of the scenery of all
those lands which have a name and fame for beauty and magnificence. Mr.
West, a Roman Catholic clergyman, long resident in the district, and
the author of one of the earliest Guides to the Lakes, thus expresses
himself: "They who intend to make the continental tour should begin
here; as it will give in miniature, an idea of what they are to meet
with there, in traversing the Alps and Appenines: to which our northern
mountains are not inferior in beauty of line, or variety of summit,
number of lakes, and transparency of water; not in colouring of rock or
softness of turf; but in height and extent only. The mountains here are
all accessible to the summit, and furnish prospects no less surprising,
and with more variety than the Alps themselves." Wordsworth also, who
could well judge of this fact, and none better; he who for fifty years
"Murmured near _these_ running brooks
A music sweeter than their own,"
and looked on all their changing phases with a superstitious eye of
love; after he had become acquainted with the mountain scenery of
Wales, Scotland, Switzerland, and Italy, gave his judgment that, as a
whole, the English Lake District within its narrow limits is preeminent
above them all. He thus speaks: "A happy proportion of component parts
is indeed noticeable among the landscapes of the North of England;
and, in this characteristic essential to a perfect picture, they
surpass the scenes of Scotland, and, in a still greater degree, those
of Switzerland.... On the score even of sublimity, the superiority
of the Alps is by no means so great as might hastily be inferred;
and, as to the _beauty_ of the lower regions of the Swiss mountains,
their surface has nothing of the mellow tone and variety of hues by
which our mountain turf is distinguished.... The Lakes are much more
interesting than those of the Alps; first, as is implied above by being
more happily proportioned to the other features of the landscape; and
next, as being infinitely more pellucid, and less subject to agitation
from the winds." And again, "The water of the English Lakes being of
a crystalline clearness, the reflections of the surrounding hills are
frequently so lively, that it is scarcely possible to distinguish the
point where the real object terminates, and its unsubstantial duplicate
begins."
It is therefore not to be wondered at, that during the greater part
of a century, where the old Border _raids_ of violence have ceased,
excursions of a very different character should have taken their
place. Every summer brings down upon the valleys clouds of visitors
from every corner of our island, and from many countries of Europe
and America, eager to enjoy their freshness and beauty, and breathe
a new life in the companionship of the lakes and hills. And if in
a spirit somewhat more akin to the moss-trooping Borderer of an
earlier time, an occasional intruder has scoured the vales in search
of their traditions; and in the pursuit of these has ransacked their
annals, plundered their guides, and levied a sort of black-mail upon
even casual and anonymous contributors to their history; it may in
some degree extenuate the offence to remember that such literary
free-booting makes no one poorer for what it takes away; and that
the _opima spolia_ of the adventurer are only so much gathered to be
distributed again. More especially to the Notes which constitute so
large a portion of the present Volume may this remark be applied.
Scenery long outlasts all traditional and historical associations. To
revive these among their ancient haunts, and to awaken yet another
interest in this land of beauty, has been the aim and end of this
modern _Raid_ into the valleys of the North, and the regions that own
the sovereignty of the "mighty Helvellyn."
CONTENTS
PAGE
The Past 1
The Banner of Broughton Tower 3
Giltstone Rock 15
Crier of Claife 19
Cuckoo of Borrodale 29
King Eveling 38
Sir Lancelot Threlkeld 44
Pan on Kirkstone 66
Saint Bega 73
Harts-Horn Tree 81
Bekan's Ghyll 88
The Chimes of Kirk-Sunken 102
The Raven on Kernal Crag 106
Lord Derwentwater's Lights 110
Laurels on Lingmoor 124
Vale of St. John 136
The Luck of Edenhall 143
Hob-Thross 153
The Abbot of Calder 162
The Armboth Banquet 170
Britta in the Temple of Druids 179
The Lady of Workington Hall 191
Altar upon Cross Fell 199
Willie o' Scales 209
Ermengarde 217
Gunilda 227
The Shield of Flandrensis 234
The Rooks of Furness 242
King Dunmail 255
The Bridals of Dacre 266
Threlkeld Tarn 279
Robin the Devil 284
The Lay of Lord Lucy of Egremond 295
Sölvar How 312
The Church among the Mountains 323
THE PAST.
(IN SIGHT OF DACRE CASTLE.)
Through yon old archway grey and broken
Rides forth a belted knight;
Upon his breast his true-love's token
And armour glittering bright.
His arm a fond adieu is waving,
And answering waves a hand
From one whose love her grief is braving--
The fairest of the land.
The trumpet calls, and plain and valley
Give forth their armed men;
And round the red-cross flag they rally,
From every dale and glen.
And she walks forth in silent sorrow,
Who was so blest to-day,
And thinks on many a lone to-morrow
In those old towers of grey.
From many a piping throat so mellow
The joyful song bursts forth:
On many a field the corn so yellow
Makes golden bright the earth.
And mountains o'er the green woods frowning
Close round the banner'd walls;
While mid-day sunshine, all things crowning,
In summer splendour falls.
But ours is not the age they walk in;
It is the years of yore:
And ours is not the tongue they talk in;
'Tis language used no more.
Yet many an eye in silence bending
O'er this unmurmur'd lay,
Beholds that knight the vale descending,
And feels that summer's day.
Lives it then not? Yes; and when hoary
Beneath our years we stand,
That scene of summer, love, and glory,
Shall still be on the land.
Truth from the earth itself shall perish
Ere that shall be no more;
The heart in song will ever cherish
What has been life of yore.
THE BANNER OF BROUGHTON TOWER.
The knight looked out from Broughton Tower;
The stars hung high o'er Broughton Town;
"There should be tidings by this hour,
From Fouldrey Pile or Urswick Down!"
Far out the Duddon roll'd its tide
Beneath; and on the verge afar,
The Warder through the night descried
The beacon, like a rising star.
It told that Fouldrey by the sea
Was signall'd from the ships that bore,
With Swart's Burgundian chivalry,
The false King from the Irish shore.
And Lincoln's Earl, and Broughton's Knight,
And brave Lord Lovel, wait the sign
To march their hosts to Urswick's height,
To hail him King, of Edward's line.
Brave men as ever swerv'd aside!
But faithful to their ancient fame,
The white Rose wooed them in her pride
Once more; and foremost forth they came.
The Knight looked out beneath his hand;
The Warder pointed to the glow;
"Now droop my banner, that my band
May each embrace it! then we'll go.
"And if we fall, as fall we may,
Thus resolute the wronged to raise,
The banner that we bear to-day,
Shall be our monument and praise!"
One look into his lady's bower;
One step into his ancient hall;
And then adieu to Broughton Tower,
Till blooms the white Rose over all!
High o'er the surge of many a fight,
That banner, for the Rose, had led
The liegemen of the Broughton knight
To victory's smiles, or glory's bed.
And 'twas a glorious sight to see
That break of day, from tower and town,
Pour forth his martial tenantry,
To swell the array on Urswick Down:
To see the glancing pennons wave
Above them, and the banner borne
All joyously by warriors, brave
As ever hailed a battle morn.
And 'twas a stirring sound to hear,
Uprolling from the camp,--the drum,
The music, and the martial cheer,
That told the chiefs, "We come, we come!"
Then in that sunny time of June,
When green leaves burdened every spray,
With all the merry birds in tune,
They marched upon their southward way.
And, as through channel'd sands afar
The tides with steady onward force
Push inland, roll'd their wave of war
To Trent, its unresisted course.
And spreading wide its crest where Stoke
O'erlook'd the Royal lines below,
Spent its long gathering strength, and broke,
And plung'd in fury on the foe.
For three long hours that summer morn
King Henry by his standard rode,
Through onset and repulse upborne,
A tower of strength where'er it glowed.
For three long hours the fated band
Of chiefs, that summer morning waged
A desperate battle, hand to hand,
Where'er the thickest carnage raged,
Till midst four thousand liegemen slain,
The flower of that misguided host,
Borne down upon the fatal plain,
Fame, honour, life, and cause were lost.
Turn ye, who high in hall and tower
Sit waiting for your lords, and burn
To wrest the tidings of that hour
From lips that never may return:
Turn inwards from the news that flies
Through England's summer groves, and close
The circlets of your asking eyes
Against the coming cloud of woes!
Wild rumour, like the wind that wings,
None knows or how or whence, its way,
Storm-like on Broughton's turret rings
The dire disaster of that day.
Storm-like through his dislorded halls
And farmsteads lone, the rumour breaks;
And far by Witherslack's grey walls,
And hamlet cots, despair awakes.
And all old things meet shock and change,
Since Broughton, down-borne in his pride
On that red field, no more shall range
By Duddon's rocks, or Winster's side.
And while the hills around rejoiced,
And in the triumph of their King
Old strains of peace sang trumpet-voiced,
And bade the landscapes smile and sing;
Far stretching o'er the land, his sign
The King from Broughton's charters tore;
And the old honours of his line
In his old tower were known no more.
His halls, his manors, his fair lands,
Pass'd from his name; round all he'd loved,
And all that loved him, power's dread hands
In shadow through the noontide moved:
E'en to those cottage homes apart,
His poor men's huts by lonely ways--
To crush from out the humblest heart
Each pulse that dared to throb his praise!
But when old feuds had all been healed,
And England's long lost smiling years
Returned, and tales of Stoke's red field
Fair eyes had ceased to flood with tears;
'Twas whispered 'mid the fields and farms,
That once were Broughton's free domain,--
His _banner_, saved from strife of arms,
Was somewhere 'mid those homes again.
That o'er the hills afar, where lies
Lone Witherslack by moorland roads,
His own old liegemen true the prize
Held fast within their safe abodes.
Thrice honour'd in that matchless zeal
To brave proscription, death and shame;
Thus rescued by their hearths to feel
The symbol of his ancient fame!
So for old faithfulness renowned,
The tenants of that knightly race
Their age-long acts of service crowned
With that last deed of loyal grace.
Last? Nay! for on one Sabbath morn,
An old man, blanch'd by years and cares,
Gave up his spirit, tired and worn,
Amidst those humble liegemen's prayers.
Gave up a long secreted life
'Mid hinds and herds, by peasant maids
Nurtured and soothed, while shadows rife
With death's stern edicts, stalked the glades.
He pass'd while Cartmel's monks sang dole,
As for a brave man gone to rest;
And men sighed, "Glory to his soul!"
And wrapt the banner round his breast:
And placed the tassell'd bridle reins
And spurs that, by his lattice, led
His thoughts so oft to far off plains,
Beside him in his narrow bed:
And borne on high their arms above,
As hinds are borne to churchyard cells,
With kindly speech of truth and love,
Mix'd with the sound of mournful bells,
They laid him in a tomb, engraved
With no memorial, date, or name;
But one dear relic round him, saved
To whisper in the earth his fame.
And when that age had all gone down
To mingle with its native dust,
And time his deeds had overgrown,
His banner yielded up its trust;
And told from one low chancel's shade
Where good men sang on holy days--
"Here Broughton's Knight in earth was laid.
Peace! To his tenants, endless praise!"
NOTES TO "THE BANNER OF BROUGHTON TOWER."
Broughton Tower, the ancient part of which is all that remains
of the residence of the unfortunate Sir Thomas Broughton, stands
a little to the eastward of the town of that name, upon the neck
of a wooded spur of land, which projects from the high ground
above the houses towards the river Duddon, about a mile distant.
The towered portion, as it rises from the wood, has much of the
appearance of a church; but is in reality part of the ancient
building, now connected with a modern mansion. It has a southern
aspect, with a slope down to the river, being well sheltered in
the opposite direction. "It commands an extensive view, comprising
in a wonderful variety hill and dale, water, wooded grounds, and
buildings; whilst fertility around is gradually diminished, being
lost in the superior heights of Black Comb, in Cumberland, the high
lands between Kirkby and Ulverston, and the estuary of the Duddon
expanding into the sands and waters of the Irish sea."
The Broughtons were an Anglo-Saxon family of high antiquity, in
whose possession the manor of Broughton had remained from time
immemorial, and whose chief seat was at Broughton, until the second
year of the reign of Henry the Seventh. At this period the power
and interest of Sir Thomas Broughton were so considerable, that
the Duchess of Burgundy, sister to the late King and the Duke of
Clarence, relied on him as one of the principal confederates in the
attempt to subvert the government of Henry by the pretensions of
Lambert Simnel.
Ireland was zealously attached to the house of York, and held
in affectionate regard the memory of the Duke of Clarence, the
Earl of Warwick's father, who had been its lieutenant. No sooner,
therefore, did the impostor Simnel present himself to Thomas
Fitz-Gerald, Earl of Kildare, and claim his protection as the
unfortunate Warwick, than that credulous nobleman paved the way for
his reception, and furthered his design upon the throne, till the
people in Dublin with one consent tendered their allegiance to him
as the true Plantagenet. They paid the pretended Prince attendance
as their sovereign, lodged him in the Castle of Dublin, crowned
him with a diadem taken from a statue of the Virgin, and publicly
proclaimed him King, by the appellation of Edward the Sixth.
In the year 1487 Lambert, with about two thousand Flemish troops
under the command of Colonel Martin Swart, a man of noble family
in Germany, an experienced and valiant soldier, whom the Duchess
of Burgundy had chosen to support the pretended title of Simnel to
the crown of England, and a number of Irish, conducted by Thomas
Gerardine their captain from Ireland, landed in Furness at the Pile
of Fouldrey. The army encamped in the neighbourhood of Ulverston,
at a place now known by the name of Swart-Moor. Sir Thomas
Broughton joined the rebels with a small body of English. The army,
at this time about eight thousand strong, proceeded to join the
Earl of Lincoln, Lord Lovel, and the rest of the confederates,
passing on through Cartmel to Stoke field, near Newark-upon-Trent,
where they met and encountered the King's forces on the 5th of
June, 1487.
The day being far advanced before the King arrived at Stoke, he
pitched his camp and deferred the battle till the day following.
The forces of the Earl of Lincoln also encamped at a little
distance from those of the King, and undismayed by the superior
numbers they had to encounter, bravely entered the field the
next day, and arranged themselves for battle, according to the
directions of Colonel Swart and other superior officers. The
charge being sounded, a desperate conflict was maintained with
equal valour on both sides for three hours. The Germans were in
every respect equal to the English, and none surpassed the bravery
of Swart their commander. For three hours each side contended
for victory, and the fate of the battle remained doubtful. The
Irish soldiers, however, being badly armed, and the Germans being
overpowered by numbers, the Lambertines were at length defeated,
but not before their principal officers, the Earl of Lincoln,
Lord Lovel, _Sir Thomas Broughton_, Colonel Swart, and Sir Thomas
Gerardine captain of the Irish, and upwards of four thousand of
their soldiers were slain.
Young Lambert and his tutor were both taken prisoners. The latter,
being a priest, was punished with perpetual imprisonment; Simnel
was too contemptible to be an object either of apprehension or
resentment to Henry. He was pardoned, and made a scullion in the
King's kitchen, whence he was afterwards advanced to the rank of
falconer, in which employment he ended his days.
Sir Thomas Broughton is said to have fallen on the field of
battle: but there remains a tradition, that he returned and lived
many years amongst his tenants in Witherslack, in Westmorland; and
was interred in the Chapel there; but of this nothing is known
for certain at present, or whether he returned or where he died.
Dr. Burn, speaking of the grant of Witherslack to Sir Thomas, on
the attainder of the Harringtons in the first year of Henry's
reign for siding with the house of York, and of its subsequent
grant to Thomas Lord Stanley, the first Earl of Derby, on the
attainder of Sir Thomas for having been concerned in this affair
of Lambert Simnel, goes on to say--"And here it may not be amiss
to rectify a mistake in Lord Bacon's history of that King, (Henry
VII.) who saith that this Sir Thomas Broughton was slain at Stoke,
near Newark, on the part of the counterfeit Plantagenet, Lambert
Simnell; whereas Sir Thomas Broughton escaped from that battle
hither into Witherslack, where he lived a good while _incognito_,
amongst those who had been his tenants, who were so kind unto him
as privately to keep and maintain him, and who dying amongst them
was buried by them, whose grave Sir Daniel Fleming says in his time
was to be seen there."
The erection of the new chapel of Witherslack by Dean Barwick, in
1664, at a considerable distance from where the ancient chapel
stood, has obliterated the memory of his once well-known grave.
With this unhappy gentleman the family of Broughton, which had
flourished for many centuries and had contracted alliances with
most of the principal families in these parts, was extinguished in
Furness.
After these affairs the King had leisure to revenge himself on his
enemies, and made a progress into the northern parts of England,
where he gave many proofs of his rigorous disposition. A strict
inquiry was made after those who had assisted or favoured the
rebels, and heavy fines and even sanguinary punishments, were
imposed upon the delinquents in a very arbitrary manner. The
fidelity therefore of Sir Thomas Broughton's tenants to their
fallen master was not without its dangers, and is a pleasing
instance of attachment to the person of a leader in a rude and
perilous age.
In the wars of the Roses the Broughtons had always strenuously
supported the House of York. It is however remarkable that, the
manor of Witherslack having been granted to Sir Thomas by Henry the
Seventh in the first year of his reign, he should have joined the
Pretender in arms against that monarch in the following year.
Methop and Ulva, though distinctly named in the title and
description of this manor, yet make but a small part of it. They
are all included within a peninsula, as it were, between Winster
Beck, Bryster Moss, and Lancaster Sands.
The fate of Lord Lovel, another of the chiefs in this disastrous
enterprise, is also shrouded in mystery. It has often been told
that he was never seen, living or dead, after the battle.
The dead bodies of the Earl of Lincoln and most of the other
principal leaders, it was said, were found where they had fallen,
sword-in-hand, on the fatal field; but not that of Lord Lovel. Some
assert that he was drowned when endeavouring to escape across the
river Trent, the weight of his armour preventing the subsequent
discovery of his body. Other reports apply to him the circumstances
similar to those which have been related above as referring to Sir
Thomas Broughton; namely, that he fled to the north where, under
the guise of a peasant, he ended his days in peace. Lord Bacon, in
his History of Henry the Seventh, says "that he lived long after
in a cave or vault." And his account has been partly corroborated
in modern times. William Cowper, Esquire, Clerk of the House of
Commons, writing from Hertingfordbury Park in 1738, says--"In 1708,
upon the occasion of new laying a chimney at Minster Lovel, there
was discovered a large vault or room underground in which was the
entire skeleton of a man, as having been sitting at a table which
was before him, with a book, paper, pen, etc.; in another part
of the room lay a cap, all much mouldered and decayed; which the
family and others judged to be this Lord Lovel, whose exit has
hitherto been so uncertain."
A tradition was rife in the village in the last century to the
effect that, in this hiding place, which could only be opened from
the exterior, the insurgent chief had confided himself to the
care of a female servant, was forgotten or neglected by her, and
consequently died of starvation.
The ancient Castle or Pile of Fouldrey, (formerly called Pele of
Foudra, or Futher,) stands upon a small island near the southern
extremity of the isle of Walney; and is said by Camden to have been
built by an Abbot of Furness, in the first year of King Edward the
Third (A. D. 1327). It was probably intended for an occasional
retreat from hostility; a depository for the valuable articles
of the Monastery of Furness; and for a fortress to protect the
adjoining harbour; all which intentions its situation and structure
were well calculated to answer at the time of its erection.
It seems to have been the custom in the northern parts of the
kingdom, for the monasteries to have a fortress of this kind, in
which they might lodge with security their treasure and records
on the approach of an enemy; of this the Castle on Holy Island,
in Northumberland, and Wulstey Castle, near the Abbey of Holm
Cultram, in Cumberland, are examples. It has even been said that
an underground communication existed between Furness Abbey and the
Pele of Fouldrey.
The harbour alluded to, appears to have been of considerable
importance to the shipping of that period, when the relations of
Ireland with the monks had become established. In the reign of
Henry the Sixth, it is mentioned as being found a convenient spot
for the woollen merchants to ship their goods to Ernemouth, in
Zealand, without paying the duty; and in Elizabeth's days as "the
only good haven for great shippes to londe or ryde in" between
Scotland and Milford Haven, in Wales.
It was apprehended that the Spanish Armada would try to effect a
landing in this harbour.
GILTSTONE ROCK;
OR, THE SLAVER IN THE SOLWAY.
The Betsey-Jane sailed out of the Firth,
As the Waits sang "Christ is born on earth"--
The Betsey-Jane sailed out of the Firth,
On Christmas-day in the morning.
The wind was East, the moon was high,
Of a frosty blue was the spangled sky,
And the bells were ringing, and dawn was nigh,
And the day was Christmas morning.
In village and town woke up from sleep,
From peaceful visions and slumbers deep--
In village and town woke up from sleep,
On Christmas-day in the morning,
The many that thought on Christ the King,
And rose betimes their gifts to bring,
And "peace on earth and good will" to sing,
As is meet upon Christmas morning.
The Betsey-Jane pass'd village and town,
As the Gleemen sang, and the stars went down--
The Betsey-Jane pass'd village and town,
That Christmas-day in the morning;
And the Skipper by good and by evil swore,
The bells might ring and the Gleemen roar,
But the chink of his gold would chime him o'er
Those waves, next Christmas morning.
And out of the Firth with his reckless crew,
All ready his will and his work to do--
Out of the Firth with his reckless crew
He sailed on a Christmas morning!
He steer'd his way to Gambia's coast;
And dealt for slaves; and Westward cross'd;
And sold their lives, and made his boast
As he thought upon Christmas morning.
And again and again from shore to shore,
With his human freight for the golden ore--
Again and again from shore to shore,
Ere Christmas-day in the morning,
He cross'd that deep with never a thought
Of the sorrow, or wrong, or suffering wrought
On souls and bodies thus sold and bought
For gold, against Christmas morning!
And at length, with his gold and ivory rare,
When the sun was low and the breeze was fair--
At length with his gold and ivory rare
He sailed, that on Christmas morning
He might pass both village and town again
When the bells were ringing, as they rung then,
When he pass'd them by in the Betsey-Jane,
On that last bright Christmas morning.
The Betsey-Jane sailed into the Firth,
As the bells rang "Christ is born on earth"--
The Betsey-Jane sailed into the Firth,
And it _was_ upon Christmas morning!
The wind was west, the moon was high,
Of a hazy blue was the spangled sky,
And the bells were ringing, and dawn was nigh,
Just breaking on Christmas morning.
The Gleemen singing of Christ the King,
Of Christ the King, of Christ the King--
The Gleemen singing of Christ the King,
Hailed Christmas-day in the morning;
When the Betsey-Jane with a thundering shock
Went ripping along on the Giltstone Rock,
In sound of the bells which seemed to mock
Her doom on that Christmas morning.
With curse and shriek and fearful groan,
On the foundering ship, in the waters lone--
With curse and shriek and fearful groan,
They sank on that Christmas morning!
The Skipper with arms around his gold,
Scared by dark spirits that loosed his hold,
Was down the deep sea plunged and roll'd
In the dawn of that Christmas morning:--
While village and town woke up from sleep,
From peaceful visions and slumbers deep--
While village and town woke up from sleep,
That Christmas-day in the morning!
And many that thought on Christ the King,
Rose up betimes their gifts to bring,
And, "peace on earth and good will to sing,"
Went forth in the Christmas morning!
NOTE.
The rock thus named, lies off the harbour at Harrington, on the
coast of Cumberland, and is only visible at low water during spring
tides.
The Gleemen, or Waits, as the Christmas minstrels are called, still
keep up their annual rounds, with song and salutation, and with a
heartiness and zeal, which have been well described by the great
Poet of the Lake district in those feeling and admirable verses to
his brother, Dr. Wordsworth, prefixed to his Sonnets on the River
Duddon.
In the parish of Muncaster, on the eve of the new year, the
children go from house to house, singing a ditty, which craves the
bounty, "_they were wont to have, in old king Edward's days_."
There is no tradition whence this custom arose; the donation is
two-pence or a pie at every house. Mr. Jefferson suggests, may
not the name have been altered from Henry to Edward? and may it
not have an allusion to the time when King Henry the sixth was
entertained at Muncaster Castle in his flight from his enemies?
CRIER OF CLAIFE.
A wild holloa on Wynander's shore,
'Mid the loud waves' splash and the night-wind's roar!
Who cries so late with desperate note,
Far over the water, to hail the boat?
'Tis night's mid gloom; the strong rain beats fast:
Is there one at this hour will face the blast,
And the darkness traverse with arm and oar,
To ferry the Crier from yonder shore?
A mile to cross, and the skies so dread;
With a storm around that would wake the dead;
And fathoms of boiling depths below;
The ferry is hailed, and the boat must go.
Snug under that cliff, whence over the Mere,
When summer is merry and skies are clear,
In holiday times hearts light and gay
Look over the hills and far away--
At the Ferry-house Inn, sat warm beside
The bright wood-fire and hearthstone wide,
A rollicking band of jovial souls
With tinkling cans and full brown bowls.
Without, the sycamores' branches rode
The storm, as if fiends the roof bestrode;
Yet stout of heart, to that wild holloa
The ferryman smiled--"The boat must go."
His comrades followed out into the dark,
As the young man strode to the tumbling bark;
And, wishing him luck in the perilous storm,
With a shudder went back to the fireside warm.
An hour is gone! against wind and wave
Well struggled and strove that heart so brave.
Another! they crowd to the whistling door,
To welcome the guide and his freight to shore.
But pallid, and stunn'd, aghast, alone,
He stood in the boat, and speech had none:
His lips were locked, and his eyes astare,
And blanched with terror his manly hair.
What thing he had seen, what utterance heard,
What horror that night his senses stirr'd,
Was frozen within him, and choked his breath,
And laid him, ere morning, cold in death.
But what that night of horror revealed,
And what that night of horror concealed
Of spirits and powers in storms that roam,
Lies hid with the monk in St. Mary's Holm.
Still, under the cliff--whence over the Mere,
When summer was merry and skies were clear,
In holiday times hearts light and gay
Looked over the hills and far away--
When the rough winds blew amid rain and cold,
The Ferry-house gathered its hearts of old,
Who sat at the hearth and o'er the brown ale,
Oft talked of that night and its dismal tale.
And often the Crier was heard to wake
The night's foul echoes across the lake;
But never again would a hand unmoor
The boat, to venture by night from shore:
Till they sought the good monk of St. Mary's Holm,
With relics of saints and beads from Rome,
To row to the Nab on Hallowmas night,
And bury the Crier by morning's light.
With Aves muttered, and spells unknown,
The monk rows over the Mere alone;
Like a feather his bark floats light and fast;
When the Crier's loud hail sweeps down the blast.
Speed on, bold heart, with gifts of grace!
He is nearing the wild fiend-blighted place.
Now heed thee, foul spirit! the priest has power
To bind thee on earth till the morning hour.
He rests his oars; and the faint blue gleam
From a marsh-light sheds on the ground its beam.
There's a stir in the grass; and there's ONE on a knoll,
Unearthly and horrid to sight and soul.
That horrible cry rings through the dark,
As the monk steps out of the grounding bark;
And he charms a circle around the knoll,
Wherein he must sit till the mass bell toll.
Then over the lake, with the fiend in tow,
To the quarry beyond the monk will go,
And bury the Crier with book and bell,
While the birds of morning sing him farewell.
The morn awoke. As the breezy smile
Of dawn played over St. Mary's Isle,
The tinkling sound of the mass-bell rose,
And startled the valleys from brief repose.
Then, like a speck from afar descried,
The monk row'd out on the waters wide--
From the Nab row'd out, with the fiend in his wake,
To lay him in quiet, across the lake.
And fear-struck men, and women that bore
Their babes, beheld from height and shore,
How he reached the wood that hid the dell,
Where he laid the Crier with book and bell.
"For the ivy green" the spell was told;
"For the ivy green" his knell was knoll'd;
That as long as by wall and greenwood tree
The ivy flourished, his rest might be.
So did the good monk; and thus was laid
The Crier in ground by greenwood shade.
In the quarry of Claife the wretched ghost
To human ear for ever was lost.
And country folk in peace again
Went forth by night through field and lane,
Nor dreaded to hear that terrible note
Cry over the water, and hail the boat.
And still on that cliff, high over the Mere,
When summer is merry, and skies are clear,
In holiday times hearts light and gay
Look over the hills and far away.
But what that night of horror revealed,
And what that night and morrow concealed,
Of spirits so wicked and given to roam,
Lies hid with the monk in St. Mary's Holm.
Peace be with him, peaceful soul!
Long his bell has ceased to toll.
Green the Isle that folds his breast;
Clear the Lake that lull'd his rest.
Though the many ages gone
Long have left his place unknown;
Yet where once he kneel'd and pray'd,
By his altar long decay'd,
Stranger to this Island led!
Humbly speak and softly tread;
Catching from the ages dim
This, the burden of his hymn:--
"Ave, Thou before whose name
Wrath and shadows swiftly flee!
Arm Thy faithful bands with flame,
Earth from foulest foes to free.
"Peace on all these valleys round,
Breathe from out this Islet's breast;
Wafting from this holy ground
Seeds of Thy eternal rest.
"Wrath and Evil, then no more
Here molesting, all shall cease.
Peace around! From shore to shore--
Peace! On all Thy waters--peace!"
NOTES TO "CRIER OF CLAIFE."
The little rocky tree-decked islet in Windermere, called St.
Mary's, or the Ladye's Holme, hitherto reputed to have formed part
of the conventual domains of the Abbey at Furness, had its name
from a chantry dedicated to the Virgin Mary, which was standing
up to the reign of King Henry the Eighth, but of which no traces
are now remaining. "When," says an anonymous writer, "at the
Reformation, that day of desolation came, which saw the attendant
priests driven forth, and silenced for ever the sweet chant of
orison and litany within its walls; the isle and revenues of the
institution were sold to the Philipsons of Calgarth. By them the
building was suffered to fall into so utter a state of ruin,
that no trace even of its foundations is left to proclaim to the
stranger who meditates upon the fleeting change of time and creed,
that here, for more than three centuries, stood a hallowed fane,
from whence at eventide and prime prayers were wafted through the
dewy air, where now are only heard the festal sounds of life's
more jocund hours." Lately renewed antiquarian investigation has,
however, disclosed the erroneousness of the generally received
statement respecting the early ownership of this tiny spot; as in
Dodsworth's celebrated collection of ancient evidences there is
contained an Inquisition, or the copy of one, taken at Kendal, so
far back as the Monday after the feast of the Annunciation, in
the 28th Edward the Third, which shews that this retreat, amid
the waters of our English Como, appertained not to Furness Abbey,
but to the house of Segden, in Scotland, which was bound always
to provide two resident chaplains for the service of our Ladye's
Chapel in this island solitude. For the maintenance and support of
those priests, certain lands were given by the founder, who was
either one of that chivalrous race, descended from the Scottish
Lyndseys "light and gay," whose immediate ancestor in the early
part of the thirteenth century had married Alice, second daughter
and co-heiress of William de Lancaster, eighth Lord of Kendal;
and with her obtained that moiety of the Barony of Kendal, whose
numerous manors are collectively known as the Richmond Fee; or the
chantry may have owed its foundation to the pious impulses of
Ingelram de Guignes, Sire de Courci, one of the grand old Peers of
France, whose house, so renowned in history and romance, proclaimed
its independence and its pride in this haughty motto:--
"Je ne suis Roy ni Prince aussi,
Je suis Le Seignhor de Courci."
And which Ingelram in 1285 married Christiana, heiress of the last
de Lyndsey, and in her right, besides figuring on innumerable
occasions as a feudal potentate, both in England and Scotland, he
became Lord of the Fee, within which lies St. Mary's Isle.
On an Inquisition taken after the death of Johanna de Coupland,
in the 49th Edward the Third, it was found that she held the
advowson of the Chapel of Saint Mary's Holme, within the lake of
Wynandermere, but that it was worth nothing, because the land
which the said Chapel enjoyed of old time had been seized into
the hands of the King, and lay within the park of Calgarth. It is
on record, however, that in 1492, an annual sum of six pounds was
paid out of the revenues of the Richmond Fee, towards the support
of the Chaplains; and in the returns made by the ecclesiastical
Commissioners in Edward the Sixth's reign, "the free Chapel of
Holme and Wynandermere" is mentioned, shortly after which it was
granted, as aforesaid, to the owners of Calgarth.
The singular name of the "Crier of Claife" is now applied to an
extensive slate or flag quarry, long disused, and overgrown with
wood, on the wildest and most lonely part of the height called
Latter-barrow, which divides the vales of Esthwaite and Windermere,
above the Ferry. In this desolate spot, by the sanctity and skill
of holy men, had been exorcised and laid the apparition who had
come to be known throughout the country by that title; and the
place itself has ever since borne the same name. None of the
country people will go near it after night fall, and few care to
approach it even in daylight. Desperate men driven from their homes
by domestic discord, have been seen going in its direction, and
never known to return. It is said the Crier is allowed to emerge
occasionally from his lonely prison, and is still heard on very
stormy nights sending his wild entreaty for a boat, howling across
Windermere. Mr. Craig Gibson, in one of his graphic sketches of
the Lake country, says that he is qualified to speak to this, for
he himself has heard him. "At least," says he, "I have heard what
I was solemnly assured by an old lady at Cunsey must have been
the Crier of Claife. Riding down the woods a little south of the
Ferry, on a wild January evening, I was strongly impressed by a
sound made by the wind as, after gathering behind the hill called
Gummershow for short periods of comparative calm, it came rushing
up and across the lake with a sound startlingly suggestive of
the cry of a human being in extremity, wailing for succour. This
sound lasted till the squall it always preceded struck the western
shore, when it was lost in the louder rush of the wind through the
leafless woods. I am induced to relate this," he continues, "by
the belief I entertain that the phenomenon described thus briefly
and imperfectly, may account for much of the legend, and that the
origin of many similar traditional superstitions may be found in
something equally simple."
The late Mr. John Briggs, in his notes upon "Westmorland as it
was," by the Rev. Mr. Hodgson, has furnished his readers with some
curious information upon the "philosophy of spirits," which he
collected from those ancient sages of the dales who were supposed
to be best acquainted with the subject. Many of these superstitions
are now exploded: but the marvellous tales at one time currently
believed, still furnish conversation for the cottage fireside.
According to the gravest authorities, he says, no spirit could
appear before twilight had vanished in the evening, or after it
had appeared in the morning. On this account, the winter nights
were peculiarly dangerous, owing to the long revels which ghosts,
or dobbies, as they were called, could keep at that season. There
was one exception to this. If a man had murdered a woman who was
with child by him, she had power to haunt him at all hours; and the
Romish priests (who alone had the power of laying spirits,) could
not lay a spirit of this kind with any certainty, as she generally
contrived to break loose long before her stipulated time. A culprit
might hope to escape the gallows, but there was no hope of escaping
being haunted. In common cases, however, the priest could "lay"
the ghosts; "while ivy was green," was the usual term. But in
very desperate cases, they were laid in the "Red Sea," which was
accomplished with great difficulty and even danger to the exorcist.
In this country, the most usual place to confine spirits was under
Haws Bridge, a few miles below Kendal. Many a grim ghost has been
chained in that dismal trough!
According to the laws to which they were subject, ghosts could
seldom appear to more than one person at a time. When they appeared
to the eyes, they had not the power of making a noise; and when
they saluted the ear, they could not greet the eyes. To this,
however, there was an exception, when a human being spoke to them
in the name of the Blessed Trinity. For it was an acknowledged
truth, that however wicked the individual might have been in this
world, or however light he might have made of the Almighty's name,
he would tremble at its very sound, when separated from his earthly
covering.
The causes of spirits appearing after death were generally three.
Murdered persons came again to haunt their murderers, or to obtain
justice by appearing to other persons likely to see them avenged.
Persons who had hid any treasure, were doomed to haunt the place
where that treasure was hid; as they had made a god of their wealth
in this world, the place where their treasure lay was to be their
heaven after death. If any person could speak to them, and give
them an opportunity of confessing where their treasure was hid,
they could then rest in peace, but not otherwise. Those who died
with any heavy crimes on their consciences, which they had not
confessed, were also doomed to wander on the earth at the midnight
hour.
Spirits had no power over those who did not molest them; but if
insulted, they seem to have been extremely vindictive, and to have
felt little compunction in killing the insulter. They had power to
assume any form, and to change it as often as they pleased; but
they could neither vanish nor change, while a human eye was fixed
upon them.
Midway on Windermere, below the range of islands which intersect
the lake, extends the track along which ply the Ferry boats between
the little inn on the western side and the wooded promontory on
the opposite shore. The Ferry House, with its lawn in front and
few branching sycamores, occupies a jutting area between the base
of a perpendicular cliff and the lake. Few finer prospects can be
desired than that afforded from the summit which overhangs the
Mere at this point. The summer house, which has been built for the
sake of the views it commands of the surrounding country, is a
favourite resort of lovers of the beautiful in nature, whence they
may witness, in its many aspects afar, the grandeur of the mountain
world; and near and below, the beauty of the curving shores and
wooded isles of this queen of English lakes. From the Ferry House
to the Ferry Nab, as the promontory is called, on the western
shore, is barely half a mile. It was from thence that in the dark
stormy night the Evil voice cried "Boat!" which the poor ferryman
obeyed so fatally. No passenger was there, but a sight which sent
him back with bloodless face and dumb, to die on the morrow.
THE CUCKOO IN BORRODALE.
Far within those rocky regions
Where old Scawfell's hoary legions,
Robed and capped with storms and snow,
Here like rugged Vikings towering,
There like giants grimly cowering,
Look into the vales below;
Once where Borrhy wild and fearless,
Once where Oller brave and peerless,
Hew'd the forest, cleared the vale,
Gave their names to cling for ever
Round thy dells by crag and river,
Dark and wintry Borrodale!
In that dreariest of the valleys,
Strifes for evermore, and malice
Without end the dalesmen vexed.
Neighbour had no heart for neighbour.
Never side by side to labour
Went or came they unperplex'd.
Cheerless were the fields and houses.
Gloomily the sullen spouses
Moved about the hearths and floors.
Sunshine was an alms from Heaven
That not one day out of seven
God's bright beams brought to their doors.
And 'mid discontent and anguish
Every virtue seem'd to languish;
Every soul groan'd with its load.
Lingering in his walks beside them,
Oft their friendly Pastor eyed them,
And his heart with pity glow'd.
"Ah!" he thought, "that looks of kindness
Could but enter here! the blindness
Of this life, could it but seem
To them the death it is!--but listen!"--
And his eyes began to glisten:
Spring was round him like a dream.
"'Tis the Cuckoo!"--In the hollow
Up the valley seem'd to follow
Spring's fair footsteps that sweet throat.
All the fields put off their sadness;
Trees and hills and skies with gladness
Answering to the Cuckoo's note.
Then on that still Sabbath-morrow,
Spake the Pastor--"Let us borrow
Gladness from this new-born Spring.
Hark, the bird that brings the blossoms!
Brings the sunshine to our bosoms!
Makes with joy the valleys ring!
"Coming from afar to cheer us,
Could we always keep him near us,
All these heavenly skies from far,
All this blessed morn discovers,
All this Spring that round us hovers,
Would be still what now they are!
"Let us all go forth and labour,
Sire, and son, and wife, and neighbour,
First the bread, the life, to win:
Then by yonder stream we'll rally,
Build a wall across the valley,
And we'll close the Cuckoo in.
"So this Spring time, never failing,
While it hears his music hailing
From the wood and by the rill.
Shall, its new born life retaining,
Till our mortal hours are waning,
Warm and light and cheer us still."--
Flush'd the morn; and all were ready.
Sowers sowed with paces steady;
Plough'd the ploughers in the field;
Delved the gardeners; planters planted;
Then to their great work, undaunted
Forth they fared their wall to build.
Stone by stone, the wall beside them
Rose. Their Pastor came to guide them,
Day by day, and spake to cheer;
While each labouring hand the others
Helped, and one and all like brothers
Wrought along the ripening year.
Then they gathered in their houses,
Men and maidens, sires and spouses,
Talking of their wall. And when
Soon the long bright day returning
Called them, every heart was yearning
To resume its task again.
And on every eve they parted
At their thresholds, kindlier-hearted,
Looking forth again to meet.
All had something good or gladdening
On their lips; the only saddening
Sounds were those of parting feet.
So their wall, extending ever,
Spann'd at length the vale and river;
Grasp'd the mountains there and here:
Reached towards the blue of heaven;
Touched the light cloud o'er it driven;
And the end at length was near.
June had come; and all was vernal:
Seemed secure their Spring eternal:
Eyes were bright, and skies were blue:
When--at Nature's call--unguided--
Out the voice above them glided,
"Cuckoo!"--far away, "Cuckoo!"
"Gone!" a hundred tongues in chorus
Shouted; "Gone! the bird that bore us
Spring with all things bright and good!"
While, in stupor and amazement,
Vacantly from cope to basement
Glowering at their wall, they stood.--
But though all forgot, while building
Up their wall, that months were yielding
Each in turn to others' sway,
With their leaves and landscapes changing;
And, to skies more constant ranging,
Fled the Cuckoo far away!
Winter from their hearts had perished;
Spring in every heart was cherished;
Every charm of life and love--
Love for wife and home and neighbour--
Sprang from out that genial labour;
Peace around, and Heaven above.
Faith into their lives had entered;
Joy and fellowship were centred
Wheresoe'er a hearth was found.
While the calm bright hope before them
Temper'd even the rains, and o'er them
Charmed to rest the tempests' sound.
NOTES TO "THE CUCKOO IN BORRODALE."
If the traditions of the past, and the estimate formed of them by
their distant neighbours, bear rather hardly upon the people of
Borrodale, it must be remembered that the relations of that dale to
the world without were very different a hundred years ago from what
they are now. It was a recess, approached by a long and winding
valley, from the vale of Keswick, with the lake extending between
its entrance and the town. The highest mountains of the district
closed round its head. Its entrance was guarded by a woody hill,
on which had formerly stood a Roman fortress, afterwards occupied
by the Saxons, and which in later times was maintained in its
military capacity by the monks of Furness. For here one of their
principal magazines was established, and the holy fathers had great
possessions to defend from the frequent irruptions of the Scots
in those days. Besides their tithe corn, they amassed here the
valuable minerals of the country; among which salt, produced from a
spring in the valley, was no inconsiderable article.
In this deep retreat the inhabitants of the villages of Rosthwaite
and Seathwaite, having at all times little intercourse with the
country, during half the year were almost totally excluded from all
human commerce. The surrounding hills attract the vapours, and rain
falls abundantly; snow lies long in the valleys; and the clouds
frequently obscure the sky. Upon the latter village, in the depth
of winter, the sun never shines. As the spring advances, his rays
begin to shoot over the southern mountains; and at high noon to
tip the chimney tops with their light. That radiant sign shows the
cheerless winter to be now over; and rouses the hardy peasants to
the labours of the coming year. Their scanty patches of arable land
they cultivated with difficulty; and their crops late in ripening,
and often a prey to autumnal rains, which are violent in this
country, just gave them bread to eat. Their herds afforded them
milk; and their flocks supplied them with clothes: the shepherd
himself being often the manufacturer also. No dye was necessary to
tinge their wool: it was naturally a russet brown; and sheep and
shepherds were clothed alike, both in the simple livery of nature.
The procuring of fuel was among their greatest hardships. Here the
inhabitants were obliged to get on the tops of the mountains; which
abounding with mossy grounds, seldom found in the valleys below,
supplied them with peat. This, made into bundles, and fastened upon
sledges, they guided down the precipitous sides of the mountains,
and stored in their outbuildings. At the period to which we refer,
a hundred years ago, the roads were of the rudest construction,
scarcely passable even for horses. A cart or any kind of wheeled
carriage was totally unknown in Borrodale. They carried their hay
home upon their horses, in bundles, one on each side: they made no
stacks. Their manure they carried in the same manner, as also the
smaller wood for firing: the larger logs they trailed. Their food
in summer consisted of fish and small mutton; in winter, of bacon
and hung mutton. Nor was their method of drying their mutton less
rude: they hung the sheep up by the hinder legs, and took away only
the head and entrails. In this situation, I myself, says Clarke,
have seen seven sheep hanging in one chimney.
The inhabitants of Borrodale were a proverb, even among their
unpolished neighbours, for ignorance; and a thousand absurd
and improbable stories are related of their stupidity; such as
mistaking a red-deer, seen upon one of their mountains, for a
horned horse; at the sight of which they assembled in considerable
numbers, and provided themselves with ropes, thinking to take him
by the same means as they did their horses when wild in the field,
by running them into a strait, and then tripping them up with a
cord. A chase of several hours proved fruitless; when they returned
thoroughly convinced they had been chasing a witch. Such like is
the story of the mule, which, being ridden into the dale by a
stranger bound for the mountains, was left in the care of his host
at the foot of a pass. The neighbours assembled to see the curious
animal, and consulted the wise man of the dale as to what it could
be. With his book, and his thoughts in serious deliberation, he was
enabled to announce authoritatively that the brute was a peacock!
So when a new light broke into Borrodale, and lime was first sent
for from beyond Keswick; the carrier was an old dalesman with horse
and sacks. Rain falling, it began to smoke: some water from the
river was procured by him to extinguish the unnatural fire; but the
evil was increased, and the smoke grew worse. Assured at length
that he had got the devil in his sacks, as he must be in any fire
which was aggravated by water, he tossed the whole load over into
the river. The tale of the stirrups is perhaps a little too absurd
even for Borrodale. A "'statesman" brought home from a distant fair
or sale, what had never before been seen in the dale, a pair of
stirrups. Riding home in them, when he reached his own door, his
feet had become so fastened in them, that they could not be got
out; so as there was no help for it, he patiently sat his horse
in the pasture for a day or two, his family bringing him food,
then it was proposed to bring them both into the stable, which
was done; his family bringing him food as before. At length it
occurred to some one that he might be lifted with the saddle from
the horse, and carried thereupon into the house. There the mounted
man sat spinning wool in a corner of the kitchen, till the return
of one of his sons from St. Bees school, whose learning, after
due consideration of the case, suggested that the good man should
draw his feet out of his shoes: when to the joy of his family he
was restored to his occupation and to liberty. But the story of
the Cuckoo has made its local name the "Gowk" synonymous with an
inhabitant of the vale. There the Spring was very charming, and the
voice of the bird rare and gladsome. It occurred to the natives
that a wall built across the entrance of their valley, at Grange,
if made high enough, would keep the cuckoo among them, and make
the cheerful Spring-days last for ever. The plan was tried, and
failed only because, according to popular belief from generation to
generation, the wall was not built one course higher.
The wetness of the weather in Borrodale is something more than
an occasional inconvenience. It may be judged of by observations
which show the following results. The average quantity of rain
in many parts of the south of England does not exceed 20 inches,
and sometimes does not even reach that amount. The mean rain fall
for England is 30 inches. Kendal and Keswick have been considered
the wettest places known in England; and the annual average at
the former place is 52 inches. It was found by experiments made
in 1852, that while 81 inches were measured on Scawfell Pike; 86
at Great Gable; 124 at Sty Head; 156 were measured at Seathwaite
in Borrodale; shewing, with the exception of that at Sprinkling
Tarn, between Scawfell, and Langdale Pikes, and Great Gable, where
it measured 168 inches nearly, the greatest rainfall in the Lake
District to be at the head of Borrodale. Taking a period of ten
years, the average annual rainfall at Seathwaite in that dale was
over 126 inches; for the rest of England it was 29 inches.
KING EVELING.
King Eveling stood by the Azure River,
When the tide-wave landward began to flow;
And over the sea in the sunlight's shiver,
He watch'd one white sail northward go.
"Twice has it pass'd; and I linger, weary:
How I long for its coming, my life to close!
My lands forget me, my halls are dreary,
And my age is lonely; I want repose.
"If rightly I read the signs within me,
The tides may lessen, the moon may wane,
And then the Powers I have serv'd will win me
A pathway over yon shining plain.
"It befits a King, who has wisely spoken,
Whose rule was just, and whose deeds were brave,
To depart alone, and to leave no token
On earth but of glory--not even a grave.
"And now I am going. No more to know me,
My banners fall round me with age outworn.
I have buried my crown in the sands below me;
And I vanish, a King, into night forlorn.
"What of mine is good will endure for ever,
Growing into the ages on earth to be,
When--Eveling dwelt by the Azure River,
A King--shall be all that is told of me."
For days the tides with ebbing and flowing
Grew full with the moon; and out of the dim,
On the ocean's verge came the white sail growing,
And anchor'd below on the shoreward rim.
His people slept. For to them descended,
In that good time of the King, their rest,
While the lengthening shades of the eve yet blended
With the golden sunbeams low in the west.
No banded host on his footsteps waited,
No child nor vassal from bower or hall:
He look'd around him like one belated
On a lonely wild; and he went from all.
Slowly he strode to the ship; and for ever
Sailed out from the land he had ruled so well;
And the name of the King by the Azure River
Is all that is left for the bards to tell.
NOTES TO "KING EVELING."
The ancient, but now insignificant town and seaport of Ravenglass,
six miles from Bootle and about sixteen from Whitehaven, is
situated on a small creek, at the confluence of the rivers Esk,
Mite, and Irt, which form a large sandy harbour. Of this place the
Editor of Camden, Bishop Gibson, says--"The shore, wheeling to the
north, comes to Ravenglass, a harbour for ships, and commodiously
surrounded with two rivers; where, as I am told, there have been
found Roman inscriptions. Some will have it to have been formerly
called Aven-glass, i.e. (Coeruleus) an azure sky-coloured river;
and tell you abundance of stories about King Eveling, who had his
palace here."
Ravenglass appears from Mr. Sandford's M.S. to have been of old
of some importance as a fishing town. He says--"Here were some
salmons and all sorts of fish in plenty; but the greatest plenty of
herrings, (it) is a daintye fish of a foot long; and so plenteous
a fishing thereof and in the sea betwixt and the ile of man, as
they lie in sholes together so thike in the sea at spawning, about
August, _as a ship cannot pass thorow_: and the fishers go from all
the coast to catch them."
There was also formerly a considerable pearl-fishery at this place:
and Camden speaks of the shell-fish in the Irt producing pearls.
Sir John Hawkins obtained from government the right of fishing for
pearls in that river. The pearls were obtained from mussels, by the
inhabitants of the neighbourhood, who sought for them at low water,
and afterwards sold them to the jewellers. About the year 1695, a
patent was granted to some gentlemen, for pearl-fishing in the Irt;
but how the undertaking prospered is uncertain. The pearl-mussels
do not appear to have been very plentiful for many years. Nicolson
and Burn observe, that Mr. Thomas Patrickson, of How in this
County, is said to have obtained as many from divers poor people,
whom he employed to gather them, as he afterwards sold in London
for £800.
Tacitus in the "Agricola" describes the pearls found in Britain
as being of a dark and livid hue. Pliny also:--"In Britain some
pearls do grow, but they are small and dim, not clear and bright."
And again:--"Julius Cæsar did not deny, that the breast-plate
which he dedicated to Venus Genitrix, within the temple, was made
of British pearls." So that it is not at all improbable that our
little northern stream even may have contributed in some degree to
the splendour of the imperial offering.
The manor in which Ravenglass is included is dependent on the
barony of Egremont; and King John granted to Richard Lucy, as
lord paramount, a yearly fair to be held here on St. James's day,
and a weekly market every Saturday; and at the present time the
successor to the Earls of Egremont, Lord Leconfield, holds the
fair of Ravenglass, on the eve, day, and morrow of St. James.
Hutchinson thus describes it:--"There are singular circumstances
and ceremonies attending the proclamation of this fair, as being
anciently held under the maintenance and protection of the Castle
of Egremont. On the first day, the lord's steward is attended by
the sargeant of the Borough of Egremont, with the insignia (called
the bow of Egremont), the foresters, with their bows and horns,
and all the tenants of the forest of Copeland, whose special
service is to attend the lord and his representative at Ravenglass
fair, and abide there during its continuance; anciently, for the
protection of a free-trade, and to defend the merchandise against
free-booters, and a foreign enemy: such was the wretched state of
this country in former times, that all such protection was scarce
sufficient. For the maintenance of the horses of those who attend
the ceremony, they have by custom, a portion of land assigned in
the meadow, called, or distinguished, by the name of two Swaiths
of grass in the common field of Ravenglass. On the third day at
noon, the earl's officers, and tenants of the forest depart, after
proclamation; and Lord Muncaster (as mesne lord) and his tenants
take a formal repossession of the place; and the day is concluded
with horse races and rural diversions."
A genuine specimen of feudal observances is preserved in the
custom of riding the boundaries of manors, which, in the mountain
district, where the line of division is not very distinct,
is performed perhaps once during each generation, by the
representatives of the lord of the manor, accompanied by an immense
straggling procession of all ages,--the old men being made useful
in pointing out important or disputed portions of the boundary,
and the young in having it impressed on their memories, so that
their evidence or recollection may be made available in future
peregrinations. In older times, when the interests of the lords
outweighed farther than in our own day the rights of the peasantry,
certain youthful members of the retinue, in order to deepen the
impression and make it more enduring, were severely whipped at all
those points which the stewards were most anxious to have held in
remembrance. The occasions always wind up with a banquet, provided
on a most liberal scale by the lord of the manor, and open to all
who take part in the business of the day.
Another local usage connected with the landed interest, and long
observed with notable regularity, was the following. When salmon
was plentiful in the Cumberland rivers, and formed a very important
element in the ordinary living of the occupants of adjoining lands,
the tenants of the manor of Ennerdale and Kinniside claimed "a
free stream" in the river Ehen, from Ennerdale lake to the sea,
and assembled once a year to "ride the stream." If obstructions
were found, such as weirs and dams, they were at once destroyed.
Refreshments were levied or provided at certain places on the river
for the cavalcade. This custom has long ceased to be observed.
About a quarter of a mile to the south east of this place is
an old ivy-mantled ruin, designated Wall Castle. It is said to
have been the original residence of the Penningtons, but in all
probability it dates from a much remoter period. Stone battle-axes
and arrow-heads have been found around it, and coins of different
people, principally Roman and Saxon. The building is strongly
cemented with run lime.
This old castle stands at no great distance from the second cutting
through which the railroad passes after leaving Ravenglass:
adjoining to which, a little below the surface of the ground, an
ancient fosse and several foundations of walls have been laid
bare by the owner of the estate, and large quantities of building
stone removed from them at various times. In making this cutting,
the workmen laid open an ancient burial place, which was of great
depth, and contained a quantity of human remains, with several
bones of animals. The sides were secured by strong timber and
stone work. The buried bodies were very numerous, and the place
was evidently of very great antiquity. From the presence of oak
leaves and acorns, charred wood, etc., it has been supposed to have
been the tomb of the victims in some Druidical sacrifice: it being
known that the Druids immolated their criminals, by placing them
collectively in the interior of a large image of wickerwork, and
then setting fire to it; and that various animals were sacrificed
along with them by way of expiation.
About five miles to the east of Ravenglass is the small lake
of Devoke Water, near the foot of which, on the summit of a
considerable hill, stand the ruins of another interesting piece of
antiquity, the so-called city of Barnscar or Bardscar. Its site is
so elevated, as to command a wide extent of country, and an ancient
road from Ulpha to Ravenglass passes through it. The name is purely
Scandinavian, and tradition ascribes it to the Danes. A well known
popular saying in the locality refers to the manner in which this
city is said to have been peopled by its founders, who gathered
for inhabitants the men of Drigg and the women of Beckermet. The
original helpmates of the latter place are supposed to have fallen
in battle: what had become of the wives and daughters of the former
place is not averred. But the saying continues--"Let us gang
togidder like t' lads o' Drigg, an' t' lasses o' Beckermet."
The description of this place given by Hutchinson at the latter
end of last century is as follows:--"This place is about 300 yards
long, from east to west; and 100 yards broad, from north to south;
now walled round, save at the east end, near three feet in height;
there appears to have been a long street, with several cross
ones: the remains of housesteads, within the walls, are not very
numerous, but on the outside of the walls they are innumerable,
especially on the south side and west end; the circumference of the
city and suburbs is near three computed miles; the figure an oblong
square." It is added that about the year 1730, a considerable
quantity of silver coin was found in the ruins of one of the
houses, concealed in a cavity, formed in a beam; none of which
unfortunately has been preserved, to throw light upon the name, the
race, or character and habits of its possessors.
From the Pow to the Duddon innumerable objects of interest lie
scattered between the mountains and the sea coast, of which
little more can be said than was stated, as above, by Camden's
editor--"Some tell you abundance of stories about them"--as well as
"about King Eveling, who had his palace here."
SIR LANCELOT THRELKELD.
The widows were sitting in Threlkeld Hall;
The corn stood green on Midsummer-day;
Their little grand-children were tossing the ball;
And the farmers leaned over the garden wall;
And the widows were spinning the eve away.
They busily talk'd of the days long gone,
While the corn stood green on Midsummer-day;
How old Sir Lancelot's armour had shone
On the panels of oak by the broad hearthstone,
Where the widows sat spinning that eve away.
For, Threlkeld Hall of his mansions three--
Where the corn stood green on Midsummer-day--
Was his noblest house; and a stately tree
Was the good old Knight, and of high degree;
And a braver rode never in battle array.
Now peaceful farmers think of their corn--
The corn so green on Midsummer-day--
Where once, at the blast of Sir Lancelot's horn,
His horsemen all mustered, his banner was borne;
And he went like a Chief in his pride to the fray.
And there the good Clifford, the Shepherd-Lord,
When the corn stood green on Midsummer-day,
Sat, humbly clad, at Sir Lancelot's board;
And tended the flocks, while rusted his sword
In the hall where the widows were spinning away;
Till the new King called him back to his own--
When the corn stood green on Midsummer-day--
To his honours and name of high renown;
When Sir Lancelot old and feeble had grown;
From his rude shepherd-life called Lord Clifford away.
And sad was that morrow in Threlkeld Hall--
And the corn was green on that Midsummer-day--
When the Clifford stood ready to part from all;
And his shepherd's staff was hung up on the wall,
In that room where the widows sat spinning away.
And Sir Lancelot mounted, and called his men--
While the corn stood green on Midsummer-day--
And he gazed on Lord Clifford again and again;
And Sir Lancelot rode with him over the plain;
And at length with strong effort his silence gave way.
"I am old," Sir Lancelot said; "and I know--
When the corn stands green on Midsummer-day--
There will wars arise, and I shall be low,
Who ever was ready to arm and go!"--
For he loved the war tramp and the martial array.
"If ever a Knight might revisit this earth--
While the corn stands green on Midsummer-day"--
Said the Clifford--"When troubles and wars have birth,
Thou never shalt fail from Threlkeld's hearth!"
From that hearth where the widows were spinning away.
And so, along Souther Fell-side they press'd--
While the corn stood green on Midsummer-day,--
And then they parted--to east and to west--
And Sir Lancelot came and was laid to his rest.
Said the widows there spinning the eve away.
And the Shepherd had power in unwritten lore:
The corn stands green on Midsummer-day:
And although the Knight's coffin his banner hangs o'er,
Sir Lancelot yet can tread this floor;
Said the widows there spinning the eve away.--
Thus gossip'd the widows in Threlkeld Hall,
While the corn stood green on Midsummer-day:
When the sound of a footstep was heard to fall,
And an arm'd shadow pass'd over the wall--
Of a Knight with his plume and in martial array.
With a growl the fierce dogs slunk behind the huge chair,
While the corn stood green on that Midsummer-day;
And the widows stopt spinning; and each was aware
Of a tread to the porch, and Sir Lancelot there--
And a stir as of horsemen all riding away.
They turned their dim eyes to the lattice to gaze--
While the corn stood green on Midsummer-day--
But before their old limbs they could feebly raise,
The horsemen and horses were far on the ways--
From the Hall, where the widows were spinning away.
And far along Souter Fell-side they strode,
While the corn stood green on that Midsummer-day.
And the brave old Knight on his charger rode,
As he wont to ride from his old abode,
With his sword by his side and in martial array.
Like a chief he galloped before and behind--
While the corn stood green on Midsummer-day--
To the marshalled ranks he waved, and signed;
And his banner streamed out on the evening wind,
As they rode along Souter Fell-side away.
And to many an eye was revealed the sight,
While the corn stood green that Midsummer-day;
As Sir Lancelot Threlkeld the ancient Knight
With all his horsemen went over the height:
O'er the steep mountain summit went riding away.
And then as the twilight closed over the dell--
Where the corn stood green that Midsummer-day--
Came the farmers and peasants all flocking to tell
How Sir Lancelot's troop had gone over the fell!
And the widows sat listening, and spinning away.
And the widows looked mournfully round the old hall;
And the corn stood green on Midsummer-day;
"He is come at the good Lord Clifford's call!
He is up for the King, with his warriors all!"--
Said the widows there spinning the eve away.
"There is evil to happen, and war is at hand--
Where the corn stands green this Midsummer-day--
Or rebels are plotting to waste the land;
Or he never would come with his armed band"--
Said the widows there spinning the eve away.
"Our old men sleep in the grave. They cease:
While the corn stands green on Midsummer-day--
They rest, though troubles on earth increase;
And soon may Sir Lancelot's soul have peace!"
Sighed the widows while spinning the eve away.
"But this was the Promise the Shepherd-Lord--
When the corn stood green that Midsummer-day--
Gave, parting from Threlkeld's hearth and board,
To the brave old Knight--and he keeps his word!"
Said the widows all putting their spinning away.
NOTES TO "SIR LANCELOT THRELKELD."
The little village of Threlkeld is situated at the foot of
Blencathra about four miles from Keswick, on the highroad from
that town to Penrith. The old hall has long been in a state of
dilapidation, the only habitable part having been for years
converted into a farm house. Some faint traces of the moat are
said to be yet discernible. This was one of the residences of Sir
Lancelot Threlkeld, a powerful knight in the reign of Henry the
Seventh, step-father to the Shepherd Lord. His son, the last Sir
Lancelot, was wont to say that he had "three noble houses--one for
pleasure, Crosby in Westmorland, where he had a park full of deer;
one for profit and warmth, wherein to reside during winter, namely,
Yanwath, near Penrith; and the third, Threlkeld, on the edge of
the vale of Keswick, well stocked with tenants to go with him to
the wars." Sir Lancelot is said to have been a man of a kind and
generous disposition, who had either taken the side of the White
Rose in the great national quarrel, or at least had not compromised
himself to a ruinous extent on the other side; and has long had
the reputation of having afforded a retreat to the Shepherd Lord
Clifford, on the utter ruin of his house, after the crushing of the
Red Rose at Towton, when the Baron (his late father) was attained
in parliament, and all his lands were seized by the crown.
The Cliffords, Lords of Westmorland, afterwards Earls of
Cumberland, were a family of great power and princely possessions,
who for many generations occupied a position in the North West
of England, similar to that held by the Percies, Earls of
Northumberland, in the north-east.
Their blood was perhaps the most illustrious in the land. Descended
from Rollo first Duke of Normandy, by alliances in marriage it
intermingled with that of William the Lion, King of Scotland, and
with that of several of the Sovereigns of England.
Their territorial possessions corresponded with their illustrious
birth. These comprised their most ancient stronghold, Clifford
Castle, on the Wye, in Herefordshire; the lordship of the barony of
Westmorland, including the seigniories and Castles of Brougham and
Appleby; Skipton Castle in the West Riding of Yorkshire, with its
numerous townships, and important forest and manorial rights, their
most princely, and apparently favourite residence; and the Hall and
estates of Lonsborrow in the same County.
The Cliffords are said to be sprung from an uncle of William the
Conqueror. The father of William had a younger brother, whose
third son, Richard Fitz-Pontz, married the daughter and heiress
of Ralph de Toni, of Clifford Castle, in Herefordshire. Their
second son, Walter, succeeding to his mother's estates, assumed
the name of Clifford, and was the father of the Fair Rosamond, the
famous mistress of King Henry the Second. He died in 1176. His
great-grandson, Roger de Clifford acquired the inheritance of the
Veteriponts or Viponts, Lords of Brougham Castle in Westmorland, by
his marriage with one of the co-heiresses of Robert de Vipont, the
last of that race. It was their son Robert who was first summoned
to sit in parliament, by a writ dated the 29th of December, 1299,
as the Lord Clifford.
The Cliffords were a warlike race, and engaged in all the contests
of the time. For many generations the chiefs of their house figure
as distinguished soldiers and captains; and most of them died on
the field of battle.
Roger, the father of the first lord, was renowned in the wars of
Henry III. and of Edward I., and was killed in a skirmish with the
Welsh in the Isle of Anglesey, on St. Leonard's day, 1283.
His son Robert, the first Lord Clifford, a favourite and companion
in arms of Edward I., was one of the guardians of Edward II. when
a minor, and Lord High Admiral in that monarch's reign. He fell at
the battle of Bannockburn, in 1314.
Roger, his son, the second lord, was engaged in the Earl of
Lancaster's insurrection, and had done much to deserve political
martyrdom in that rebellious age: but a feeling of humanity, such
as is seldom read of in civil wars, and especially in those times,
saved him from execution, when he was taken prisoner with Lancaster
and the rest of his associates. He had received so many wounds in
the battle (of Borough bridge), that he could not be brought before
the judge for the summary trial, which would have sent him to the
hurdle and the gallows. Being looked upon, therefore, as a dying
man, he was respited from the course of law: time enough elapsed,
while he continued in this state, for the heat of resentment to
abate, and Edward of Carnarvon, who, though a weak and most
misguided prince, was not a cruel one, spared his life; an act of
mercy which was the more graceful, because Clifford had insulted
the royal authority in a manner less likely to be forgiven than his
braving it in arms. A pursuivant had served a writ upon him in the
Barons' Chamber, and he made the man eat the wax wherewith the writ
was signed, "in contempt, as it were, of the said King."
He was the first Lord Clifford that was attainted of treason.
His lands and honours were restored in the first year of Edward
III., but he survived the restoration only a few weeks, dying in
the flower of his age, unmarried; but leaving "some base children
behind him, whom he had by a mean woman who was called Julian of
the Bower, for whom he built a little house hard by Whinfell, and
called it Julian's Bower, the lower foundation of which standeth,
and is yet to be seen," said the compiler of the family records,
an hundred and fifty years ago, "though all the walls be down long
since. And it is thought that the love which this Roger bore to
this Julian kept him from marrying any other woman."
Roger de Clifford was succeeded in his titles and estates by his
brother Robert, the third baron, who married Isabella de Berkeley,
sister to Thomas, Lord Berkeley, of Berkeley Castle; in which
Castle, two years after it had rung with "shrieks of death," when
the tragedy of Edward II. was brought to its dreadful catastrophe
there, the marriage was performed.
This Robert lived a country life, and "nothing is mentioned of
him in the wars," except that he once accompanied an army into
Scotland. It is, however, related of him, that when Edward Baliol
was driven from Scotland, the exiled king was "right honourably
received by him in Westmorland, and entertained in his Castles of
Brougham, Appleby, and Pendragon;" in acknowledgement for which
hospitality Baliol, if he might at any time recover the kingdom of
Scotland out of his adversaries' hands, made him a grant of Douglas
Dale, which had been granted to his grandfather who fell in Wales.
The Hart's Horn Tree in Whinfell Park, well known in tradition, and
in hunters' tales, owes its celebrity to this visit. He died in
1340.
Robert, his son, fourth lord, fought by the side of Edward the
Black Prince at the memorable battles of Cressy and Poictiers.
Roger, his brother, the fifth lord, styled "one of the wisest and
gallantest of the Cliffords," also served in the wars in France and
Scotland, in the reign of Edward III.
Thomas, his son, sixth lord Clifford, one of the most chivalrous
knights of his time, overcame, in a memorable passage of arms, the
famous French knight, "le Sire de Burjisande," and, at the age of
thirty, was killed in the battle at Spruce in Germany.
John, his son, the seventh lord, a Knight of the Garter, carried
with him to the French wars three knights, forty-seven esquires,
and one hundred and fifty archers. He fought under the banner of
Henry V. at the battle of Agincourt, attended him at the sieges
Harfleur and Cherbourg, and was eventually slain, at the age of
thirty-three, at the siege of Meaux in France.
Thomas, his son, eighth lord Clifford, described as "a chief
commander in France," was grandson on his mother's side to the
celebrated Hotspur, Harry Percy, and gained renown by the daring
and ingenious stratagem which he planned and successfully executed
for taking the town of Pontoise, near Paris, in 1438. The English
had lain for some time before the town, with little prospect of
reducing it, when a heavy fall of snow suggested to Lord Clifford
the means of effecting its capture. Arraying himself and his
followers with white tunics over their armour, he concealed
them during the night close to the walls of the town, which at
daybreak he surprised and carried by storm. Two years afterwards
he valiantly defended the town of Pontoise against the armies of
France, headed by Charles VII. in person.
In the Wars of the Roses they were not less prominent. The last
mentioned Thomas, though nearly allied by blood to the house of
York, took part with his unfortunate sovereign, Henry VI., and
fell on the 22nd of May, 1455, at the first battle of St. Albans,
receiving his death-blow from the hands of Richard Duke of York, at
the age of forty.
John, his son, the next and ninth lord, called from his complexion
the Black-faced Clifford, thirsting to revenge the fate of his
father, perpetrated that memorable act of cruelty, which for
centuries has excited indignation and tears, the murder of the
young Earl of Rutland, brother of Edward IV., in the pursuit after
the battle of Wakefield, on the 30th December, 1460. The latter,
whilst being withdrawn from the field by his attendant chaplain
and schoolmaster, a priest, called Sir Robert Aspall, was espied
by Lord Clifford; and being recognised by means of his apparel,
"dismayed, had not a word to speak, but kneeled on his knees
imploring mercy and desiring grace, both with holding up his hands
and making dolorous countenance, for his speech was gone for fear.
'Save him,' said his chaplain, 'for he is a prince's son, and
peradventure may do you good hereafter.' With that word, the Lord
Clifford marked him and said, 'By God's blood, thy father slew
mine, and so will I do thee and all thy kin;' and with that word
stuck the earl to the heart with his dagger, and bade his chaplain
bear the earl's mother and brother word what he had done and said."
The murder in cold blood of this unarmed boy, for he was only
twelve or at most seventeen years old, while supplicating for his
life, was not the only atrocity committed by Lord Clifford on
that eventful day. "This cruel Clifford and deadly blood-supper,"
writes the old chronicler, "not content with this homicide or
child-killing, came to the place where the dead corpse of the Duke
of York lay, and caused his head to be stricken off, and set on it
a crown of paper, and so fixed it on a pole and presented it to
the queen, not lying far from the field, in great spite and much
derision, saying, 'Madam, your war is done; here is your king's
ransom;' at which present was much joy and great rejoicing."
Lord Clifford fought at the second battle of St. Albans, on the
17th of February, 1461. It was in his tent, after the Lancastrians
had won the victory, that the unfortunate Henry VI. once more
embraced his consort Margaret of Anjou, and their beloved child.
Lord Clifford is usually represented as having been slain at the
battle of Towton. He fell, however, in a hard fought conflict
which preceded that engagement by a few hours, at a spot called
Dittingale, situated in a small valley between Towton and
Scarthingwell, struck in the throat by a headless arrow, discharged
from behind a hedge.
A small chapel on the banks of the Aire formerly marked the spot
where lay the remains of John Lord Clifford, as well as those of
his cousin, Henry Percy, Earl of Northumberland, who perished later
in the day upon Towton Field, on the 29th of March, 1461.
For nearly a quarter of a century from this time, the name of
Clifford remained an attainted one; their castles and seigniories
passed into the hands of strangers and enemies. The barony of
Westmorland was conferred by Edward IV. upon his brother Richard
Duke of Gloucester; the castle and manor of Skipton he bestowed, in
the first instance, upon Sir William Stanley; but in the fifteenth
year of his reign he transferred them to his "dear brother," which
lordly appanage he retained till his death on Bosworth Field.[1]
The young widow left by the Black-faced Clifford, was Margaret
daughter and sole heiress of Henry de Bromflete, Baron de Vesci.
She had borne her husband three children, two sons and a daughter,
now attainted by parliament, deprived of their honours and
inheritance, and their persons and lives in hourly jeopardy from
the strict search which was being made for them. The seat of her
father at Lonsborrow in Yorkshire, surrounded by a wild district,
offered a retreat from their enemies; and thither, as soon as the
fate of her lord was communicated to her, driven from the stately
halls of Skipton and Appleby, of which she had ceased to be
mistress, flew the young widow with her hunted children, and saved
them from the rage of the victorious party by concealment.
Henry, the elder son, at the period of their flight to Lonsborrow
was only seven years old. He was there placed by his mother, in the
neighbourhood where she lived, with a shepherd who had married one
of her inferior servants, an attendant on his nurse, to be brought
up in no better condition than the shepherd's own children. The
strict inquiry which had been made after them, and the subsequent
examination of their mother respecting them, at length led to the
conclusion that they had been conveyed beyond the sea, whither in
truth the younger boy had been sent, into the Netherlands, and
not long after died there. The daughter grew up to womanhood, and
became the wife of Sir Robert Aske, from whom descended the Askes
of Yorkshire, and the Lord Fairfax of Denton in the same county.
When the high born shepherd boy was about his fourteenth year,
his grandfather, Lord de Vesci being dead, and his mother having
become the wife of Sir Lancelot Threlkeld, a rumour again arose and
reached the court that the young Lord Clifford was alive; whereupon
his mother, with the connivance and assistance of her husband, had
the shepherd with whom she had placed her son, removed with his
wife and family from Yorkshire to the more mountainous country
of Cumberland. In that wild and remote region, the persecuted
boy was "kept as a shepherd sometimes at Threlkeld amongst his
step-father's kindred, and sometimes upon the borders of Scotland,
where they took land purposely for those shepherds who had the
custody of him, where many times his step-father came purposely to
visit him, and sometimes his mother, though very secretly."
In this obscurity the heir of the Cliffords passed the remainder
of his boyhood, all his youth, and his early manhood; haunting, in
the pursuit of pastoral occupations, the lofty moorland wastes at
the foot of Blencathra, or musing in the solitude of the stupendous
heights of that "Peak of Witches;" at other times, ranging amid the
lonesome glens of Skiddaw Forest, or on the bleak heath-clad hills
of Caldbeck and Carrock.
Thus being of necessity nurtured much in solitude, and, habited in
rustic garb, bred up to man's estate among the simple dalesmen, to
whom, as well as to himself, his rank and station were unknown, he
was reared in so great ignorance that he could neither read nor
write; for his parents durst not have him instructed in any kind
of learning, lest by it his birth should be discovered; and when
subsequently he was restored to his title and estates, and took his
place among his peers, he never attained to higher proficiency in
the art of writing than barely enabled him to sign his name.
One of the first acts of Henry VII. was to restore the lowly
Clifford to his birthright and to all that had been possessed by
his noble ancestors. And his mother, who did not die till the year
1493, lived to see him thus suddenly exalted from a poor shepherd
into a rich and powerful lord, at the age of one and thirty.
In his retirement he had acquired great astronomical knowledge,
watching, like the Chaldeans of old time, the stars by night
upon the mountains, as is current from tradition in the village
and neighbourhood of Threlkeld at this day. And when, on his
restoration to his estates and honours, he had become a great
builder and repaired several of his castles, he resided chiefly at
Barden Tower, in Yorkshire, to be near the Priory of Bolton; "to
the end that he might have opportunity to converse with some of
the canons of that house, as it is said, who were well versed in
astronomy; unto which study having a singular affection (perhaps
in regard to his solitary shepherd's life, which gave him time for
contemplation,) he fitted himself with diverse instruments for use
therein."
Whitaker, in like manner, represents the restored lord as having
brought to his new position "the manners and education of a
shepherd," and as being "at this time, almost, if not altogether,
illiterate." But it is added that he was "far from deficient in
natural understanding, and, what strongly marks an ingenuous mind
in a state of recent elevation, depressed by a consciousness of
his own deficiencies." If it was on this account, as we are also
told, that he retired to the solitude of Barden, where he seems to
have enlarged the tower out of a common keeper's lodge, he found
in it a retreat equally favourable to taste, to instruction, and
to devotion. The narrow limits of his residence show that he had
learned to despise the pomp of greatness, and that a small train of
servants could suffice him, who had lived to the age of thirty a
servant himself.
Whitaker suspects Lord Clifford, however, "to have been sometimes
occupied in a more visionary pursuit, and probably in the same
company," namely, the canons of Bolton, from having found among the
family evidences two manuscripts on the subject of Alchemy, which
may almost certainly be referred to the age in which he lived. If
these were originally deposited with the MSS. of the Cliffords, it
might have been for the use of this nobleman. If they were brought
from Bolton at the Dissolution, they must have been the work of
those canons with whom he almost exclusively conversed.
In these peaceful employments Lord Clifford spent the whole
reign of Henry VII., and the first years of that of his son. His
descendant the Countess of Pembroke describes him as a plain man,
who lived for the most part a country life, and came seldom either
to court or London, excepting when called to Parliament, on which
occasion he behaved himself like a wise and good English nobleman.
But in the year 1513, when almost sixty years old, he was appointed
to a principal command over the army which fought at Flodden, and
showed that the military genius of the family had neither been
chilled in him by age, nor extinguished by habits of peace.
He survived the battle of Flodden ten years, and died April 23rd,
1523, aged about 70; having by his last will appointed his body
to be interred at Shap, if he died in Westmorland; or at Bolton,
if he died in Yorkshire. "I shall endeavour," says Whitaker, "to
appropriate to him a tomb, vault, and chantry, in the choir of
the Church of Bolton, as I should be sorry to believe that he was
deposited, when dead, at a distance from the place which in his
life time he loved so well." There exists no memorial of his
place of burial. The broken floors and desecrated vaults of Shap
and Bolton afford no trace or record of his tomb. It is probable,
however, that in one of these sanctuaries he was laid to rest among
the ashes of his illustrious kindred.
The vault at Skipton Church was prepared for the remains of his
immediate descendants. Thither, with three of their wives, and a
youthful scion of their house, the boy Lord Francis, were borne
in succession the five Earls of Cumberland of his name; when this
their tomb finally closed over the line of Clifford: the lady
Anne choosing rather to lie beside "her beloved mother," in the
sepulchre which she had erected for herself at Appleby, than with
her martial ancestors at Skipton.
Having thus been wonderfully preserved--says a writer whose
words have often been quoted in these pages--and after twenty
years of secretness and seclusion, having been restored in blood
and honours, to his barony, his lands, and his castles; he, the
Shepherd Lord, came forth upon the world with a mind in advance of
the age, a spirit of knowledge, of goodness, and of light, such as
was rarely seen in that time of ignorance and superstition; averse
to courtly pomp, delighting himself chiefly in country pursuits,
in repairing his castles, and in learned intercourse with such
literate persons as he could find. He was the wisest of his race,
and falling upon more peaceful times, was enabled to indulge in the
studies and thoughtful dispositions which his early misfortunes
had induced and cultured. Throughout a long life he remained one,
whose precious example, though it had but few imitators, and even
exposed him to be regarded with dread, as dealing in the occult
sciences, and leagued with beings that mortal man ought not to
know, was nevertheless so far appreciated by his less enlightened
countrymen, that his image was always linked in their memories and
affections with whatever was great and ennobling, and caused him to
be recorded to this, our day, by the endearing appellation of the
"Good Lord Clifford."
This nobleman was twice married,--first to Anne, daughter of
Sir John St. John of Bletsoe, cousin-germain to King Henry the
Seventh, by whom he had two sons and five daughters. Lady Clifford
was a woman of great goodness and piety, who lived for the most
part a country life in her husband's castles in the North, during
the twenty-one years she remained his wife. His second wife was
Florence, daughter of Henry Pudsey, of Bolton, in Yorkshire,
Esquire, grandson of Sir Ralph Pudsey, the faithful protector
of Henry the Sixth after the overthrow of the Lancastrian cause
at Hexham. By her he had two or three sons, and one daughter,
Dorothy, who became the wife of Sir Hugh Lowther, of Lowther, in
Westmorland, and from whom the Earls of Lonsdale are descended.
It is said that, towards the end of the first Lady Clifford's
life, her husband was unkind to her, and he had two or three base
children by another woman.
Lord Clifford was unfortunate in having great unkindness and
estrangement between himself and his oldest son Henry. Early habits
of friendship, on the part of the latter, with King Henry VIII.
and a strong passion for parade and greatness, seem to have robbed
his heart of filial affection. The pure simplicity and unequivocal
openness of his father's manners had long been an offence to his
pride; but the old man's alliance with Florence Pudsey provoked his
irreconcilable aversion. By his follies and vices, also, the latter
years of his father were sorely disturbed. That wild and dissolute
young nobleman, attaching himself to a troop of roystering
followers, led a bandit's life, oppressed the lieges, harassed the
religious houses, beat the tenants, and forced the inhabitants of
whole villages to take sanctuary in their churches. He afterwards
reformed, and was employed in all the armies sent into Scotland by
Henry the Seventh and his successor, where he ever behaved himself
nobly and valiantly; and subsequently became one of the most
eminent men of his time, and within two years after his father's
death, having been through life a personal friend and favourite
of Henry the Eighth, was elevated by that partial monarch to the
dignity of Earl of Cumberland, which title he held till his decease
in 1542. It has been conjectured, but on no sufficient grounds,
that he was the hero of the ballad of "The Nut-Brown Maid."
In addition to the members of this distinguished family who have
already been enumerated as attaining to great personal distinction,
may be named George, the third of the five Earls of Cumberland, the
favourite of Queen Elizabeth, called the "Great Sea-faring Lord
Clifford," an accomplished courtier as well as naval hero,[2] one
of those to whom England is indebted for her proud title of "the
Ocean Queen." And lastly, his daughter, the Lady Anne Clifford,
Countess of Dorset, Pembroke, and Montgomery, of famous memory, one
of the most celebrated women of her time.
About three miles from Threlkeld, the ancient home of Sir Lancelot
Threlkeld and his noble step-son, stands as the eastern barrier of
the Blencathra group of mountains, that part of it which is known
as Souter Fell; whose irregular and precipitous summit, everywhere
difficult of access, rises to a height of about 2,500 feet. It is
on the south of Bowscale Fell, leaning westward from the Hesketh
and Carlisle road, by which its eastern base is skirted. This
mountain is celebrated in local history as having several times
been the scene of those singular aerial phenomena known as mirages.
A tradition of a spectral army having been seen marching over these
mountains had long been current in the neighbourhood, and this
remarkable exhibition was actually witnessed in the years 1735,
1737, and 1745, by several independent parties of the dalesmen;
and, as may well be supposed, excited much attention in the north
of England, and long formed a subject of superstitious fear and
wonder in the surrounding district. A sight so strange as that of
the whole side of the mountain appearing covered with troops, both
infantry and cavalry, who after going through regular military
evolutions for more than an hour, defiled off in good order, and
disappeared over a precipitous ridge on the summit, was sure to
be the subject of much speculation and enquiry. Many persons at
a distance hearing of the phenomenon, proceeded to the places
where it was witnessed, purposely to examine the spectators who
asserted the fact, and who continued positive in their assertions
as to the appearances. Amongst others, one of the contributors
to Hutchinson's History of Cumberland went to inquire into the
subject; and the following is the account of the information he
obtained, given in his own words.
"On Midsummer Eve 1735, William Lancaster's servant related that
he saw the east side of Souter Fell, towards the top, covered with
a regular marching army for above an hour together; he said they
consisted of distinct bodies of troops, which appeared to proceed
from an eminence in the north end, and marched over a nitch in the
top, but as no other person in the neighbourhood had seen the like,
he was discredited and laughed at.
"Two years after, on Midsummer Eve also, betwixt the hours of
eight and nine, William Lancaster himself imagined that several
gentlemen were following their horses at a distance, as if they had
been hunting, and taking them for such, paid no regard to it, till
about ten minutes after, again turning his head to the place, they
appeared to be mounted, and a vast army following, five in rank,
crowding over at the same place, where the servant said he saw them
two years before. He then called his family, who all agreed in
the same opinion; and what was most extraordinary, he frequently
observed that some one of the five would quit the rank, and seem to
stand in a fronting posture, as if he was observing and regulating
the order of their march, or taking account of the numbers, and
after some time appeared to return full gallop to the station he
had left, which they never failed to do as often as they quitted
their lines, and the figure that did so was one of the middlemost
men in the rank. As it grew later they seemed more regardless of
discipline, and rather had the appearance of people riding from
a market, than an army, though they continued crowding on, and
marching off, as long as they had light to see them.
"This phenomenon was no more seen till the Midsummer Eve, which
preceded the rebellion, when they were determined to call more
families to witness this sight, and accordingly went to Wiltonhill
and Souther Fell-side, till they convened about twenty-six persons,
who all affirm that they saw the same appearance, but not conducted
with the usual regularity as the preceding ones, having the
likeness of carriages interspersed; however it did not appear to be
less real, for some of the company were so affected with it as in
the morning to climb the mountain, through an idle expectation of
finding horse shoes, after so numerous an army, but they saw not a
vestige or print of a foot.
"William Lancaster, indeed, told me, that he never concluded they
were real beings, because of the impracticability of a march over
the precipices, where they seemed to come on; that the night was
extremely serene; that horse and man, upon strict looking at,
appeared to be but one being, rather than two distinct ones; that
they were nothing like any clouds or vapours, which he had ever
perceived elsewhere; that their number was incredible, for they
filled lengthways near half a mile, and continued so in a swift
march for above an hour, and much longer he thinks if night had
kept off."
The writer adds,--"This whole story has so much the air of a
romance, that it seemed fitter for _Amadis de Gaul_, or _Glenvilles
System of Witches_, than the repository of the learned; but as the
country was full of it, I only give it verbatim from the original
relation of a people, that could have no end in imposing upon their
fellow-creatures, and are of good repute in the place where they
live."
Not less circumstantial is the account of this remarkable
phenomenon gathered from the same sources by Mr. James Clarke,
the intelligent author of the Survey of the Lakes; and which
account, he says, "perhaps can scarcely be paralleled by history,
or reconciled to probability; such, however, is the evidence we
have of it," he continues, "that I cannot help relating it, and
then my readers must judge for themselves. I shall give it nearly
in the words of Mr. Lancaster of _Blakehills_, from whom I had the
account; and whose veracity, even were it not supported by many
concurrent testimonies, I could fully rely upon. The story is as
follows:
"On the 23rd of June 1744 (Qu. 45?), his father's servant, Daniel
Stricket (who now lives under Skiddaw, and is an auctioneer),
about half past seven in the evening was walking a little above
the house. Looking round him he saw a troop of men on horseback
riding on _Souther Fell-side_, (a place so steep that an horse
can scarcely travel on it at all,) in pretty close ranks and at a
brisk walk. Stricket looked earnestly at them some time before he
durst venture to acquaint any one with what he saw, as he had the
year before made himself ridiculous by a visionary story, which I
beg leave here also to relate: He was at that time servant to John
Wren of _Wiltonhill_, the next house to _Blakehills_, and sitting
one evening after supper at the door along with his master, they
saw a man with a dog pursuing some horses along Souther Fell-side;
and they seemed to run at an amazing pace, till they got out of
sight at the low end of the Fell. This made them resolve to go
next morning to the place to pick up the shoes which they thought
these horses must have lost in galloping at such a furious rate;
they expected likewise to see prodigious grazes from the feet of
these horses on the steep side of the mountain, and to find the
man lying dead, as they were sure he run so fast that he must
kill himself. Accordingly they went, but, to their great surprise,
found not a shoe, nor even a single vestige of any horse having
been there, much less did they find the man lying dead as they
had expected. This story they some time concealed; at length,
however, they ventured to tell it, and were (as might be expected)
heartily laughed at. Stricket, conscious of his former ridiculous
error, observed these aerial troops some time before he ventured to
mention what he saw; at length, fully satisfied that what he saw
was real, he went into the house, and told Mr. Lancaster he had
something curious to show him. Mr. Lancaster asked him what it was,
adding, "I suppose some bonefire," (for it was then, and still is
a custom, for the shepherds, on the evening before St. John's day,
to light bonefires, and vie with each other in having the largest.)
Stricket told him, if he would walk with him to the end of the
house he would show him what it was. They then went together,
and before Stricket spoke or pointed to the place, Mr. Lancaster
himself discovered the phenomenon, and said to Stricket, "Is that
what thou hast to show me?" "Yes, Master," replied Stricket: "Do
you think you see as I do?" They found they did see alike, so they
went and alarmed the family, who all came, and all saw this strange
phenomenon.
"These visionary horsemen seemed to come from the lowest part of
Souther Fell, and became visible first at a place called KNOTT:
they then moved in regular troops along the side of the Fell, till
they came opposite _Blakehills_, when they went over the mountain:
thus they described a kind of curvilineal path upon the side of the
Fell, and both their first and last appearance were bounded by the
top of the mountain.
"Frequently the last, or last but one, in a troop, (always either
the one or the other,) would leave his place, gallop to the front,
and then take the same pace with the rest, a _regular, swift
walk_: these changes happened to every troop, (for many troops
appeared,) and oftener than once or twice, yet not at all times
alike. The spectators saw, _all alike_, the same changes, and at
the same time, as they discovered by asking each other questions
as any change took place. Nor was this wonderful phenomenon seen
at Blakehills only, it was seen by _every_ person at _every
cottage_ within the distance of a mile; neither was it confined to
a momentary view, for from the time that Stricket first observed
it, the appearance must have lasted at least two hours and a half,
viz. from half past seven, till the night coming on prevented the
farther view; nor yet was the distance such as could impose rude
resemblances on the eyes of credulity: _Blakehills_ lay not half
a mile from the place where this astonishing appearance _seemed_
to be, and many other places where it was likewise seen are still
nearer."
This account is attested by the signatures of William Lancaster and
Daniel Stricket, and dated the 21st day of July 1785.
"Thus I have given," continues Mr. Clark, "the best account I can
procure of this wonderful appearance; let others determine what
it was. This country, like every other where cultivation has been
lately introduced, abounds in the _aniles fabellæ_ of fairies,
ghosts, and apparitions; but these are never even _fabled_ to
have been seen by more than one or two persons at a time, and the
view is always said to be momentary. Speed tells of something
indeed similar to this as preceding a dreadful intestine war. Can
something of this nature have given rise to Ossian's grand and
awful mythology? or, finally, Is there any impiety in supposing, as
this happened immediately before that rebellion which was intended
to subvert the liberty, the law, and the religion of England; that
though immediate prophecies have ceased, these visionary beings
might be directed to warn mankind of approaching _tumults_? In
short, it is difficult to say what it was, or what it was not."
Sir David Brewster, in his work on _Natural Magic_, after quoting
this narrative from Mr. James Clark, which he describes as "one of
the most interesting accounts of aerial spectres with which we are
acquainted," continues--"These extraordinary sights were received
not only with distrust, but with absolute incredulity. They were
not even honoured with a place in the records of natural phenomena,
and the philosophers of the day were neither in possession of
analagous facts, nor were they acquainted with those principles
of atmospherical refraction upon which they depend. The strange
phenomena, indeed, of the _Fata Morgana_, or the _Castles of the
Fairy Mor-Morgana_, had been long before observed, and had been
described by Kircher, in the 17th century, but they presented
nothing so mysterious as the aerial troopers of Souter Fell; and
the general characters of the two phenomena were so unlike, that
even a philosopher might have been excused for ascribing them to
different causes."
The accepted explanation of this appearance now is, that on the
evenings in question, the rebel Scotch troops were performing their
military evolutions on the west coast of Scotland, and that by
some peculiar refraction of the atmosphere their movements were
reflected on this mountain. Phenomena similar to these were seen
near Stockton-on-the-Forest, in Yorkshire, in 1792; in Harrogate,
on June 28th, 1812; and near St. Neot's, in Huntingdonshire, in
1820. Tradition also records the tramp of armies over Helvellyn, on
the eve of the battle of Marston Moor. To these may be added the
appearance of the Spectre of the Brocken in the Hartz Mountains;
and an instance mentioned by Hutchinson, that in the spring of the
year 1707, early on a serene still morning, two persons who were
walking from one village to another in Leicestershire, observed a
like appearance of an army marching along, till, going behind a
great hill, it disappeared. The forms of pikes and carbines were
distinguishable, the march was not entirely in one direction, but
was at first like the junction of two armies, and the meeting of
generals.
Aerial phenomena of a like nature are recorded by Livy, Josephus,
and Suetonius; and a passage in Sacred History seems to refer to a
similar circumstance. See Judges ix. 36.
Many in this country considered these appearances as ominous of the
great waste of blood spilt by Britain in her wars with America and
France. Shakespeare says, in _Julius Cæsar_,
"When these prodigies
Do so conjointly meet, let not men say,
---- ----they are natural;
For, I believe, they are portentous things
Unto the climate that they point upon."
FOOTNOTES:
[1] Whitaker gives the terms of this grant: "The king, in cons'on of
ye laudable and commendable service of his dere b'r Richard Duke of
Gloucester, as _for the encouragement of piety and virtue_ in the said
duke, did give and grant, etc., the honor, castle, manors, and demesnes
of Skipton, with the manor of Marton, etc., etc." Pat: Rolls, 15 Edw.
IV.
[2] A notable example of the piety of our ancestors is recorded in a
MS. Journal of a Voyage to India, still preserved in Skipton Castle,
made under the auspices of this Earl of Cumberland. It gives an account
of the proceedings of the Expedition on a Saturday and Sunday.
"Nov. 5. Our men went on shor and fet rys abord, and burnt the rest
of the houses in the negers towne; and our bot went downe to the
outermoste pointe of the ryver, and burnt a towne, and brout away all
the rys that was in the towne. The 6th day we servyd God, being Sunday."
In what manner they served God on the Sunday, after plundering and
burning two towns on the Saturday, the writer has not thought it
necessary to relate.
PAN ON KIRKSTONE.
Not always in fair Grecian bowers
Piped ancient Pan, to charm the hours.
Once in a thousand years he stray'd
Round earth, and all his realms survey'd.
And fairer in the world were none
Than those bright scenes he look'd upon,
Where Ulph's sweet lake her valleys woo'd,
And Windar all her isles renew'd.
For, long ere Kirkstone's rugged brow
Was worn by mortal feet as now,
Great Pan himself the Pass had trod,
And rested on the heights, a God!
Who climbs from Ulph's fair valley sees,
Still midway couched on Kirkstone-Screes,
Old as the hills, his Dog on high,
At gaze athwart the southern sky.
A rock, upon that rocky lair,
It lives from out the times that were,
When hairy Pan his soul to cheer
Look'd from those heights on Windermere.
There piped he on his reed sweet lays,
Piped his great heart's delight and praise;
While Nature, answering back each tone,
Joy'd the glad fame to find her own.
"Could I, while men at distance keep,"
Said Pan, "in yon bright waters peep,
And watch their ripples come and go,
And see what treasures hide below!
"Rivall'd is my fair Greece's store,
My own Parnassian fields and shore!
I will delight me, and behold
Myself in yon bright Mere of gold."
Like thought, his Dog sprang to yon lair
To watch the heights and sniff the air:
Like thought, on Helm a Lion frown'd,
To guard the northern Pass's bound:
And with his mate a mighty Pard
On Langdale-head, kept watchful ward:--
That great God Pan his soul might cheer,
Glass'd in the depths of Windermere.
Then down the dell from steep to steep,
With many a wild and wayward leap,
The God descending stood beside
His image on the golden tide.
His shaggy sides in full content
He sunn'd, and o'er the waters bent;
Then hugg'd himself the reeds among,
And piped his best Arcadian song.
What was it, as he knelt and drew
The wave to sip, that pierced him through?
What whispered sound, what stifled roar,
Has reached him listening on the shore?
He shivers on the old lake stones;
He leans, aghast, to catch the groans
Which come like voices uttering woe
Up all the streams, and bid him go.
Onward the looming troubles roll,
All centring towards his mighty soul.
He shriek'd! and in a moment's flight,
Stunn'd, through the thickets plunged from sight.
Plunged he, his unking'd head to hide
With goats and herds in forests wide?
Or down beneath the rocks to lie,
Shut in from leaves, and fields, and sky?
Gone was the great God out from earth!
Gone, with his pipe of tuneful mirth!
Whither, and wherefore, men may say
Who stood where Pilate mused that day.
And with that breath that crisp'd the rills,
And with that shock that smote the hills,
A moment Nature sobb'd and mourn'd,
And things of life to rocks were turned.
Stricken to stone in heart and limb,
Like all things else that followed him,
Yonder his Dog lies watching still
For Pan's lost step to climb the hill.
And those twin Pards, huge, worn with time,
Stretch still their rocky lengths sublime,
Where once they watched to guard from man
The sportive mood of great God Pan.
And craggy Helm's grey Lion rears
The mane he shook in those old years,
In changeless stone, from morn to morn
Awaiting still great Pan's return.
Could he come back again, to range
The earth, how much must all things change!
Not Nature's self, even rock and stone,
Would deign her perished God to own.
The former life all fled away--
No custom'd haunt to bid him stay--
No flower on earth, no orb on high,
No place, to know him--Pan must die.
Down with his age he went to rest;
His great heart, stricken in his breast
By tidings from that far-off shore,
Burst--and great Pan was King no more!
NOTES TO "PAN ON KIRKSTONE."
The sudden trouble and annihilation of Pan have reference to a
passage in Plutarch, in his _Treatise on Oracles_, in which he
relates that at the time of the Crucifixion, a voice was heard by
certain mariners, sweeping over the Egean Sea, and crying "Pan is
dead"; and the Oracles ceased. This idea, so beautifully expressing
the overthrow of Paganism, and the flight of the old gods, at the
inauguration of Christianity, Milton has finely elaborated in his
sublime "Hymn on the Morning of the Nativity."
Many of the mountains in the North of England derive their name
from some peculiarity of form: as _Helm-Crag_ in Grasmere,
_Saddle-Back_ near Keswick, _Great Gable_ at the head of
Wast-Water, _The Pillar_ in Ennerdale, _The Hay Stacks_, _The
Haycocks_, _High Stile_, _Steeple_, &c.
There are also very marked resemblances to animate objects, well
known to those familiar with the Lake District, as the _Lion and
the Lamb_ on the summit of Helm-Crag; the _Astrologer_, or _Old
woman cowering_, on the same spot when seen from another quarter;
the rude similitude of a female colossal statue, which gives the
name of _Eve's Crag_ to a cliff in the vale of Derwentwater. An
interesting and but little known Arthurian reminiscence is found
in the old legend that the recumbent effigy of that great king may
be traced from some parts of the neighbourhood of Penrith in the
outlines of the mountain range of which the peaks of Saddleback
form the most prominent points. From the little hill of Castle
Head or Castlet, the royal face of George the Third with its
double chin, short nose, and receding forehead, can be quite
made out in the crowning knob of Causey Pike. From under Barf,
near Bassenthwaite Water, is seen the form which gives name to
the _Apostle's Crag_. At a particular spot, the solemn shrouded
figure comes out with bowed head and reverent mien, as if actually
detaching itself from the rock--a vision seen by the passer by
only for a few yards, when the magic ceases, and the Apostle goes
back to stone. The massy forms of the Langdale Pikes, as seen from
the south east, with the sweeping curve of Pavey Ark behind, are
strikingly suggestive of two gigantic lions or pards, crouching
side by side, with their breasts half turned towards the spectator.
And a remarkable figure of a shepherd's dog, but of no great size,
may be seen stretched out on a jutting crag, about half way up the
precipice which overhangs the road, as the summit of Kirkstone Pass
is approached from Brother's Water. It is not strictly, as stated
in the foregoing verses, on the part of Kirkstone Fell called Red
Screes, but some distance below it on the Patterdale side.
Among the freaks of Nature occasionally to be found in these hilly
regions, is the print of the heifer's foot in Borrowdale, shown
by the guides; and on a stone near Buck-Crag in Eskdale, the
impressions of the foot of a man, a boy, and a dog, without any
marks of tooling or instrument; and the remarkable precipices of
Doe-Crag and Earn-Crag, whose fronts are polished as marble, the
one 160 yards in perpendicular height, the other 120 yards.
On the top of the Screes, above Wastwater, stood for ages a very
large stone called Wilson's Horse; which about a century ago fell
down into the lake, when a cleft was made one hundred yards long,
four feet wide, and of incredible depth.
ST. BEGA AND THE SNOW MIRACLE.
The seas will rise though saints on board
Commend their frail skiff to the Lord.
And Bega and her holy band
Are shipwrecked on the Cumbrian strand.
"Give me," she asked, "for me and mine,
O Lady of high Bretwalda's line!
Give, for His sake who succoured thee,
A shelter for these maids and me."--
Then sew'd, and spun, and crewl-work wrought,[3]
And served the poor they meekly taught,
These virgins good; and show'd the road
By blameless lives to Heaven and God.
They won from rude men love and praise;
They lived unmoved through evil days;
And only longed for a home to rise
To store up treasures for the skies.
That pious wish the Lady's bower
Has reached; and forth she paced the tower:--
"My gracious Lord! of thy free hand
Grant this good Saint three roods of land.
"Three roods, where she may rear a pile,
To sing God's praise through porch and aisle;
And, serving Him, us too may bless
For sheltering goodness in distress."
The Earl he turned him gaily near,
Laughed lightly in his Lady's ear--
"By this bright Eve of blessed St. John!
I'll give--what the snow to-morrow lies on."
His Lady roused him at dawn with smiles--
"The snow lies white for miles and miles!"
From loophole and turret he stares on the sight
Of Midsummer-morning clothed in white.
"--Well done, good Saint! the lands are thine.
Go, build thy church, and deck thy shrine.
I 'bate no jot of my plighted word,
Though lightly spoken and lightly heard.
"If mirth and my sweet Lady's grace
Have lost me many a farm and chace,
I know that power unseen belongs
To holy ways and Christian songs.
"And He, who thee from wind and wave
Deliverance and a refuge gave,
When we must brave a gloomier sea,
May hear thy prayers for mine and me."
NOTES TO "ST. BEGA AND THE SNOW MIRACLE."
The remains of the Monastery of St. Bees, about four miles south
of Whitehaven, stand in a low situation, with marshy lands to the
east, and on the west exposed to storms from the Irish Channel.
In respect to this religious foundation, Tanner says, "Bega, an
holy woman from Ireland is said to have founded, about the year
650, a small monastery in Copeland, where afterwards a church was
built in memory of her. This religious house being destroyed by the
Danes, was restored by William, brother to Ranulph de Meschines,
Earl of Cumberland, in the time of King Henry I., and made a cell
for a prior and six Benedictine monks, to the Abbey of St. Mary,
York."
The earliest documents connected with this place call it
_Kirkby-Begogh_, the market town of St. Bega; and _St. Bee_, or
_St. Bees_, the Saint's house or houses, names given to it _after_
the Irish Saint resided there.
St. Bega is said to have been the daughter of an Irish king, "who
was a Christian, and an earnest man, to boot." He wished to marry
his daughter to a Norwegian prince; but she, having determined
to be a nun, ran away from her father's house, and joining some
strange sailors, took ship, and sailed to the coast of Cumberland.
The accounts given of the first foundation of the nunnery of
St. Bees are very contradictory, the common version being the
traditionary account in Mr. Sandford's MS., namely, that the extent
of the territories was originally designated by a preternatural
fall of snow, through the prayers of the Saint, on the eve of St.
John's or Midsummer day. From this MS. it would appear that a
ship, containing a lady abbess and her sisters, being "driven in
by stormy weather at Whitehaven," the abbess applied for relief to
the lady of Egremont, who, taking compassion on her destitution,
obtained of her lord a dwelling place for them, "at the now St.
Bees;" where they "sewed and spinned, and wrought carpets and other
work and lived very godly lives, as got them much love." It goes on
to say that the lady of Egremont, at the request of the abbess,
spoke to her lord to give them some land "to lay up treasure in
heaven," and that "he laughed and said he would give them as much
as snow fell upon the next morning, being Midsummer day; and on the
morrow as he looked out of his castle window, all was white with
snow for three miles together. And thereupon builded this St. Bees
Abbie, and gave all those lands was snowen unto it, and the town
and haven of Whitehaven, &c."
The "Life of Sancta Bega," however, a latin chronicle of the Middle
Ages, in which are recorded the acts of the Saint, gives the Snow
Miracle somewhat differently, and places it many years after the
death of the mild recluse, in the time of Ranulph de Meschines. The
monkish historian relates that certain persons had instilled into
the ears of that nobleman, that the monks had unduly extended their
possessions. A dispute arose on this subject, for the settlement of
which, by the prayers of the religious, "invoking most earnestly
the intercession of their advocate the blessed Bega," the whole
land became white with snow, except the territories of the church
which stood forth dry.
It is certain that the name of _Sancta Bega_ is inseparably
connected with the Snow Miracle; but the anachronism which refers
the former of the accounts just given to the period of William de
Meschines would seem to show that the narrator has mixed up the
circumstances attending its foundation in the middle of the seventh
century with its restoration in the twelfth; for, says Denton, "the
said Lord William de Meschines seated himself at Egremont, where
he built a castle upon a sharp topped hill, and thereupon called
the same _Egremont_." This writer elsewhere says, "The bounders of
William Meschines aforesaid, which he gave the priory are in these
words: 'Totam terram et vis totum feodum inter has divisas, viz. a
pede de Whit of Haven ad Kekel, et per Kekel donec cadit in Eyre
et per Eyre quousque in mare.' Kekel runneth off from Whillymore
by Cleator and Egremont, and so into Eyne; at Egremont Eyre is the
foot of Eyne, which falleth out of Eynerdale."
The monkish version of the legend, therefore, refers to William
de Meschines, as the Lord of Egremont, and to the lands which
were given by him at the restoration of the Priory in the twelfth
century: whilst that related by Sandford alludes to some other
powerful chief, who, in the life time of the Saint in the seventh
century had his seat at Egremont, which, as has been stated
elsewhere, "was probably a place of strength during the Heptarchy,
and in the time of the Danes."
It might almost seem as if some such legend as that of the Snow
Miracle were necessary to account for the singular form of this
extensive and populous parish: which includes the large and
opulent town of Whitehaven; the five chapelries of Hensingham,
Ennerdale, Eskdale, Wastdale-Head, and Nether-Wastdale; and the
townships of St. Bees, Ennerdale, Ennerdale High End, Eskdale and
Wastdale, Hensingham, Kinneyside, Lowside-Quarter, Nether-Wastdale,
Preston-Quarter, Rottington, Sandwith, Weddicar, and Whitehaven.
It extends ten miles along the coast, and reaches far inland, so
that some of its chapelries are ten and fourteen miles from the
mother-church.
In the monkish chronicle of the Life and Miracles of Sancta Bega
occurs the following passage:--
"A certain celebration had come round by annual revolution which
the men of that land use to solemnise by a most holy Sabbath on
the eve of Pentecost, on account of certain tokens of the sanctity
of the holy virgin then found there, which they commemorate, and
they honor her church by visiting it with offerings of prayers and
oblations."[4]
In allusion to which, Mr. Tomlinson the editor and translator of
the MS. observes that "this is another of those marks of dependence
of the surrounding chapelries which formerly existed; a mark the
more interesting because to this day some traces of it remain.
Communicants still annually resort to the church of St. Bees at the
festival of Easter from considerable distances; and the village
presents an unusual appearance from their influx; and at the church
the eucharist is administered as early as eight in the morning,
in addition to the celebration of it at the usual time. There can
be no doubt but that Whitsuntide, and perhaps Christmas, as well
as Easter, were formerly seasons when the church of St. Bees was
resorted to by numbers who appeared within it at no other time,
save perhaps at the burial of their friends. The great festivals
of the church appear in the middle ages to have been considered
by the English as peculiarly auspicious for the solemnization of
marriages. At these seasons then, from concurring causes, the
long-drawn solemn processions of priests and people would be
chiefly seen, and then also, the accustomed oblations of the latter
to the mother church of St. Bees would be discharged."
As to the "town and haven of Whitehaven" included in the gift to
"St. Bees Abbie," its eligibility as a fishing ground, when the
tides ran nearer the meadows than at present, would doubtless
attract the attention of the monks of St. Bees; and the fact of
its being denominated _Whittofthaven_, _Quitofthaven_, _Wythoven_,
_Whyttothaven_, _Whitten_, &c., in the register of St. Bees and
other ancient records, evidently shows that it is a place of
greater antiquity than has generally been ascribed to it; and some
fragments of tradition, still extant, seem to countenance this
opinion.
Denton (MS.) speaking of Whitehaven or White-Toft Haven, says
"It was belonging to St. Beghs of antient time, for the Abbot
of York, in Edward I.'s time was impleaded for wreck, and his
liberties there, by the King, which he claimed from the foundation,
to be confirmed by Richard Lucy, in King John's time, to his
predecessors."
That Whitehaven was anciently a place of resort for shipping
appears from some particulars respecting it mentioned in those
remarkable Irish documents, called the _Annals of the Four
Masters_, much of which was written at the Abbey of Monesterboice,
in the county of Louth--nearly opposite, on the Irish shore. In the
account of the domestic habits and manufactures of the Irish, it
is stated that their _coracles_, or _Wicker Boats_, their Noggins,
and other domestic utensils, were made of wood called _Wythe_ or
_Withey_, brought from the opposite shore of _Baruch_ (i.e. rocky
coast) and that a small colony was placed there for the purpose
of collecting this wood. That Barach mouth, or Barrow mouth, and
Barrow mouth wood is the same as that alluded to by the Four
Masters, is evident from the legend of St. Bega, which places it
in the same locality; and that the colony of Celts resided in the
neighbourhood of the now _Celts_, or _Kell's Pit_, in the same
locality also, is manifest from the name. About the year 930, it
appears that one of the Irish princes or chiefs, accompanied an
expedition to this place for wood (for that a great portion of
the site of the present town and the neighbouring heights were
formerly covered with forest trees there can be no doubt) and that
the inhabitants who were met at _Whitten_, or _Wittenagemote_, fell
upon and look the chief and several of the accompanying expedition
prisoners from a jealousy of their sanctuary being invaded. Many
of the Irish utensils were imported hither, particularly the
_noggin_, or small water pail, which was made of closely woven
wickerwork, and covered inside with skin, having a projecting
handle for the purpose of dipping into a river or well. The same
article, in its primitive shape, though made of a different
material, called a _geggin_, is still used by some of the farmers
in that neighbourhood. When _Adam de Harris_ gave lands at Bransty
Beck to the church of Holm Cultram, he also gave privilege to the
monks to cut wood for making geggins or noggins.
From an old history of the county of Durham, Whitehaven appears
to have been a resort for shipping in the tenth century; and when
the Nevills of Raby were called upon to furnish their quota of
men to accompany Henry in his expedition to Ireland in 1172, they
were brought to _Wythop-haven_, or _Witten-haven_, and transported
thence in ships to the Irish coast. When Edward was advancing
against Scotland, in the fourteenth century, he found a ship
belonging to this place, in which he sent a cargo of oats, to be
ground by the monks of St. Bees.
In nearly all histories of Cumberland, the name of Whitehaven has
been attributed either to some imaginary whiteness of the rocks
on the east side of the harbour, or to the cognomen of an old
fisherman who resided there about the year 1566, at which time the
town is said to have had only six houses. In 1633 it consisted of
only nine thatched cottages. Sir Christopher Lowther, second son
of Sir John Lowther, purchased Whitehaven and the lands lying in
its neighbourhood, and built a mansion on the west end of the haven
at the foot of a rock. He died in 1644, and was succeeded by his
son, Sir John Lowther, who erected a new mansion on the site of the
present castle, described by Mr. Denton, in 1688, as a "stately
new pile of building, called the Flatt," and having conceived the
project of working the coal mines, and improving the harbour, he
obtained from Charles the Second, about the year 1666, a grant
of all the "derelict land at this place," which yet remained in
the crown; and in 1678, all the lands for two miles northward,
between high and low water mark, the latter grant containing about
150 acres. Sir John having thus laid the foundation of the future
importance of Whitehaven, commenced his great work, and lived to
see a small obscure village grow up into a thriving and populous
town.
There is a traditionary account of the existence of an ancient ruin
where the castle stands (probably Druidical; or, where at a later
period, the Whitten, or Wittenagemote, was held) the remains of
which were broken up about the year 1628. Respecting these real or
imaginary stones it has been related, that the inhabitants believed
them to be enchanted warriors, and gave them the appellation
of "_Dread Ring_, or _Circle_," and occasionally "_Corpse
Circle_"--corrupted into the word _Corkickle_, the name which the
locality now bears.
A reminiscence of the old mansion of the Lowthers is preserved by
the road which skirts the precincts of the castle. This is still
called, by the older townspeople, the Flatt Walk.
CREWL-WORK.
_Krull_, or _Crewel_, is a word evidently derived from the old
Norse _Krulla_, signifying to blend, to mix, and also to curl; in
fact, "crewel" work is embroidery, the Berlin wool work of modern
days; but the word is generally applied, in this locality, to the
covering of a hand ball with worsted work of various colours and
devices, the tribute of mothers and sisters in our boyhood.
FOOTNOTES:
[3] See Note on page 80.
[4] Advenerat annua revolutione quædam celebritas quam sacro sancto
sabbato in vigilia pentecosten homines illius terræ ob quædam insignia
sanctitatis sanctæ virginis tunc illic inventa, et signa ibidem
perpetrata solent solempnizare; et ecclesiam illius visitando orationum
et oblationum hostiis honorare.
Vita S. Begæ, et de Miraculis Ejusdem, p. 73.
HART'S-HORN TREE.
When wild deer ranged the forest free,
Mid Whinfell oaks stood Hart's-Horn Tree;
Which, for three hundred years and more,
Upon its stem the antlers bore
Of that thrice-famous Hart-of-Grease
That ran the race with Hercules.
The King of Scots, to hunt the game
With brave de Clifford southward came:
Pendragon, Appleby, and Brough'm,
Gave all his bold retainers room;
And all came gathering to the chase
Which ended in that matchless race.
Beneath a mighty oak at morn
The stag was roused with bugle horn;
Unleashed, de Clifford's noblest Hound
Rushed to the chase with strenuous bound;
And stretching forth, the Hart-of-Grease
Led off with famous Hercules.
They ran, and northward held their way;
They ran till dusk, from dawning grey;
O'er Cumbrian waste, and Border moor,
Till England's line was speeded o'er;
And Red-kirk on the Scottish ground
Mark'd of their chase the farthest bound.
Then turned they southward, stretching on,
They ran till day was almost gone;
Till Eamont came again in view;
Till Whinfell oaks again they knew;
They ran, and reached at eve the place
Where first began their desperate race.
They panted on, till almost broke
Each beast's strong heart with its own stroke!
They panted on, both well nigh blind,
The Hart before, the Hound behind!
And now will strength the Hart sustain
To take him o'er the pale again?
He sprang his best; that leap has won
His triumph, but his chase is done!
He lies stone dead beyond the bound;
And stretched on this side lies the Hound!
His last bold spring to clear the wall
Was vain; and life closed with his fall.
The steeds had fail'd, squires', knights', and king's,
Long ere the chase reached Solway's springs!
But on the morrow news came in
To Brough'm, amidst the festive din,
How held the chase, how far, how wide
It swerved and swept, and where they died.
Ah! gallant pair! such chase before
Was never seen, nor shall be more:
And Scotland's King and England's Knight
Looked, mutely wondering, on the sight,
Where with that wall of stone between
Lay Hart and Hound stretched on the green.
Then spoke the King--"For equal praise
This hand their monument shall raise!
These antlers from this Oak shall spread;
And evermore shall here be said,
That Hercules killed Hart-of-Grease,
And Hart-of-Grease killed Hercules.
"From Whinfell woods to Red-kirk plain,
And back to Whinfell Oaks again,
Not fourscore English miles would tell!
But"--said the King--"they spann'd it well.
And by my kingdom, I will say
They ran a noble race that day!"--
Then said de Clifford to the King--
"Through many an age this feat shall ring!
But of your Majesty I crave
That Hercules may have his grave
In ground beneath these branches free,
From this day forth called Hart's-Horn Tree."
And there where both were 'reft of life,
And both were victors in the strife,
Survives this saying on that chase,
In memory of their famous race--
"Here Hercules killed Hart-of-Grease,
And Hart-of-Grease killed Hercules."
NOTES TO "HART'S-HORN TREE."
I.--The memorable Westmorland Forest, or Park of Whinfell,
anciently written Qwynnefel, was a grant to Robert de Veteripont
from King John. This grant restrained him from committing waste in
the woods, and from suffering his servants to hunt there in his
absence during the king's life. Till the beginning of last century
it was famous for its prodigious oaks; a trio of them, called The
Three Brothers, were the giants of the forest; and a part of the
skeleton of one of them, called _The Three Brothers' Tree_, which
was thirteen yards in girth, at a considerable distance from the
root, was remaining until within a very recent period.
On the east side of this park is Julian's Bower, famous for its
being the residence of Gillian, or Julian, the peerless mistress of
Roger de Clifford, about the beginning of the reign of Edward III.
The Pembroke memoirs call it "a little house hard by Whinfell-park,
the lower foundations of which standeth still, though all the wall
be down long since." This record also mentions the Three Brother
Tree and Julian's Bower, as curiosities visited by strangers in
the Countess of Pembroke's time, prior to which a shooting seat
had been erected near these ruins, for she tells us, that her
grandson, Mr. John Tufton, and others at one time, "alighted on
their way over _Whinfield_ park at Julian's Bower, to see all the
rooms and places about it." Its hall was spacious, wainscotted,
and hung round with prodigious stags' horns, and other trophies of
the field. One of the rooms was hung with very elegant tapestry;
but since it was converted into a farm-house all these relics of
ancient times have been destroyed.
A large portion of the park was divided into farms in 1767; and
the remainder in 1801, when its deer were finally destroyed. It
was thus stripped of its giant trees, and consigned to its present
unsheltered condition.
II.--A fine oak formerly stood by the way side, near Hornby Hall,
about four miles from Penrith on the road to Appleby, which, from
a pair of stag's horns being hung up in it, bore the name of
Hart's-Horn Tree. It grew within the district which to this day is
called Whinfell Forest. Concerning this tree there is a tradition,
confirmed by Anne, Countess of Pembroke in her memoirs, that a
hart was run by a single greyhound (as the ancient deer hound was
called) from this place to Red-Kirk in Scotland, and back again.
When they came near this tree the hart leaped the park paling, but,
being worn out with fatigue, instantly died; and the dog, equally
exhausted, in attempting to clear it, fell backwards and expired.
In this situation they were found by the hunters, the dog dead on
one side of the paling, and the deer on the other. In memory of
this remarkable chase, the hart's horns were nailed upon the tree,
whence it obtained its name. And as all extraordinary events were
in those days recorded in rhymes, we find the following popular
one on this occasion, from which we learn the name of the dog
likewise:--
Hercules killed Hart-o-Grease,
And Hart-o-Grease killed Hercules.
This story appears to have been literally true, as the Scots
preserve it without any variation, and add that it happened in the
year 1333 or 1334, when Edward Baliol King of Scotland came to hunt
with Robert de Clifford in his domains at Appleby and Brougham, and
stayed some time with him at his castles in Westmorland. In course
of time, it is stated, the horns of the deer became grafted, as it
were, upon the tree, by reason of its bark growing over their root,
and there they remained more than three centuries, till, in the
year 1648, one of the branches was broken off by some of the army,
and ten years afterwards the remainder was secretly taken down by
some mischievous people in the night. "So now," says Lady Anne
Clifford in her Diary, "there is no part thereof remaining, the
tree itself being so decayed, and the bark so peeled off, that it
cannot last long; whereby we may see time brings to forgetfulness
many memorable things in this world, be they ever so carefully
preserved--for this tree, with the hart's horn in it, was a thing
of much note in these parts."
The tree itself has now disappeared; but Mr. Wordsworth, "well
remembered its imposing appearance as it stood, in a decayed state
by the side of the high road leading from Penrith to Appleby."
This remarkable chase must have been upwards of eighty miles, even
supposing the deer to have taken the direct road.
Nicolson and Burn remark, when they tell the story, "So say the
Countess of Pembroke's Memoirs, and other historical anecdotes. But
from the improbable length of the course, we would rather suppose,
that they ran to Nine Kirks, that is the Church of Ninian the
Scottish Saint, and back again, which from some parts of the park
might be far enough for a greyhound to run." These writers have
overlooked the circumstance, that the animal which in those days
was called a greyhound was the ancient deerhound, a large species
of dog having the form of the modern greyhound, but with shaggy
hair and a more powerful frame. The breed is not yet extinct: Sir
Walter Scott's Maida was of the species.
Dr. Burn deals another blow at the tradition; for he goes on
to say, "And _before_ this time there was a place in the park
denominated from the _Hart's horns_; which seem therefore to have
been put up on some former occasion, perhaps for their remarkable
largeness. For one of the bounder marks of the partition aforesaid
between the two daughters of the last Robert de Veteripont is
called _Hart-horn sike_".
III.--Dr. Percy, referring to the expression _hart-o-greece_ in a
verse given below from the old ballad of "Adam Bell," explains it
to mean a fat hart, from the French word _graisse_.
"Then went they down into a lawnde,
These noble archarrs thre;
Eche of them slew a hart of greece,
The best that they cold se."
Clarke, in an appendix to his "Survey of the Lakes," speaking
of the Red Deer which is bred upon the tops of the mountains in
Martindale, gives _Hart of Grease_ as the proper name of the male
in the eighth year.
In Black's "Picturesque Guide to the English Lakes," it is
stated in a note upon this subject, that there is an ancient
broadside proclamation of a Lord Mayor of London, preserved in the
Archiepiscopal Library at Lambeth, in which, after denouncing "the
excessyve and unreasonable pryses of all kyndes of vytayles," it is
ordered that "no citizen or freman of the saide citie shall sell or
cause to be solde," amongst other things, "Capons of grece above
XXd. or Hennes of grece above VIId."
BEKAN'S GHYLL.
Dim shadows tread with elfin pace
The nightshade-skirted road,
Where once the sons of Odin's race
In Bekan's vale abode;
Where, long ere rose Saint Mary's pile,
The vanquish'd horsemen laid
Their idol Wodin, stained and vile,
Beneath the forest's shade.
There hid--while clash of clubs and swords
Resounded in the dell,
To save it from the Briton's hordes
When Odin's warriors fell--
It lay with Bekan's mightiest charms
Of magic on its breast;
While Sorcery, with its hundred arms,
Had sealed the vale in rest.
It woke when fell with sturdy stroke
The Norman axe around,
And builders' hands in fragments broke
The Idol from the ground;
And hewed therefrom that corner stone
Which yet yon tower sustains,
Where Wodin's Moth sits, grim and lone,
And holds the dell in chains.
There youth at love's sweet call oft glides
By cloister, aisle, and nave,
To stop above the stone that hides
The beauteous Fleming's grave:--
Fair flower of Aldingham--the child
Of old Sir William's days,--
Low where the Bekan straggling wild
Its deadly arms displays.
There in the quiet more profound
Than sleep, than death more drear,
Her shadow walks the silent ground
When leaves are green or sere;
When autumn with its cheerless sky
Or winter with its pall,
Puts all the year's fair promise by
With fruits that fade and fall.
And where the Bekan by the rill
So bitter once, now sweet,
Its lurid purples ripens still
While ages onward fleet,
She tastes the deadly flower by night,--
If yet its juices flow
Sweet as of yore; for then to light
And rest her soul shall go.
Ah, blessed forth from far beyond
The Jordan once he came,--
Her Red-cross Knight,--the marriage bond
To twine with love and fame:
His meed of valour, Beauty's charms,
Pledged with one silvery word,
Beneath the forest's branching arms
And by the breezes stirred.
Another week! and she would stand
In Urswick's halls a bride:
Another week! the marriage band
Had round her life been tied:
When wild with joyfulness of heart
That beat not with a care,
She carolled forth alone, to start
The grim Moth from its lair.
She bounded from his heart elate!
But Urswick's halls of light,
And Aldingham's embattled gate
No more shall meet her sight.
For her no happy bridal crowd
Press out into the road,
But Furness monks with dirges loud
Bend round her last abode.
To chase the moth that guards the flower
That makes the dell its own,
Flew forth the maid from hall and tower
Through wood and glen alone.
Where Odin's men had left their god
In earth, long overgrown
With tangled bushes rude, she trod
Enchanted ground unknown.
The abbey walls before her gaze
At distance rising fair,
While deep within the magic maze
She wandered unaware:
She loitered with the song untired
Upon her lips, nor thought
What foes against her peace conspired,
While love his lost one sought!
They found her with close-lidded eyes,
Watched by that Moth unblest,
Perched high between her and the skies,
And nightshade on her breast.
There lay she with her lips apart
In peace; by Wodin's power
Stilled into death her truest heart
With Bekan's lurid flower.
Woe was it when Sir William's hall
Received the mournful train:
No more her voice with sweetest call
His morns to wake again!
No more her merry step to cheer
The days when clouds were wild!
No more her form on palfrey near
When sport his noons beguiled!
Worse woe when Furness monks with dole--
While gentle hands conveyed
Her body--for a parted soul
The solemn ritual said;
And laid her where the waving leaves
Breathed low amidst the calm,
When loud upon the fading eves
Rolled organ-chant and psalm.
With Urswick's hand in fondest grasp
Said Fleming--"Vainly rise
My days for me: my heart must clasp
Her image, or it dies!
Through mass and prayer I hear her voice;
I know the fiends have power--
That chant and dole and choral noise
Can purge not--o'er that flower!"
They wandered where Engaddi's palms
And Sharon's roses wave;
Where Hebrew virgins chant their psalms
By many a mountain cave:
Mid rock-hewn chambers by the Nile,
Where Magian fathers lay;--
The secret of the spell-struck pile
To drag to realms of day.
In vain! His gallant heart sleeps well,
Beneath the Lybian air;
And still the enchantment holds the dell,
And her so sweet and fair.
Still on yon loop hole stretched by night,
The tyrant-moth is laid:
While circling in their ceaseless flight
The ages rise and fade.
There sometimes as in nights of yore,
Heard faint and sweet, a sound
Peals from yon tower, while o'er and o'e
The vale repeats it round.
And down the glen the muffled tone
Floats slowly, long upborne;
Answered as if far off were blown
A warrior's bugle-horn.
Yet one day, with unconscious art,
May some rude hand unfold
Great Wodin's breast, and rend apart
The fragment from its hold.
Then, while the deadly nightshade's veins
In bitter streams shall pour
Their juices, his usurped domains
Shall own the Moth no more.
Then him a milk white swallow's power
Shall timely overthrow.
And fair, as from a beauteous bower,
In raiment like the snow,
The Flower of Aldingham--the child
Of old Sir William's days--
Shall break the bondage round her piled;
But not to meet his gaze.
Nor forth beneath the dewy dawn,
All radiant like the morn,
Shall Urswick's Knight lead up the lawn
Beside the scented thorn,
His bride into the blighted halls
Whence once she wildly strayed
In ages past, by Furness walls,
And with the Bekan played.
The sea-snake through the chambers roves
Of old Sir William's home--
Fair Aldingham, its bowers, and groves,
And fields she loved to roam:
And where the gallant Urswick graced
His own ancestral board,
Now ferns and wild weeds crowd the waste,
The creeping fox is lord.
But gracious spirits of the light
Shall call a welcome down
On her, the beauteous lady bright,
And lead her to her own.
Not to that home o'er which the tide
Unceasing heaves and rolls;
But through that porch which opens wide
Into the land of souls.
NOTES TO "BEKAN'S GHYLL."
In the Chartulary of Furness Abbey, some rude Latin verses, written
by John Stell a monk, refer to a plant called _Bekan_, which at
some remote period grew in the valley in great abundance, whence
the name of Bekansghyll was anciently derived. The etymology is
thus metrically rendered:
"Hæc vallis, tenuit olim sibi nomen ab herba
Bekan, qua viruit; dulcis nunc tunc sed acerba,
Inde domus nomen Bekanes-gill claruit ante."
This plant "whose juice is now sweet, but was then bitter," is
assumed to be one of the species of Nightshade which are indigenous
in the dell and flourish there in great luxuriance; probably the
Solanum Dulcamara, the bitter-sweet or woody nightshade, although
the Atropa Belladonna, the deadly nightshade, also grows among the
ruins of the Abbey. This "lurid offspring of Flora," as Mr. Beck
calls it, the emblem of sorcery and witchcraft, might well give the
name of Nightshade to that enchanting spot. But what authority the
monks may have had for their derivation it is now impossible to
ascertain. Various glossaries and lexicons are said to have been
consulted for _bekan_, as signifying the deadly nightshade but
without effect; "and after all," says Mr. Beck, "I am inclined to
believe that Beckansgill is a creation of the monastic fancy."
Bekan is Scandinavian, and a proper name: and has probably been
localised in this district by the Northmen from the period of its
colonisation. It is said to have been quite in accordance with
the practice of these rovers to give the name of their chiefs not
only to the mounds in which they were buried, but also in many
cases to the valley or plain in which these were situated, or in
which was their place of residence; or to those ghylls or small
ravines, which, with the rivers or brooks, were most frequently the
boundaries of property. Bekan's gill may be associated in some way
with one of the northern settlers whose name has thus far outlived
his memory in the district.
An interesting passage in Mr. Ferguson's "Northmen in Cumberland
and Westmorland" bears upon this subject. It refers to the opening
of an ancient barrow at a place called Beacon Hill, near Aspatria
in Cumberland, in 1790, by its proprietor. Speaking of the barrow,
Mr. Ferguson says:-- "From its name and its commanding situation
has arisen the very natural belief that this hill must have been
the site of a beacon. But there is no other evidence of this fact,
and as Bekan is a Scandinavian proper name found also in other
instances in the district, and as this was evidently a Scandinavian
grave, while the commanding nature of the situation would be a
point equally desired in the one case as the other, there can
hardly be a doubt that the place takes its name from the mighty
chief whose grave it was. On levelling the artificial mound, which
was about 90 feet in circumference at the base, the workmen removed
six feet of earth before they came to the natural soil, three feet
below which they found a vault formed with two large round stones
at each side, and one at each end. In this lay the skeleton of
a man measuring seven feet from the head to the ankle bone--the
feet having decayed away. By his side lay a straight two-edged
sword corresponding with the gigantic proportions of its owner,
being about five feet in length, and having a guard elegantly
ornamented with inlaid silver flowers. The tomb also contained
a dagger, the hilt of which appeared to have been studded with
silver, a two-edged Danish battle-axe, part of a gold brooch of
semi-circular form, an ornament apparently of a belt, part of a
spur, and a bit shaped like a modern snaffle. Fragments of a shield
were also picked up, but in a state too much decayed to admit of
its shape being made out. Upon the stones composing the sides of
the vault were carved some curious figures, which were probably
magical runes. This gigantic Northman, who must have stood about
eight feet high, was evidently, from his accoutrements, a person of
considerable importance."
The situation of Furness Abbey, in Bekan's Ghyll, justifies the
choice of its first settlers. The approach from the north is such
that the ruins are concealed by the windings of the glen, and the
groves of forest trees which cover the banks and knolls with their
varied foliage: but unluckily it has been thought necessary to
disturb the solitude of the place by driving a railway through
it, within a few feet of the ruins, and erecting a station upon
the very site of the Abbot's Lodge. A commodious road from Dalton
enters this vale, and crossing a small stream which glides along
the side of a fine meadow, branches into a shaded lane which leads
directly to the ruins of the sacred pile. The trees which shade
the bottom of the lane on one side, spread their bending branches
over an ancient Gothic arch, adorned with picturesque appendages
of ivy. This is the principal entrance into the spacious enclosure
which contains the Monastery. The building appertaining to it took
up the whole breadth of the vale; and the rock from whence the
stones were taken, in some parts made place for and overtopped
the edifice. Hence it was so secreted, by the high grounds and
eminences which surround it, as not to be discovered at any
distance. The Western Tower must have originally been carried to
a very considerable height, if we judge from its remains, which
present a ponderous mass of walls, eleven feet in thickness,
and sixty feet in elevation. These walls have been additionally
strengthened with six staged buttresses, eight feet broad, and
projecting nine feet and a half from the face of the wall; each
stage of which has probably been ornamented like the lower one now
remaining, with a canopied niche and pedestal. The interior of the
tower, which measures twenty-four feet by nineteen feet, has been
lighted by a fine graceful window of about thirty feet in height,
by eleven and a half in width; the arch of which must have been
beautifully proportioned. A series of grotesque heads, alternating
with flowers, is introduced in the hollow of the jambs, and the
label terminates in heads. On the right side of the window is a
loophole, admitting light to a winding staircase in the south-west
angle of the tower, by which its upper stories might be ascended,
the entrance to the stairs being by a door, having a Tudor arch,
placed in an angle of the interior. The stairs are yet passable,
and the view from the top is worth the trouble of an ascent.
The workmen employed by the late Lord G. Cavendish, state that
the rubbish in this tower, accumulated by the fall of the
superstructure, which filled up the interior to the window sill,
was rendered so compact by its fall, so tenacious by the rains, and
was composed of such strongly cemented materials, as to require
blasting with gunpowder into manageable pieces for its removal.
Prior to its clearance, it was the scene of some marvellous tales
disseminated and credited by many, who alleged that this heap
covered a vault to which the staircase led, containing the bells
and treasure of the abbey, with the usual accompaniments of the
White Lady, at whose appearance the lights were extinguished, the
impenetrable iron-grated door, and the grim guardian genius. Though
many essayed, none were known to have succeeded in the discovery
of this concealed treasure house, much less of its contents. The
inhabitants of the manor house, on one occasion, were roused
from their slumbers by a noise proceeding from the ruins, and on
hastening to the spot, discovered that it was made by some scholars
from the neighbouring town of Dalton, digging among the ruins at
midnight, in quest of the buried spoils.
Within the inner enclosure, on the north side of the Church at St.
Mary's Abbey in Furness, a few tombstones lie scattered about in
what has formerly been a part of the cemetery. One of these bears
the inscription, partly defaced,
HIC JACET ANA F.. ... ......TI FLANDREN...,
and commemorates one of the ancient family of Le Fleming.
Michael Le Fleming, the first of the name, called also Flemengar,
and in some old writings Flandrensis, was kinsman to Baldwin,
Earl of Flanders, father-in-law to the Conqueror; by whom he was
sent with some forces to assist William in his enterprise against
England.
After the Conquest was completed, and William was seated on the
throne of England, the valiant Sir Michael, for his fidelity,
and good services against the Saxons and Scots, received from
his master many noble estates in Lancashire; Gleaston, and the
manor of Aldingham, with other lands in Furness. William de
Meschines also granted him Beckermet Castle, vulgarly at that time
called Caernarvon Castle, with the several contiguous manors of
Frizington, Rottington, Weddaker, and Arloghden, all in Cumberland.
Sir Michael and his heirs first settled at Aldingham. By a singular
accident, the time of which cannot now be ascertained, the sea
swallowed up their seat at this place, with the village, leaving
only the church at the east end of the town, and the mote at
the west end, which serve to show what the extent of Aldingham
has been. About the same time, it is supposed, the villages of
Crimilton and Ross, which the first Sir Michael exchanged with
the monks for Bardsea and Urswick, were also swallowed up. After
this, they fixed their residence at Gleaston Castle; and it has
been conjectured, from the nature of the building, that the castle
was built on the occasion, and in such haste, as obliged them to
substitute mud mortar instead of lime, in a site that abounds with
limestone. Sir Michael, is said, to have also resided at Beckermet.
The little knowledge that we are now able to gather of the first Le
Fleming exhibits him in a very favourable light. He was undoubtedly
a valiant man; and was acknowledged as such by his renowned master,
when, with other Norman chiefs, he was dispatched into the north to
oppose the Scots, and awe the partisans of Edwin and Morcar, two
powerful Saxons who opposed themselves to the Conqueror for some
time after the nation had submitted itself to the Norman yoke, and
whose power William dreaded the most. His regard for the memory
of his sovereign he expressed in the name conferred upon his son
and heir, William. We have glimpses too that in his household
there was harmony and kindness between him and his children.
To the Abbey of Furness he was a great benefactor. There is an
affecting earnestness in the language with which in the evening
of his long life he declares in one of his charters--"In the name
of the Father, &c. Be it known to all men present and to come,
That I, Michael Le Fleming, consulting with God, and providing
for the safety of my soul, and the souls of my father and mother,
wife and children, in the year of our Lord 1153, give and grant to
St. Mary of Furness, to the abbot of that place, and to all the
convent there serving God, Fordeboc, with all its appurtenances,
in perpetual alms; which alms I give free from all claims of any
one, with quiet and free possession, as an oblation offered to
God"--_saltim vespertinum_, he pathetically adds, in allusion to
his great age--"at least an evening one." He adds, "signed by me
with consent of William my son and heir, and with the consent of
all my children. Signed by William my son, Gregory my grandson, and
Hugh." Few gifts of this kind show greater domestic harmony. That
Michael lived to a very advanced age is evident from this charter
signed eighty-seven years after the Conquest; supposing him to be
the same Michael Le Fleming who came over with the Conqueror. He
was buried with his two sons within the walls of the Abbey Church.
His arms, a fret, strongly expressed in stone over the second
chapel in the northern aisle indicate the spot where he found a
resting place; not the least worthy among the many of the nobility
and gentry who in those days were interred within the sacred
precincts of St. Mary's Abbey in Furness.
The lands in Furness, belonging to Sir Michael, were excepted in
the foundation charter of Stephen to the Abbey. This exception,
and the circumstance of his living in Furness, occasioned his
lands to be called Michael's lands, to distinguish them from the
Abbey lands; and now they are called Muchlands, from a corruption
of the word Michael. In like manner Urswick is called Much-Urswick
for Michael's Urswick; and what was originally called the manor of
Aldingham, is now called the manor of Muchland.
From Baldwin's kinsman, the first Le Fleming, the founder of the
family in England, two branches issued. William, the eldest son of
Sir Michael, inherited Aldingham Castle and his Lancashire estates.
His descendants, after carrying the name for a few generations,
passed with their manors into the female line; and their blood
mingling first with the de Cancefields, and successively with the
baronial families of Harrington, de Bonville, and Grey, spent
itself on the steps of the throne in the person of Henry Grey, King
Edward the Sixth's Duke of Suffolk, who was beheaded by Queen Mary
on the 23rd of February 1554. This nobleman being father to Lady
Jane Grey, his too near alliance with the blood royal gave the
occasion, and his supposed ambition of being father to a Queen of
England was the cause of his violent death. By his attainder the
manors of Muchland, the possessions of the le Flemings in Furness,
were forfeited to the Crown.
Richard le Fleming, second son of the first Sir Michael, having
inherited the estates in Cumberland which William le Meschines had
granted to his father for his military services, seated himself at
Caernarvon Castle, Beckermet, in Copeland. After two descents his
posterity, having acquired by marriage with the de Urswicks the
manor of Coniston and other considerable possessions in Furness,
returned to reside in that district. The Castle of Caernarvon
was abandoned, then erased, and Coniston Hall became the family
seat for seven descents. About the tenth year of Henry IV. Sir
Thomas le Fleming married Isabella, one of the four daughters and
co-heiresses of Sir John de Lancaster, and acquired with her the
lordship and manor of Rydal. The manor of Coniston was settled upon
the issue of this marriage; and for seven generations more Rydal
and Coniston vied with each other which should hold the family
seat, to fix it in Westmorland or Lancashire. Sir Daniel le Fleming
came, and gave his decision against the latter, about the middle of
the seventeenth century. Since that event, the hall of Coniston,
pleasantly situated on the banks of the lake of that name, has been
deserted.
Singularly enough, the inheritance of this long line also has been
broken in its passage through the house of Suffolk. Sir Michael,
the 23rd in succession from Richard, married, in the latter part
of the last century, Diana only child of Thomas Howard, 14th Earl
of Suffolk and Berkshire, by whom he had one daughter, afterwards
married to her cousin Daniel le Fleming, who succeeded her father
in the title. This marriage being without issue, on the demise
of Lady le Fleming, the estates passed under her will to Andrew
Huddleston of Hutton-John, Esq., and at his decease, which occurred
shortly after, in succession to General Hughes, who assumed the
name of Fleming; both these gentlemen being near of kin to the
family at Rydal. The title descended to the brother of Sir Daniel,
the late Rev. Sir Richard le Fleming, Rector of Grasmere and
Windermere; and from him to his son, the present Sir Michael, the
twenty-sixth in succession from Richard, the second son of Michael,
Flandrensis, _the_ Fleming, who came over with the Conqueror, and
founded the family in England.
In this family there have been since the Conquest twelve knights
and seven baronets.
The article _le_ is sometimes omitted in the family writings before
the time of Edward IV., and again assumed. Sir William Fleming, who
died in 1756, restored the ancient orthography, and incorporated
the article _le_ with the family name at the baptism of his son and
heir.
Rydal Hall suffered much from the parliamentary party: the le
Flemings remaining Catholic to the reign of James II. For their
adherence to the royal cause in the reign of Charles I., they
were forced to submit to the most exorbitant demands of the
Commissioners at Goldsmiths' Hall, in London (23 Car. 1) and pay a
very great sum of money for their loyalty and allegiance. They were
very obnoxious to Oliver Cromwell's sequestrators, and subjected to
very high annual payments and compositions, for their attachment to
regal government.
THE CHIMES OF KIRK-SUNKEN.
Twelve sunken ships in Selker's Bay
Rose up; and, righting soon,
With mast and sail stretched far away
Beneath the midnight moon.
They sailed right out to Bethlehem;
And soon they reached the shore.
They steered right home from Bethlehem;
And these the freights they bore.
The first one bore the frankincense;
The second bore the myrrh;
The third the gifts and tribute pence
The Eastern Kings did bear.
The fourth ship bore a little palm
Meet for an infant's hands;
The fifth the spikenard and the balm;
The sixth the swathing bands.
The seventh ship bore without a speck,
A mantle fair and clean;
The eighth the shepherds on her deck
With heavenward eyes serene.
One bore the announcing Angel's song;
One Simeon's glad record;
And one the bright seraphic throng
Whose tongues good tidings poured.
And midst them all, one, favoured more,
Whereon a couch was piled,
The blessed Hebrew infant bore,
On whom the Virgin smiled.
They sailed right into Selker's Bay:
And when the night was worn
To dawning grey, far down they lay,
Again that Christmas morn.
But through the brushwood low and clear
Came chimes and songs of glee,
That Christmas morning, to my ear
Beneath Kirk-sunken Tree.
Not from the frosty air above,
But from the ground below,
Sweet voices carolled songs of love,
And merry bells did go.
From out a City great and fair
The joyous life up-flow'd,
Which once had breathed the living air,
And on the earth abode.
A City far beneath my feet
By passing ages laid;
Or buried while the busy street
Its round of life convey'd.
So to the ground I bent an ear,
That heard, as from the grave,
The blessed Feast-time of the year
Tell out the joy it gave;
The gladness of the Christmas morn.
O fair Kirk-Sunken Tree!
One day in every year's return
Those sounds flow up by thee.
They chime up to the living earth
The joy of them below,
At tidings of the Saviour's birth
In Bethlehem long ago.
NOTES TO "CHIMES OF KIRK-SUNKEN."
In the parish of Bootle is a small inlet of the sea, called
Selker's Bay, where the neighbouring people say, that in calm
weather the sunken remains of several small vessels or galleys can
be seen, which are traditionally stated to have been sunk and left
there on some great invasion of the northern parts of this island,
by the Romans, or the colonizing Northmen.
Various circles of standing stones, or what are generally called
Druidical remains, lie scattered about the vicinity of Black
Combe near the sea shore: several indicating by their name the
popular tradition associated with them, to which the inhabitants
around attach implicit credence, the spot beneath which lie the
ruins of a church that sank on a sudden, with the minister and
all the congregation within its walls. Hence, they say, the name
Kirk-Sank-ton, Kirk-Sunken, Kirk-Sinking, and Sunken Kirks.
THE RAVEN ON KERNAL CRAG.
A Raven alighted on Kernal Rock
Amid thunder's roar and earthquake's shock.
O'er the tumbling crags he rolled his eye
Round valley and lake, and hills and sky.
'Twas a gloomy world. He settled his head
Close into his shoulders and meekly said--
"Poor Raven!"
The Raven on Kernal Crag grew old:
A human voice up the valley rolled.
Bel was worshipp'd on mountain brows:
Men made huts of the forest boughs:
And wrapt in skins in ambush lay
At the base of his crag, and seized their prey.
An old Raven.
The Raven sat in his purple cloke.
A Roman column the silence broke.
He had watched the eagles around him fly:
He saw them perched on spears go by.
The legions marched from hill to hill.
He settled his feathers; and all was still--
Still was the Raven.
The Raven was thinking, on Kernal Stone.
The hammers of Thor he heard them groan:
Regin, and Korni, and Lodinn, and Bor,
Clearing the forests from fell to shore;
With Odin's bird on their banner upraised.
And he quietly said as he downward gazed--
"A Raven!"
The Raven on Kernal was musing still.
King Dunmail's hosts went up the hill,
In the narrow Pass, to their final fall.
With an iron gaze he followed them all;
Till, piled the cairn of mighty stones,
Was heaped the Raise o'er Dunmail's bones.
Ha! hungry Raven!
The Raven on Kernal saw, in a trance,
Knights with gorgeous banner and lance,
Castles, and towers, and ladies fair.
Music floating high on the air
Reached his nest on Kernal's Steep,
And broke the spell of his solemn sleep.
A lonely Raven.
That Raven is sitting on Kernal Rock;
Counting the lambs in a mountain flock.
Pleasant their bleat is, pleasant to hear,
Pleasant to think of; but shepherds are near.
Cattle are calling below in the vale,
Maidens singing a true-love tale.
List to them, Raven.
That Raven will sit upon Kernal Rock
Till the mountains reel in the world's last shock.
Till the new things come to end like old,
He will roll his eye, and his wings unfold,
And settle again; and his solemn brow
Draw close to his shoulders, and muse as now.
That Raven.
NOTES TO "THE RAVEN ON KERNAL CRAG."
Kernal Crag is a huge mass of solid rock, with a face of broken
precipice, on the side of Coniston Old Man. In that unique and
admirable Guide Book entitled "The Old Man; or Ravings and
Ramblings round Conistone," it is said; "on this Crag, probably for
ages, a pair of ravens have annually had their nest, and though
their young have again and again been destroyed by the shepherds,
they always return to this favourite spot; and frequently when
one of the parents has been shot in the brooding season, the
survivor has immediately been provided with another helpmate; and,
what is still more extraordinary, and beautifully and literally
illustrative of a certain impressive scripture passage--it happened
a year or two since, that both the parent birds were shot, whilst
the nest was full of unfledged young, and their duties were
immediately undertaken by a couple of strange ravens, who attended
assiduously to the wants of the orphan brood, until they were fit
to forage for themselves."
LORD DERWENTWATER'S LIGHTS.
1716.
You yet in groves round Dilston Hall
May hear the chiding cushat's call;
Its true-love burden for the mate
That lingers far and wanders late.
But who in Dilston Hall shall gaze
On all its twenty hearths ablaze;
Its courteous hosts, its welcome free,
And all its hospitality;
The grace from courtly splendour, won
By Royal Seine, that round it shone;
Or feel again the pride or power
Of Radcliffe's name in hall and bower;--
As when the cause of exiled James
Filled northern hearts with loyal flames,
And summers wore their sweetest smile
Round Dilston's Courts and Derwent's Isle;
Ere Mar his standard wide unrolled,
And tower to tower the rising told,
And Southwards on the gathering came,
All kindling at the Prince's name?--
The glory and the pomp are shorn;
The banners rent, the charters torn;
The loved, the loving, dust alone;
Their honours, titles carved in stone.
* * * * *
On Witches' Peak the winds were laid:
Crept Glenderamakin mute in shade:
El-Velin's old mysterious reign
Hung stifling over field and plain.
Around on all the hills afar
Had died the sounds foreboding war.
Only a dull and sullen roar
Reached up the valley from Lodore.
Through all the arches of the sky
The Northern Lights streamed broad and high.
Wide o'er the realm their shields of light
Flung reddening tumults on the night.
Then dalesmen hoar and matrons old
Look'd out in fear from farm and fold:
Look'd out o'er Derwent, mere and isle,
On Skiddaw's mounds, Blencathra's pile.
They saw the vast ensanguined scroll
Across the stars the streamers roll:
The Derwent stain'd with crimson dyes:
And portents wandering through the skies.
And prophet-like the bodings came--
"The good Earl dies the death of fame;
For him the Prince that came in vain,
A King, to enjoy his own again."--
The sightless crone cried from her bed--
"'Tis blood that makes this midnight red.
I dreamed the young Earl heavenward rode;
His armour flashed, his standard glow'd."
The fearful maiden trembling spoke--
"The good Earl blessed me, and I woke.
The white and red cockade he wore;
He bade adieu for evermore."--
Far show'd huge Walla's craggy wall
The 'Lady's Kerchief' white and small,
Dropt when, pursued like doe from brake,
She scaled its rampart from the lake.
"I served my Lady when a bride:
I was her page:"--A stripling cried.
"I served her well on bended knee,
And many a smile she bent on me."--
--"Upon this breast, but twenty years
Are pass'd"--a matron spoke with tears--
"I nursed her; and in all her ways,
She was my constant theme of praise."--
Like flaming swords, that round them threw
Their radiance on the star-lit blue,
Flash'd and re-flash'd with dazzling ray
The splendours of that fiery fray.
--"When spies and foes watch'd Dilston Hall,
To seize him ere the trumpet-call"--
A yeoman spake that loved him well--
"I brought him mid our huts to dwell.
"We shelter'd him in farm and bield,
Till all was ready for the field,
Till all the northern bands around
Were arm'd, and for the battle bound.
"Then came he forth, and if he stay'd
A few short hours, and still delay'd,
'Twas for those priceless treasures near,
My lady and her children dear.
"I heard reproaches at his side!
--'Or take this jewelled fan'--she cried,
With high-born scornful look and word--
And I will bear the warrior's sword!'
"He called, 'To horse!'--his dapple grey
He welcomed forth, and rode away.
The white and red unstained he wore:
His heart was stainless evermore!"--
And thus the night was filled with moan.
And was the good Earl slain and gone?
For him the Prince that came in vain,
A King, to enjoy his own again.
From Derwent's Island-Castle gate,
In robe and coronet of state,
A phantom on the vapours borne,
Passed in the shadows of the morn.
Pale hollow forms in suits of woe
Appear'd like gleams to come and go.
And wreathed in mists was seen to rest
A 'scutcheon on Blencathra's breast.--
Full soon the speeding tidings came.
The Earl had died the death of fame,
By axe and block, on bended knee,
For true-love, faith, and loyalty.
And still, when o'er the Isles return
The Northern lights to blaze and burn;
The vales and hills repeat the moan
For him the good Earl slain and gone.
NOTES TO "LORD DERWENTWATER'S LIGHTS."
Lord's Island, in Keswick Lake, is memorable as having been the
home of James Radcliffe, third and last Earl of Derwentwater,
whose life and great possessions were forfeited in 1716, in the
attempt to restore the royal line of Stuart to the throne, and
whose memory is affectionately cherished in the north of England.
An eminence upon its shores, called Castle-Rigg, which overlooks
the vale of Keswick, was formerly occupied by a Roman fort, and
afterwards by the stronghold of the Norman lords, who were called,
from the locality of this their chief residence, de Derwentwater.
Their early history is wrapt in obscurity; but their inheritance
comprised the greater part of the parish of Crosthwaite, in
addition to possessions in other parts of Cumberland, and in other
counties. These became vested in the Radcliffe family in the reign
of Henry the Fifth, by the marriage of Margaret daughter and
heiress of Sir John de Derwentwater, with Sir Nicholas Radcliffe,
of lineage not less ancient than that of his wife, he being of
Saxon origin, and of a family which derived its name from a
village near Bury in Lancashire. In later time the Norman tower on
Castle-Rigg was abandoned, and its materials are said to have been
employed in building the house upon that one of the three wooded
islands in the lake, which is called Lord's Island, and upon which
the Radcliffe family had a residence. This island was originally
part of a peninsula; but when the house was built, it was separated
from the main land by a ditch or moat, over which there was a
draw-bridge, and the approaches to this may still be seen. Of
the house itself, little more than the moss-covered foundations
remain. The stones, successively, of the Roman Castrum, of the
Norman Tower, and of the lord's residence, are said to have been
subsequently used in building the town-hall of Keswick.
The estate of the Derwentwater family seems to have originally
extended along the shores of the lake for nearly two miles, and
for a mile eastward of the shore. On one side of it lies the
present road from Keswick to Ambleside, on the other its boundary
approached Lodore, whilst the crest of Walla Crag, divided it
from the common. There, surrounded by a combination of grandeur
and beauty which is almost unrivalled in this country, the
Knightly ancestors of James Radcliffe, the third and last Earl of
Derwentwater, whose virtues and whose fate have encircled his name
with traditional veneration, had their paternal seat.
This chivalrous and amiable young nobleman was closely allied by
blood to the Prince Edward, afterwards called "the Pretender," in
whose cause he fell a sacrifice; his mother, the Lady Mary Tudor,
a natural daughter of King Charles II. and Mrs. Davis, being first
cousin to the Prince. He was nearly the same age as the Prince,
being one year younger: and in his early childhood was taken to
France to be educated, when James the Second and his consort were
living in exile at St. Germain's, surrounded, however, by the noble
English, Scottish, and Irish emigrant royalists, who followed the
fortunes of their dethroned monarch. The sympathies of his parents
having also led them thither, the youthful heir of Derwentwater
was brought up with the little Prince, at St. Germain's, sharing
his infantine pleasures and pastimes, and occasionally joining his
studies under his governess the Countess of Powis. A friendship
thus formed in youth, nurtured by consanguinity, strengthened by
ripening age, and cemented by the extraordinary good qualities of
the young nobleman, and his power to win affection and esteem,
culminated in that attachment and devotion to the cause of his
Prince and friend, which terminated only with his life.
The Earl appears to have visited Dilston, his ancestral home in
Northumberland, for the first time in 1710, when he was in his
twenty-first year; and in the spring of the same year he spent
some time on the Isle of Derwent, where the ancient mansion of the
Radcliffes was then standing. During a considerable portion of the
two next succeeding years, his chief residence appears to have been
at Dilston, where he lived in the constant exercise of hospitality,
and in the practice of active benevolence towards not only the
peasantry on his wide estates, but all who needed his assistance,
whether known to him or not, and whether Papist or Protestant. He
seems to have taken great delight in rural pursuits, and in the
pleasures of the chase, and in the charms of nature by which he
was surrounded.
On the 10th of July 1712, when he had completed his 23rd year, he
espoused Anna Maria, eldest daughter of Sir John Webb, of Canford,
in the county of Dorset, Bart. His acquaintance with this charming
young lady began in the early springtime of their lives, when
both were receiving their education in the French capital. The
lady had been placed in the convent of Ursuline Nuns in Paris for
instruction: and they had frequent opportunities of seeing each
other at the Chateau of St. Germain's, where the exiled monarch
took pleasure in being surrounded by the scions of his noble
English and Scottish adherents, who were then living at Paris.
On the rising of the adherents of the house of Stuart under
the Earl of Mar in August 1715, it was very well known to the
government, that the Earl's religion, his affections, and
sympathies, were all on the side of the exiled heir of that
family, and that his influence in the north of England was not
less than his constancy and devotion. A warrant was issued for the
apprehension of the Earl and his brother, the government hoping
by thus, as it were, gaining the move in the game, to prevent the
exercise of the Earl's influence against King George. A friendly
warning of the attentions which were being paid to him at Whitehall
reached the Earl in time; and on hearing that the government
messengers had arrived at Durham, on their way to arrest him and
his brother, they withdrew from their home, and proceeded to the
house of Sir Marmaduke Constable, where they stayed some days.
The Earl afterwards took refuge in the home of a humble cottager
near Newbiggin House, where he lay hidden some time. He remained
in concealment through the latter part of August, and the whole of
September. During this time of anxiety and surveillance, all the
money, and even all the jewels of the Countess, are said by local
tradition to have become exhausted: and to such straits was she
reduced, that a silver medal of Pope Clement XI. struck in the 14th
year of his Pontificate (1713), for want of money is said to have
been given by her, when encompassed by the Earl's enemies, to a
peasant girl, for selling poultry, or rendering some such trifling
service.
Early in October it was represented to the Earl that the adherents
of the exiled Prince were ready to appear in arms, and to be only
waiting for him and his brother to join them. It would appear
that at this critical moment, the Earl, influenced by many
considerations, personal and domestic, as well as prudential,
wavered in his resolution; and tradition avers that, on stealthily
revisiting Dilston Hall, his Countess reproached him for continuing
to hide his head in hovels from the light of day, when the gentry
were in arms for their rightful sovereign; and throwing down her
fan before her lord, told him in cruel raillery to take it, and
give his sword to her. Something of this feeling is attributed to
her in the old ballad poem entitled "Lord Derwentwater's Farewell,"
wherein the following lines are put into his mouth:--
"Farewell, farewell, my lady dear:
Ill, ill thou counselled'st me:
I never more may see the babe
That smiles upon thy knee."
The popular notion that the Earl was driven into his fatal
enterprise by the persuasions of his lady is evidently here
referred to. But the amiable and gentle character of the Countess,
that affectionate and devoted wife, whom the Earl in his latest
moments declared to be all tenderness and virtue, and to have
loved him constantly, is a sufficient refutation of the popular
opinion, which does so much injustice to her memory. Nevertheless
there is historical reason for believing that the Earl did suddenly
decide on joining the Prince's friends, who were then in arms;
and his lady's persuasions may have contributed to that fatal
precipitation. On the 6th of October, the little force of horse
and men, consisting of his own domestic levy, was assembled in the
courtyard of his castle; arms were supplied to them; the Earl, his
brother, and the company, crossed the Devil's Water at Nunsburgh
Ford; and the fatal step was irrevocably taken. Old ladies of the
last century used to tell of occurrences of evil omen which marked
the departure of the devoted young nobleman from the home of his
fathers, to which he was destined never to return; how on quitting
the courtyard, his favourite dog howled lamentably; how his horse,
the well-known white or dapple gray, associated with his figure
in history and poetry, became restive, and could with difficulty
be urged forward; and how he soon afterwards found that he had
lost from his finger a highly prized ring, the gift of his revered
grandmother, which he constantly wore.
It is not necessary to dwell upon the details of this unfortunate
and ill-conducted enterprise, in the course of which James III.
was proclaimed in town and village, in Warkworth and Alnwick, in
Penrith and Appleby, Kendal and Lancaster, to the final catastrophe
of the little band at Preston. There, hemmed in by the government
troops, the brave and devoted friends of the royal exiles, who
had been led into this premature effort contrary to their better
judgments, and went forth with a determined loyalty which good or
bad report could not subdue, saw reason to regret, when too late,
their misplaced confidence in their leaders. Already they saw
themselves about to be sacrificed to the divided counsels of their
comrades and the incapacity of Foster, their general. Defensive
means imperfectly planned, and hastily carried out, enabled them
to hold the approaches to the town for three or four days against
the Brunswickers, whom they gallantly repulsed, in a determined
attack upon their barricades. But overmatched by disciplined
troops; out-generalled, and out-numbered; and finding resistance
to be unavailing; on the morning of Monday the 14th of October
they surrendered at discretion to the forces sent to oppose them.
Being assembled in the market place to the number of 1700, they
delivered up their arms, and became prisoners. The young Earl was
sent to London, which he reached on the 9th of December, and was
conducted to the Tower on the capital charge of high treason.
Unavailing efforts were made by his wife and friends to save him.
It appears that on the 20th of February his life was offered to him
by two noblemen who came to him in the tower, in the name of the
King, if he would acknowledge the title of George I. and conform to
the Protestant religion: but these terms were refused by him. The
offer of his life and fortune was repeated on the scaffold, but he
answered that the terms "would be too dear a purchase." The means
proposed to him, he looked upon as "inconsistent with honour and
conscience, and therefore I rejected them." He went to the block
with firmness and composure: and his behaviour was resolute and
sedate. In an address which he delivered on the scaffold, he said
"If that Prince who now governs had given me my life, I should have
thought myself obliged never more to have taken up arms against
him." And the axe closed, by a "violent and vengeful infliction,"
the brief career of the beloved, devoted, and generous Earl of
Derwentwater. He was twenty-seven years of age.
Lady Derwentwater, who had been unceasing in her efforts to save
her husband, and solaced him in his confinement by her society
and tender care, after his death succeeded eventually in having
his last request in the Tower fulfilled. She had his body borne
to its last resting place in the peaceful chapel at Dilston to be
interred with his ancestors. She made a short sojourn at Dilston
before leaving it for ever; and then repaired with her little son
and daughter to Canford, under the roof of her parents.
Before leaving the North, the Countess visited the house and
estates at Derwentwater; and while there her life seems to have
been in some danger; for the rude peasantry of the neighbourhood,
to whom her southern birth and foreign education, as well as the
principles and attachments in which she was brought up, were
doubtless uncongenial, blamed her, in the unreasoning vehemence
of their grief, for the tragic fate of their beloved lord and
benefactor. Accordingly, not far from the fall of Lodore, a hollow
in the wild heights of Walla Crag is pointed out by the name of
Lady's Rake,[5] in which the noble widow is said to have escaped
from their vengeance. Her misfortunes needed not to be thus
undeservedly augmented. A more pleasing version of the story of her
flight is, that the Countess escaped through the Lady's Rake with
the family jewels, when the officers of the crown took possession
of the mansion on Lord's Island. No doubt this loving woman did her
utmost for the release of her lord. And this steep and dangerous
way has a human interest associated with it which has given a
special hold upon the hearts of the Keswick people. In old times
a large white stone in among the boulders used to be pointed out
as the Lady's Pockethandkerchief, and that it still hung among the
crags, where no one could get at it.
In June, 1716, the Countess was living at Kensington Gravel Pits,
near London: whence she soon afterwards went to Hatherhope; and
subsequently made a brief sojourn under the roof of her parents at
Canford Manor; after which she took up her residence at Louvaine.
Here she died on the 30th of August, 1723, at the early age of
thirty; having survived her noble husband little more than seven
years; and was interred there in the Church of the English regular
Canonesses of St. Augustine.
The white or gray horse of the Earl is historical. Shortly before
the rising, and when he was in danger of apprehension, the
following short note was written by him:--
"Dilston, July 27th, 1715.
"Mr. Hunter,
"As I know nobody is more ready to serve a friend than yourself,
I desire the favour you will keep my gray horse for me, till we
see what will be done relating to horses. I believe they will be
troublesome, for it is said the D. of Ormond is gone from his
house. God send us peace and good neighbourhood,--unknown blessings
since I was born. Pray ride my horse about the fields, or any where
you think he will not be known, and you will oblige, Sir, your
humble servant,
"DERWENTWATER."
"He is at grass."
In the first sentence the reference is made to the jealous penal
regulation, which forbade a Roman Catholic to possess a noble animal of
height and qualities suited to military equipment.
From tradition preserved in the family of Mr. Hunter of Medomsley,
the person addressed, there is every reason to believe that the gray
horse mentioned in the above letter, was the identical steed which was
brought by the son of Mr. Hunter to Bywell, and taken thence by Lord
Derwentwater's servant to Hexham for his lordship's use; and upon which
the devoted Earl rode from Hexham, with the gallant champions of the
Prince's right, on the 19th of October following.
A man named Cuthbert Swinburn, then 90 years of age, who was born at
Upper Dilston, and whose family resided there for some generations,
related to a correspondent of W. S. Gibson, Esq., the author of Memoirs
of the Earl of Derwentwater, that he remembered the young Earl, and
saw him pass their house riding on a white horse, and accompanied by
several retainers, on the morning when he joined his neighbours in the
Prince's cause.
In a ballad relating to that fatal expedition it is said--
"Lord Derwentwater rode away
Well mounted on his dapple gray."
And in the touching verses well known as "Derwentwater's Farewell," his
"own gray steed" is one of the earthly objects of his regard to which
he is supposed to bid adieu.
Of the house on Lord's Island, itself, only some low walls now remain.
A few relics of the mansion are preserved in the neighbourhood. The
ponderous lock and key of the outer door, the former weighing eleven
pounds, are preserved in Crosthwaite's museum. The door itself, which
was of oak studded with knobs and rivets, was sold to a person named
Wilson, of Under Mozzer, a place thirteen miles from Keswick. A bell,
probably the dinner bell of the mansion, is in the town hall of
Keswick, and is of fine tone. A fine old carved chair is preserved in
the Radcliffe Room at Corby Castle, and known as "My Lady's Chair."
In Crosthwaite's museum is preserved another ancient one of oak,
which came from Lord Derwentwater's house, and has the Radcliffe arms
carved upon it. And a stately and most elaborately carved oak bedstead
which belonged to Lord Derwentwater was purchased at the sale of the
contents of his house on Lord's Island, by an ancestor of Mr. Wood, of
Cockermouth, in whose family it has remained, highly valued, ever since
1716.
Many articles of furniture, some family portraits, and other property,
that once belonged to Dilston Hall, still linger in the vicinity of
that place, where they are greatly treasured.
The Northumbrian and Cumbrian peasantry believed that miraculous
appearances marked the fatal day on which the Earl of Derwentwater was
beheaded. It was affirmed that the "Divel's Water" acquired a crimson
hue, as if his fair domains were sprinkled with the blood of their
gallant possessor; and that at night the sky glowed ominously with
ensanguined streams. "The red streamers of the north" are recorded
to have been seen for the first time in that part of England, on
the night of the fatal 24th of February, 1716; and in the meteor's
fiery hue, the astonished spectators beheld a dreadful omen of the
vengeance of heaven. The phenomenon has ever since been known as "Lord
Derwentwater's Lights." On the 18th of October, 1848, a magnificent
and very remarkable display of aurora borealis was witnessed in the
northern counties. The crimson streamers rose and spread from the
horizon in the form of an expanded fan, and the peasantry in Cumberland
and elsewhere said at the time, that nothing like that display had been
seen since the appearance of "Lord Derwentwater's Lights," in February,
1716, which may therefore be presumed to have been of a crimson or rosy
hue.
FOOTNOTE:
[5] This hollow, in the summit of Walla Crag, is visible from the road
below. Rake, the term applied in this country to openings in the hills
like this, is an old Norse word, signifying a journey or excursion. It
is now commonly applied to the scene of an excursion as the Lady's Rake
in Walla Crag, and the Scot's Rake at the head of Troutbeck, by which a
band of Scottish marauders is said to have descended upon the vale.
THE LAURELS ON LINGMOOR.
High over Langdale, vale and hill,
The swans had winged their annual way;
By Brathay pools and Dungeon-Ghyll
The lambs as now were wild at play;
The mighty monarchs of the vale,
Twins in their grandeur, towered on high;
And brawling brooks to many a tale
Of lowly life and love went by.
There cheerful on the lonely wild
One happy bower through shine and storm,
Amidst the mountains round it piled,
Preserved its hearth-stone bright and warm;
Where now a mother and her boy
Stood parting in one fond embrace;
The shadow of their faded joy,
Between them, darkening either face.
"I'll think, when that great city's folds
Enclose me like a restless sea,
Of all this northern valley holds
In its warm cottage walls for me.
I'll think amidst its ceaseless roar,
Within these little bounds how blest
Was here our life, and long the more
For that far-off return and rest."--
Forth sped the youth: the valley closed
Behind him: adamantine hills,
Like giants round the gates reposed
Of his lost Eden, frowned; the rills
With fainter murmurs far away
Died in the distance; and at length
He stood amidst the proud array
Of London in his youth and strength.
He came when mid the moving life
The Terror and the Plague went by.
He walked where Panic fled the strife
Of Strength with Death the Shadow nigh.
The shaft that flew unseen by night,
The deadly plague-breath, striking down
Thousands on thousands in its flight,
Made soon the widow's boy its own.
Ah! woe for her! in that far vale
The sorrow reached her; for there came
Dread tidings and the mournful tale,
Dear relics and the fatal Name.
All in the brightness of the noon
She bent above those relics dear;
And ere the glimmering of the moon
The Shadow from his side was near.
And forth from out her home there stalked
The Terror with the name so dread;
It pass'd the dalesman as he walked;
It dogg'd the lonely shepherd's tread;
It breathed into the farms; it smote
The homesteads on the loneliest moor;
And shuddering Nature cowered remote;
All fled the plague-struck widow's door.
Alone, in all the vale profound:
Alone, on Lingmoor's mosses wide:
Alone, with all the hills around
From Langdale head to Loughrigg's side;
Alone, beneath the cloud of night,
The morning's mist, the evening's ray;
The hearthstone cold, and quenched its light;
The Shadow wrestled with its prey.
And day by day, while went and came
The sunlight in the cheerless vale,
Her hearth no more its wonted flame
Renewed, the opening morns to hail:
Glow'd not, though beating blasts and rain
Drove in beneath her mournful eaves,
Through Springs that brought the buds again,
And Autumns strew'd with fading leaves.
No human foot its timorous falls
Led near it, venturing to unfold
The scene within those mouldering walls,
The mystery in that lonely hold.
Nor on that mountain side did morn
Or noon show how, or where, for rest
That Earth to kindlier earth was borne--
The kinless to the kindred breast.
Only the huntsman on the height,
The herdsman on the mountain way,
Looked sometimes on the far-off site
How desolate and lone it lay.
Till when the years had rolled, their eyes
Saw wondering, where that home decay'd,
A little plot of green arise
Contiguous to the ruined shade.
A little grove of half a score
Of laurels, intertwining round
One nameless centre, blossomed o'er
That homestead's desolated bound;
And where their leaves hang green above--
A lowly circling fence of stone
Sprang, reared by Powers that build to Love
When man, too weak, forsakes his own.
And there where all lies wild and bare--
Where mountains rise and waters flow,
From Langdale's summits high in air,
To Brathay pools that sleep below--
A green that never fades, one grove
Of brightest laurels rears its boughs;
While o'er that home's foundations rove
The wild cats, and the asses browse.
There, if the song birds come, their notes
Are hushed, that nowhere else are still:
And when the winds pipe loud, and floats
The mist-cloud down from Dungeon-Ghyll,
Again the cottage-eaves arise
Within it, as of old, serene,--
Its lights shine forth, its smoke up flies,
And fades the grove of laurels green.
But dimly falls the gleam of morn
Around it; on the ferns the shade
Of evening leaves a look forlorn
That elsewhere Nature has not laid.
So, lonely on its height, so, drear,
It stands, while seasons wax and fail,
Unchanged amid the changing year,
The voiceless mystery of the vale.
NOTES TO "THE LAURELS ON LINGMOOR."
There seems to have been a long hereditary emulation among the
inhabitants of these districts to raise their sons beyond the
situation of their birth; a laudable practice, but one which
until recent times was clouded by a comparative neglect of their
daughters, whose education at the best was very indifferent. Hence
many of these youths have risen to be respectable merchants, whose
early circumstances compelled them to toil for their daily bread,
and to be educated in night schools taught during the winter by a
village schoolmaster, a parish clerk, or some industrious mechanic.
Dr. Todd states, that in his time it was reported that Sir Richard
Whittington, knight, thrice Lord Mayor of London, was born of
poor parents in the parish of Great Salkeld, in East Cumberland;
that he built the church and tower from the foundation; and that
he intended to present three large bells to the parish, which by
some mischance stopped at Kirkby-Stephen on their way to Salkeld.
And a similar tradition is yet current in the neighbourhood. Less
apocryphal, perhaps, is the instance of Richard Bateman, a native
of the township of Staveley, near Windermere; who, being a clever
lad, was sent by the inhabitants to London, and there by his
diligence and industry raised himself from a very humble situation
in his master's house to be a partner in his business, and amassed
a considerable fortune. For some years he resided at Leghorn; but
his end was tragical. It is said, that in his voyage to England,
the captain of the vessel in which he was sailing, poisoned him
and seized the ship and cargo. The pretty little Chapel of Ings,
in the vicinity where he was born, was erected at his expense, and
the slabs of marble with which it is floored were sent by him from
Leghorn. Hodgson states, that he gave twelve pounds a year to the
Chapel, and a thousand pounds more to be applied in purchasing an
estate, and building eight cottages in the Chapelry for the use of
its poor.
In Westmorland and Cumberland, thanks to the piety and local
attachments of our ancestors, endowed, or, as they are more
commonly called, free, schools abound. Grammar schools were
established on the verge of, and even within, the lake district,
prior to the dissolution of monasteries. From these institutions
a host of learned and valuable men were distributed over England;
many of them rose to great eminence in the literary world; and
contributed to the establishment of Schools in the villages
where they were born. Before the conclusion of the 17th century,
seminaries of this kind were commenced in every parish, and in
almost every considerable village; and education to learned
professions, especially to the pulpit, continued the favourite
method of the yeomanry of bringing up their younger sons, till
about the year 1760, when commerce became the high road to wealth,
and Greek and Latin began reluctantly, and by slow gradation, to
give way to an education consisting chiefly in reading, writing,
and arithmetic. Many of this new species of scholars were annually
taken into the employment of merchants and bankers in London, and
several of them into the Excise. The clergyman generally found
preferment at a distance from home, where he settled and died; but
the merchant brought his riches and new manners and habits among
his kindred.
The predilection for ancient literature and the learned
professions seems to have been a kind of instinctive propensity
among the people of these secluded vales. In the grammar schools
the discipline was severe, and the instruction imparted was
respectable. In addition to the endowment, the master's industry
was usually rewarded at Shrovetide with a gift in money or
provisions, proportioned to his desert, and the circumstances of
the donor. This present was called Cock-penny, a name derived from
the master being obliged by ancient usage and the "barring-out"
rules, to give the boys a prize to fight cocks for; which
cock-fighting was held either at Shrovetide or Easter. Indeed this
custom seems to have originated in the care which was taken to
instil into youth a martial and enterprising spirit. This appears
from the founders, in many of the schools, having made half of the
master's salary to depend on the cock-pennies; and if the master
refused to give the customary prize, the scholars withheld the
present. The vacations were at Christmas and Pentecost, for about a
fortnight; and all red-letter days were half-holidays. But between
the former seasons the Barring-out occurred; which consisted in the
boys taking possession of the schoolroom early in the morning,
and refusing the master admittance until he had signed certain
rules for the regulation of the holidays, and a general pardon for
all past offences, demanding a bondsman to the instrument. Then
followed a feast and a day of idleness.
The youths of a neighbourhood, rich and poor, were all educated
together; a circumstance which diffused and kept alive a plain
familiarity of intercourse among all ranks of people, which
inspired the lowest with independence of sentiment, and infused
no insolent or unreal consequence into the wealthy. Thus it was
no unusual thing for the yeoman and the shepherd to enliven their
employments or festivities with recitations from the bucolics of
Virgil, the idyls of Theocrites, or the wars of Troy. A story is
told of the late Mr. John Gunson, a worthy miller, who formerly
kept the Plough Inn, a small public-house near the Church at Ulpha.
Two or three young fellows from a neighbouring town, or, as some
say, a party of students from St. Bees School, being out on a
holiday excursion, called at John's, and after regaling themselves
with his ale, and indulging in a good deal of quizzing and banter
at the landlord's expense, demanded their bill. John in his homely
country dialect, said, "Nay, we niver mak' any bills here, ye hev
so much to pay"--mentioning the sum. "O," replied one of the wags,
"you cannot write: that is the cause of your excuse." John, who had
quietly suffered them to proceed in their remarks, retired, and
in a short time brought them in a bill written out in the Hebrew
language, which it need scarcely be said quite puzzled them. He
then sent them one in Greek, and afterwards in Latin, neither of
which they could make out. They then begged that he would tell
them in plain English what they had to pay. John laughed heartily
at their ignorance, which on this occasion shone as conspicuous as
their impertinence to their learned and unassuming host.
If such was the level upon which the yeomanry stood in an
educational sense, their favourite plan of bringing up their
younger sons to the learned professions, and especially the pulpit,
may account for a saying which is almost proverbial in Cumberland,
"Owt 'll mak' a parson!" meaning thereby that if one of their
sons proved more stupid than another, the church was the proper
destination for him.
In the more secluded valleys the scholars were taught in the
church; the curate, who was also schoolmaster, sitting within the
communion rails, and using the table as a desk, while the children
occupied the pews or the open space beside him.
In the parish register of the last named chapelry is a notice, that
a youth who had quitted the valley, and died in one of the towns
on the coast of Cumberland, had requested that his body should be
brought and interred at the foot of the pillar by which he had been
accustomed to sit while a school-boy.
Teachers of writing and arithmetic also wandered from village to
village, being remunerated by a whittle gate. The churches and
chapels have mostly a little school-house adjoining. In some places
the school-house was a sort of antichapel to the place of worship,
being under the same roof, an arrangement which was abandoned as
irreverent. It continues however to this day in Borrowdale and some
other chapelries.
Superstitious fears were sometimes entertained lest a boy should
_learn too far_. It was usual to consider all schoolmasters as
_wise men_ or conjurors. Wise men were such as had spent their
lives in the pursuit of science, and had _learned too much_.
For conjuration was supposed to be a science which as naturally
followed other parts of learning as compound addition followed
simple addition. The wise man possessed wonderful power. He could
recover stolen goods, either by fetching back the articles,
showing the thief in a black mirror, or making him walk round the
cross on a market day, with the stolen goods on his shoulders.
The last, however, he could not do, if the culprit wore a piece
of _green sod_ upon his head. When any person applied to the
wise man for information, it was necessary for him to reach home
before midnight, as a storm was the certain consequence of the
application, and the applicant ran great risk of being tormented
by the devil all the way home. The wise men were supposed to have
made a compact with the devil, that he was to serve them for a
certain number of years, and then have them, body and soul, after
death. They were compelled to give the devil some living animal
whenever he called upon them, as a pledge that they intended to
give themselves at last. Instances are recorded of boys, in the
master's absence, having got to his books, and raised the devil.
The difficulty was to lay him again. He must be kept employed,
or have one of the boys for the trouble given to him. The broken
flag through which he rose is no doubt shown to this day. Such
superstitions are not so completely exploded in the country, but
that many equally improbable tales are told and believed.
The old register-book of the parish of Penrith, which appears to
have been commenced about the year 1599, contains some entries
of an earlier date, which have been either copied from a former
register, or inserted from memory. The following entries occur:--
"Liber Registerii de Penrith scriptus in anno dni 1599 anno regni
regine Elizabethe 41.
Proper nots worth keeping as followethe.
Floden feild was in anno dni 15....
Comotion in these north parts 1536.
St. George day dyd fall on good friday.
Queene Elizabethe begene her rainge 1558.
Plague was in Penrith and Kendal 1554.
Sollome Mose was in the yere....
Rebellion in the North Partes by the two earls of Northumberland &
Westmorland & leonard Dacres in the year of our lord god 1569 & the
9th day of November.
A sore plague was in London, notinghome Derbie & lincolne in the
year 1593.
A sore plague in new castle, durrome & Dernton in the year of our
lord god 1597.
A sore plague in Richmond Kendal Penrith Carliell Apulbie and other
places in Westmorland and Cumberland in the year of our lord god
1598 of this plague there dyed at Kendal"--a few words more, now
very indistinct, follow, and the remainder of the page is cut or
torn off.
Several records of the ravages committed by the plague in
Cumberland and Westmorland are preserved in the more populous
parts. The following inscription on the wall in Penrith Church is
singular:--
AD MDXCVIII
Ex gravi peste quæ regionibus hisce
incubuit, obierunt apud
Penrith 2260
Kendal 2500
Richmond 2200
Carlisle 1196
Posteri
Avertite vos et vivite
Ezek. 18th ---- 32 ----
From the Register it appears that William Wallis was vicar at the
time; the following entries noting the beginning and end of the
calamity are interesting:--
"1597. 22d of September, Andrew Hodgson, a foreigner, was buried."
"Here begonne the plague (God's punismet in Perith.)"
"All those that are noted with the ltre P. dyed of the infection;
and those noted with F. were buried on the Fell."
"December 13th, 1598, Here ended the visitation."
The fear of infection prevented the continuance of the usual
markets; and places without the town were appointed for purchasing
the provisions brought by the country people.
The Church register in the neighbouring parish of Edenhall takes
notice of 42 persons dying in the same year, of the plague, in that
village.
Some centuries previous to this, in 1380, when the Scots made an
inroad into Cumberland, under the Earl of Douglas, Penrith was
suffering from a visitation of the same nature; they surprised the
place at the time of a fair, and returned with immense booty; but
they introduced into their country the plague contracted in this
town, which swept away one-third of the inhabitants of Scotland.
It is not at all likely that these calamitous visitations were
confined to the towns and villages. Although few traces may be
found of this frightful disease having invaded the more remote and
scattered population of the dales. Records of isolated cases might
easily be lost in the course of ages; and, as mere memorials of
domestic affliction, were not likely to be preserved in families.
Yet tradition has its utterances where purer history fails. On the
side of Lingmoor in Great Langdale, a small stone-fenced enclosure,
a few feet across, of green and shining laurels, indicates a spot
which the pestilence had reached. This bright circular patch of
evergreens is very conspicuous amid the ferns, from the heights
on the opposite side of the valley. On a near approach, the
foundations of what appear to be the remains of an ancient dwelling
may be traced at a little distance from it. Still more distant are
the ruins of one or two deserted cottages, where the sheep pasture
along the base of the mountain. What has been gathered from the
dalespeople about the laurels, so singular in such a spot, is, that
in the time of the great plague in England a woman and her son
occupied a cottage near the place. The youth went from this remote
district, in the spirit of enterprise, to push his fortunes in
London, was smitten by the pestilence, and died. After a time some
clothes and other things belonging to him were sent to his home
among the hills, infected the mother, and spread terror throughout
the neighbourhood. The woman having fallen a victim to the disease,
so great was the dread of the pestilence that the ordinary rites
of burial could not be obtained for her. The body could not be
borne for interment in consecrated ground. It mouldered away, it
is supposed, on the spot which to this day is marked by the little
enclosure of evergreens, a memorial of the fearful visitation in
the lonely dale.
One of the most pleasing characteristics of manners in secluded
and thinly-peopled districts, is a sense of the degree in which
human happiness and comfort are dependent on the contingency of
neighbourhood. This is implied by a rhyming adage common here,
"_Friends are far, when neighbours are nar_" (near). This mutual
helpfulness is not confined to out-of-doors work; but is ready
upon all occasions. Formerly, if a person became sick, especially
the mistress of a family, it was usual for those of the neighbours
who were more particularly connected with the party by amicable
offices, to visit the house, carrying a present; this practice,
which is by no means obsolete, is called _owning_ the family,
and is regarded as a pledge of a disposition to be otherwise
serviceable in a time of disability and distress.
THE VALE OF SAINT JOHN.
The morn was fresh; and ere we won
The famous Valley of Saint John,
For many a rood our thoughts had plann'd
The scenery of that magic land.
We pictured bowers where ladies fair
Had breathed of old enchanted air;
Groves where Sir Knights had uttered vows
To Genii through the silvery boughs;
Piles of the pride of ages gone
Cleft between night and morning's sun,
Or veiled by mighty Merlin's power;
And her, too, Britain's peerless flower--
Her, chained in slumbering beauty fast
While generations rose and pass'd,
Gyneth 'mid the Wizard's dens,
King Arthur's child and Guendolen's!
So, led by many a wandering gleam
From youth and poetry's sweet dream,
We climbed the old created hills,
And cross'd the everlasting rills,
Which lay between us and the unwon
But glorious Valley of Saint John.
The morn was fresh, and bright the sun
Burst o'er the drowsy mountains dun.
A moment's pause for strength renewed,
And we our pleasant march pursued.
Blythely we scaled the steep, surpass'd
By steeps each loftier than the last;
O'er rocks and heaths and wilds we follow
The vapoury path from height to hollow;
And through the winding vale below,
Where yellowing fields with plenty glow;
And, scattered wide and far between,
Lay white-walled farms and orchards green;
The hedge-rows with their verdure crowned
Hemming the little plots of ground;
The happy kine for pastures lowing;
The rivulets through the meadows flowing;
The sunshine glittering on the slopes;
The white lambs on the mountain tops;
No vision and no gleam to call
Enchantment from her airy hall;
But beauty through all seasons won
From Nature and her parent sun,
There brightening as through ages gone,
Lay round us as our hearts sped on
To reach the Valley of Saint John.
The noon was past; the sun's bright ray
Sloped slowly down his westering way
With mellower light; the sobering gleams
Touched Glenderamakin's farthest streams;
Flung all the richness of their charms
Round lonely Threlkeld's wastes and farms:
And high beyond fired with their glow
Blencathra's steep and lofty brow;
When suddenly--as if by power
Of Magic wrought in that bright hour--
Shone out, with all the circumstance
And splendour of restored Romance,
Southwards afar behind us spread,
With its grey fortress at its head,
The Valley, spell-bound as of old,
In all its mingling green and gold;
In all the glory of the time
When Uther's son was in his prime,
And chivalry ranged every clime;
And peaceful as when Gyneth, kept
In Merlin's halls, beneath it slept.
There had we roamed the live-long day
Saint John's fair fields and winding way,
With hearts unconsciously beguiled
By witcheries and enchantment wild!
And not till steps that toiled no more
It's utmost bound had vanish'd o'er,
Knew youth's wild thought our hearts had won,
And thrid the Valley of Saint John.
NOTES TO "THE VALE OF SAINT JOHN."
Near the village of Threlkeld, the road from Keswick to Penrith,
branching off on the right, discloses obliquely to the view, the
Vale of St. John. The well known description of this beautiful
dell by Mr. Hutchinson, who visited it in the year 1773, conferred
upon it a reputation which was greatly increased when the genius
of Scott made it the scene of his tale of enchantment "The Bridal
of Triermain." The interest which it derives from its traditional
connection with the wiles of Merlin, whose magic fortress continues
to attract and elude the gaze of the traveller, is well given in
the words of the former writer.
"We now gained a view of the Vale of St. John's, a very narrow
dell, hemmed in by mountains, through which a small brook makes
many meanderings, washing little enclosures of grass ground,
which stretch up the risings of the hills. In the widest part of
the dale you are struck with the appearance of an ancient ruined
castle, which seems to stand upon the summit of a little mount,
the mountains around forming an amphitheatre. This massive bulwark
shews a front of various towers, and makes an awful, rude, and
Gothic appearance, with its lofty turrets and rugged battlements:
we traced the galleries, the bending arches, the buttresses. The
greatest antiquity stands characterized in its architecture; the
inhabitants near it assert it is an antidiluvian structure.
"The traveller's curiosity is roused, and he prepares to make a
nearer approach, when that curiosity is put upon the rack, by his
being assured that, if he advances, certain genii, who govern
the place, by virtue of their supernatural arts and necromancy
will strip it of all its beauties, and by enchantment transform
the magic walls. The vale seems adapted for the habitation of
such beings; its gloomy recesses and retirements look like the
haunts of evil spirits. There was no delusion in the report; we
were soon convinced of its truth; for this piece of antiquity, so
venerable and noble in its aspect, as we drew near, changed its
figure, and proved no other than a shaken massive pile of rocks,
which stand in the midst of this little vale, disunited from the
adjoining mountains, and have so much the real form and resemblance
of a castle, that they bear the name of _The Castle Rocks of St.
John's_."
The more familiar appellation of this rocky pile among the dalesmen
is _Green Crag_. The approach into the valley from Threlkeld
displays it in the most poetical point of view, and under some
states of atmosphere it requires no stretch of the imagination to
transform its grey perpendicular masses into an impregnable castle,
whose walls and turrets waving with ivy and other parasitical
plants, form the prison of the immortal Merlin.
Other atmospheric effects, which occasionally occur in this
District, have been alluded to elsewhere in these notes; as the
aerial armies seen on Souter Fell, and the Helm Cloud and Bar, with
their accompanying wind, generated upon Cross Fell.
Phenomena of a singular character, which may be ascribed to
reflections from pure and still water in the lakes, have also
attracted observation. Mr. Wordsworth has described two of which
he was an eye-witness. "Walking by the side of Ulswater," says he,
"upon a calm September morning, I saw deep within the bosom of the
lake, a magnificent Castle, with towers and battlements; nothing
could be more distinct than the whole edifice;--after gazing with
delight upon it for some time, as upon a work of enchantment,
I could not but regret that my previous knowledge of the place
enabled me to account for the appearance. It was in fact the
reflection of a pleasure house called Lyulph's Tower--the towers
and battlements magnified and so much changed in shape as not to be
immediately recognised. In the meanwhile, the pleasure house itself
was altogether hidden from my view by a body of vapour stretching
over it and along the hill-side on which it extends, but not so as
to have intercepted its communication with the lake; and hence this
novel and most impressive object, which, if I had been a stranger
to the spot, would, from its being inexplicable, have long detained
the mind in a state of pleasing astonishment. Appearances of this
kind, acting upon the credulity of early ages, may have given birth
to, and favoured the belief in, stories of sub-aqueous palaces,
gardens, and pleasure-grounds--the brilliant ornaments of Romance.
"With this inverted scene," he continues, "I will couple a much
more extraordinary phenomenon, which will shew how other elegant
fancies may have had their origin, less in invention than in the
actual process of nature.
"About eleven o'clock on the forenoon of a winter's day, coming
suddenly, in company of a friend, into view of the Lake of
Grasmere, we were alarmed by the sight of a newly created Island;
the transitory thought of the moment was, that it had been produced
by an earthquake or some convulsion of nature. Recovering from the
alarm, which was greater than the reader can possibly sympathize
with, but which was shared to its full extent by my companion,
we proceeded to examine the object before us. The elevation of
this new island exceeded considerably that of the old one, its
neighbour; it was likewise larger in circumference, comprehending a
space of about five acres; its surface rocky, speckled with snow,
and sprinkled over with birch trees; it was divided towards the
south from the other island by a firth, and in like manner from the
northern shore of the lake; on the east and west it was separated
from the shore by a much larger space of smooth water.
"Marvellous was the illusion! comparing the new with the old
Island, the surface of which is soft, green, and unvaried, I do
not scruple to say that, as an object of sight, it was much the
more distinct. 'How little faith,' we exclaimed, 'is due to one
sense, unless its evidence be confirmed by some of its fellows!
What stranger could possibly be persuaded that this, which we know
to be an unsubstantial mockery, is _really_ so; and that there
exists only a single Island on this beautiful Lake?' At length
the appearance underwent a gradual transmutation; it lost its
prominence and passed into a glimmering and dim _inversion_, and
then totally disappeared;--leaving behind it a clear open area of
ice of the same dimensions. We now perceived that this bed of ice,
which was thinly suffused with water, had produced the illusion, by
reflecting and refracting (as persons skilled in optics would no
doubt easily explain,) a rocky and woody section of the opposite
mountain named Silver-how."
Southey describes a scene that he had witnessed on Derwent Lake,
as "a sight more dreamy and wonderful than any scenery that fancy
ever yet devised for Faery-land. We had walked down," he writes,
"to the lake side, it was a delightful day, the sun shining, and
a few white clouds hanging motionless in the sky. The opposite
shore of Derwentwater consists of one long mountain, which suddenly
terminates in an arch, thus [arch symbol], and through that
opening you see a long valley between mountains, and bounded by
mountain beyond mountain; to the right of the arch the heights
are more varied and of greater elevation. Now, as there was not a
breath of air stirring, the surface of the lake was so perfectly
still, that it became one great mirror, and all its waters
disappeared; the whole line of shore was represented as vividly
and steadily as it existed in its actual being--the arch, the vale
within, the single houses far within the vale, the smoke from the
chimneys, the farthest hills, and the shadow and substance joined
at their bases so indivisibly, that you could make no separation
even in your judgment. As I stood on the shore, heaven and the
clouds seemed lying under me; I was looking down into the sky, and
the whole range of mountains, having the line of summits under my
feet, and another above me, seemed to be suspended between the
firmaments. Shut your eyes and dream of a scene so unnatural and so
beautiful. What I have said is most strictly and scrupulously true;
but it was one of those happy moments that can seldom occur, for
the least breath stirring would have shaken the whole vision, and
at once unrealised it. I have before seen a partial appearance, but
never before did, and perhaps never again may, lose sight of the
lake entirely; for it literally seemed like an abyss of sky before
me, not fog and clouds from a mountain, but the blue heaven spotted
with a few fleecy pillows of cloud, that looked placed there for
angels to rest upon them."
THE LUCK OF EDENHALL.
The martial Musgraves sheathed the sword,
And held in peace sweet Edenhall.
For never that house or that house's lord
May evil luck or mischance befal,
While their crystal chalice can soundly ring,
Or sparkle brim-full at St. Cuthbert's spring.
Rude warlike men were the race of old:
And seldom with priest of holy rood
Or penance discoursed their knights so bold,
Who won them the Forest of Inglewood.
For better lov'd they to grasp the spear,
Than beads to count or masses to hear.
There came a bright Lady from over the sea,
Once to look on their youthful heir.
Saintly and like a spirit was she;
And sweetest words did her tongue declare;
When filling a beautiful glass to the brim
At St. Cuthbert's Well, she gave it to him.
Radiant and rare--from her garment's hem
To her shining forehead, all dazzling o'er,
As of crystal and gold and enamel the gem
Of sparkling light from the fount she bore--
Her snow-white fingers unringed she spread
On the gallant young Musgrave's lordly head.
With his ruby lips he touch'd the glass,
And quaff'd off the crystal draught within.
"From thee and from thine if ever shall pass
The pledge of this hour, shall their doom begin.
Whenever that cup shall break or fall,
Farewell the luck of Edenhall!"
While marvelling much at so fair a sight,
And wooing a vision so sweet to stay,
Like a vanishing dream of the closing night
Within the dark Forest she pass'd away;
And left him musing, with senses dim,
On the gifts the bright chalice had brought to him.
He clasped it close, and he turn'd it o'er;
Within and without its form survey'd;
Till the deeds and thoughts of his sires of yore
Seem'd to him like rust on a goodly blade.
And the more the glass in his hands he turned,
The more for a nobler life he yearned.
And there on the verge of the Forest, where stood
The Hall for ages, he vow'd to be
The servant of Him who died on the Rood,
And lay in the Tomb of Arimathee;
And to drink of that cup at the Holy Well.
So wrought within him the Lady's spell.
And down the twilight came on his thought;
And sleep fell on him beneath the trees;
When an errand for water the butler brought
To the spot, where around the slumberer's knees
The envious fairies, a glittering band,
Were loosing the cup from his slackening hand.
He scared them forth: and in fierce despite
They mocked, and mowed, and sang in his ear,--
"See you yon horsemen along the height?
They had harried the Hall had'st thou not come near.
Whenever that cup shall break or fall,
Farewell the luck of Edenhall."
And the martial lords of Edenhall
They kept their cup with enamel and gold
Where never the goblet could break or fall,
Or fail its measure of luck to hold;
That birth or bridal, beneath its sway,
Might never befal on an evil day;
And land and lordship stretching wide,
And honour and worship might still be theirs;
As long as that cup, preserved with pride,
Should be honoured and prized by Musgrave's heirs:
The goblet the Lady from over the wave
To their sire in the Forest of Inglewood gave.
It has sparkled high o'er the cradled babe:
It has pledged the bride on her nuptial day:
It has bless'd their lips at life's last ebb,
With its sacred juice to cleanse the clay.
For the touch the bright Lady left on its brim
Can give light to the soul when all else is dim.
Long prosper the luck of that noble line.
May never the Musgrave's name decay.
And to crown their board, when the goblets shine,
May the crystal chalice be found alway!
For Whenever that cup shall break or fall,
Farewell the luck of Edenhall!
NOTES TO "THE LUCK OF EDENHALL."
The curious ancient drinking glass, called the Luck of Edenhall,
on the preservation of which, according to popular superstition,
the prosperity of the Musgrave family depends, is well known from
the humourous parody on the old ballad of Chevy Chase, commonly
attributed to the Duke of Wharton, but in reality composed by
Lloyd, one of his jovial companions, which begins,
"God prosper long from being broke
The Luck of Edenhall."
The Duke, after taking a draught, had nearly terminated "the Luck
of Edenhall;" but fortunately the butler caught the cup in a napkin
as it dropped from his grace's hands. It is understood that it is
no longer subjected to such risks. It is now generally shown with
a damask cloth securely held by the four corners beneath it, which
for this purpose is deposited along with the vessel in a safe place
where important family documents are preserved.
Not without good reason do the Musgraves look with superstitious
regard to its careful preservation amongst them. The present
generation could, it is said, tell of disasters following swift
and sure upon its fall, in fulfilment of the omen embodied in the
legend attached to it.
The vessel is of a green coloured glass of Venice manufacture of
the 10th century, ornamented with foliage of different colours
in enamel and gold; it is about seven inches in height and about
two in diameter at the base, from which it increases in width and
terminates in a gradual curve at the brim where it measures about
four inches. It is carefully preserved in a stamped leather case,
ornamented with scrolls of vine leaves, and having on the top, in
old English characters, the letters I. H. C.; from which it seems
probable that this vessel was originally designed for sacred uses.
The covering is said to be of the time of Henry VI. or Edward IV.
The glass is probably one of the oldest in England.
The tradition respecting this vessel is connected with the still
current belief, that he who has courage to rush upon a fairy
festival, and snatch from them their drinking cup or horn, shall
find it prove to him a cornucopia of good fortune or plenty, if
he can bear it safely across a running stream. The goblet still
carefully preserved in Edenhall is supposed to have been seized at
a banquet of the elves, by one of the ancient family of Musgrave;
or, as others say, the butler, going to fetch water from St.
Cuthbert's Well, which is near the hall, surprised a company of
fairies who were dancing on the green, near the spring, where they
had left this vessel, which the butler seized, and on his refusal
to restore it, they uttered the ominous words,--
"Whenever this cup shall break or fall,
Farewell the luck of Edenhall."
The name of the goblet was taken from the prophecy. There is
no writing to shew how it came into the family, nor any record
concerning it. Its history rests solely on the tradition. Dr.
Todd supposes it to have been a chalice, when it was unsafe to
have those sacred vessels made of costlier metals, on account
of the predatory habits which prevailed on the borders. He also
says, that the bishops of this diocese permitted not only the
parochial or secular, but also the monastic or regular clergy, to
celebrate the eucharist in chalices of that clear and transparent
metal. The following was one of the canons made in the reign of
king Athelstan:--_Sacer calix fusilis sit, non ligneus_--_Let the
holy chalice be fusile, and not of wood, which might imbibe the
consecrated wine._
William of Newbridge relates how one of these drinking-vessels,
called elfin goblets, came into the possession of King Henry
the First. A country-man belonging to a village near his own
birthplace, returning home late at night, and tipsy, from a visit
to a friend in a neighbouring village, heard a sound of merriment
and singing within a hill; and peeping through an open door in the
side of the hill, he saw a numerous company of both sexes feasting
in a large and finely lighted hall. A cup being handed to him by
one of the attendants, he took it, threw out the contents, and made
off with his booty, pursued by the whole party of revellers, from
whom he escaped by the speed of his mare, and reached his home in
safety. The cup, which was of unknown material and of unusual form
and colour was presented to the king.
At Muncaster Castle there is preserved an ancient glass vessel
of the basin form, about seven inches in diameter, ornamented
with some white enamelled mouldings; which, according to family
tradition, was presented by King Henry VI. to Sir John Pennington,
Knight, who was steadily attached to that unfortunate monarch, and
whom he had the honour of entertaining at Muncaster Castle, in
his flight from the Yorkists. In acknowledgment of the protection
he had received, the King is said to have presented his host with
this curious glass cup with a prayer that the family should ever
prosper, and never want a male heir, so long as they preserved it
unbroken: hence the cup was called "the luck of Muncaster." The
Hall contains, among other family pictures, one representing "King
Henry VI. giving to Sir John Pennington, on his leaving the Castle
1461, the luck of Muncaster."
It is probable that the king was here on two occasions; the first
being after the battle of Towton, in 1461, when accompanied by his
queen and their young son, with the dukes of Exeter and Somerset,
he fled with great precipitation into Scotland: the second, after
the battle of Hexham, which was fought on the 15th of May, 1463. On
his defeat at Hexham, some friends of the fugitive king took him
under their protection, and conveyed him into Lancashire. During
the period that he remained in concealment, which was about twelve
months, the king visited Muncaster. On this occasion the royal
visit appears to have been attended with very little of regal pomp
or ceremony. Henry, having made his way into Cumberland, with only
one companion arrived at Irton Hall soon after midnight; but his
quality being unknown, or the inmates afraid to receive him, he
was denied admittance. He then passed over the mountains towards
Muncaster, where he was accidentally met by some shepherds at three
o'clock in the morning, and was conducted by them to Muncaster
Castle. The spot where the meeting took place is still indicated by
a tall steeple-like monument on an eminence at some distance from
the castle.
The "luck of Burrell Green," at the house of Mr. Lamb, yeoman,
in Great Salkeld, Cumberland, is less fragile in structure, is
not less venerated for its traditional alliance with the fortunes
of its possessors than the lordly cups of the Penningtons and
Musgraves. It is an _ancient_ brass dish resembling a shield, with
an inscription round it, now nearly effaced. Like the celebrated
glass of Edenhall, this too has its legend and couplet, the latter
of which runs thus:--
"If this dish be sold or gi'en,
Farewell the luck of Burrell Green."
When Ranulph de Meschines had received the grant of Cumberland from
William the Conqueror, he made a survey of the whole county, and
gave to his followers all the frontiers bordering on Scotland and
Northumberland, retaining to himself the central part between the
east and west mountains, "a goodly great forest, full of woods,
red deer and fallow, wild swine, and all manner of wild beasts."
This Forest of Inglewood comprehends all that large and now fertile
tract of country, extending westward from Carlisle to Westward,
thence in a direct line through Castle Sowerby and Penrith to the
confluence of the Eamont and the Eden, which latter river then
forms its eastern boundary all the way northward to Carlisle,
forming a sort of triangle, each side of which is more than twenty
miles in length. The Duke of Devonshire, as lord of the Honour of
Penrith, has now paramount authority over the manors of Inglewood
Forest.
The Forest, or Swainmote, court, for the seigniory, is held
yearly, on the feast of St. Barnabas the apostle (June 11.) in
the parish of Hesket-in-the-Forest, in the open air, on the great
north road to Carlisle; and the place is marked by a stone placed
before an ancient thorn, called _Court-Thorn_. The tenants of
more than twenty mesne manors attend here, from whom a jury for
the whole district is empanelled and sworn; and Dr. Todd says,
that the chamberlain of Carlisle was anciently foreman. Here are
paid the annual dues to the lord of the forest, compositions for
improvements, purprestures, agistments, and puture of the foresters.
Until the year 1823, there was an old oak on Wragmire Moss, well
known as _the last tree of Inglewood Forest_, which had survived
the blasts of 700 or 800 winters. This "time-honored" oak was
remarkable, not only for the beauty of the wood, which was marked
in a similar manner to satin-wood, but as being a boundary mark
between the manors of the Duke of Devonshire and the Dean and
Chapter of Carlisle, as also between the parishes of Hesket and St.
Cuthbert's, Carlisle; and was noticed as such for upwards of 600
years. This oak, which had weathered so many hundred stormy winters
was become considerably decayed in its trunk. It fell not, however,
by the tempest or the axe, but from sheer old age on the 13th of
June, 1823. It was an object of great interest, being the veritable
last tree of Inglewood Forest: under whose spreading branches may
have reposed victorious Edward I., who is said to have killed 200
bucks in this ancient forest; and, perhaps at a later period, "John
de Corbrig, the poor hermit of Wragmire," has counted his beads
beneath its shade.
On the same day on which this tree fell, Mr. Robert Bowman, who was
born at Hayton, in 1705, died at Irthington, at the extraordinary
age of 117 years and 8 months, retaining his faculties till about
three months before his death. He lived very abstemiously, was
never intoxicated but once in his life, and at the age of 111, used
occasionally to assist his family at their harvest work. The last
forty years of his life were spent at Irthington, and in his 109th
year he walked to and from Carlisle, being 14 miles, in one day.
The most remarkable instance of longevity in a native of Cumberland
is that of John Taylor, born at Garragill in the parish of Aldston
moor. He went underground to work in the lead mines at eleven years
of age. He was fourteen or fifteen at the time of the great solar
eclipse, called in the North _mirk Monday_, which happened 29th of
March, 1652. From that time till 1752, except for two years, during
which he was employed in the mint at Edinburgh, he wrought in the
mines at Aldston, at Blackhall in the Bishoprick of Durham, and in
various parts of Scotland. His death happened sometime in the year
1772, in the neighbourhood of Moffat, near the Leadhills mines, in
which he had been employed several years. He worked in the mines
till he was about 115. At the time of his decease he must have been
135 years of age.
The Rev. George Braithwaite, who died, curate of St. Mary's
Carlisle, in 1753, at the age of 110, is said to have been a member
of the Cathedral, upwards of one hundred years, having first become
connected with the establishment as a chorister.
In Cumberland the prevalence of longevity seems to be confined to
no particular district: the parishes which border on the fells
on the east side of the county, are rather more remarkable for
longevity than those on the Western coast: but there is little
difference except in the large towns.
A list of remarkable instances of longevity, chiefly taken from
the registers of burials in the several parishes in Cumberland, is
given in Lyson's Magna Britannia. It embraces the period between
1664 and 1814 inclusive, and gives the date, name, parish, and age
of each individual. In that space of 150 years, the list comprises
144 individuals ranging from 100 to 113 years of age. Seventy were
males, seventy-four were females.
The number of persons in Cumberland who have reached from 90 to
99 years inclusive, since the ages have been noted in the parish
registers is above 1120: of these about one fourth have attained or
exceeded the age of 95 years.
HOB-THROSS.
Millom's bold lords and knights of old
Quaff'd their mead from cups of gold.
A lordly life was theirs, and free,
With revel and joust and minstrelsy.
Their fields were full, and their waters flow'd;
On a hundred steeds their warriors rode:
And glorious still as their line began,
It broaden'd out as it onward ran.
Millom's proud courts had page and groom,
To serve in hall, to wait in room;
Maid and squire in fair array:
But better than these, at close of day--
Better than groom or page in hall,
Than maid and squire, that came at a call,
Was the Goblin Fiend, that shunn'd their sight,
And wrought for the lords of Millom by night.
When sleepy maidens left their fires,
Hob-Thross forth from barns and byres
Came tumbling in, and stretching his form
Out over the hearthstone bright and warm,
He folded his stunted thumbs, to dream
For an idle hour ere he sipp'd his cream;
Or smoothed his wrinkled visage to gaze
On his hairy length at the kindly blaze.
His snipp'd brown bowl of creamy store
Set nightly--nothing Hob wanted more.
He scoured, and delved, and groom'd, and churned;
But favour or hire he scorned and spurned.
Leave him alone to will and to do,
Never were hand and heart so true.
Tempt him with gift, or lay out his hire--
Farewell Hob to farm and fire.
Blest the manor, and blest the lord,
That had Hob to work by field and board!
Blest the field, and blest the farm,
That Hob would keep from waste and harm!
Or ever a wish was fairly thought,
Hob was ready, and all was wrought;
Was grain to be cut, or housed the corn,
All was finish'd 'twixt night and morn.
Millom's great lords rode round their land
With courteous speech and bounteous hand.
Hob-Thross too went forth to roam;
Made every hearth in Millom his home.
He thresh'd the oats, he churn'd the cream,
He comb'd the manes of the stabled team,
And fodder'd them well with corn and hay,
When the lads were laggards at peep of day.
Millom's good lord said--"Nights are cool;
Weave Hob a coat of the finest wool.
Service long he has tender'd free:
Of the finest wool his hood shall be."--
For his service good, in that ancient hold,
To them and to theirs for ages told,
They wove him a coat of the finest wool,
And a hood to wrap him when nights were cool.
It broke his peace, and he could not stay.
Hob took the clothes and went his way.
He wrapp'd him round and he felt him warm:
But his life at Millom lost all its charm.
Night and day there was heard a wail
In his ancient haunts, through wind and hail,--
"Hob has got a new coat and new hood,
And Hob no more will do any good."
Blight and change pass'd over the place.
Came to end that ancient race.
Millom's great lords were found alone
Stretch'd in chancels, carved in stone.
Gone to dust was all their power;
Spiders wove in my lady's bower.
While Hob in his coat and hood of green
Went wooing by night the Elfin Queen.
Call him to field, or wish him in stall,
Hob-Thross answers no one's call.
The snipp'd brown bowls of cream in vain
On the hearths he loved are placed again.
The old and glorious days are flown.
Hob is too proud or lazy grown;
Or he goes in his coat and his hood of green
By night a-wooing the Elfin Queen.
NOTES TO "HOB-THROSS."
The lords of Millom are connected with an ancient legend of
Egremont Castle, which is given elsewhere, and which especially
alludes to the horn and hatterell which they bore on their helmets.
This crest is said to have been assumed in the time of Henry I., on
the occasion of the grant of this seignory by the Lord of Egremont
to Godard de Boyvill or Boisville, whose descendants retained
possession of the greater part of it for about one hundred years
when it became vested by marriage in Sir John Hudleston, whose
pedigree is alleged to be traceable for five generations before
the Conquest. In this family it remained for about five hundred
years, when, for failure of male issue it was sold to Sir James
Lowther, nearly a century ago. The names of the first possessors
are now almost forgotten in their own lands. The castle is of
great antiquity. It is uncertain at what date it was originally
built; but it was fortified and embattled by Sir John Hudleston,
in 1335. In ancient times it was surrounded by a fine park, of
which there are some scanty remains on a ridge to the north. The
great square tower is still habitable, though its old battlements
are gone. The castle was invested during the parliamentary war,
and the old vicarage house was pulled down at the same time, "lest
the rebels should take refuge there." There are traces of the
ancient moat still visible. Between the broken pillars of an old
gateway, an avenue leads to the front of the ruin, which, though
not of great extent, presents a fine specimen of the decayed pomp
of early times. The walls of the court yard are all weather-stained
and worn; and, here and there, delicate beds of moss have crept
over them, year after year, so long, that the moist old stones are
now matted with hues of great beauty. The front of the castle is
roofless, and some parts of the massive walls are thickly clothed
with ivy. A fine flight of worn steps leads up through the archway,
to the great tower, in the inner court. Above the archway a stone
shield bears the decayed heraldries of the Hudleston family; and
these arms appear, also, on a slab in the garden wall, and in other
parts of the buildings. The front entrance of the great tower,
from the inner court, when open, shews within a fine old carved
staircase, which leads one to suppose that the interior may retain
many of its ancient characteristics.
The church is a venerable building, with its quaint little turret,
containing two bells. The edifice consists of a nave and chancel, a
south aisle, and a modern porch on the same side. The aisle was the
burial place of the Hudlestons. Here is an altar-tomb, ornamented
with Gothic tracery and figures bearing shields of arms, on which
recline the figures of a knight and his lady, in alabaster, very
much mutilated. The knight is in plate armour, his head resting on
a helmet, and having a collar of S.S.; the lady is dressed in a
long gown and mantle, with a veil. They appear to have originally
been painted and gilt, but the greater part of the colouring has
been rubbed off. Near the altar-tomb are the very mutilated remains
of a knight, carved in wood, apparently of the fourteenth century.
A few years ago there was a lion at his feet. A mural marble tablet
to the memory of the Hudleston family is on the wall of the aisle.
The lordship of Millom is the largest seignory within the barony
of Egremont; its ancient boundaries being described as the river
Duddon on the east, the islands of Walney and Piel de Foudray
on the south, the Irish Sea on the west, and the river Esk and
the mountains Hardknot and Wrynose on the north. It anciently
enjoyed great privileges: it was a special jurisdiction into which
the sheriff of the county could not enter: its lords had the
power of life and death, and enjoyed _jura regalia_ in the six
parishes forming their seignory, namely, Millom, Bootle, Whicham,
Whitbeck, Corney, and Waberthwaite. Mr. Denton, writing in 1688,
says that the gallows stood on a hill near the Castle, on which
criminals had been executed within the memory of persons then
living. To commemorate the power anciently possessed by the lords
of this seignory, a stone has recently been erected with this
inscription--"Here the Lords of Millom exercised Jura Regalia."
This lordship still retains its own coroner.
A small nunnery of Benedictines formerly existed within this
seignory, at Lekely in Seaton, which lies westward from Bootle,
near the sea. The precise date of its foundation cannot be
ascertained: but it appears to have taken place on or before the
time of Henry Boyvill, the fourth lord of Millom, who lived about
the commencement of the thirteenth century; and who "gave lands
in Leakley, now called Seaton, to the nuns;" and who in the deed
of feofment of the manor of Leakley made by the said Henry to
Goynhild, his daughter, on her marriage with Henry Fitz-William,
excepts "the land in Leakley which I gave to the holy nuns serving
God and Saint Mary in Leakley."
The nunnery was dedicated to St. Leonard; and was so poor that it
could not sufficiently maintain the prioress and nuns. Wherefore
the Duke of Lancaster, afterwards Henry IV., by his charter, in
1357, granted to them in aid the hospital of St. Leonard, at
Lancaster, with power to appoint the chantry priest to officiate in
the said hospital. At the dissolution the possessions of the priory
were only of the annual value of £12 12s. 6d. according to Dugdale,
or £13 17s. 4d. by Speed's valuation.
When at the suppression of Abbeys it came to the crown, Henry VIII.
gave the site and lands at Seaton to his servant Sir Hugh Askew,
and his heirs. This Knight was descended from Thurston de Bosco,
who lived in the days of King John at a place then called the
Aikskeugh, or Oakwood, near Millom, and afterwards at Graymains,
near Muncaster; and from a poor estate was raised to great honour
and preferment, by his service to King Henry VIII. in his house
and in the field. Anne Askew, whose name stands so eminent in the
annals of martyrology, was one of his descendants.
There are few remains of the convent now left: some part of the
priory-chapel is still standing, particularly a fine window with
lancets, in the style of the thirteenth century. Seton-Hall,
formerly a part of the conventual buildings, and subsequently the
residence of Sir Hugh Askew, is now occupied as a farm house.
Of Seton and Sir Hugh Askew, we have the following quaint story in
Sandford's M.S. account of Cumberland:--
"Ffour miles southward stands Seaton, an estate of £500 per annum,
sometimes a religious house, got by one Sir Hugo Askew, yeoman of
the sellar to Queen Catherine in Henry Eight's time, and born in
this contry. And when that Queen was divorced from her husband,
this yeoman was destitute. And he applied for help to (the) Lo.
Chamberlain for some place or other in the King's service. The Lord
Steward knew him well, because he had helpt to a cup (of) wine
ther before, but told him he had no place for him but a charcoal
carrier. 'Well' quoth this monsir Askew, 'help me in with one
foot, and let me gett in the other as I can.' And upon a great
holiday, the king looking out at some sports, Askew got a courtier,
a friend of his, to stand before the king; and Askew gott on his
velvet cassock and his gold chine, and basket of chercole on his
back, and marched in the king's sight with it. 'O,' saith the
king, 'now I like yonder fellow well, that disdains not to do his
dirty office in his dainty clothes: what is he?' Says his friend
that stood by on purpose, 'It is Mr Askew, that was yeoman of the
sellar to the late Queen's M^{tie}, and now glad of this poor
place to keep him in your ma^{tie's} service, which he will not
forsake for all the world.' The king says, 'I had the best wine
when he was i'th cellar. He is a gallant wine-taster: let him have
his place againe;' and after knighted him; and he sold his place,
and married the daughter of Sir John Hudleston; (and purchased[6]
this religious place of Seaton, nye wher he was borne, of an
ancient freehold family,) and settled this Seaton upon her, and she
afterwards married monsir Penengton, Lo: of Muncaster, and had Mr.
Joseph and a younger son with Penington, and gave him this Seaton."
A brass plate on the south wall of the chancel of Bootle Church,
bears the effigies of a knight in armour, with the following
inscription in old English characters, indicating his tomb. "Here
lieth Sir Hughe Askew, knyght. late of the seller to Kynge Edward
the VI. which Sir Hughe was made knyght, at Musselborough felde, in
ye yeare of our Lord, 1547, and died the second day of Marche, in
the yere of our Lord God, 1562."
Among the local spirits of Cumberland, whose existence is believed
in by the vulgar, is one named Hob-Thross, whom the old gossips
report to have been frequently seen in the shape of a "Body aw
ower rough," lying by the fire side at midnight. He was one of
the class of creatures called Brownies, and according to popular
superstition, had especially attached himself to the family at
Millom Castle. He was a solitary being, meagre, flat-nosed,
shaggy and wild in his appearance, and resembled the "lubbar
fiend," so admirably described by Milton in L'Allegro. Gervase of
Tilbury speaks of him as one of the "dæmones, senile vultu, facie
corrugata, statura pusilli, dimidium pollicis non habentes." In
the day time he lurked in remote recesses of the old houses which
he delighted to haunt; and, in the night, sedulously employed
himself in discharging any laborious task which he thought might
be acceptable to the family, to whose service he had devoted
himself. He loved to stretch himself by the kitchen fire when the
menials had taken their departure. Before the glimpse of morn he
would execute more work than could be done by a man in ten days.
He did not drudge from the hope of recompense: on the contrary,
so delicate was his attachment, that the offer of reward, but
particularly of food, infallibly would occasion his disappearance
for ever. He would receive, however, if placed for him in a
_snipped pot_, a quart of cream, or a mess of milk-porridge. He
had his regular range of farm houses; and seems to have been a
kind spirit, and willing to do any thing he was required to do.
The servant girls would frequently put the cream in the churn, and
say, "I wish Hob would churn that," and they always found it done.
Hob's readiness to fulfil the wishes of his friends was sometimes
productive of ludicrous incidents. One evening there was every
prospect of rain next day, and a farmer had all his grain out. "I
wish," said he, "I had that grain housed." Next morning Hob had
housed every sheaf, but a fine stag which had helped him was lying
dead at the barn door. The day however became extremely fine, and
the farmer thought his grain would have been better in the field:
"I wish," said he, "that Hob-Thross was in the mill-dam;" next
morning all the farmer's grain was in the mill-dam. Such were
the tales which were constantly told of the Millom Brownie, and
as constantly believed. He left the country at last, through the
mistaken kindness of some one, who made him a coat and hood to keep
him warm during the winter. He was heard at night singing at his
favourite haunts for a while about his apparel, and "occupation
gone," and at length left the country.
The Cumberland tradition affirms that those persons who on
Fasting's-Even, as Shrove Tuesday is vulgarly called in the North
of England, do not eat heartily, are crammed with barley chaff by
Hob-Thross: and so careful are the villagers to set the goblin
at defiance, that scarcely a single hind retires to rest without
previously partaking of a hot supper.
Sir Walter Scott tells us that the last Brownie known in Ettrick
Forest, resided in Bodsbeck, a wild and solitary spot, near the
head of Moffat Water, where he exercised his functions undisturbed,
till the scrupulous devotion of an old lady induced her _to hire
him away_, as it was termed, by placing in his haunt a porringer
of milk and a piece of money. After receiving this hint to depart,
he was heard the whole night to howl and cry, "Farewell to bonnie
Bodsbeck!" which he was compelled to abandon for ever.
FOOTNOTE:
[6] Qu. Had a grant of?
THE ABBOT OF CALDER.
The Abbot of Calder rode out from his gate
To the town, saying, "Sorrow lies, early and late,
In this wretched wide world upon every degree;
And each child of the Church must have comfort from me!
So on palfrey I wend to Lord Lucy's strong hold:
For this life must press hard on these barons so bold."
The Abbot was welcome to Lucy's proud hall.
And he sat down with knights, and with ladies, and all,
High at feast, joyous-hearted, light, gallant, and fair:
Where to speak upon woe were but jesting with care.
So his palfrey re-mounting at evening, he troll'd,
"The world goes not ill with these barons so bold."
Ambling on by the forge, he drew up by the flame,
"Well, my son! how is all with the children and dame?
Toiling on!"--"Yes! but, father, not badly we speed;
We have health; and for wealth, we lack nought that we need."
Then at least, thought the Monk, here no text I need urge,
For the world passes well with my friend at the forge!
Turning off by the stream at the foot of the hill,
All were busy, as bees in a hive, at the mill.
"Benedicite!" cried he to women and wives,
Where they sang at their labour as if for their lives,
All so fat, fair, and fruitful. The Abbot jogg'd on,
Humming, "Sweet, too, is rest when the labour is done."
As he pass'd by the lane that leads up to the stile,
Pretty Lillie came down with her curtsey and smile,--
"Well, my daughter!" the Abbot said, chucking her chin;
"How is Robin?--or Reuben? which--which is to win?"
"--Thank you!--Robin," she said, as she blushed in her sleeve;
While the Monk, spurring on, laughed a joyous "good eve!"
On the verge of the chase rode the falconer by:
With a song on his lip and a laugh in his eye,
All the day o'er the moors he had gallop'd, and now
He was off to the quintain-match over the brow;
Then to crown with good cheer all the sports of the day.
And the Abbot sighed, "Springtime, and beautiful May!"
And at length in the hollow he came, as he rode,
To the forester Robin's trim cottage abode.
And there stood the youth, ruddy, stalwart, and curled:--
"--Ha, Robin! this looks not like strife with the world!"--
"No! and please you, good father, _she's_ coming to-morrow!"
"--Well! a blessing on both of you!--keep you from sorrow."
So he reached his fair Abbey by Calder's sweet stream,
Well believing all troubles in life are a dream;
Looked around on his park and his fertile domain,
With a thought to his cellars, a glance at his grain;
While the stream through his meadow-lands rippled and purled;
And exclaimed, "What a place is a sorrowful world!"
And the Abbot of Calder that night o'er his bowl
Felt a peace passing speech in the depths of his soul.
And he dreamt mid the noise and the merry uproar
Of the brethren beneath--all his fasting was o'er;
That earth's many woes had to darkness been driven;
And the sweet woods of Calder were gardens in Heaven.
NOTES TO "THE ABBOT OF CALDER."
On the northern bank of the river Calder, in a deeply secluded
vale, sheltered by majestic forest trees, which rise from
the skirts of level and luxuriant meadows to the tops of the
surrounding hills, stands the ruined Abbey and home of that little
colony of Monks, who, with their Abbot Gerold at their head, were
detached from the mother Abbey of Furness in 1134 to begin their
fortunes under the auspices of Ranulph de Meschines (the second of
the name) their powerful neighbour and founder. Here they contrived
to live "in some discomfort and great poverty for four years, when
an army of Scots under King David despoiled the lately begun Abbey
and carried away all its possessions. Finding they could get no
help elsewhere, the hapless thirteen resolved to return to the
maternal monastery" for refuge. This happened about the third year
of King Stephen.
The Abbot of Furness refused to receive Gerold and his companions,
reproaching them with cowardice for abandoning their monastery, and
alleging that it was rather the love of that ease and plenty which
they expected in Furness, than the devastation of the Scottish
army, that forced them from Calder. Some writers say that the
Abbot of Furness insisted that Gerold should divest himself of his
authority, and absolve the monks from their obedience to him, as
a condition of their receiving any relief. This, Gerold and his
companions refused to do, and turning their faces from Furness,
they, with the remains of their broken fortune, which consisted of
little more than some clothes and a few books, with one cart and
eight oxen, taking providence for their guide, went in quest of
better hospitality.
The result of the next day's resolution was to address themselves
to Thurstan, Archbishop of York, and beg his advice and relief.
The reception they met with from him, answered their wishes; the
Archbishop graciously received them, and charitably entertained
them for some time, then recommended them to Gundrede de Aubigny,
who sent them to Robert de Alneto, her brother, a hermit, at Hode,
in the East Riding of Yorkshire, where for a period she supplied
them with necessaries. They afterwards obtained a monastery of
their own called Byland, when they voluntarily made themselves
dependant upon Savigny, in order that Furness should exercise no
right of paternity over them.
In the same year, 1142, the Abbot of Furness understanding that
Gerold had obtained a settlement, sent another colony, with
Hardred, a Furness monk, for their Abbot, to take possession of
ravaged Calder, which the Lord of Egremont, William Fitz-Duncan,
nephew of David, King of Scots, had refounded. Their endowments
and revenues were chiefly from the founder's munificence, and were
small, being valued, at the suppression, at about sixty pounds per
annum.
The ruins of this Abbey are approached from Calder-Bridge by
a pleasant walk for about a mile on the banks of the river,
presenting several glimpses of the tower rising out of the foliage
of the forest trees by which it is surrounded.
The Abbey Church was in the form of a cross, and small, the width
of the chancel being only twenty five feet, and that of the
transepts twenty two. Of the western front little more than the
Norman doorway remains. The five pointed arches of the north side
of the nave, dividing it from the aisle; the choir; the transepts,
with a side chapel on the south; the square tower supported by four
lofty pointed arches; the walls and windows of a small cloister
running south; with the remains of upper chambers, showing a range
of eight windows to the west and seven to the east, beautiful
specimens of early English Architecture, terminated by a modern
mansion, occupying the site of the conventual buildings, but built
in a style altogether unsuited to the locality; these, with the
porter's lodge at a short distance from the west end, and a large
oven by the side of a rapid stream in the meadow on the east, all
so changed since the times of Gerold and Hardred, constitute in our
days the Abbey of Calder.
Against the walls of the Abbey are fragments of various sepulchral
figures, which from the mutilated sculptures and devices on the
shields, would seem to have belonged to the tombs of eminent
persons. One of them is represented in a coat of mail, with his
hand upon his sword; another bears a shield reversed, as a mark
of disgrace for cowardice or treachery; "but," says Hutchinson,
"the virtues of the one, and the errors of the other, are alike
given to oblivion by the hand of time and by the scourging angel
Dissolution."
Sir John le Fleming, of Beckermet, ancestor of the Flemings of
Rydal Hall, Westmorland, gave lands in Great Beckermet to this
abbey, in the 26th year of Henry III, A. D. 1242. He died during
that long reign, and was buried in the abbey. One of the effigies
above alluded to, with the shield charged fretty, is probably that
mentioned by Sir Daniel Fleming, who says that in his time (in the
seventeenth century) here was "a very ancient statue of a man in
armour, with a frett (of six pieces) upon his shield, lying upon
his back, with his sword by his side, his hands elevated in a
posture of prayer, and legs across; being so placed probably from
his taking upon him the cross, and being engaged in the holy war.
Which statue was placed there most probably in memory of this Sir
John le Fleming."
Among some ancient charters and documents in the possession
of William John Charlton, of Hesleyside, Esq., (1830) and
which came into his family, in 1680, by the marriage of his
great-great-grandfather, with Mary, daughter of Francis Salkeld,
in the parish of All-Hallows, in Cumberland, Esq., is one that is
very curious. It is an assignment made in A. D. 1291, by John, son
of John de Hudleston, of William, son of Richard de Loftscales,
formerly his native, with all his retinue and chattels, to the
Abbot and Monks of Caldra. The deed is witnessed by "Willmo.
Wailburthuait. Willmo. Thuaites. Johe de Mordling. Johe Corbet.
Johe de Halle et aliis:" and is alluded to in the following
passages quoted by Mr. Jefferson from _Archælogia Æliana_. "It
is, in fact, that species of grant of freedom to a slave, which
is called manumission implied, in which the lord yields up all
obligation to bondage, on condition of the native agreeing to an
annual payment of money on a certain day. The clause, 'so that
from this time they may be free, and exempt from all servitude and
reproach of villainage from me and my heirs,' is very curious,
especially to persons of our times, on which there has been so much
said about the pomp of Eastern lords, and the reproachful slavery
in which their dependents are still kept. Here the Monks of Caldra
redeemed a man, his family, and property from slavery, on condition
of his paying them the small sum of two pence a-year. The Hudleston
family were seated at Millum, in the time of Henry the Third, when
they acquired that estate, by the marriage of John de Hudleston
with the Lady Joan, the heiress of the Boisville family."
"Slavery continued to thrive on the soil of Northumberland long
after the time of Edward the First; for in 1470, Sir Roger
Widdrington manumitted his native, William Atkinson, for the
purpose of making him his bailiff of Woodhorn."
The inmates of Calder were probably neither better nor worse than
other cowled fraternities. A certain Brother Beesley, a Benedictine
Monk, of Pershore, in Worcestershire, speaks very boldly of
certain shortcomings, in his own experience of "relygyus men."
The following passage occurs in a petition addressed by him to
the Vicar-General Cromwell, at the time of the visitation of the
Monasteries:--
"Now y wyll ynstrux your grace sumwatt of relygyus men----. Monckes
drynke an bowll after collatyon tyll ten or twelve of the clok, and
cum to matyns as dronck as myss (mice)--and sum at cardys, sum at
dyes, and at tabulles; sum cum to mattyns begenying at the mydes,
and sum wen yt ys almost dun, and wold not cum there so only for
boddly punyshment, nothyng for Goddes sayck."
THE ARMBOTH BANQUET.
To Calgarth Hall in the midnight cold
Two headless skeletons cross'd the fold,
Undid the bars, unlatched the door,
And over the step pass'd down the floor
Where the jolly round porter sat sleeping.
With a patter their feet on the pavement fall;
And they traverse the stairs to that window'd wall,
Where out of a niche, at the witch-hour dark,
Each lifts a skull all grinning and stark,
And fits it on with a creaking.
Then forth they go with a ghostly march;
And bending low at the portal arch,
Through Calgarth woods, o'er Rydal braes,
And over the Pass by Dunmail-Raise
The Two their course are keeping.
Now Wytheburn's lowly pile in sight
Gleams faintly beneath the new-moon's light;
And farther along dim forms appear,
All hurrying down to the darksome Mere,
The drunken ferryman seeking.
From old Helvellyn's domain they come,
A spectral band demure and dumb;
By twos, and threes, and fours, and more,
They beckon the man to ferry them o'er,
To where yon lights are breaking.
And thither the twain are wending fast;
For there from many a casement cast,
The festal blaze is burning high
In Armboth Hall; the hills thereby
In uttermost darkness sleeping.
In Wytheburn City there wakes not one
To see those dim forms hastening on;
But at Wytheburn Ferry may travellers wait,
For busy with guests for Armboth gate,
The boatman's sinews are aching.
They've reached the shore, they've cross'd the sward
To where the old portal stands unbarr'd.
With courteous steps and bearing high
They pass the hollow-eyed porter by,
With his torch high over him sweeping.
Then might the owls that move by night
Have seen thin shadows flit through the light,
Where the windows glared along the wall
In every chamber of Armboth Hall,
And the guests high revel were keeping.
Then too from cold and weary ways
A traveller's eyes had caught the rays:
And wandering on to the silent door
He knocked aloud--he knew no more;
But the lights went out like winking.
A wreath of mist rushed over the Mere,
And reached Helvellyn as dawn grew near;
And two thin streaks went down the wind
O'er Dunmail-Raise with a storm behind,
The leaves in Grasmere raking.
On Rydal isles the herons awoke;
A pattering cloud by Wansfell broke;
And the grey cock stretched his neck to crow
In Calgarth roost, that ghosts might know
It was time for maids to be waking.
The skeletons two rushed through the yard,
They pushed the door they left unbarr'd,
Laid by their skulls in the niched wall,
And flew like wind from Calgarth Hall
Where still the round porter sat sleeping.
As out they rattled, the wind rushed in
And slamm'd the doors with a terrible din;
The grey cock crew; the dogs were raised;
And the old porter rubb'd his eyes amazed
At the dawn so coldly breaking.
And lying at morn by Armboth gate
Was found the form that knocked so late;
A traveller footworn, mired, and grey,
Who, led by marsh lights lost his way,
And coldly in death was sleeping.
NOTES TO "THE ARMBOTH BANQUET."
The Old Hall of Calgarth, whose history, it has been said, belongs
to the world of shadows, but whose remains still form an object
of interest from their picturesqueness and antiquity, is situated
within a short distance of the water, upon the narrowest part of
a small and pleasant plain on the eastern shore of Windermere.
The house has been so much injured and curtailed of its original
proportions, that it is impossible to make out what has been
its precise form: many parts having gone entirely to decay, and
others being much out of repair; the materials having been used in
the erection of offices and outbuildings, for the accommodation
of farmers, in whose occupation it has been for a long period.
Its original character has been quite lost in the additions
and alterations of later days. It is however said to have been
constructed much after the style of those venerable Westmorland
mansions, the Halls of Sizergh and Levens. But there are few traces
of the "fair old building," which even so late as the year 1774,
Dr. Burn described it to be; and the destruction of this ancient
home of the Philipsons has well nigh been complete. What is now
called the kitchen, and the room over it, are the only portions of
the interior remaining, from which a judgment may be formed of the
care and finish that have been applied to its internal decoration.
In the former, which appears to have been one of the principal
apartments, though now divided, and appropriated to humble uses,
the armorial achievements of the Philipsons, crested with the five
ostrich plumes of their house, and surmounted by their motto,
"Fide non fraude," together with the bearings of Wyvill impaling
Carus, into which families the owners of Calgarth intermarried, are
coarsely represented in stucco over the hearth, and still serve to
connect their name with the house. The large old open fireplace has
been filled up by an insignificant modern invention. The window
still retains some fragments of its former display of heraldic
honours; the arms of the early owners, impaling those of Wyvill,
and the device of Briggs, another Westmorland family, with whom the
Philipsons were also matrimonially connected, yet appear in their
proper blazon. And in the same window, underneath the emblazonry,
is this legend, likewise in painted glass:--
Robart. Phillison.
and. Jennet. Laibor
ne. his. wife. he. die
d. in. anno. 1539
the. ZZ. Dece
mbar 1579
The old dining table of black oak, reduced in its dimensions,
occupies one side of this apartment. The room over the kitchen,
to which a steep stair rises from the threshold of the porch,
and which looks over the lake, has been nobly ornamented after
the fashion of the day, by cunning artists, and it still retains
in its dilapidated oak work, and richly adorned ceiling, choice,
though rude remnants of its former splendour. It has a dark
polished oak floor, and is wainscotted on three sides, with the
same tough wood, which, bleached with age, is elaborately carved in
regular intersecting panels, inlaid with scroll-work and tracery,
enriched by pilasters, and surmounted by an embattled cornice.
In this wainscot two or three doors indicate the entrances to
other rooms, whose approaches are walled up, the rooms themselves
having been long since destroyed. The ceiling is flat, and formed
into compartments by heavy square intersecting moulded ribs,
the intermediate spaces of which are excessively adorned with
cumbrous ornamental work of the most grotesque figures and designs
imaginable, amidst which festoons of flowers, fruits, and other
products of the earth, mingled with heraldic achievements, moulded
in stucco, yet exist, to tell how many times the fruitage and the
leaves outside have come and gone, have ripened and decayed, whilst
they endure unchanged.
In the window of the staircase leading to this chamber tradition
has localized the famous legend of the skulls of Old Calgarth. The
dilapidated, and somewhat melancholy appearance of the dwelling,
in concurrence with the superstitious notions which have ever been
common in country places, have probably given rise to a report,
which has long prevailed, that the house is haunted. Many stories
are current of the frightful visions and mischievous deeds, which
the goblins of the place are said to have performed, to terrify
and distress the harmless neighbourhood; and these fables are not
yet entirely disbelieved. Spectres yet are occasionally to be seen
within its precincts. And the two human skulls, whose history and
reputed properties are too singular not to have contributed greatly
to the story of the house being haunted, are, although out of
sight, still within it, and as indestructible as ever.
These were wont to occupy a niche beneath the window of the
staircase: and in 1775, when Mr. West visited the Hall, they still
remained in the place where they had lain from time immemorial. All
attempts, it is said, to dispossess them of the station they had
chosen to occupy, have invariably proved fruitless. As the report
goes, they have been buried, burnt, reduced to powder and dispersed
in the wind, sunk in the well, and thrown into the lake, several
times, to no purpose as to their permanent removal or destruction.
Till at length, so persistent was found to be their attachment to
the niche which they had selected for their abiding place, they are
said to have been, as a last resource to keep them out of sight,
walled up within it; and there they remain. Of course, many persons
now living in the neighbourhood can bear testimony to the fact
that the skulls did really occupy the place assigned to them by
tradition.
A popular tale of immemorial standing relates that the skulls were
those of an aged man and his wife, who lived on their own property
adjoining the lands of the Philipsons, whose head regarded it
with a covetous eye, and had long desired to number it among his
extensive domains. The owners however not being willing to part
with it, he determined in evil hour to have it at any cost.
The old people, as the story runs, were in the habit of going
frequently to the Hall, to share in the viands which fell from
the lord's table, for he was a bounteous man to the poor; and it
happened once that a pie was given to them, into which had been
put some articles of plate. After their return home, the valuables
were missed, and the cottage being searched, the things were found
therein. The result was as the author of the mischief had plotted.
They were accused of theft, tried, convicted, and sentenced to be
executed, and their persecutor ultimately got their inheritance.
When brought up for execution, the condemned persons requested the
chaplain in attendance to read the 109th psalm; for under their
circumstances, there was an awful significance in the imprecatory
verses, which denounced the conduct of evil doers like Philipson;
and in the solemn malison prophesied against the cruel, they
pronounced a curse upon the owners of Calgarth, which the gossips
of the neighbourhood say has ever since cast its blight upon the
proprietorship of the estate; and that, notwithstanding whatever
authentic records may prove to the contrary, the traditionary
malediction has been regularly fulfilled down to the present
time. After the death of his victims, the oppressor was greatly
tormented; for, as if to perpetuate the memory of such injustice,
and as a memento of their innocence, their skulls came and took
up a position in the window of one of the rooms in the Hall, from
whence they could not by any means be effectually removed, the
common belief being that they were for that end indestructible, and
it was stoutly asserted that to whatever place they were taken, or
however used, they invariably reappeared in their old station by
the window.
The property of Calgarth came by purchase into the possession of
the late Dr. Watson, Lord Bishop of Llandaff, who built a mansion
upon the estate, where he passed much of the later period of
his life: and who lies buried in the neighbouring churchyard of
Bowness. The Bishop's grandson, Richard Luther Watson, Esquire, is
the present possessor.
It is believed that anciently a burial ground was attached to the
buildings of Old Calgarth; as when the ground has been trenched
thereabouts, quantities of human bones have frequently been turned
over and re-buried. There are now in the dairy of the Old Hall
two flat tombstones, with the name of Philipson inscribed upon
them, which not very many years ago were dug up in the garden
near the house; their present use being a desecration quite in
accordance with the associations which hang around the place. This
circumstance may afford a clue to the re-appearance of the skulls
so frequently, after every art of destruction had been tried upon
them, in the mysterious chambers of Old Calgarth Hall.
The old house at Armboth, on Thirlmere, has also the reputation of
being occasionally at midnight supernaturally lighted up for the
reception of spectres, which cross the lake from Helvellyn for some
mysterious purpose within its walls. The long low white edifice
lying close under the fells which rise abruptly behind it, with
the black waters of the lake in front, has something very gloomy
and weird-like about its aspect, which does not ill accord with
those superstitious ideas with which it is sometimes associated.
As Miss Martineau has said, "there is really something remarkable,
and like witchery, about the house. On a bright moonlight night,
the spectator who looks towards it from a distance of two or three
miles, sees the light reflected from its windows into the lake; and
when a slight fog gives a reddish hue to the light, the whole might
easily be taken for an illumination of a great mansion. And this
mansion seems to vanish as you approach,--being no mansion, but a
small house lying in a nook, and overshadowed by a hill."
The City of Wytheburn is the name given to a few houses, some of
them graced by native trees, and others by grotesquely cut yew
trees, distant about half a mile from the head of Thirlmere.
BRITTA IN THE TEMPLE OF DRUIDS.
(THE LAST HUMAN SACRIFICE.)
Blencathra from his loftiest peak
Had often heard the victims' shriek,
When lapp'd by wreathing fire,
Their limbs in wicker bondage caged,
Dying, the draught and plague assuaged,
And calmed the Immortals' ire.
There came a Rumour,[7] strayed from far.
Helvellyn's bale-fire paled its star:
Hoarse Glenderaterra moaned.
The dark destroying angel fled:
And from Blencathra's topmost head
Old demons shrunk dethroned.
He saw beneath his rugged brow
The temple on the plain below,
By sacred Druids trod:
Mountains on mountains piled around;
Forests of oak with acorns crowned:
And distant, man's abode.
Where men had hewn by stream and dell
An opening in the woods to dwell,
The pestilence by night
Had fallen amidst their little throng;
Had changed, and stricken down the strong;
And put the weak to flight.
Who may the angry god appease?--
The oracle that all things sees,
And knows all laws divine,
Spake from the awful forest bower--
"A maiden in her virgin flower
Must her young life resign."--
Fallen is the lot on thee, so late
Betrothed to love, and now to fate.
Sweet Britta!--Forth she fares,
Led by the Druids to her doom,
Within that circle's ample room,
For which the rite prepares.
Fire cleanses: she must cleanse by fire.
With oaken garland, white attire,
Bearing the mistletoe,
Beside the wicker hut her feet
Pause--till her eyes her lover greet,
And cheer him as they go.
These two had heard of what had been
In Judah--of the Nazarene--
And talked of new things born
To them, that in their fathers' place
They might not speak of to their race,
But thought on eve and morn.
Now when the sound is given to pile
The branches each one--friends-erewhile,
Strangers, yea sisters, sire,
And brethren--all from far and near,--
Must furnish for the victim's bier;
His they in vain require.
No might of Druid, lord, or king,
Could move that hand one leaf to bring--
No, though they throng to slay.
Calmly beyond the crowd he stood,
Holding on high two staves of wood
Cross'd--till she turned away.
Then hoary Chief, Arch Druid, came
Thy hands to minister the flame,
Wrought from the quick-rubb'd pine.
It touch'd: it leapt: the branches blazed!
When to the hills they looked amazed,
And owned the wrath divine.
Bellowed the mountains, and cast forth
Their waters, east, south, west, and north.
Rivers and mighty streams
Down from their raging sides out-poured
Their cataracts, and in thunders roared
Along earth's opening seams.
They rolled o'er all the temple's bound,
Quenching the angry fire around
The hut unscathed by flame:
Then backward to their source retired.
While like a seraph's form inspired
The white-robed maiden came.
Upon her fair head garlanded
No brightest leaflet withered--
No berry from her hand
Dropt, of the branching mistletoe--
With crossing palms and paces slow
She mov'd across the land.
Then loud the hoary Druid cried,
"The god we serve is satisfied!
His are the unbidden powers.
A human sacrifice no more
He needs, our dwellings to restore,
And devastated bowers.
For thee, a maiden fair and pure,
Thou hast a treasure made secure
In heaven: depart in peace.
Earth's voices witness of a faith
In thee serene and sure, that saith
Here we too soon must cease."
NOTES TO "BRITTA IN THE TEMPLE OF THE DRUIDS."
Traces of the Celts are clearly distinguishable in the names of
some of the more prominent mountains within a few miles of Keswick,
Skiddaw, Blencathra, Glaramara, Cat-Bells, Helvellyn. The first
is derived from the name of the solar god, Ska-da, one of the
appellations of the chief deity of Celtic Britain, to whom Skiddaw
was consecrated. The second has been supposed to be a corruption
of blen-y-cathern, the "peak of witches"; the fourth to signify
"the groves of Baal"; and the last El-Velin, "the hill of Baal or
Veli." The worship of the Assyrian deity was celebrated amongst the
Celtic inhabitants of our island with the greatest importance and
solemnity. The stone circles are still remaining in many places
where the bloody sacrifices to his honour were performed: and one
of the most important of these is near Keswick. In the immediate
vicinity is also a gloomy valley, Glenderaterra, the name of which
is sufficiently indicative of the purpose for which, like Tophet of
old, it was ordained; Glyn-dera taran signifying in Celtic, "the
valley of the angel or demon of execution."
It is a curious fact that till the last few years, a trace also
of the ancient worship still lingered around two temples in this
county, where it was once habitually performed. Both at Keswick,
and at Cumwhitton where there is a similar druidical circle,
the festival of the Beltein, or the fire of Baal, was till very
recently celebrated on the first of May. As the Jews had by their
"prophets of the groves," made their children "pass through the
fire to Baal"; so the Britons, taught by their Druids, were
accustomed once a year to drive their flocks and herds through the
fire, to preserve them from evil during the remainder of the year.
Indeed the custom still prevails. If the cows are distempered,
it is actually a practice in many of the dales to light "the
Need-fire"; notice being given throughout the neighbouring valleys,
that the charm may be sent for if wanted. "Need-fire" is said to
mean cattle-fire, and to be derived from the Danish _nod_, whence
also is the northern word nolt or nowte. The Need-fire is produced
by rubbing two slicks together. A great pile of combustible stuff
is prepared, to give as much smoke as possible. When lighted,
the neighbours snatch some of the fire, hurry home with it,
and light their respective piles; and the cattle, diseased and
sound, are then driven through the flame. Mr. Gibson says, that
in 1841, when the cattle-murrain prevailed in Cumberland, he had
many opportunities of witnessing the application of this charm to
animals both diseased and sound. And he tells us, that to ensure
its efficacy it was necessary to observe certain conditions. The
fire had to be produced at first by friction, the domestic fires
in the neighbourhood being all previously extinguished; then it
had to be brought spontaneously to each farm by some neighbour
unsolicited: and neither the fire so brought, nor any part of the
fuel used, must ever have been under a roof. These conditions being
observed, a great fire was made, and the cattle driven to and fro
in the smoke. One honest farmer who had an ailing wife and delicate
children passed _them_ through this ordeal, as was averred with
most beneficial effect. Another inadvertently carried the fire
just brought to him into his house to save it from extinction by a
sudden shower: and it was declared that in his case the need-fire
would be inoperative. "It is interesting," says Mr. Ferguson, "to
see how men cling to the performance of ancient religious rites,
when the significance of the ceremony has long been forgotten; and
what a hold must that worship have held over the minds of men,
which Thor and Odin have not supplanted, nor the Christianity of a
thousand years."
The tribe of ancient Britons who occupied Cumberland previous
to the Roman conquest, the Brigantes, who were as wild and
uncultivated as their native hills, subsisting principally by
hunting and the spontaneous fruits of the earth; wearing for their
clothing the skins of animals, and dwelling in habitations formed
by the pillars of the forest rooted in the earth, and enclosed by
interwoven branches, or in caves; have left one undoubted specimen
of their race behind them. In the parish of Scaleby, in Cumberland,
the land on the north end is barren, and large quantities of peat
are cut and sent to Carlisle and other places for sale. At the
depth of nine feet in this peat moss, has been found the skeleton
of an ancient Briton, enclosed in the skin of some wild animal, and
carefully bound up with thongs of tanned leather. It is conjectured
that the body must have lain in the moss since the invasion of
Julius Cæsar, and from the position in which the skeleton was
found, grasping a stick about three feet long and twelve inches in
circumference, it is supposed he must have perished accidentally on
the spot. The remains were not long ago in the possession of the
rector and Dr. Graham of Netherhouse.
In this part of the island the Britons were not in the worst
state of mental darkness; these were not ignorant of a Deity,
and they were not idolators. Their druids and bards possessed
all the learning of the age. And it is believed that some of the
Chief Druids had their station in Cumberland, where many of their
monuments still remain, and of these one of the most noble and
extensive of any in the island is the circle near Keswick. It
stands on an eminence, about a mile and a half on the old road
to Penrith, in a field on the right hand. The spot is the most
commanding which could be chosen in that part of the country,
without climbing a mountain. Derwentwater and the vale of Keswick
are not seen from it, only the mountains that enclose them on the
south and west. Latrigg and the huge side of Skiddaw are on the
north: to the east is the open country towards Penrith, with Mell
fell in the distance, where it rises alone like a huge tumulus on
the right, and Blencathra on the left, rent into deep ravines. On
the south east is the range of Helvellyn, from its termination
at Wanthwaite Craggs to its loftiest summits, and to Dunmail
Raise. The lower range of Nathdale Fells lies nearer in a line
parallel with Helvellyn. The heights above Leathes Water, with the
Borrowdale mountains complete the panorama.
This circle is formed of stones of various forms, natural and
unhewn, of a species of granite; of a kind, according to Clarke,
not to be found within many miles of this place. The largest is
nearly eight feet high, and fifteen feet in circumference; most of
them are still erect, but some are fallen. They are set in a form
not exactly circular; the diameter being thirty paces from east
to west, and thirty-two from north to south. At the eastern end a
small enclosure is formed within the circle by ten stones, making
an oblong square in conjunction with the stones on that side of the
circle, seven paces in length, and three in width within. At the
opposite side a single square stone is placed at the distance of
three paces from the circle.
Concerning this, like all similar monuments in great Britain, the
popular superstition prevails, that no two persons can number the
stones alike, and that no person will ever find a second count
confirm the first. This notion is curiously illustrated by the
various writers who have described it. According to Gough, Stukely
states the number to be forty; Gray says they are fifty; Hutchinson
makes them fifty; Clarke made them out to be fifty-two; others,
more correctly, forty-eight. Southey says, the number of stones
which compose the circle is thirty-eight, and besides these there
are ten which form three sides of a little square within, on the
eastern side, three stones of the circle itself forming the fourth;
this being evidently the place where the Druids who presided had
their station; or where the more sacred and important part of the
rites and ceremonies (whatever they may have been) were performed.
The singularity noticed in this monument, and what distinguishes it
from all other druidical remains of this nature, is the recess on
the eastern side of the area. Mr. Pennant supposes it to have been
allotted for the Druids, the priests of the place, as a peculiar
sanctuary, a sort of holy of holies, where they met, separated
from the vulgar, to perform their rites, their divinations, or to
sit in council to determine on controversies, to compromise all
differences about limits of land, or about inheritances, or for
the trial of greater criminals. The cause that this recess was on
the east side, seems to arise from the respect paid by the ancient
Britons to Baal or the Sun; not originally an idolatrous respect,
but merely as a symbol of the Creator.
The rude workmanship, or rather arrangement, of these structures,
for it cannot be called architecture, indicates the great barbarity
of the times of the Druids; and furnishes strong proof of the
savage nature of these heathen priests. Within this magical circle
we may conceive any incantations to have been performed, and
any rites of superstition to have been celebrated; their human
executions, their imposing sacrifices; and their inhuman method of
offering up their victims, by enclosing them in a gigantic figure
of Hercules (the emblem of human virtue) made of wicker work, and
burning them alive in sacrifice to the divine attribute of Justice.
This impressive monument of former times (the Keswick circle) is
carefully preserved: the soil within the enclosure is not broken; a
path from the road is left, and a stepping style has been placed,
to accommodate visitors with an easy access to it. The old legend
about the last human sacrifice of the Druids belongs to this
monument. Gilpin says, "a romantic place seldom wants a romantic
story to adorn it." And here certainly, amidst unmistakeable
evidences of the worship of Baal: within sight of the vale (St.
John's) which reveals the isolated rock, once the enchanted
fortress of the powerful Merlin: within sound of the Greta, "the
mourner," "the loud lamenter," in whose torrents are heard voices
complaining among the stones: within range of Souter Fell with its
shadowy armies and spectres marching in military array, why and
whence and whither we know not; here, if anywhere, the very realm
of mystery and superstition is made manifest to us, with almost
awful significance; overlying the fairest scenes of nature, and
investing them with all the charms of a region of romance.
The neighbourhood of this temple, too, is not without a certain
notoriety on account of the violent floods with which it has been
visited even in modern times. Hutchinson speaks of a remarkable
one caused by impetuous rains, which happened on the twenty-second
of August, 1749, in the vale of St. John's. "The clouds discharged
their torrents like a waterspout; the streams from the mountains
uniting, at length became so powerful a body, as to rend up the
soil, gravel, and stones to a prodigious depth, and bear with them
mighty fragments of rocks; several cottages were swept away from
the declivities where they had stood in safety for a century; the
vale was deluged, and many of the inhabitants with their cattle
were lost. A singular providence protected many lives, a little
school, where all the youths of the neighbourhood were educated,
at the instant crowded with its flock, stood in the very line of
one of these torrents, but the hand of God, in a miraculous manner,
stayed a rolling rock, in the midst of its dreadful course, which
would have crushed the whole tenement with its innocents; and by
its stand, the floods divided, and passed on this hand and on
that, insulating the school-house, and leaving the pupils with
their master, trembling at once for the dangers escaped and as
spectators of the horrid havock in the valley, and the tremendous
floods which encompassed them on every side." He received this
account from one of the people then at school: and also gives the
following description of that inundation, which he had met with.
"It began with most terrible thunder and incessant lightning, the
preceding day having been extremely hot and sultry; the inhabitants
for two hours before the breaking of the cloud, heard a strange
noise, like the wind blowing in the tops of high trees. It is
thought to have been a spout or a large body of water, by which
the lightning incessantly rarifying the air, broke at once on the
tops of the mountains, and descended upon the valley below, which
is about three miles long, half a mile broad, and lies nearly east
and west, being closed on the south and north sides with prodigious
high, steep, and rocky mountains. Legbert Fells on the north side,
received almost the whole cataract, for the spout did not extend
above a mile in length; it chiefly swelled four small brooks, but
to so amazing a degree, that the largest of them, called Catchertz
Ghyll, swept away a mill and other edifices in five minutes,
leaving the place where they stood covered with fragments of rocks
and rubbish three or four yards deep, insomuch that one of the mill
stones could not be found. During the violence of the storm, the
fragments of rock which rolled down the mountain, choked up the
old course of this brook; but the water forcing its way through a
shivery rock, formed a chasm four yards wide and about eight or
nine deep. The brooks lodged such quantities of gravel and sand
on the meadows, that they were irrecoverably lost. Many large
pieces of rocks were carried a considerable way into the fields;
some larger than a team of ten horses could move, and one of them
measuring nineteen yards about." Clarke says, "Many falsehoods are
related of this inundation: for instance, the insulation of the
school-house with its assembled master and scholars, which, though
commonly told and believed, is not supported by any tradition
of the kind preserved in the neighbourhood." No doubt, the
circumstances are exaggerated: but even his own narrative shows it
to have been one of the most dreadful and destructive inundations
ever remembered in this country. He relates that "all the evening
of that 22nd day of August, horrid, tumultuous noises were heard in
the air; sometimes a puff of wind would blow with great violence,
then in a moment all was calm again. The inhabitants, used to
bosom-winds, whirlwinds, and the howling of distant tempests among
the rocks, went to bed as usual, and from the fatigues of the day
were in a sound sleep when the inundation awoke them. About one
in the morning the rain began to fall, and before four such a
quantity fell as covered the whole face of the country below with
a sheet of water many feet deep; several houses were filled with
sand to the first story, many more driven down; and among the rest
Legberthwaite mill, of which not one stone was left upon another;
even the heavy millstones were washed away; one was found at a
considerable distance, but the other was never discovered. Several
persons were obliged to climb to the tops of the houses, to escape
instantaneous death; and there many were obliged to remain, in a
situation of the most dreadful suspense, till the waters abated.
Mr. Mounsey of Wallthwaite says, that when he came down stairs in
the morning, the first sight he saw was a gander belonging to one
of his neighbours, and several planks and kitchen utensils, which
were floating about his lower apartments, the violence of the
waters having forced open the doors on both sides of the house. The
most dreadful vestiges of this inundation, or waterspout, are at a
place called Lob-Wath, a little above Wallthwaite; here thousands
of prodigious stones are piled upon each other, to the height of
eleven yards; many of these stones are upwards of twenty tons
weight each, and are thrown together in such a manner as to be at
once the object of curiosity and horror.
"The quantity of water which had fallen here is truly astonishing;
more particularly considering the small space it had to collect
in. The distance from Lob-Wath to Wolf-Crag, is not more than a
mile and a half, and there could none collect much above Wolf-Crag;
nor did the rain extend more than eight miles in any direction. At
Melfell only three miles distant, the farmers were leading corn all
night (as is customary when they fear ill weather,) and no rain
fell there; yet such was the fury of the descending torrent, that
the fields at Fornside exhibited nothing but devastation. Here a
large tree broken in two, there one torn up by the root, and the
ground everywhere covered with sand and stones." The rivulet called
Mosedale Beck, which has its source between the mountains Dodd and
Wolf-Crag, was by its sudden and continuous overflow the chief
contributory of the inundation.
FOOTNOTE:
[7] Birth of Christ.
THE LADY OF WORKINGTON HALL.
In her neat country kirtle and kerchief array'd,
A wild little maiden tripp'd through the green shade;
With her pitcher, just filled from the rill, at her side,
And a song on her lip of the Solway's rude tide;
When a rider came by, gallant, youthful, and gay--
"Pretty Maid, let me drink! and good luck to your lay!"
As he glanced o'er the brim, arch and sweet was her smile;
Then "Adieu!" passing on, he sang gaily the while--
"Who knows what may happen, or what may befall?
I may be----" something she could not recall:
For the tramp of his steed mingled in with the tone,
And the burden ceased, broken--the singer was gone.
There are words, notes, and whisperings, broken and few,
That from depths in the soul will oft start up anew,
Like a dream voice, unconsciously, early or late,
Mid all changes of circumstance, fortune, and fate,
Unappealed to, unsought for, unreck'd of, and brought
From afar to the tongue without effort or thought.
And 'twas thus the few notes which she caught of that strain
Often stirr'd on the lips of the Maiden again.
When a child at the school or a maid at the Hall--
"Who knows what may happen, or what may befall?
I may be--" lilted she low, as she sate
At her finger-work meekly, or stroll'd by the gate.
So it chanced as she robed on one morning her bloom
With a mantle of state, in her lost Lady's room;
While the mirror gave back to her sight all her charms;
Came that strain to her lip as she folded her arms--
"Who knows what may happen, or what may befall?
I may be--Lady of Workington Hall!"
Thus the wild-hearted Maid ended gaily the song.
Like a flash from the mirror it glanced from her tongue,
Void of meaning or thought of the future; but lo!
There's a witness beside her the glass does not show.
From a distance unseen are displayed to the eyes
Of her Lord all her pranks in that courtly disguise.
He charged the proud Butler, that evening to call
To high feast all the maidens and grooms of the Hall;
To send round the bowl, and when mirth flowing high
Brought the heart to the lip, the bright soul to the eye,
At the sound of his footstep to crown their good cheer
With a round to the toast he has breathed in his ear.
Bold and stern, on that evening arose mid the crowd
The bold Butler, and called for a bumper aloud:
Look'd around on the bevy of maidens and men:
Glanced his eye past the Beauty, and spoke out again--
"Who knows what may happen, or what may befall?
Let us drink to the Lady of Workington Hall."
How they stared at each other, how glanced at their Lord,
As he entered that moment and stood by the board,
How they trembled to witness his eye's flashing ray,
Was a sight to be seen that no art can portray.
But the one conscious Maid who could read it alone,
With a shriek, like a vanishing spirit was gone.
But in vain! What the fates have determined will come!
And in time, tired of clangour of trumpet, and drum,
Came the Heir to the Hall of his ancestry old;
Met the Maid of the pitcher once more as he stroll'd;
Woo'd and won her, in spite of whate'er might befall;
And made her the Lady of Workington Hall.
NOTES TO "THE LADY OF WORKINGTON HALL."
The ancient family of the Curwens of Workington can trace their
descent to Ivo de Tailbois and Elgiva daughter of Ethelred, King
of England. Ivo came to England with the Conqueror, was the
first lord of the barony of Kendal, and brother of Fulk, Earl of
Anjou and King of Jerusalem. Ketel, the grandson of Ivo, had two
sons;--Gilbert, the father of William de Lancaster, from whom
descended, in a direct line, the barons of Kendal; and Orme, from
whom descended the Curwens. These took their surname by agreement
from Culwen, a family of Galloway, whose heir they married. It
is said, that Culwen, which is on the seacoast of Galloway, had
its name from a neighbouring rock, which was thought to resemble
a white monk; that being the meaning of the word in the Irish
language. It is also said, that the family name was changed to
Curwen, by a corruption, which first appeared in the public records
in the reign of King Henry VI. Orme having espoused Gunilda,
sister of Waldieve, first lord of Allerdale, received in marriage
with her the manor of Seaton below Derwent, and took up his abode
there. Their son, Gospatrick, received the manors of Workington and
Lamplugh from William de Lancaster in exchange for Middleton, in
Westmorland. He was succeeded by his son Thomas, who became lord of
Culwen in Galloway, and died in 1152, and was buried in the Abbey
of Shap, to which he had been a benefactor; his estates descending
to his second son, Patric de Culwen, who removed his residence from
Seaton to Workington, where his descendants have since remained.
Sir Thomas Curwen, the seventh in descent from Patric, died in
the thirty fourth year of Henry VIII. In reference to this member
of the family, Sandford in his M.S. History of Cumberland relates
an instance of the pleasant manner in which conventual property
at the dissolution was dealt with, and disposed of, among that
monarch's favourites and friends. It is thus given:--"Sir Tho.
Curwen Knight in Henry the Eight's time, an excellent archer at
twelve score merks: And went up with his men to shoote with that
reknowned King at the dissolution of abbeis: And the King says
to him, Curwen, why doth thee begg none of thes Abbeis: I wold
gratifie the some way: Quoth the other, thank yow, and afterward
said he wold desire of him the Abbie of ffurness (nye unto him)
for 20 ty one years: Sayes the King, take it for ever: Quoth the
other, its long enough, for youle set them up againe in that time:
But they not likely to be set up againe, this Sir Tho. Curwen sent
Mr. Preston who had married his daughter to renew the lease for
him; and he even renneued in his owne name; which when his father
in law questioned, quoth Mr. Preston, yow shall have it as long as
yow live: and I thinke I may as well have it with your daughter as
another."[8]
There is probably some truth in the anecdote, related by Sandford.
For it is said by West, that not long after the dissolution of
Monasteries, Thomas Preston, of Preston-Patrick and Levens,
purchased the site and immediate grounds of Furness Abbey from the
trustees of the crown, with other considerable estates to the value
of £3000 a year: after which he removed from Preston-Patrick, and
resided at the Abbey, in a manor house built on the spot where the
Abbot's apartments stood. Of his two sons, John the elder married
the daughter of Curwen. His descendants were called Prestons of the
Abbey, and of the Manor; and continued for four generations, when
the two great grandsons of the purchaser died without issue. The
family of Christopher, his second son, were known as the Prestons
of Holker. Of these, Catharine, the fifth in the direct line from
Christopher, was the mother of Sir Thomas Lowther, Baronet, of
Yorkshire, to whom on the failure of the elder branch, the property
of the Prestons in Furness was granted by George the First. This
gentleman, by his marriage with the Lady Elizabeth Cavendish,
daughter of the Duke of Devonshire, had an only son and heir, Sir
William Lowther, Baronet, the last descendant of the Prestons of
Preston-Patrick, who died unmarried in 1756, bequeathing all his
estates in Furness and Cartmel to his cousin Lord George Augustus
Cavendish, through whom they passed by inheritance to the present
Duke of Devonshire.
In a report to the government of Queen Elizabeth, of the date of
1588, inserted among the Burghley Papers, the son and heir of
this sharp-handed son-in-law of Curwen is mentioned in somewhat
detractory terms, in a passage which describes "the Pylle of
Folder," or Pile of Fouldrey. "The same Pylle is an old decayed
castell of 'the dowchie of Lancaster, in Furness Felles, where
one Thomas Preestone (a Papyshe Atheiste) is depute steward, and
comaunders the menrede and lands ther, which were sometime members
appertayninge to the Abbeye of Furnes.'"
Workington Hall, the seat of the Curwens, is a large quadrangular
building, with battlemented parapets, situated on a woody acclivity
over looking the river Derwent, at the east end of the town. It has
been almost entirely rebuilt within the present century. The old
mansion was castellated pursuant to the royal license granted by
Richard II., in 1379, to Sir Gilbert de Culwen. It is remarkable
for having been the first prison-house of the unfortunate Mary of
Scotland, after she had landed within the dominions of her rival.
Having left the Scottish shore in a small fishing boat, she landed
with about twenty attendants near the Hall on Sunday, May 16th,
1568; and was received by Sir Henry Curwen as became her rank and
misfortunes, and hospitably entertained by him, till she removed to
Cockermouth, on her route to Carlisle. The apartment in which the
Queen had slept was long preserved, out of respect to her memory,
as she had left it. But some recent alterations of the mansion
having become necessary, it was found that these could not be
effected without the destruction of that portion which had been so
long distinguished as the Queen's Chamber.
Mr. Denton, who wrote about the year 1676, says, "I do not know any
seat in all Britain so commodiously situated for beauty, plenty,
and pleasure as this is." And Mr. Sandford, who wrote about the
same time, has the following rapturous description, "And a very
fair mansion-house and pallace-like; a court of above 60 yards long
and 40 yards broad, built round about; garretted turret-wise, and
toors in the corner; a gate house, and most wainscot and gallery
roomes; and the brave prospect of seas and ships almost to the
house, the tides flowing up. Brave orchards, gardens, dovecoats,
and woods and grounds in the bank about, and brave corn fields and
meadows below, as like as Chelsay fields. And now the habitation
of a brave young Sq. his father Monsir Edward Curwen, and his
mother the grandchild of Sir Michael Wharton o' th' Wolds in
Yorkshire."
Even Mr. Gilpin, a century later, was struck with "its hanging
woods and sloping lawns," and speaks of its situation as "one of
the grandest and most beautiful in the country."
The anecdote upon which the poem is founded was related by a person
who about fifty years ago was much acquainted with what was current
in some of the principal families in the West of Cumberland. She
stated that it was commonly repeated among the servants of the
different houses, and was quite credited by them: and that she
herself had not any doubt as to the truth of the story, but could
not give the period to which the circumstances refer.
One of the domestics of the Hall was said to have been surprised by
her master in the manner described, and to have been overheard by
him, uttering the words,--
"Who knows what may happen, or what may befall?
I may be Lady of Workington Hall!"
The butler was instructed to repeat the words publicly in the
presence of the Maid, who fled from the mansion, overwhelmed with
confusion. She subsequently formed a matrimonial alliance with a
principal member of the family; and thus in a manner her prediction
was verified.
Such was the story, and such the narrator. It may be added, that
the published notices of the family are devoid of anything to
give confirmation to the story; but as it was related in the
neighbourhood in the spirit alluded to, a place has been given to
it among the traditions of Cumberland.
FOOTNOTE:
[8] "John Preston of the Manor in Furness, Esquire, married Margaret
daughter of Sir Thos. Curwen, of Workington, and had issue, tempore
Henry VIII."
THE ALTAR ON CROSS-FELL.
(FORMERLY FIENDS'-FELL.)
Come listen and hear of the Fiends'-Fell dread;
And the helm of storm that shrouds its head,
When the imps and cubs of Evil that tread
Its summit, their strifes are waging:
Who made their haunt on its topmost height,
And down the valleys came often by night,
To affright the Shepherds, the herds to blight,
And set the strong winds raging.
Ah, dwellers in peaceful vales afar!
The cloudy Helm and the dismal Bar--
You know whose work on the Fell they are;
And you know whose wort they are brewing.
And you wish that the saintly Augustine
A warier man on his errand had been,
When the lizard crept into his chalice unseen,
The power of his spells undoing.
For he came, by good men sought, they say,
To the Fiends'-Fell foot, a weary way,
To chase the fiends from the cloud that lay
On its summit, as if to hide it.
At an hour unmarked, by paths unknown,
He climbed up the mountain side alone,
And built on the top an altar of stone,
And reared the cross beside it.
And there within that mighty cloud,
Where wrathful spirits were raging loud,
The old good man, with mind unbow'd,
But body so oft-times bending,
Moved to and fro on the haunted top,
And gathered the stones from off the slope,
Nor bated a jot of heart or hope
While the Altar pile was ascending.
Then while the sun made bright below
And warmed the vales with its cheerful glow,
The mighty cloud began to blow,
And deafening cries flew round him.
But still the altar on high begun
With heart and will, from his labours done
The crowning recompence now has won
For him, to that end who bound him.
There stands the Altar the saint before.
The long laborious task is o'er.
The Cross which once the victim bore,
It too spreads wide its arms.
The Chalice is there with the juice divine;
The wafer that bares the sacred sign;
And the tapers beside the Cross to shine;
To work out the counter-charms.
All ready beside the holy man
Stood--when for a moment his eyes began
To droop, and a feeling of slumber ran
Through his veins oppress'd and weary.
For toil an old man's limbs will shake:
And toil an old man's frame will break:
But, that instant past, he stands awake
Within that cloud so dreary.
It was enough: No counter-charm
Might work that day the fiend-cubs harm.
The Chalice he offers with outstretched arm
Has a reptile form within it!
And neither the saint nor the wine has power
To banish one fiend from the Fell, that hour:
For a lizard the edge of the chalice crept o'er,
While he slept but that tithe of a minute.
Then blew the fiends, as if they would blow
The mountain itself to the plain below.
And when the saint turned round to go,
Down tumbled the Altar behind him:
And boiled and seethed the Helm and Bar,
And the winds rushed down on the valleys afar;
While the Saint emerged, like a shining star,
From the cloud where they could not bind him.
And he went his way; and the fiends prevailed.
And still is the mountain by fiends assailed.
And the dismal Helm from afar is hailed
As a tempest surely growing.
The herdsman shudders, and hies away
To his hut on the hills at close of day,
For he knows whose cubs are abroad at play
And setting the Helm wind blowing.
His children mourn at the dolorous roar,
And rush to his arms from hearth and floor.
But the good man thinks of his stacks and store,
His fields and his farmstead wasting.
The housewife prays that the rain may fall:
But the stars are shining high over all:
And the Bar extends like a pitchy wall
In the West, where the storm is hasting.
The long loud roar, it deepens amain;
And down from the Helm along valley and plain
Goes the wind with invisible hosts in its train,
And they mount the black Bar-cloud appalling;
And they heave it and row it, those mariners dread,
For days, till it anchors on Fiends'-Fell head:
Then the big drops pour from the skies o'er spread,
And the torrents to torrents are calling.
NOTES TO "THE ALTAR ON CROSS-FELL."
The Editor of Camden (Bishop Gibson), speaking of huge stones found
together on the top of steep and high mountains, thought they might
possibly be the ruins of Churches or Chapels which had been built
there. "For," says he, "it was thought an extraordinary piece of
devotion, upon the planting of Christianity in these parts, to
erect crosses, and build chapels on the most eminent places, as
being both nearer heaven and more conspicuous: they were commonly
dedicated to St. Michael. That large tract of mountains on the east
side of the county (of Cumberland), called Cross-Fells, had the
name given them upon that account; for before, they were called
Fiends'-Fell, or Devil's Fell; and Dilston, a small town under
them, is contracted from Devil's-town."
Among the several monuments on the pavement in the cross-aisle in
Hexham Cathedral, is one ornamented with a crosier, and inscribed,
"Hic Jacet Thomas de Devilston."
The mountain, Cross-Fell, which is remarkable for the phenomenon
of the Helm-Cloud upon its summit, and the Helm-wind, as it is
called, generated within it, which is sometimes productive of such
destructive effects in the valleys below, is said to have been
formerly designated Fiends'-Fell, from the common belief that evil
spirits had their haunt upon it; until St. Augustine, to whom and
his forty followers, when travelling on their missionary labours in
these parts, a legendary tradition ascribes the expulsion of the
demons of the storms, erected a _Cross_, and built an altar on the
summit, where he offered the holy eucharist, and thus was supposed
to have counter-charmed the demons. Since that time it has borne
the name of Cross-Fell; and the people of the neighbourhood style a
heap of stones lying there, the Altar upon Cross-Fell.
The common saying, "Its brewing a storm," or "A storm is brewing,"
is one of the many phrases in which we only repeat the thought of
our primeval Scandinavian ancestors; amongst whom the beverage
quaffed in the halls of Valhalla, the drink of the Gods, was
conceived to be a product of the storm, and had more or less
identity with the Cloud-Water. In Germany, the mists that gather
about the mountain tops before a storm are said to be accounted for
in like manner, as if they were steam from the brewing or boiling
in which dwarfs, elves, or witches were engaged. Such modes of
expression, according to the dictionary of the brothers Grimm, are
of extreme antiquity.
Some such ideas seem to have been popularly associated with that
enormous cloud, which is often seen, like a helmet, to cover the
summit of Cross-Fell, and in which the Helm-Wind is generated.
In speaking of the Helm-Wind, it may be necessary to premise that
Cross-Fell is one continued ridge, stretching without any branches,
or even subject mountains, except two or three conical hills called
Pikes, from the N.N.W. to the S.S.E., from the neighbourhood of
Gilsland almost to Kirkby-Stephen, that is about forty miles.
Its direction is nearly in a right line, and the height of its
different parts not very unequal; but is in general such, that some
of its more eminent parts are exceeded in altitude by few hills in
Britain, being 2901 feet above the level of the sea. The slope to
the summit from the east is gradual, and extends over perhaps fifty
miles of country; whilst on the west it is abrupt, and has at five
miles from its base the river Eden running parallel to the mountain.
Upon the upper part of this lofty ridge, there often rests, in dry
and sunny weather, a prodigious wreath of clouds, extending from
three or four to sixteen or eighteen miles each way, north and
south, from the highest point; it is at times above the mountain,
sometimes it rests upon its top, but most frequently descends a
considerable way down its side. This mighty collection of vapour,
from which so much commotion issues, exhibits an appearance
uncommonly grand and solemn; and is named from a Saxon word, which
in our language implies a covering, the Helm. The western front of
this enormous cloud is clearly defined, and quite separated from
any other cloud on that side. Opposite to this, and at a variable
distance towards the west, and at the same elevation, is another
cloud with its eastern edge as clearly defined as the Helm; this
is called the Bar or Bur. It is said to have the appearance of
being in continual motion, as if boiling, or at least agitated by a
violent wind.
The distance between the Helm and the Bar varies as the Bar
advances towards, or recedes from, the Helm; this is sometimes
not more than half a mile, sometimes three or four miles, and
occasionally the Bar seems to coincide with the western horizon; or
it disperses and there is no Bar, and then there is a general east
wind extending over all the country westward.
The description of this remarkable phenomenon, the Helm-Wind,
we will give from observations made by the Rev. John Watson, of
Cumrew, and others. The places most subject to it are Milburn,
Kirkland, Ousby, Melmerby, and Gamblesby. Sometimes when the
atmosphere is quite settled, hardly a cloud to be seen, and not
a breath of wind stirring, a small cloud appears on the summit
of the mountain, and extends itself to the north and south; the
Helm is then said to be on, and in a few minutes the wind is
blowing so violently as to break down trees, overthrow stacks,
occasionally blow a person from his horse, or overturn a horse and
cart. When the wind blows, the Helm seems violently agitated; and
on descending the fell and entering it, there is not much wind.
Sometimes a Helm forms and goes off without a wind; and there are
easterly winds without a Helm. The open space between the Helm and
Bar varies from eight or ten to thirty or forty miles in length,
and from half a mile to four or six miles in breadth; it is of an
elliptical form, as the Helm and Bar are united at the ends. A
representation of the Helm, Bar, and space between, may be made by
opening the forefinger and thumb of each hand, and placing their
tips to each other; the thumbs will then represent the Helm on the
top of the fell, the forefingers the Bar, and the space between,
the variable limits of the wind.
The open space is clear of clouds with the exception of small
pieces breaking off now and then from the Helm, and either
disappearing or being driven rapidly over the Bar; but through
this open space is often seen a high stratum of clouds quite at
rest. Within the space described the wind blows continually; it has
been known to do so for nine days together, the Bar advancing or
receding to different distances. When heard or felt for the first
time it does not seem so very extraordinary; but when heard or felt
for days together, it gives a strong impression of sublimity. Its
sound is peculiar, and when once known is easily distinguished from
that of ordinary winds; it cannot be heard more than three or four
miles, but in the wind or near it, it is grand and awful, and has
been compared to the noise made by the sea in a violent storm.
Its first effect on the spirits is exhilarating, and it gives a
buoyancy to the body. The country subject to it is very healthy,
but it does great injury to vegetation by beating grain, grass, and
leaves of trees, till quite black.
It may further be remarked of this wind, that it is very irregular,
rarely occurring in the summer months, and more frequent from the
end of September to May. It generally blows from Cross-Fell longest
in the spring, when the sun has somewhat warmed the earth beneath,
and does not cease till it has effectually cooled it; thus it
sometimes continues, according to Mr. Ritson, for a fortnight or
three weeks, which he considers a peculiarity of the Helm wind of
Cross-Fell. The wind itself is very chill, and is almost always
terminated by a rain, which restores, or to which succeeds, a
general warmth, and into which the Helm seems to resolve itself.
The best explanation of this very interesting and remarkable
phenomenon is given in the following observations of Dr. T. Barnes
of Carlisle.
The air or wind from the east ascends the gradual slope of the
eastern side of the Penine chain or Cross-Fell range of mountains,
to the summit of Cross-Fell, where it enters the Helm or cap, and
is cooled to a low temperature; it then rushes forcibly down the
abrupt declivity of the western side of the mountain into the
valley beneath, in consequence of the valley being of a warmer
temperature, and this constitutes the Helm wind.
The sudden and violent rushing of the wind down the ravines and
crevices of the mountains occasions the loud noise that is heard.
At a varying distance from the base of the mountain the Helm wind
is rarified by the warmth of the low ground, and meets with the
wind from the west, which resists its further course. The higher
temperature it has acquired in the valley, and the meeting of the
contrary current, occasion it to rebound and ascend into the upper
region of the atmosphere. When the air or wind has reached the
height of the Helm, it is again cooled to the low temperature of
this cold region, and is consequently unable to support the same
quantity of vapour it had in the valley; the water or moisture
contained in the air, is therefore condensed by the cold, and forms
the cloud called the Helm-Bar.
The meeting of the opposing currents beneath,--where there are
frequently strong gusts of wind from all quarters, and the sudden
condensation of the air and moisture in the Bar-cloud, give rise
to its agitation or commotion, as if "struggling with contrary
blasts." The Bar is therefore not the cause of the limit of the
Helm wind, but is the consequence of it. It is absurd to suppose
that the Bar, which is a light cloud, can impede or resist the
Helm wind; but if it even possessed a sufficient resisting power,
it could have no influence on the wind which is blowing near the
surface of the earth, and which might pass under the Bar.
The variable distance of the Bar from the Helm is owing to the
changing situation of the opposing and conflicting currents, and
the difference of temperature of different parts of the low ground
near the base of the mountain.
When there is a break or opening in the Bar, the wind is said to
rush through with great violence, and to extend over the country.
Here again, the effect is mistaken for the cause. In this case,
the Helm-Wind, which blows always from the east, has, in some
places underneath the observed opening, overcome the resistance
of the air, or of the wind from the west, and of course does not
rebound and ascend into the higher regions to form the Bar. The
supply being cut off, a break or opening in that part of the Bar
necessarily takes place.
When the temperature of the lower region has fallen and become
nearly uniform with that of the mountain range, the Helm wind
ceases; the Bar and the Helm approach and join each other, and rain
not unfrequently follows.
When the Helm-Wind has overcome all the resistance of the lower
atmosphere, or of the opposing current from the west, and the
temperature of the valley and of the mountain is more nearly
equalized, there is no rebound or ascent of the wind, consequently
the Bar ceases to be formed, the one already existing is
dissipated, and a general east wind prevails.
There is little wind in the Helm-cloud, because the air is colder
in it than in the valley, and the moisture which the air contains
is more condensed and is deposited in the cloud upon the summit of
the mountain.
There is rarely either a Helm, Helm-wind, or Bar, during the
summer, on account of the higher temperature of the summit of the
Cross-Fell range, and the upper regions of the atmosphere, at that
season of the year.
The different situations of the Helm, on the side, on the summit,
and above the mountain, will depend on the temperature of these
places: when the summit is not cold enough to condense the vapour,
the Helm is situated higher in a colder region, and will descend
down the side of the mountains if the temperature be sufficiently
low to produce that effect.
The sky is clear between the Helm and Bar, because the air below
is warmer and can support a greater quantity of vapour rising from
the surface of the earth, and this vapour is driven forward by the
Helm-Wind, and ascends up in the rebound to the Bar. In short,
the Helm is merely a cloud or cap upon the mountain, the cold air
descends from the Helm to the valley, and constitutes the Helm
Wind, and when warmed and rarified in the valley, ascends and forms
the Bar.
WILLIE O' SCALES.
Said Willie o' Scales, at break of day,
"The hunt's up! I must busk and away!
Steed, good wife? and saddle? I trow,
Willie o' Scales is steed enow."
--Scotland's King is a hunting gone:
Willie o' Scales, he runs alone:
Knights and Nobles many a score:
Hounds full twenty tongues and more.
Through the covert the deer he sprang:
Over the heather the music rang.
Dogs and steeds well speeded they:
But Willie o' Scales, he show'd the way.
For speed of foot had Willie no peer.
He outstripp'd the horses, dogs, and deer.
He left the Nobles far behind.
He pass'd the King like a puff of wind.
At the close of day, with a greenwood bough,
Beside the deer he fann'd his brow.
And "There, my liege!" to the Monarch he said,
"Is as gallant a stag as ever lay dead.
"I count him fleet, for a stag of ten!"--
--"And I count thee chief of my Border men.
No gallanter heart, I dare be sworn,
Ever drew the shaft or wound the horn.
"No trustier hand than thine was found
When foes to Scotland hemm'd us round.
Now swifter of foot than our fleetest deer--
We'll try thy hold upon land and gear.
"For his speed in sport, for his might in fray,
Write, 'GILL'S broad lands' to 'Willie, THE RAE!'
And for ever a Willie the Rae be here,
When the King comes by to hunt the deer."--
Thus spoke King William, where he stood,
The Lion of Scotland, fierce of mood.
And musing turned, and look'd again
On his Border vassal; and cross'd the plain.
Centuries long have rolled away:
The Monarch is dust, his Nobles clay:
Old lines are changed, are changing still:
But Willie the Rae is lord of Gill.
NOTES TO "WILLIE O' SCALES."
The long and scattered hamlet of High and Low Scales, is on the
west side of Crummock Beck, near Bromfield, and a few miles from
Wigton in Cumberland. Skells or scales, from a Saxon or Gothic word
signifying a cover, was the name given to those slight temporary
huts made of turf or sods which in the mountainous district of
this county and Scotland are called Bields. They were erected
most commonly for the shelter of shepherds; and during the later
periods, in the border wars to protect the persons who were
appointed to watch the cattle of the neighbourhood. Few estates in
the kingdom have belonged to one family longer than this of THE
GILL, which was formerly, however, much more extensive, comprising
most probably the neighbouring hamlet of Scales. Another somewhat
uncommon circumstance belonging to it is, that, to the close of
last century, and for anything we know to the contrary, to a much
later date, the owner had always lived on and occupied it himself;
it had never been in the hands of a farmer.
The Reays of Gill, however variously their name has been spelled
and pronounced by different branches of the family, derived it from
one on whom it was undoubtedly bestowed as being characteristical
and descriptive of himself. The active hunter, the companion and
the friend of William the Lion, was called in the commoner Saxon
language of his time Ra, or Raa, a Roe, from his unparalleled
swiftness. In Scotland and Germany a roe is still pronounced rae,
as it was formerly in England.
"When the deer and the rae
Lightly bounding together,
Sport the lang simmer day
On the braes of Balquhither."
The tradition is that the head, or chief, of this family had a grant
of the lands of Gill to him, and his heirs for ever, from William
the Lion, King of Scotland, whose eventful reign lasted nearly half
a century; and who died in 1214. This grant is said to have been
made, not only as a reward for his fidelity to his prince, but as
a memorial of his extraordinary swiftness of foot in pursuing the
deer, outstripping in fleetness most of the horses and dogs. The
conditions of the grants were, that he should pay a pepper corn
yearly, as an acknowledgment, and that the name of William should,
if possible, be perpetuated in the family. "And this is certain,"
says a writer in the Gentleman's Magazine about the year 1794,
"That ever since, till now, a William Reay has been owner of the
Gill. There is every reason to believe that the present John Reay
is the first instance of a deviation." It is said that even in that
instance the deviation was not made without deliberation; William
the father having first consulted an eminent lawyer, whether he
might safely call his son John. It was replied that mere length of
occupancy would quiet the possession and make the title good.
The great military tenure of lands in this district was by HOMAGE,
FEALTY and CORNAGE. This last (cornage) drew after it _wardship_,
_marriage_, and _relief_. And the service of this tenure was
_knight's service_. HOMAGE was the most honourable service, and
the most humble service of reverence, that a free tenant can do
to his lord. For when he was to do homage to his lord, he was to
appear ungirt, bareheaded, without his sword, and, kneeling on both
knees, his hands held out and clasped between his lord's, was to
say--"I become your man from this day forward of life, and limb,
and earthly honour, and unto you will be true and faithful, and
faith unto you will bear for the tenements that I claim to hold of
you, saving the faith that I owe to our Sovereign Lord the King."
And then the lord so sitting was to kiss him; by which kiss he was
bound to be his vassal for ever.
When a free tenant was to do FEALTY to his lord, he was to hold
his right hand upon a book, and say thus--"Know ye this, my lord,
that I will be faithful and true to you, and faith to you will bear
for the tenements which I claim to hold of you, and that I will
lawfully do to you the customs and services which I ought to do at
the terms assigned; so help me God and his Saints." But he was not
to kneel, nor make such humble reverence as in homage; and fealty
might be done before the steward of the court, but homage could
only be done to the lord himself.
CORNAGE, called also HORNGELD, and NOWTEGELD or (cow-tax) seems
early to have been converted into a pecuniary fine, being a
stipulated payment in the first instance for the finding of
scouts or horners to procure intelligence. It was first paid in
cattle. The tenants who held by cornage were bound to be always
ready to serve the King and lord of the manor on horseback, or on
foot, at their own charge; and when the King's army marched into
Scotland, their post was in the vanguard as they advanced, and in
the vanguard on their return. Because they best knew the passes
and defiles, and the way and manner of the enemy's attacking
and retreating. _Wardship_ and _marriage_ were included in this
tenure. When the tenant died, and the heir male was within the
age of twenty one years, the lord was to have the land holden of
him until the heir should attain that age; because the heir by
intendment of law was not able to do knight's service before his
age of twenty-one years. And if such heir was not married at the
time of the death of his ancestor, then the lord was to have the
wardship and marriage of him. But if the tenant died leaving an
heir female, which heir female was of the age of fourteen years or
upwards, then the lord was not to have the wardship of the land,
nor of the body; because a woman of that age might have a husband
to do knight's service. But if such heir female was under the age
of fourteen years, and unmarried at the time of the death of her
ancestor, the lord was to have the wardship of the land holden of
him until the age of such heir female of fourteen years; within
which time the lord might tender unto her convenable marriage
without disparagement; and if the lord did not tender such marriage
within the said age, she might have entered into the lands, and
ousted the lord.
Thus the consent of a superior lord was requisite for the marriage
of a female vassal; and this power was distorted into the right of
disposing of the ward in marriage. When the King or lord was in
want of money it was by no means unusual to offer the wards, male
or female, with their lands, in a sense to the highest bidder. If
the ward refused to fulfil the marriage so made, then a sum was due
from the estates equal to what they would have fetched.
_Relief_ was a certain sum of money, that the heir, on coming of
age, paid unto the lord, on taking possession of the inheritance of
his ancestor.
A _Knight's fee_ was estimated, not according to the quality but
the quantity of the land, about 640 acres; and the relief was
after the rate of one fourth part of the yearly value of the fee.
The _lord's rent_ was called _white money_, or _white rent_, from
its being paid in silver.
SCUTAGE or service of the shield, was another compensation in
money, instead of personal service against the Scots.
The DRENGAGE tenure, which prevailed about Brougham and Clifton,
was extremely servile. The tenants seem to have been drudges to
perform the most laborious and servile offices. Dr. Burn quotes
authority to prove that Sir Hugh de Morville in Westmorland changed
drengage into free service; and that Gilbert de Brougham gave one
half of the village of Brougham to Robert de Veteripont to make
the other half free of drengage. One of the de Threlkelds also,
who lived at Yanwath Hall, in the time of Edward I., relieved his
tenants at Threlkeld of servile burdens at four pence a head. The
services were half a draught for one day's ploughing; one day's
mowing; one of shearing; one of clipping; one of salving sheep; one
carriage load in two years, not to go above ten miles; to dig and
load two loads of peat every year--the tenants to have their crowdy
(a coarse mess of meal, dripping and hot water) while they worked;
the cottagers the same, only they found a horse and harrow instead
of the half plough, and a footman's load, not a carriage load.
Many of these have long been lost sight of; and now most of the
lands, whether held on customary or arbitrary tenures, merely pay
an almost nominal rent, besides certain fines, to the lord of the
manor. Nevertheless there is much truth in what Blackstone says:
that "copy holders are only villeins improved."
Lands of arbitrary tenure pay, with certain deductions, fines of
two years value on the death of lord or tenant, or of both, and
on alienation. Some pay dower to the widow; others do not. Some
pay a live heriot, which means the best animal in the tenant's
possession; others, a dead heriot, that is, the most valuable
implement, or piece of furniture. In Catholic times, the Church
also, on some manors, claimed as heriot the second best animal
the tenant might die possessed of, and on others the best. In
some instances a heriot is only payable when a widow remains in
possession of the tenement, and in these cases the original object
of the impost was to recompense the lord of the manor for the
loss of a man's military service during the widow's occupancy. In
some joint manors where two, or perhaps three, lords have claims
for heriots, very discreditable, and, to a dying tenant's family,
very distressing scenes are enacted; for, when it becomes known
that the holder of a tenement so burdened is on his death-bed, the
stewards of the several manors place watches round the premises,
who ascertain what and where the best animal may be, and, as soon
as the demise of the tenant is announced, a rush ensues, and an
unseemly contest for possession.
In arbitrary lands some lords claim all the timber; others only the
oak; others the oak and yew; others oak and white thorn; and so on.
In some the tenant is bound to plant two trees of the same kind for
every one he fells; but tenants have a right to timber for repairs,
rebuilding, or implements, though they must not cut down without
license. Many lands are bound to carry their grain to the manorial
mill to be ground and _multured_; but this custom has fallen into
disuse. Most lords retain the minerals and game if they enfranchise
the soil, as many have done.
Many lands used to pay boons of various kinds; and some of these
services are still enforced. By these were demanded so many men or
boys, horses, carts, &c., in peat cutting time, hay time, harvest,
wood-cutting and carting, and so on. In Martindale Chace, near
Ulswater, where Mr. Hasell has a herd of that now rare species, the
Red Deer, the tenants are bound to attend the lord's hunt once a
year, which is called on their court roll a _Boon Hunt_. On this
occasion, they each held their district allotted on the boundaries
of the Chace, where they are stationed, to prevent the stag flying
beyond the liberty. In the east of Cumberland, the tenants were
obliged to send horses and sacks to St. Bees, for salt for the
lord's use; some had to bring their own provisions when engaged in
these services: some were entitled to a cake of a stated size for
each man, and a smaller for a boy, on assembling in the morning
at a fixed hour, under a certain tree, as was the custom at Irton
Hall. Breach of punctuality forfeited this cake, but the work was
always exacted. Certain farms in some manors were bound to maintain
male animals for the use of all the tenants, subject to various
conditions and regulations. Formerly many tenants paid a pound of
pepper at the lord's court; others only a pepper-corn; and some
lands are still held by this custom.
Many other peculiar customs connected with the tenure of land
formerly existed.
Curious individual exemptions from certain burthens are to be
met with occasionally. In the parish of Renwick a copyholder
is released from payment of the prescription in lieu of tithe,
paid by all his neighbours, because one of his ancestors slew "a
cock-a-trice." This monster is alleged to have been nothing more
than a bat of extraordinary size, which terrified the people in
church one evening, so that all fled save the clerk, who valiantly
giving battle, succeeded in striking it down with his staff. For
this exploit, which is stated to have taken place about 260 years
ago, he was rewarded with the exemption mentioned, which is still
claimed by his successors.
In the parish of Castle-Sowerby, the ten principal estates were
anciently called _Red Spears_, on account of the singular service
by which the tenants held them, viz:--that of riding through
the town of Penrith on Whit-Tuesday, brandishing their spears.
Those who held by this tenure were of the order of Red Knights,
mentioned in our law books; a name derived from the Saxon, who held
their lands by serving the lord on horseback. _Delient equitare
cum domino suo de manerio in manerium, vel cum domini uxore._ In
times of peace, it is presumed they held the annual service above
noted as a challenge to the enemies of their country, or those
who might dispute the title of their lord, similar to the parade
of the Champion of England at a coronation. The spears were about
nine feet in length, and till within the last century, some of
them remained in the proprietors' houses, where they were usually
deposited; and were sureties to the sheriff for the peaceable
behaviour of the rest of the inhabitants.
The ancient owners of the Red Spears estates annually served as
jurors at the forest court held near Hesket, on St. Barnabas Day,
by which they were exempted from all parish offices.
ERMENGARDE.
It was the early summer time,
When Maidens stint their praying
To wander forth at morning's prime,
With happy hearts, a maying;
To wash their rosy cheeks with dew,
And roam the meadows over:
And ask the winds to tell them true
Of some far distant lover.
Then little Ermengarde, the while
To graver thoughts awaking,
Look'd sadly on St. Herbert's Isle
As morn was brightly breaking.
Some tapestry for his altar wrought
Beside her bed was lying;
Her beads, and little scroll for thought,
No conscious look descrying.
And now when might the gentle Saint
Be at his service bending;
His earnest life, without a taint
Of earth still heavenwards tending--
His silver voice, oft heard in prayer,
Or in direction pleading--
His manhood's bright angelic air--
Her thought too fond were feeding.
In little Ermengarde her love
With God the Saint divided.
Unknown even to herself she wove
The threads her passion guided.
And when she trembled on her knees
Confessing faith before him--
Ah! can this be but Man she sees,
So heart and soul adore him!
So little Ermengarde with pale
And thoughtful cheek sat sighing,
When rode an Elf-man down the vale
Her open lattice eyeing.
"Good morrow! May my Lady's thought,
This happy May-day, blossom;
And tenfold blessedness be wrought
Within that gentle bosom!"
"My tongue no thought or wish express'd"--
--"Yet, trust me, fairest Lady!"
"In Bowscale tarn, for thy behest,
The undying twain are ready.
Ask from their breasts two tiny scales
Of gold and pearly whiteness.
These on thy heart--fulfill'd prevails
Thy wish in all its brightness!"--
The stranger pass'd. Away she hies,
The mountain pathway keeping,
Where deep amid the silence lies
The gloomy water sleeping.
"Come, faithful fishes! give to me
Two little scales"--she chanted--
That in my bosom peace may be,
And all my wishes granted."--
They gave her from their pearly sides
Two little scales. She bore them
Down from the hill the Tarn that hides,
And in her bosom wore them.
The simple Cross her mother gave
Was on her neck, a token
Of that pure faith to which she clave;
But lo! the link was broken!
Down Greta's side with wild delight
The little Maiden wandered;
And on the Saint before her sight,
Her inmost sight, she pondered;
Now thinking--O that wed with mine
His holy heart were moving!
How shall we soar in thoughts divine,
How walk in pathways loving!
It was a festal day, and bands
Of youths and maids were trooping
With flowers and offerings in their hands,
And round the altar grouping.
And hark the little bell! it calls
To every heart how sweetly!
But most on Ermengarde's it falls
With joy that brings her fleetly.
But on the stony river's brim
A moment's space delaying,
To gaze--before she look'd on him--
On her own features playing
Within the mirror'd pool below--
Its broken link dissevering,
Her little Cross fell sinking slow
Beyond her vain endeavouring.
And from the stream two fin-like arms
Leapt up and snatch'd her wailing,
And dragg'd her down with all her charms
In anguish unavailing.
And down the rocks they bore her fast
With struggles unrelenting:
And Greta's roar mix'd in the blast
With Ermengarde's lamenting.
And far adown the rushing tide
Was dragg'd and whirled the Maiden;
And wildly mid the pools she cried
In accents horror-laden.
The streams dash'd on with furious roar;
No aid the rude rocks lent her;
Wild and more wild they gather'd o'er
The loud and lost lamenter.
So she whom Magic's wiles had driven,
And her own heart persuaded,
To tempt a Saint to turn from heaven,
Fell, snatch'd from life unaided.
Yet, not for ever lost, she roves
Amid the winding currents,
And utters to the hills and groves
Her wail above the torrents.
For yet some bard shall wander by
With harp and song so holy,
That they shall wrench the caves where lie
Her limbs in anguish lowly.
And free her for the blessed light
And air again to greet her
Awhile, before she takes her flight
To where the Saint shall meet her.
Even I, for little Ermengarde,
Would harp a life-long morrow,
But to reverse that doom so hard,
And lead her back from sorrow;
Mid happy thoughts again to beam,
All joyousness partaking;
But never more of Saints to dream
When summer morns are breaking.
NOTES TO "ERMENGARDE."
I.--St. Herbert's Isle, placed nearly in the centre of Derwent
Lake, derives its name from a hermit who lived there in the seventh
century, and had his cell on this island.
It contains about four acres of ground, is planted with firs
and other trees, and has a curious octagonal cottage built with
unhewn stones, and artificially mossed over and thatched. This
was erected many years ago by the late Sir Wilfred Lawson, to
whose representative the island at present belongs. A few yards
from its site are the ruins of the hermitage formerly occupied by
the recluse. These vestiges, being of stone and mortar, give the
appearance of its having consisted of two apartments; an outer one,
about twenty feet long and sixteen feet broad, which has probably
been his chapel, and another, of narrower dimensions, his cell,
with a little garden adjoining.
The scene around was well adapted to excite the most solemn
emotions, and was in unison with the severity of his religious
life. His plot of ground and the waters around him supplied his
scanty fare; while the rocks and mountains inspired his meditations
with the most sublime ideas of the might and majesty of the
Creator. It is no wonder that "St. Herbert, a priest and confessor,
to avoid the intercourse of man, and that nothing might withdraw
his attention from unceasing meditation and prayer, chose this
island for his abode."
There is no history of St. Herbert's life and actions to be met
with, or any tradition of his works of piety or miracles, preserved
by the inhabitants of the country. His contemporary existence with
St. Cuthbert, and his equo-temporary death with him obtained by the
prayers of the saint, at the time and in the manner related below,
according to the old legends, is all that is known of him.
Bede, in his History of the Church of England, writes thus of the
saint:--"There was a certain priest, revered for his uprightness
and perfect life and manners, named Herberte, who had a long time
been in union with the man of God (St. Cuthbert of Farn Isle) in
the bond of spiritual love and friendship; for living a solitary
life in the isle of that great and extended lake from whence
proceeds the river Derwent, he used to visit St. Cuthbert every
year, to receive from his lips the doctrines of eternal life. When
this holy priest heard of St. Cuthbert's coming to Luguballea
(Carlisle), he came, after his usual manner, desiring to be
comforted more and more with the hopes of everlasting bliss by his
divine exhortations. As they sat together, and enjoyed the hopes
of heaven, among other things the Bishop said, 'Remember, brother
Herberte, that whatsoever ye have to say and ask of me, you do it
now, for after we depart hence, we shall not meet again, and see
one another corporeally in this world, for I know well the time of
my dissolution is at hand, and the laying aside of this earthly
tabernacle draweth on apace.' When Herberte heard this, he fell
down at his feet, and, with many sighs and tears, beseeched him,
for the love of the Lord, that he would not forsake him, but to
remember his faithful brother and associate, and make intercession
with the gracious God, that they might depart hence into heaven
together, to behold his grace and glory whom they had in unity
of spirit served on earth; for you know I have ever studied and
laboured to live according to your pious and virtuous instructions;
and in whatsoever I offended through ignorance or frailty, I
straightway used my earnest efforts to amend after your ghostly
counsel, will, and judgment.'--At this earnest and affectionate
request of Herberte's, the Bishop went to prayer, presently
being certified in spirit that this petition to heaven would be
granted--'Arise,' said he, 'my dear brother; weep not, but let your
rejoicing be with exceeding gladness, for the great mercy of God
hath granted to us our prayer.'--The truth of which promise and
prophecy was well proved in that which ensued; for their separation
was the last that befell them on earth; on the same day, which was
the 19th day of March, their souls departed from their bodies, and
were straight in union in the beatific sight and vision--and were
transported hence to the kingdom of heaven by the service and hands
of angels."
It is probable that the hermit's little oratory, or chapel, might
be kept in repair after his death, as a particular veneration seems
to have been paid by the religious of after ages to this retreat,
and the memory of the Saint.
There is some variation in the account given by authors of the
day of the Saint's death; Bede says the 19th day of March: other
authors the 20th day of May, A. D., 687; and by a record given in
Bishop Appleby's Register, it would appear that the 13th day of
April was observed as the solemn anniversary.
But, however, in the year 1374, at the distance of almost seven
centuries, we find this place resorted to in holy services and
procession, and the hermit's memory celebrated in religious
offices. The Vicar of Crosthwaite went to celebrate mass in his
chapel on the island, on the day above mentioned, to the joint
honour of St. Herbert and St. Cuthbert; to every attendant at which
forty days' indulgence was granted as a reward for his devotion.
"What a happy holiday must that have been for all these vales,"
says Southey; "and how joyous on a fine spring day must the lake
have appeared, with the boats and banners from every chapelry; and
how must the chapel have adorned that little isle, giving a human
and religious character to the solitude!"
In the little church of St. John's in the Vale, which is one of the
dependent chapelries of the church of Crosthwaite, is an old seat,
with the date 1001 carved on the back of it, to which tradition
assigns, that it was formerly in St. Herbert's Chapel, on the
island in Derwent Lake.
These figures correspond with those on the bell in the Town Hall at
Keswick, said to have been brought from Lord's Island.
II.--Bowscale Tarn is a small mountain lake, lying to the
north-east of Blencathra. It is supposed by the country people
in the neighbourhood, with whom it has long been a tradition, to
contain two immortal fish; the same which held familiar intercourse
with, and long did the bidding of, the Shepherd Lord when he
studied the stars upon these mountains, and gathered that more
mysterious knowledge, which, matured in the solitude of Barden
Tower, has till this day associated his name with something of
supernatural interest in this district, where he so long resided.[9]
From some lines of Martial (lib. iv. 30) it appears that there were
some fishes in a lake at Baiæ in Campania consecrated to Domitian,
and like the undying ones of Bowscale Tarn, they knew their
master:--
"Sacris piscibus hæ natantur undæ,
Qui norunt dominum, manumque lambunt;
---- ---- ---- et ad magistri
Vocem quisquis sui venet citatus."
III.--It has been stated with reference to the river Greta,
that its channel was formerly remarkable for the immense stones
it contained; and that by their concussion in high floods were
caused those loud and mournful noises which not inappropriately
have gained for it the characteristic title of "Mourner."
Mr. Southey has given the following description of it in his
"Colloquies";--"Our Cumberland river Greta has a shorter course
than even its Yorkshire namesake. St. John's Beck and the
Glenderamakin take this name at their confluence, close by the
bridge three miles east of Keswick on the Penrith road. The former
issues from Leathes Water, in a beautiful sylvan spot, and proceeds
by a not less beautiful course for some five miles through the
vale from which it is called, to the place of junction. The latter
receiving the stream from Bowscale and Threlkeld Tarns, brings
with it the waters from the south side of Blencathra. The Greta
then flows toward Keswick; receives first the small stream from
Nathdale; next the Glenderaterra, which brings down the western
waters of Blencathra and those from Skiddaw Forest, and making a
wide sweep behind the town, joins the Derwent under Derwent Hill,
about a quarter of a mile from the town, and perhaps half that
distance from the place where that river flows out of the lake, but
when swollen above its banks, it takes a shorter line, and enters
Derwent Water.
"The Yorkshire stream was a favourite resort of Mason's, and
has been celebrated by Sir Walter Scott. Nothing can be more
picturesque, nothing more beautiful, than its course through the
grounds at Rokeby, and its junction with the Tees;--and there is a
satisfaction in knowing that the possessor of that beautiful place
fully appreciates and feels its beauties, and is worthy to possess
it. Our Greta is of a different character, and less known; no poet
has brought it into notice, and the greater number of tourists
seldom allow themselves time for seeing anything out of the beaten
track. Yet the scenery upon this river, where it passes under the
sunny side of Latrigg, is of the finest and most rememberable kind:
--Ambiguo lapsu, refluitque fluitque,
Occurrensque sibi venturas aspicit undas.
There is no English stream to which this truly Ovidian description
can more accurately be applied. From a jutting isthmus, round which
the tortuous river twists, you look over its manifold windings, up
the water to Blencathra; down it, over a high and wooded middle
ground, to the distant mountains of Newlands, Cawsey Pike, and
Grizedale."
FOOTNOTE:
[9] Vide Notes to Sir Lancelot Threlkeld, for a notice of Lord Clifford
the Shepherd.
GUNILDA;
OR, THE WOEFUL CHASE.
A joyful train left Lucy's halls
At morning, cheer'd with bugle calls,
That long ere eve, a mournful train,
Returned to Lucy's halls again.
They went with hound and spear and bow,
To lay the prowling wild-wolf low.
They came with hound and bow and spear--
And one fair daughter on her bier.
Her prancing palfrey starting wide,
She gallop'd from Lord Lucy's side,
A shining huntress, gay, and bold,
And fair as Dian's self of old.
The quarry cross'd her lover's view;
He led the chace with shrill halloo,
Through brake and furze, by stream and dell,
Nor stopp'd until the quarry fell.
Far off aloud rang out his horn
The triumph on the echoes borne,
Long ere the listening maid drew rein
To woo it to her ear in vain.
Bright as a phantom, far astray,
She stood where broad before her lay
Wilton's high wastes and forest rude,
And all the Copeland solitude.
Far off, and farther, rang the horn:
Farther the echoes seem'd to mourn.
"Now, my good Bay, thy frolic o'er,
Thy swiftest and thy best once more!"
By Hole of Haile she turned her steed:
Coursed gaily on by Yeorton Mead;
Glanced where St. Bridget's hamlet show'd;
And down into the coppice rode.
And singing on in gladness there,
She pass'd beside the she-wolf's lair;
When furious from her startled young
The wild brute on Gunilda sprung.
From frighted steed dragg'd low to ground,
The she-wolf, with her cubs around,
Made havoc of that peerless form,
And heart with bounding life so warm.
Clearer rang out their horn, to cheer
Their lost one; and proclaim'd them near.
Proudly they said--"Gunilda's eyes
Will brighten when she sees our prize!"--
They found her; but their words were "Woe!"
"Woe to the bank where thou liest low!
Woe to the hunting of this day,
That left thy limbs to beasts, a prey!"
With downcast faces, eyeballs dim,
They bore her up that mount--to him
A Mount of Sorrow evermore,
Too faithful to the name it bore.
They made in Bega's aisle her tomb,
And laid her in the convent gloom;
And carved her effigy in stone,
And hew'd the she-wolf's form thereon--
In pity to this hour to wake
The pilgrim's sorrow for her sake,
And his who blew the lively horn,
Expecting her--and came to mourn.
NOTES TO "GUNILDA; OR, THE WOEFUL CHASE."
A traditional story in the neighbourhood of Egremont relates the
circumstance of a lady of the Lucy family being devoured by a wolf.
According to one version this catastrophe occurred on an evening
walk near the Castle; whilst, a more popular rendering of the
legend ascribes it to an occasion on which the lord of the manor,
with his lady and servants, were hunting in the forest; when the
lady having been lost in the ardour of the chase, was after a long
search and heart-rending suspense, found lying on a bank slain by
a wolf which was in the act of tearing her to pieces. The place is
distinguished by a mound of earth, near the village of Beckermet,
on the banks of the Ehen, about a mile below Egremont. The name of
Woto Bank, or Wodow Bank as the modern mansion erected near the
spot is called, is said to be derived by traditionary etymology,
from the expression to which in the first transports of his grief
the distracted husband gave utterance--"Woe to this bank."
Hutchinson is inclined to believe "that this place has been witness
to many bloody conflicts, as appears by the monuments scattered on
all hands in its neighbourhood; and by some the story is supposed
to be no more than an emblematic allusion to such conflicts during
the invasion of the Danes. It is asserted that no such relation is
to be found in the history of the Lucy family; so that it must be
fabulous, or figurative of some other event."
There are, however, yet to be seen in the burial ground attached to
the Abbey Church of St. Bees, the remaining parts of two monumental
figures which may reasonably be presumed to have reference to some
such event as that recorded by tradition. The fragments, which are
much mutilated, are of stone; and the sculpture appears to be of
great antiquity. Common report has assigned to these remains the
names of Lord and Lady Lucy.
In their original state, the figures were of gigantic size. The
features and legs are now destroyed. The Lord is represented with
his sword sheathed. There is a shield on his arm, which appears to
have been quartered, but the bearings upon it are entirely defaced.
On the breast of the Lady is an unshapely protuberance. This was
originally the roughly sculptured limb of a wolf, which even so
lately as the year 1806, might be distinctly ascertained. These
figures were formerly placed in an horizontal position, at the top
of two raised altar tombs within the church. The tomb of the Lady
was at the foot of her Lord, and a wolf was represented as standing
over it. The protuberance above mentioned, on the breast of the
Lady, the paw of the wolf, is all that now remains of the animal.
About a century since, the figure of the wolf wanted but one leg,
as many of the inhabitants, whose immediate ancestors remembered it
nearly entire, can testify. The horizontal position of the figures
rendered them peculiarly liable to injuries, from the silent and
irresistible ravages of time. Their present state is, however,
principally to be attributed to the falling in of the outer walls
of the priory, and more particularly to their having been used,
many years since, by the boys of the Free Grammar School, as a mark
to fire at. There can be little doubt that the limb of the wolf has
reference to the story of one of the Ladies Lucy related above.
It may not however be unworthy of remark, that the Lucies were
connected, through the family of Meschines, with Hugh d' Abrincis,
Earl of Chester, who in the year 1070 is said to have borne azure a
wolf's head erased argent, and who had the surname of Lupus.
The wife of Hugh Lupus was sister to Ranulph de Meschin.
The family of Meschines has been said to be descended from that
at Rome called by the name Mæcenas, from which the former one is
corrupted. "Certainly," says a recent writer, "it has proved itself
the Mæcenas of the Priory of St. Bees, not merely in the foundation
of that religious house, but also in the charters for a long course
of years, which have been granted by persons of different names,
indeed, but descended from, or connected with, the same beneficent
stock." This is shown in the following extract from a MS. in the
Harleian Collection:--
"Be y^t notid that Wyllyam Myschen son of Ranolf Lord of Egermond
founded the monastery of Saint Beysse of blake monks, and heyres to
the said Meschyn y^s the Lords Fitzwal, the Lord Haryngton, and the
Lord Lucy, and so restyth founders of the said monastery therle of
Sussex the Lord Marques Dorset, therle of Northumberland as heyres
to the Lords aforesaid."
The religious house thus restored, consisting of a prior and six
Benedictine monks, was made a cell to the mitred Abbey of Saint
Mary, at York. And under this cell, Bishop Tanner says, there was a
small nunnery situated at Rottington, about a mile from St. Bees.
At the dissolution, the annual revenues of this priory, according
to Dugdale, were £143 17_s._ 2_d._; or, by Speed's valuation, £149
19_s._ 6_d._; from which it appears there were only two religious
houses in the county more amply endowed, viz. the priory of
Holme-Cultram, and the Priory of St. Mary, Carlisle; which latter
was constituted a cathedral church at the Reformation.
The conventual church of St. Bees is in the usual form of a cross,
and consists of a nave with aisles, a choir, and transepts, with a
massive tower, at the intersection, which until lately terminated
in an embattled parapet. This part of the building is now
disfigured by an addition to enable it to carry some more bells.
The rest of the edifice is in the early English style, and has been
thoroughly restored with great taste and feeling. On the south
side of the nave there was formerly a recumbent wooden figure, in
mail armour, supposed to have been the effigy of Anthony, the last
Lord Lucy of Egremont, who died A. D. 1368. The Lady Chapel, which
had been a roofless ruin for two centuries, was fitted up as a
lecture-room for the College established by Bishop Law in 1817.
The priors of this religious house ranked as barons of the Isle of
Man; as the Abbot of the superior house, St. Mary's, at York, was
entitled to a seat amongst the parliamentary barons of England.
As such he was obliged to give his attendance upon the kings and
lords of Man, whensoever they required it, or at least, upon every
new succession in the government. The neglect of this important
privilege would probably involve the loss of the tithes and lands
in that island, which the devotion of the kings had conferred upon
the priory of St. Bees.
In the library of the Dean and Chapter of Carlisle is the following
curious account of the discovery of a giant at St. Bees:--
"A true report of Hugh Hodson, of Thorneway, in Cumberland, to S^r
Rob Cewell (qy. Sewell) of a Gyant found at S. Bees, in Cumb'land,
1601, before X^t mas.
"The said Gyant was buried 4 yards deep in the ground, w^{ch} is
now a corn feild.
"He was 4 yards and an half long, and was in complete armour: his
sword and battle-axe lying by him.
"His sword was two spans broad and more than 2 yards long.
"The head of his battle axe a yard long, and the shaft of it all of
iron, as thick as a man's thigh, and more than 2 yards long.
"His teeth were 6 inches long, and 2 inches broad; his forehead was
more than 2 spans and a half broad.
"His chine bone could containe 3 pecks of oatmeale.
"His armour, sword, and battle-axe, are at Mr. Sand's of Redington,
(Rottington) and at Mr. Wyber's, at St. Bees."--
Machel MSS. Vol. vi.
THE SHIELD OF FLANDRENSIS.
The Knight sat lone in Old Rydal Hall,
Of the line of Flandrensis burly and tall.
His book lay open upon the board:
His elbow rested on his good sword:
His knightly sires and many a dame
Look'd on him from panel and dusky frame.
High over the hearth was their ancient shield,
An argent fret on a blood-red field--
"Peace, Plenty, Wisdom."--"Peace?" he said:
"Peace there is none for living or dead."
The Autumnal day had died away:
The reapers deep in their slumbers lay:
The harvest moon through the blazoned panes
From Scandale Brow poured in the stains:
His household train, and his folk at rest,
And most the child that he loved best:
His startled ear caught up the swell
Of distant sounds he knew too well.
By his golden lamp to the shield he said,
"Peace? Peace there is none for living or dead."
The Knight he came of high degree,
None better or braver in arms than he:
Worthy of old Flandrensis' fame,
Whose soul not battle nor broil could tame.
That neighing and trampling of horses late,
That hubbub of voices round his gate,
That sound of hurry along the floors,
That dirge-like wail through distant doors,
Tempestuous in the calm, he heard:
And he looked on the shield, nor spoke, nor stirr'd.
From inmost chambers far remote
Responsive flow'd one dirge-like note:
Loud through the arches deep and wide
One little voice did sweetly glide;
Its sad accords along the gloom
Swelled on towards that lordly room--
"We wait not long, our watch we keep,
We all are singing, and none may sleep:
When stone on stone nor roof remain,
The unresting shall have rest again."
The Knight turned listening to the door.
His little maid came up the floor.
Her nightly robe of purest white
Gleamed purer in the faded light.
The blazoned moonbeams slowly swept
The spaces round, as on she stept.
And lo! in his armour from head to toe,
With his beard of a hundred winters' snow,
Stood old Flandrensis burly and tall,
With his breast to the shield, and his back to the wall.
The six score winters in his eyes
Unfroze, as on through the blazoned dyes,
Sable, and azure, and gules, she came.
Through his heaving beard low fluttered her name.
But slowly and solemnly, leading or led
By phantoms chanting for living or dead,
Pass'd on the little voice so sweet--
"We all are singing: we all must meet"--
And into the gloom like a fading ray:
And the form of Flandrensis vanished away.
The Knight, alone, in his ancient hold,
Sat still as a stone: his blood ran cold.
For his little maiden was his delight.
Then forth he strode in the face of the night.
His dogs were in kennel, his steeds in stall:
His deer were lying about his hall:
His swans beneath the Lord's Oak Tree:
The silvery Rotha was flowing free.
He set his brow towards Scandale hill:
The vale was breathing, but all was still.
He thought of the spirits the snow-winds rouse,
The Piping Spirits of Sweden Hows,
That wail to the Rydal Chiefs their fate--
That pipe as they whirl around lattice and gate,
With their grey gaunt misty forms: but now,
There was not a stir in the lightest bough:
The winds in the mountain gorge were laid;
No sound through all the moonlight stray'd.
He turned again to his ancient Keep:
There all was silence, and calm, and sleep.
But all grew changed in the gloomy pile.
His little maiden lost her smile.
The menials fled: that knightly race
Was left alone in its ancient place:
The pride of its line of warriors quailed--
Those sworded knights once peerless hailed:
To the earth broke down from its hold their shield.
With its argent fret and its blood-red field:
And they fled from the might of the powers that strode
In the darkness through their old abode.
And Sir Michael brooded an autumn day,
As he looked on the slope at his child at play,
On the green by the sounding water's fall:
And often those words did he recall--
"We wait not long, our watch we keep;
We all are singing, and none may sleep.
When stone on stone nor roof remain,
The unresting shall have rest again."
And the Knight ordained, as he brooded alone--
"There shall not be left of it roof or stone."
And Sir Michael said--"I will build my hall
On the green by the sounding waterfall:
And an arbour cool at its foot, beside.
And I'll bury my shield in the crystal tide,
To cleanse it from blood perchance, that so
Peace, Plenty, and Wisdom again may flow
Round old Flandrensis' honours and name."
And the pile arose: and the sun's bright flame
Was pleasant around it: and morn and even
It lay in the light and the hues of heaven.
And Sir Michael sat in the arbour cool,
Where the waters leapt in the crystal pool;
Saying--"Gone is yon keep to a grim decay.
And now, my little one, loved alway!
Whence came thy singing so wild and deep?"--
--"We all were singing, and none might sleep,
Till all the Unmerciful heard their strain.
But now the unresting have rest again."--
So the keep went down to the dust and mould.
And the new pile bore the blazon of old--
The pride of the old ancestral shield--
The argent fret on the blood-red field;
"Peace, Plenty, Wisdom"
Beneath enscrolled.
NOTES TO "THE SHIELD OF FLANDRENSIS."
The ancient Manor house at Rydal stood in the Low Park, on the top
of a round hill, on the south side of the road leading from Keswick
to Kendal. But on the building of the new mansion on the north side
of the highway, in what is called the High Park, the manor house
became ruinous, and got the name of the Old Hall, which, says Dr.
Burn, in his time, "it still beareth." Even then there was nothing
to be seen but ruinous buildings, walks, and fish ponds, and other
marks of its ancient consequence; the place where the orchard stood
was then a large enclosure without a fruit tree in it, and called
the Old Orchard. At the present day few indications of its site
remain. Tradition asserts that it was deserted from superstitious
fears.
The present mansion was erected by Sir Michael le Fleming in the
last century. It stands on the north side of the road, on a slope
facing the south, is a large old fashioned building, and commands a
fine view of Windermere. Behind it rises Rydal Head, and Nab-Scar
a craggy mountain 1030 feet above the level of the sea. The Park
is interspersed with abundance of old oaks, and several rocky
protuberances in the lawn are covered with fine elms and other
forest trees. The Lord's Oak, a magnificent specimen, is built
into the wall on the lower side of the Rydal Road over which it
majestically towers. "The sylvan, or rather forest scenery of Rydal
Park," says Professor Wilson, "was, in the memory of living men,
magnificent, and it still contains a treasure of old trees."
The two waterfalls, the cascades of the rivulet which runs through
the lawn, are situated in the grounds. The way leads through the
park meadow and outer gardens by a path of singular beauty and
richness. They are in the opinion of Gilpin and other tourists
unparalleled in their kind. The upper fall is the finest, in the
eyes of those who prefer the natural accessories of a cascade: but
the lower one, which is below the Hall, is beheld from the window
of an old summer house. This affords a fine picture frame; the
basin of rock and the bridge above, with the shadowy pool, and the
overhanging verdure, constituting a perfect picture.
The heraldic distinction, the fret, is found more than once in
Furness Abbey, and is undoubtedly the ancient arms of le Fleming.
An entire seal appended to a deed from Sir Richard le Fleming
of Furness dated 44 Edward the Third (1371) shews a fret hung
cornerwise, the crest, on a helmet a fern, or something like it.
The seal annexed to another deed dated 6 Henry V. (1419) is the
same as above described; the motto, _S. Thome Flemin_, in Saxon
characters.
The present crest and motto are of modern date, and explain each
other: the serpent is the emblem of wisdom, as the olive and
the vine are of peace and plenty. But upon what occasion this
distinction was taken does not appear.
THE ROOKS OF FURNESS.
"Caw! Caw!" the rooks of Furness cry.
"Caw! Caw!" the Furness rooks reply.
In and about the saintly pile,
Over refectory, porch, and aisle,
Perching on archway, window, and tower,
Hopping and cawing hour by hour.
Saint Mary of Furness knows them well!
They are souls of her Monks laid under a spell.
They were once White Monks; ere the altars fell,
And the vigils ceased, and the Abbey bell
Was hush'd in the Deadly Nightshade Dell.
"Caw! Caw!" for ever, from morn
Till night they trouble the ruins forlorn:
Roger the Abbot, parading in black,
Briand the Prior, and scores at his back
Of those old fathers cawing amain,
All robed in rooks' black feathers, in vain
Waiting again for the Abbey to rise,
For matins to waken the morning skies,
And themselves to chant the litanies.
"Caw! Caw!" No wonder they caw!
To see--where their vigorous rule was law--
Fair Love with his troops of youths and maids,
With holiday hearts, through greenwood shades
Come forth, and in every Muse's name,
With songs, a joyful time proclaim;
And to hear the car-borne Demon's yell,
The Steam-Ghoul screeching the fatal knell
Of peace in the Deadly Nightshade Dell.
"Caw! Caw!" still over the walls
You wheel and flutter, with ceaseless calls;
Thinking, no doubt, of your cells and holes,
You poor old Monks' translated souls!
Sad change for you to be cawing here,
And black, for many a hundred year!
But haunt as you may your ancient pile,
You will never more chant in the holy aisle;
You never will kneel as you knelt of yore;
Nor the censer swing, nor the anthem pour;
And your souls shall never shake off the spell
That binds you to all you loved so well,
Ere the altars fell, and the Abbey bell
Was hush'd in the Deadly Nightshade Dell.
"Caw! Caw!" In the ages gone,
When the mountains with oak were overgrown,
Up the glen the Norskmen came,
Lines of warriors, chiefs of fame--
With Bekan the Sorcerer, earthward borne,
By toil, and battle, and tempest worn--
Crowding along the dell forlorn.
Over the rill, high on the steep,
There in his barrow wide and deep,
With axe and hoe those armed men
Buried him down, by the narrow glen,
With the flower, at his feet, of wondrous spell:
Buried him down, and covered him well,
And left him hid by the lonely Dell.
"Caw! Caw!" O would the wise Monks had known
Who slept his sleep in that barrow alone,
When they gathered the bekan he made to grow,
And bore it to bloom in the dell below.
For they pulled at the heart of the mighty Dead;
And they broke his peace in his narrow bed;
And on fibre and root the Sorcerer's power
Fasten'd the spell that changed the flower;
From sweet to bitter its juices pass'd;
And the deadly fruit on the poisoned blast
Scattered its sorcery ages down.
And where once with cowl and gown,
Hymning the Imperial Queen of Light,
Went forth the Monks--the shade of night
Was spread more deadly than tongue can tell.
Witchery walked where all had been well:
Well with all that hymned and prayed;
Well with Monk, and well with maid
That sought the Abbey for solace and aid.
But the lethal juices wrought their spell:
One by one was rung their knell:
One by one from choir and cell
They floated up with a hoarse farewell;
And the altars fell, and the Abbey bell
Was hush'd in the Deadly Nightshade Dell.
NOTES TO "THE ROOKS OF FURNESS."
In the southern extremity of Furness, about half a mile to the west
of Dalton, a deep narrow vale stretches itself from the north, and
opens to the south with an agreeable aspect to the noonday sun; it
is well watered with a rivulet of fine water collected from the
adjacent springs, and has many convenient places for mills and
fish-ponds. This romantic spot is the Vale of Deadly Nightshade,
or, as it is sometimes called, Bekangs-Gill.
The solitary and private situation of this dell being so well
formed and commodious for religious retreat had attracted the
attention of Evanus, or Ewanus, a monk, originally belonging to
the monastery of Savigny in Normandy, from which he and a few
associates had migrated, and had recently seated themselves at
Tulket, near Preston in Amounderness, where Evanus was chosen to
be their first abbot. Accordingly, they were induced to change
their residence; and exactly three years and three days after their
settling at Tulket on the fourth of the nones of July, 1124, they
removed to the sequestered shades of Bekangs-Gill, and there began
the foundation of the magnificent Abbey of St. Mary in Furness,
in magnitude only second of those in England belonging to the
Cistercian Monks, and the next in opulence after Fountains Abbey in
Yorkshire, being endowed with princely wealth and almost princely
authority, and not unworthy of the style in which its charter
records the gifts and grants, with all their privileges, of its
Royal founder, "to God and St. Mary," in the following words:--
"In the name of the Blessed Trinity, and in honour of St. Mary
of Furness, I Stephen, earl of Bulloign and Mortaign, consulting
God, and providing for the safety of my own soul, the soul of my
wife the countess Matilda, the soul of my lord and uncle Henry
king of England and duke of Normandy, and for the souls of all the
faithful, living as well as dead, in the year of our Lord 1127 of
the Roman indiction, and the 5th and 18th of the epact:
"Considering every day the uncertainty of life, that the roses and
flowers of kings, emperors, and dukes, and the crowns and palms
of all the great, wither and decay; and that all things, with an
uninterrupted course, tend to dissolution and death:
"I therefore return, give and grant, to God and St. Mary of
Furness, all Furness and Walney, with the privilege of hunting;
with Dalton, and all my lordship in Furness, with the men
and everything thereto belonging, that is, in woods and in
open grounds, in land and in water; and Ulverston, and Roger
Braithwaite, with all that belongs to him; my fisheries at
Lancaster, and Little Guoring, with all the land thereof; with
sac[10], and soc[11], tol[12], and team[13], infangenetheof[14],
and every thing within Furness, except the lands of Michael Le
Fleming; with this view, and upon this condition, That in Furness
an order of regular monks be by divine permission established:
which gift and offering I by supreme authority appoint to be for
ever observed: and that it may remain firm and inviolate for ever,
I subscribe this charter with my hand; and confirm it with the sign
of the Holy Cross.
"Signed by
Henry, King of England and Duke of Normandy.
Thurstan, Archbishop of York.
Audin, } Bishops.
Boces, }
Robert, Keeper of the Seal.
Robert, Earl of Gloster."
The magnitude of the Abbey may be known from the dimensions
of the ruins; and enough is standing to show the style of the
architecture, which breathes the same simplicity of taste which
is found in most houses belonging to the Cistercian monks, which
were erected about the same time with Furness Abbey. The round and
pointed arches occur in the doors and windows. The fine clustered
Gothic and the heavy plain Saxon pillars stand contrasted. The
walls shew excellent masonry, are in many places counter-arched,
and the ruins discover a strong cement. But all is plain: had the
monks even intended, the stone would not admit of such work as has
been executed at Fountains and Rieval Abbeys. The stone of which
the buildings have been composed is of a pale red colour, dug from
the neighbouring rocks, now changed by time and weather to a tint
of dusky brown, which accords well with the hues of plants and
shrubs that everywhere emboss the mouldering arches.
The church and cloisters were encompassed with a wall, which
commenced at the east side of the great northern door, and formed
the strait enclosure; and a space of ground, to the amount of
sixty-five acres, was surrounded with a strong stone wall, which
enclosed the porter's lodge, the mills, granaries, ovens, kilns,
and fish-ponds belonging to the Abbey, the ruins of which are
still visible. This last was the great enclosure, now called the
deer-park, within which, placed on the crown of an eminence that
rises immediately from the Abbey, and seen over all low Furness,
are the remains of a beacon or watch-tower, raised by the society
for their further security, and commanding a magnificent prospect.
The door leading to it is still remaining in the enclosure wall, on
the eastern side.
During the residence of the monks at Tulket, and until the election
of their fifth Abbot (Richard de Bajocis) they were of the order
of Savigny under the rule of St. Benedict; and from their habit
or dress were called Grey Monks; but at the time of the general
matriculation of the Savignian monasteries with that of Citeaux,
the monks of Furness also accepted of the reform, exchanged their
patron St. Benedict for St. Bernard, changed their dress from grey
to white, and so became White Monks, Bernardins, or Cistercians,
the rule of which order they religiously observed until the
dissolution of the monasteries.
The Cistercian order in its origin was devoted to the practice
of penance, silence, assiduous contemplation, and the angelical
functions (as Mr. West expresses it) of singing the divine praises;
wherefore it did not admit of the ordinary dissipation which
attends scholastic enquiries. St. Bernard who was himself a man of
learning, well knowing how far reading was necessary to improve
the mind even of a recluse, took great care to furnish his monks
with good libraries. Such of them as were best qualified were
employed in taking copies of books in every branch of literature,
many of which, beautifully written on vellum, and elegantly
illuminated, are at this time to be seen in their libraries. They
used neither furs nor linen, and never eat any flesh, except in
time of dangerous sickness; they abstained even from eggs, butter,
milk, and cheese, unless upon extraordinary occasions, and when
given to them in alms. They had belonging to them certain religious
lay brethren, whose office was to cultivate their lands, and attend
to their secular affairs: these lived at their granges and farms,
and were treated in like manner with the monks, but were never
indulged with the use of wine. The monks who attended the choir
slept in their habits upon straw; they rose at midnight, and spent
the rest of the night in singing the divine office. After prime
and the first mass, having accused themselves of their faults in
public chapter, the rest of the day was spent in a variety of
spiritual exercises with uninterrupted silence. From the Feast of
the Exaltation of the Holy Cross (the 14th of September) until
Easter they observed a strict fast: and flesh was banished from
their infirmaries from Septuagesima until Easter. This latter
class of monks was confined to the boundary wall, except that on
some particular days the members of it were allowed to walk in
parties beyond it, for exercise and amusement; but they were very
seldom permitted either to receive or pay visits. Much of these
rigorous observances was mitigated by a bull of Pope Sixtus IV.,
in the year 1485, when among other indulgencies the whole order
was allowed to eat flesh three times in every week; for which
purpose a particular dining-room, separate and distinct from the
usual refectory, was fitted up in every monastery. They were
distinguished for extensive charities and liberal hospitality; for
travellers were so sumptuously entertained at the Abbey, that it
was not till the dissolution that an inn was thought necessary in
this part of Furness, when one was opened for their accommodation,
expressly because the Monastery could no longer receive them. With
the rules of St. Bernard the monks had adopted the white cassock,
with a white caul and scapulary. Their choral dress was either
white or grey, with caul and scapulary of the same, and a girdle
of black wool; over that a hood and a rocket, the front part of
which descended to the girdle, where it ended in a round, and the
back part reached down to the middle of the leg behind: when they
appeared abroad, they wore a caul and full black hood.
The privileges and immunities granted to the Cistercian order in
general were very numerous: and those to the Abbey of Furness were
proportioned to its vast endowments. The Abbot held his secular
court in the neighbouring castle of Dalton, where he presided,
with the power of administering not only justice, but injustice,
since the lives and property of the villain tenants of the lordship
of Furness were consigned by a grant of King Stephen to the
disposal of the lordly Abbot! The monks also could be arraigned,
for whatever crime, only by him. The military establishment of
Furness likewise depended upon the Abbot. Every mesne lord and free
homager, as well as the customary tenants, took an oath of fealty
to the Abbot, to be true to him against all men, except the king.
Every mesne lord obeyed the summons of the Abbot, or his steward,
in raising his quota of armed men; and every tenant of a whole
tenement furnished a man and a horse of war for guarding the coast,
for the border service, or any expedition against the common enemy
of the king and kingdom. The habiliments of war were a steel coat,
or coat of mail, a falce, or falchion, a jack, the bow, the byll,
the crossbow, and spear.
What wonder, says a lively writer, that Abbot Pele, or any other
man, owning such vast possessions and having such temporal and
spiritual privileges as the following, should have grown proud and
gross, and contumacious! Within the limits of his own district
he was little short of omnipotent. The same oath of fealty was
taken to him as to the king himself; he had no less than twelve
hundred and fifty-eight able men armed with coats of mail, spears,
and bows and arrows, upon the possessions of the Monastery, ready
for active service, four hundred of whom were cavalry; besides
manorial rights, he had extended feudal privileges, appointment of
sheriff, coroner, and constable, wreck of the sea, freedom from
suit of county; a free market and fair at Dalton, with a court of
criminal jurisdiction; lands and tenements exempt from all toll
and tax whatever; the emoluments incidental to wardship, such as
the fining of young ladies who married against his will, &c. He
had the patronage of all the churches save one; no bailiff could
come into his territories under any pretence whatever; and no man
was to presume in any way to molest or disturb him on pain of
forfeiting ten pounds to the king. In addition to its rich home
territory in the North Lonsdale, the Abbey possessed the manor
of Beaumont in the south; land and houses at Bolton, and in many
other places near Lancaster; five villages in Yorkshire, with much
land and pasturage; and a mansion for the abbot, in York itself;
all beautiful Borrowdale in Cumberland was their property; houses
at Boston in Lincolnshire; land in the Isle of Man; and houses
in Drogheda and two other towns in Ireland. The home lordship
comprehended the rich district of Low Furness and all the district
included between the river Duddon on the one side, and the Elter
(beginning at the Shire Stones on the top of Wrynose), Lake
Windermere and the Leven on the other; with the isles of Walney and
Foulney, and the Pile of Fouldrey. They had an excellent harbour
of refuge fitted to accommodate the largest vessels of that era at
any time of tide, and they had four good iron mines in their near
neighbourhood, the ore of which, however, they do not seem to have
exported. The total income of the society appears, at the time of
its dissolution in 1537, to have been more than nine hundred pounds
a-year; which would be represented by about ten times that value in
our time, or _nine thousand a-year_.
But in the reign of Edward the First, its revenues seem to have
been nearly as large again. According to the late Mr. Beck, the
author of _Annales Furnesienses_, to which we are indebted for much
of these particulars, the tenants of the Abbey paid great part of
their rents by provisioning the monks with grain, lambs, calves,
&c., or bartered them for beer, bread, iron, wood, and manure. More
than two hundred gallons of beer were distributed weekly among
these tenants upon tunning days, accompanied with about three score
of loaves of bread; the expenditure in this particular alone, per
annum, must have been at least one thousand pounds of our present
money: one ton of malleable iron was also given to the same people
for the repair of their ploughs, and wood for that of their houses
and fences. They might take, too, all the manure--amounting yearly
to four or five hundred cartloads--with the exception of that from
the Abbot's and high stables. The tenants paid by way of fine, or
admission to their tenements, but one penny, called "God's Penny,"
and were sworn to be true to the king and to the convent. What alms
were distributed amongst the poor by this wealthy and pious society
we have no means of discovering. It was bound, upon the anniversary
of Saints Crispin and Crispinian, to distribute two oxen, two cows,
and one bull among the poor folks who assembled for that purpose
at the Porter's Lodge. At the same place, ninety-nine shillings'
worth of bread, and six maze of _fresh_ herrings, valued at forty
shillings, were also given in alms every Monday and Tuesday; the
convent maintained from its very commencement thirteen poor men,
allowing each of them thirty-three shillings and fourpence yearly:
and eight widows received a similar allowance of provisions to that
allowed for the same number of monks. They had five flagons of ale
weekly, and each of them a _clibanus_,[15] which it is supposed
must have been a certain quantity of bread. Lastly, there were two
schools held in some part of the monastery, where the children
of those tenants who paid their rent in provisions, and who it
is probable lived in the neighbourhood, received their education
gratuitously, and dined in the hall during their attendance as
well. If one of these showed symptoms of superior intelligence, he
had the privilege of being elected into the society in preference
to all others, by which step he might rise by good fortune or
_finesse_ even to be Lord of Furness.
The society numbered three and thirty monks at the time of its
dissolution, and about one hundred converts and servants, and
no convert was admitted who could not pay for the labour of an
hireling. To have been head of such a colony at home, and to have
wielded such a power abroad, must have made even the most pious of
abbots "draw too proud a breath;" and yet with all the faults and
all the vices of that cowled priesthood, we cannot now forbear to
pity their sad fate, when bidden by the remorseless king to leave
their grand old residences and quiet ways of life wherein they had
lived so long!
It must be added, that to so much power and so great prosperity,
with all the beneficence and usefulness of the society there
had come to be allied an amount of profligacy and irreligion
proportionate to the many advantages which it had enjoyed.
The early part of the sixteenth century found the morality of the
monastery represented in many instances by social arrangements
in direct violation of the injunctions laid upon all monastic
institutions, "in the king's behalf;" amongst others, of that
one which especially enjoins that "women of what state or degree
soever they be, be utterly excluded from entering into the limit
or circuit of this monastery or place, unless they first obtain
license of the King's Highness, or his visitor." It was stated,
and apparently well authenticated, that Rogerus Pele (abbot) had
two wives, or what amounted to the same thing, two concubines;
and amongst his subordinate monks, Johannes Groyn had one, whilst
Thomas Hornsby had five. Thus, evil days in one sense had already
come; and others were fast drawing nigh. The mandate, moreover, had
been prepared for their destruction independently of these and such
like shortcomings; but they afforded a powerful handle by which to
wrest them to destruction.
First came the commissioners appointed by the King for visiting
the monasteries in the North of England, with their searching
examination into everything connected with each separate society:
next, the list of crimes charged on the monks at the time of the
visitation: then the devices of the Earl of Sussex "advertised" in
his letter to the King, wherein "I, the said erle, devising with
myselfe, yf one way would not serve, how, and by what other means,
the said monks might be ryd from the said abbey;" the summons to
Whalley of the unhappy Abbot to make his proposal, in his own
handwriting, according to the "ded enrolled, which A. Fitzherbert
hath drawn" for the surrender of his monastery to the King: and
then the final consummation of all. For come it must. On the 7th
day of April, 1537, in spite of prayers to the "kynge," in spite
of many a "shillinge in golde" given to the "right honerable and
our singler goode Mr. Mayster Thomas Cromwell, secretarie to the
Kynge's highness," the royal commissioners came down upon their
prey. After hanging the Abbot of Whalley, and the royal injunction
that "all monks and chanons, that be in any wise faultie, are _to
be tyed uppe without further delay or ceremonie_," the Abbot of
Furnesse is found "to be of a very facile and ready minde," and
all hope of averting his doom being over, and his sense of peril
hastening his submission, "it coming freely of himself and without
enforcement," he signed the fatal deed of surrender, confessing
with contrition "the mysorder and evil lyfe both to God and our
prynce of the brethren of this monasterie;" the pen passed from the
hand of the Superior to each monk in succession, and the "lamp on
the altar of St. Mary of Furness was extinguished for ever."
With forty shillings given to them by the King, and clad in
"secular wedes" (that is, lay garments), without which they were
not permitted to depart, they turned their faces from their
magnificent home in the Nightshade Dell. To the degraded Abbot was
given the Rectory of Dalton, valued at £33 6s. 9d. yearly, obtained
with difficulty, and even of which he was not allowed undisturbed
possession. But no traces of his associates at the Abbey appear to
have survived their departure from it, unless we dimly discern them
in the miserable record which relates that sixteen years after the
period of their dissolution, fifteen pounds[16] were still paid in
annuities out of the revenues of the late monastery; that noble
possession which the hapless Thirty surrendered to the King.
Of the three and thirty monks of which the society at Furness was
composed, the names of the Abbot, the Prior, and twenty-eight of
the brethren, were appended to the deed: two had been committed to
ward and sure custody in the King's castle of Lancaster, for being
"found faultye:"[17] and one of the number remains unaccounted for.
FOOTNOTES:
[10] _Saccum._--The power of imposing fines upon tenants and vassals
within the lordship.
[11] _Soccum._--The power and authority of administering justice.
[12] _Tollum._--A duty paid for buying and selling, &c.
[13] _Theam, Team._--A royalty granted for trying bondmen and villains,
with a sovereign power over their villain tenants, their wives,
children, and goods, to dispose of them at pleasure.
[14] _Infangenetheof._--The power of judging of thefts committed within
the liberty of Furness.
[15] _Clibanus_, a portable oven: the term probably represents the
quantity of bread contained in it at one baking.
[16] This sum is stated by West to be £151, which Mr. Beck says is
a mistake. The deed of surrender of Bolton Priory was signed by the
Prior and fourteen canons. Of the subscribers to this instrument, two,
in 1553, which would be about sixteen years after their dissolution,
continued to receive annuities of £6 13s. 4d.; one, £6; seven, £5
6s. 8d. each: and one, £4. The other canons were dead, or otherwise
provided for.
[17] For treason. One of them, Henry Talley, had said that no secular
knave should be head of the Church; and the other had declared that the
king was not the true king, and no rightful heir to the crown.
KING DUNMAIL.
They buried on the mountain's side
King Dunmail, where he fought and died.
But mount, and mere, and moor again
Shall see King Dunmail come to reign.
Mantled and mailed repose his bones
Twelve cubits deep beneath the stones;
But many a fathom deeper down
In Grisedale Mere lies Dunmail's crown.
Climb thou the rugged pass, and see
High midst those mighty mountains three,
How in their joint embrace they hold
The Mere that hides his crown of gold.
There in that lone and lofty dell
Keeps silent watch the sentinel.
A thousand years his lonely rounds
Have traced unseen that water's bounds.
His challenge shocks the startled waste,
Still answered from the hills with haste,
As passing pilgrims come and go
From heights above or vales below.
When waning moons have filled their year,
A stone from out that lonely Mere
Down to the rocky Raise is borne,
By martial shades with spear and horn.
As crashes on the pile the stone,
The echoes to the King make known
How still their faithful watch they hold
In Grisedale o'er his crown of gold.
And when the Raise has reached its sum,
Again will brave King Dunmail come;
And all his Warriors marching down
The dell, bear back his golden crown.
And Dunmail, mantled, crowned, and mailed,
Again shall Cumbria's King be hailed;
And o'er his hills and valleys reign
When Eildon's heights are field and plain.
NOTES TO "KING DUNMAIL."
The heroic king Dunmail was the last of a succession of native
princes, who up to the tenth century ruled over those mountainous
provinces in the north-western region of England which were chiefly
peopled by the earliest masters of Britain, the Celtic tribes of
Cymri, or Picts. The territories of Dunmail, as king of Cumbria,
included the entire tract of country from the western limits of
the Lothians in Scotland to the borders of Lancashire, and from
Northumberland to the Irish Sea.
The several British kingdoms which were originally comprised within
this area maintained a long and resolute resistance against the
power of the first Saxon monarchs; and although in the course
of time most of them were brought under the supremacy of those
strangers, as tributary provinces, they still continued a sort of
independent existence, electing their own kings and obeying their
own laws.
On the establishment of the Heptarchy, several of these provinces
were included within the Saxon kingdom of Northumbria; but although
they were claimed by the Northumbrian monarchs, there was even then
little admixture of their people with the fair-haired followers of
Hengist and Horsa, and each continued to be governed by its own
chieftain or king until the Norman conquest, and existed under what
was called the Danish law. So long as the native chieftains were
allowed to exercise a subordinate authority, the Northumbrian kings
had no occasion to interfere with the internal government of the
subject provinces. If the tribute was duly rendered, they remained
unmolested; if it was withheld, payment was enforced by arms; or,
in extreme cases, the refractory state (to use a modern phrase) was
"annexed," and the domestic government extinguished.
Of the petty rulers of these British kingdoms no notices have been
transmitted to us. These are confined to the kings of Strathclyde,
or, as they are designated by our earliest informers, of Alclyde;
the latter being the name of their capital, which stood on a rocky
eminence, adjacent to the modern town of Dumbarton; whilst the
former significantly describes the position of their territory
in the great strath or valley of the Clyde. This little district
(of Strathclyde), which must not be confounded with the larger
territory of Cumbria, that as yet had no existence under any
general government or common name, comprised the modern counties of
Lanark, Ayr, and Renfrew, on the south of the Clyde, and, probably,
Dumbartonshire on the north. In the series of Strathclydian kings,
tradition has placed the name of the celebrated King Arthur;
and the local nomenclature is said to afford many traces of his
fame, especially in the case of their citadel of Alclyde, or
Dumbarton, which is styled "Castrum Arthuri," in a record of the
reign of David the Second. Ryderic, the successor of Arthur, died
in 601, in the eighth year of the reign of Ethelfrith, king of
Northumberland; and from that time onward, during the remainder
of this and the succeeding reigns of Edwin and Oswald, we hear
nothing of the independent existence of this people, nor do we
even know the names of their chieftains; it is probable that they
had been reduced to subjection. But in the very year of Oswald's
disastrous death, A. D. 642, we find the Britons carrying on
important military operations on their own account, in which Owen
their king distinguished himself, by slaying on the battle-field
of Strath-carmaic, Donal Break, king of the Scots. During the
long reign of Oswi in Northumberland, we read of one king of
Strathclyde, Guinet, but the record is only of his death, A.
D. 657, not of any exploit which he performed. On the death of
Ecgfrith, A. D. 670, the Britons of Strathclyde appear to have
recovered their liberty; and thenceforward we have a tolerably
complete list of their kings during the two succeeding centuries.
Ethelfrith, who had effected the conquest of the central and
western portion of Northumbria, and may be regarded as the founder
of the Northumbrian kingdom, "conquered," as we read in Beda, "more
territories from the Britons than any other king or tribune;" but
although he was thus able to overrun a vast district of country,
his followers were not sufficiently numerous to colonise it. In
some places, indeed, "he expelled the inhabitants, and placed
Angles in their stead," but "in others," and doubtless to a
much greater extent, "he allowed the vanquished to retain their
lands, on payment of tribute." In the reign of Edwine, too, the
Anglo-Saxon population were under his immediate government; the
petty British States were still ruled by tributary princes. And no
doubt their political condition continued more or less the same
during the century and half which preceded the dissolution of the
Heptarchy, and after the reconstruction of its several parts under
one crown.
On Northumbria being overrun by the renowned Danish Viking
Healfdene, A. D. 875, fifty years after the Heptarchal kingdoms
had been dissolved, it is recorded that the indigenous inhabitants
of the part called Cymriland, the Cumbrians, or Britons, being
too weak to defend themselves from the hateful aggressions of
the Danes, and deprived of the protection of the Saxon kings of
Northumbria, who had themselves succumbed to the common enemy,
turned for aid to the only neighbours who seemed sufficiently
powerful to resist the invaders. They therefore implored the
aid of Grig or Gregory, king of Scotland, by whose assistance
in the following year the Scandinavian ravagers were expelled.
These Indigenoe, or British inhabitants, must have been the
people of Galloway, and of the district around Carlisle; for the
Strathclyde Britons were already under the authority of Gregory,
as the guardian of Eocha, a minor, who, as the son of Hu king
of Strathclyde, and nephew of the second Constantine, king of
Scotland, succeeded to the crowns of both these realms. Whether
the Britons subsequently quarrelled with their powerful ally, and
being defeated in battle, were obliged to cede to the victor their
rocky highlands and adjacent places; or they voluntarily submitted
themselves to Gregory, with their lands and possessions, thinking
it preferable to be subject to the Scots, who, although enemies,
were Christians, than to infidel pagans, there does not appear to
be any evidence to determine.
The vigour of Gregory king of Scotland having been found,
notwithstanding his prowess and the success of his arms, inadequate
to support an authority which had been usurped by him as regent
during the minority of Eocha, after holding the reins of government
in Scotland and Strathclyde during eleven years, was expelled,
together with Eocha, by Donal, son of the late King Constantine
II., A. D. 893.
To Donal, who was slain by the Danes, A. D. 904, succeeded his
cousin Constantine III., the son of Aodh, who had been slain by
Gregory. Another Donal, brother to Constantine III., had been
"elected" king of the Strathclyde Britons four years before the
elevation of that monarch to the throne of Scotland. During the
life of this Donal, the districts of Carlisle and Galloway were
not united to Strathclyde, but remained attached to Scotland; from
which, however, they were separated after his decease, and given to
his son and successor, Eugenius.
To the new kingdom, thus founded by Constantine in favour of his
nephew and presumptive heir, by the union of Carlisle and Galloway
with Strathclyde, was given the name of Cumbria, derived from the
common appellation of its inhabitants. Its extent is precisely
defined in a return made by the prior and convent of Carlisle
to a writ of Edward the First, requiring them, as well as other
religious houses, to furnish, from chronicles or other documents
in their possession, any information bearing upon the alleged
right of supremacy over Scotland vested in the English crown. The
return sets forth, "That district was called Cumbria, which is now
included in the bishoprics of Carlisle, Glasgow, and Whitherne,
together with the country lying between Carlisle and the river
Duddon:" in other words, the entire tract from the Clyde to the
confines of Lancashire. In the "Inquisitio Davidis," which does
indeed extend to all parts of Cumbria which remained in David's
possession, we are expressly told that "he had not then within
his dominion the whole Cumbrian region," the present county of
Cumberland, or, as it was then called, Earldom of Carlisle, having
been severed from it soon after the Norman Conquest. Although
Fordun is the only author who narrates the cession of Carlisle and
Galloway to Gregory, and the subsequent grant of these districts
to Eugenius, whereby they were united to Strathclyde, and the
whole merged into a single government, we have abundant evidence
of the existence of Cumbria and the intimate union of Constantine
and Eugenius at this period. In the year 938, these princes, in
conjunction with the Danes and Welsh, attempted to wrest the
sovereign power out of the vigorous hands of Athelstane. The
combined forces were signally defeated by the Anglo-Saxon monarch
at Brunanburgh (supposed by some to be Bromborough, near Chester);
Eugenius was slain, and Constantine escaped only by a precipitate
retreat.
It is at this period that Dunmail, the second and last _sole_
"king of rocky Cumberland," appears upon the historic stage. It
has been thought not improbable that he was the son of Eugenius or
Owen, the preceding king, and the same person who is described as
Dunwallon, "the son of Owen," and who died at Rome thirty years
after his memorable engagement with Edmund of England and Leoline
of South Wales, in the mountain pass which is distinguished by
his name. "In the annals of Ulster, indeed," say the supporters
of this supposition, "this Dunwallon is described as king of
Wales, but Caradoc calls him prince of Strathclyde, and his
patronymic designation seems to identify him with Dunmail, if, as
we assume, the latter was the son of the first king of Cumberland."
But by whatever means Dunmail obtained the crown; whether by
inheritance as the son of Eugenius, or by "election" as one of
the native Cumbrian princes, and according to the ancient custom
of the Britons; we soon find him supporting the Northumbrians in
hostilities against the Saxon monarch, Edmund the First. That
monarch, although victorious, was so weakened that he dared not
pursue Dunmail without the assistance of the Scots. And the
condition upon which Malcolm, king of Scotland, joined Edmund with
his forces, was, that if they were successful, Malcolm should
possess Cumbria by paying homage to Edmund and his successors. The
subjection of this wild race of mountaineers was then determined
upon as a necessary step towards the pacification of the kingdom;
and the last record which history affords us of the Cumbrian
Britons, is that of their defeat, A. D. 945, in the heart of their
native mountains, between Grasmere and Keswick, and their final
dispersion or emigration into Wales.
The place where Dunmail determined to hazard the battle which
proved fatal to him was the famous Pass which bears his name.
Edmund slew his vanquished enemy upon the spot which is still
commemorated by the rude pile of stones so well known as his
cairn; and, in conformity with the barbarous customs of that age,
put out the eyes of his two sons; after which, having completely
ravaged and laid waste the territories of Dunmail, he bestowed
them on his ally Malcolm; the latter undertaking to preserve in
peace the Northern parts of England, and to pay the required
fealty and homage to Edmund. Upon the same conditions they were
afterwards confirmed to him by one of Edmund's successors, Edgar;
which monarch also divided what at that time remained of the
ancient kingdom of Northumbria into Baronies, and constituted it an
Earldom. Thenceforward these north western regions were held as a
military benefice subject to the English sceptre by the heir to the
crown of Scotland, under the title of the Principality of Cymriland
or Cumbria. This Principality, which included Westmorland,
continued in possession of the heirs to the Scottish crown during
the reigns of Harold and Hardicanute, the last Danish Kings, and of
Edward the Confessor and Harold the Second, the last Saxon monarchs
of England.
The only circumstance which is recorded of it during the century
which followed the defeat of Dunmail, is its total devastation
by Ethelred, king of England, A. D. 1000, at which time it is
represented by Henry of Huntingdon as the principal rendezvous of
the marauding Danes.
In the year 1052, Macbeth held the Scottish throne, whilst Malcolm,
the son of his predecessor, the murdered Duncan, sat on that of
Cumbria. Siward, earl of Northumberland, was commissioned by
Edward the Confessor to invade Scotland, and avenge the "murder"
of Duncan. In this he succeeded, defeated and slew Macbeth, and
placed the king of Cumbria, or, as some historians assert, his son,
on the throne of Scotland. This Malcolm, surnamed Canmore, held at
the time of the Conquest, Cumbria and Lothian, in addition to the
ancient kingdom of Scotland.
In the year 1072, the Earldom of Carlisle, containing the present
County of Cumberland, with the Barony of Westmorland, was wrested
from Malcolm Canmore by William the Conqueror, who granted it
to his powerful noble, Ranulph de Meschin, one of that numerous
train of military adventurers, amongst whom he had distributed
all the fair territory of Britain, to hold, with a sort of royal
power, by the sword, as he himself held the kingdom by virtue of
the crown,--_tenere ita libere ad gladium, sicut ipse rex tenebat
Angliam per coronam_.
Thus the existing limits were established between England and
Scotland. The kingdom of Cumbria was reduced to the dimensions
indicated by the "Inquisitio Davidis," and was held as a
principality dependent on the crown of Scotland; until it at length
became formally attached to the Scottish dominions.
Meanwhile the Barony of Westmorland having been separated from the
Earldom of Carlisle, there remained the district comprised within
the present limits of the County of Cumberland, to which alone that
name was thenceforward applied.
The circular heap of stones which forms the pile called
Dunmail-Raise, and gives its name to the mountain Pass between the
vales of Grasmere and Wytheburn, is seen adjoining the highroad,
where it is crossed by the wall which there marks the boundaries
of Westmorland and Cumberland. The stones constituting this rude
monument are thrown loosely together on each side of an earthen
mound in a huge cairn or _raise_, the history of which is little
known, and concerning which antiquarians are by no means agreed.
It measures twenty-four yards in diameter, and rises gradually to
an elevation of six feet, being flat at the top, and the centre
indicated by a well defined space in rather larger stones.
Mr. Gilpin conjectures that the pile was probably intended to
mark a division not between the two Counties of Cumberland and
Westmorland, but rather between the two kingdoms of England and
Scotland, in elder times, when the Scottish border extended beyond
its present bounds. The generally received tradition, however,
concerning this cairn is, that it was raised to commemorate the
name and defeat of Dunmail, the last king of Cumbria, in the year
945, in his conflict with the Saxon Edmund, on the occasion above
related. "But," says Mr. Gilpin, "for whatever purpose this rude
pile was fabricated, it hath yet suffered little change in its
dimensions; and is one of those monuments of antiquity, which may
be characterized by the scriptural phrase of _remaining to this
very day_."
The legend of the Cumbrian hero and his host, awaiting the
completion of their rocky pile beneath the lonely mountain pass;
from which they are to issue in their appointed time to join "in
that great battle which will be fought before the end of the
world;" is but one of the beliefs which seem to have been left
behind them by our Scandinavian ancestors. It is in fact another
version of the story of Woden and his host, whose winter trance
is enacted by various popular heroes; and which has not only
been localised amongst ourselves, but has almost overspread all
christendom. The original nature of Woden or Odin was represented
as that of a storm god, who swept through the air in roaring winds,
either alone or with a great retinue consisting of souls of the
dead which have become winds. The whirlwind, which precedes the
tempest, and has ravaged the woods and fields, is pursued to its
death in the last storms of autumn. Sometimes the god is pictured
as a hunter, and the winds have taken the shapes of men, dogs,
etc., whilst the whirlwind figures as a boar. The achievement of
its death is soon followed by that of the hunter Woden himself; who
during the winter is dead, or asleep, or enchanted in the cloud
mountain. From this beautiful fiction of a twilight age, the winter
trance of Woden, has grown up the story of those caverned warriors,
which, under whatever name they are known, and wherever they
repose, are all representations of Odin and his host.
Arthur, the vanished king, our own Arthur, whose return is expected
by the Britons, according to mediæval Germany, is said to dwell
with his men at arms in a mountain; all well provided with food,
drink, horses, and clothes.
Charlemagne slumbers with his enchanted army in many places; in the
Desenberg near Warburg, in the Castle of Herstella on the Weser, in
the Karlsburg on the Spessart, the Frausberg and the Donnersberg on
the Pfalz, etc.
The Emperor Henry the Fowler is entranced in the Sudernerberg, near
Goslar.
The Emperor Frederick Barbarossa is in a cavern in the Kyffhaüser
mountain, in the old palatinate of the Saxon imperial house. There
with all his knights around him, he sits to this day, leaning his
head upon his arm, at a table through which his beard has grown,
or round which, according to other accounts, it has grown twice.
When it has thrice encircled the table he will wake up to battle.
The cavern glitters with gold and jewels, and is as bright as
the sunniest day. Thousands of horses stand at mangers filled
with thorn bushes instead of hay, and make a prodigious noise as
they stamp on the ground and rattle their chains. The old Kaiser
sometimes wakes up for a moment and speaks to his visitors. He once
asked a herdsman who had found his way into the Kyffhaüser, "Are
the ravens (Odin's birds) still flying about the mountain?" The man
replied that they were. "Then," said Barbarossa, "I must sleep a
hundred years longer."
The Eildon Hills, which witnessed of old the magical exploits of
Michael Scott, are three in number. These were originally one:
their present formation being the work of a demon, for whom the
wizard, in fulfilment of some infernal contract, was obliged to
find employment, and by whom the mighty task was achieved in a
single night. They are nearly of the same height, changing greatly
their appearance, and, as it were, their attitude, with the point
of view; at one time one of them only being visible, at another
time two, and again all three. They form a peculiar and romantic
feature in the scenery of the Tweed: and are still to the eye of
the imagination what they once were in the common belief,--wizard
hills, the subjects of wild traditions and unearthly adventures.
In them lay for centuries those "caverned warriors," which Thomas
the Rhymer showed at night to the daring horse jockey, who went by
appointment to the Lucken Hare to receive the price of the black
horse which he had sold to the venerable favourite of the Fairy
Queen. His money having been paid to him, in ancient coin; on the
invitation of his customer to view his residence, he followed his
guide in the deepest astonishment through long ranges of stalls,
in each of which a horse stood motionless, while an armed warrior
lay equally still at the charger's feet. "All these men," said the
prophet in a whisper, "will awaken at the battle of Sheriffmuir."
The small mountain lake, called Grisedale Tarn, is situated at
a very considerable elevation above the surrounding vales, in a
depression formed at a point where the shoulders of Helvellyn,
Seat-Sandal, and Fairfield touch each other; and just below the
summit of the "hause" or pass through which winds the mountain
track that leads from Grasmere into Patterdale.
THE BRIDALS OF DACRE.
The Baron of Greystoke is laid in the quire.
Who is she that sits lone in her mourning attire?
Her maids all in silence stand weeping apart:
Or but whisper the woe that is big at her heart.
From her guardian the King the dread summons has come;
And Greystoke's sweet orphan must quit her lone home:
With the proudest of Barons to wait on her word--
His domain for her pleasaunce, her safeguard his sword.
But what is to her all their homage and state,
Since the youthful Lord Dacre may pass not their gate?
Even now he forgets her, she thinks in her gloom;
And the Cliffords to-morrow will bear her to Brough'm.
"With him, O with him," in her sorrow she cried,
"With the gallant Lord Dacre to run by my side
"In the fields, as of old, with his hand on my rein,
"I would give all the wealth the wide world can contain."--
Lord Dacre forget her? No! sooner the might
Of Helvellyn shall bend to the storm on its height;
He has vow'd--"Let them woo! but in spite of the King
"The wide north with her bridal at Dacre shall ring."
As the Cliffords rode hard on that morrow to claim
The fair ward of the King, by Lord Dacre's they came.
And they cast out their words in derision and scorn,
As they pass'd by his tower in the prime of the morn.
"Shall we greet the bright heiress of Greystock for thee?
"Or await thee at Brough'm her rich bridal to see?"
--"In our annals," he cried, "we've a story of old,
"A fit tale for a bridal, that _twice_ shall be told.
"In your Skipton's high hall, in your stateliest room
"Of Pendragon, and high through the arches of Brough'm,
"Have your bridals been sung, but not one to the lay
"That I'll ring through old Brough'm for the bride on that day.
"Your meats may be scant, and unbrimm'd the bright bowl;
"But the notes of that tale through your fortress shall roll!
"Here I pledge me, proud Cliffords! come friend, or come foe,
"With that tale of old times to her bridal I'll go!"--
Loud laugh'd they in scorn as hard onward they rode:
And the horsemen and horses all gallantly show'd.
With bright silver and gold, too, her harness did ring,
As they rode back to Brough'm with the Ward of the King.
And proud was the welcome, and courtly the grace,
And warm was the clasp of that stately embrace,
When the Lady of Brough'm took her home to her breast,
Like a lamb to the fold, a lone dove to its nest.
But in still hours of night, and mid pastimes by day,
To the wild woods of Greystoke her heart fled away,
To the fields where, as once with _his_ hand on her rein,
She would give all the world to ride child-like again.
It was night; when the moon through her circle had worn;
And back into darkness her crescent was borne;
Not in fancy nor dreams came a voice to her side--
"Sweet, awake thee, Lord Dacre is come for his bride."
Through the lattice he bore her, and fast did he fold
In his arms the sweet prize from the wind and the cold;
Sprang the wall to his steed, and o'er moorland and plain
Bore her off to his Tower by the Dacor again.
And the Cliffords that morn in their banquetting hall
Read the legend his dagger had traced on the wall--
"In the annals of Dacre the story is told
Of Matilda the Fair and Lord Ranulph the Bold!
"The bride-meats unbaked, and the bride-cup unbrew'd,
Not by bridesmaid for bride even a rose to be strew'd,
Was the way with our sire in that story of old
Of Matilda the Fair and Lord Ranulph the Bold!
"But they woke up to fury in Warwick that morn.
For a bride from their Fortress by night had been borne.
And your annals in Brough'm of its sluggards shall ring,
That have lost for the Cliffords the Ward of their King."
The beard of that Baron curled fiercely with ire,
And the blood through his veins raged--a torrent of fire,
As he glanced from the panel by turns to his sword;
And then strode from the hall without deigning a word.
They sought her through turret, by bush, and by stone;
But the bower had been broken, the Beauty was gone;
And the joy-bells of Dacre from Greystock to Brough'm
Pealed the news through the vales that the bride was brought home.
NOTES TO "THE BRIDALS OF DACRE."
Dacre Castle, one of the outermost of a chain of border fortresses
stretching down the valleys of the Eamont and the Eden in
Cumberland, is a plain quadrangular building, with battlemented
parapets, and four square turrets, one at each corner; it is now
converted into a farm house. The moat is filled up, although the
site is still to be traced, and the outworks are destroyed. There
are two entrances--one at the west tower, and another between
the towers in the east front. The walls are about seven feet in
thickness. There are two arched dungeons communicating by steps
with the ground floor; and access was obtained to the roof by means
of four circular staircases, one in each tower; some of which are
now closed up. The staircases, however, did not conduct to the top
of the towers; this was gained by means of stone steps from the
roof of the Castle.
Bede mentions a monastery, which being built near the river Dacor,
took its name from it, over which the religious man Suidbert
presided. It was probably destroyed by the Danes, and never
restored; and there are no vestiges of it remaining: the present
church is supposed to have been built from the ruins.
William of Malmesbury speaks of a Congress held at Dacre in the
year 934, when Constantine, king of Scotland, and his nephew
Eugenius, king of Cumberland, met king Athelstan, and did homage to
him at Dacre. This fact is singularly corroborated by there being
in the Castle a room called to this day the "room of the three
kings," while the historical fact itself is entirely forgotten
in the country. This proves the antiquity of the tradition,
which has survived the original building and attached itself to
the present, no part of which dates from an earlier period than
the fourteenth century. That Dacre was in those remote times a
place of some importance is evident from the meeting aforesaid.
The occasion appears to have been the defection of Guthred, with
Anlaff his brother, and Inguld king of York, when Athelstan levied
a great force, and entered Northumberland so unexpectedly, that
the malcontents had scarcely time to secure themselves by flight.
Guthred obtained protection under Constantine, king of Scotland,
to whom Athelstan sent messengers, demanding his surrender, or
upon refusal, he threatened to come in quest of him at the head of
his army. Constantine, although greatly piqued at this message,
yet afraid of the formidable arms of Athelstan, consented to meet
him at Dacre; to which place he came, attended by the then king of
Cumberland, where they did homage to Athelstan.
After the Conquest, if not before, Dacre was a mesne manor held of
the barons of Greystoke by military suit and service. The parish,
manor, rivulet, and castle, were all blended with the name of
the owners. Their arms, the pilgrim's scallop, may possibly have
been taken from their being engaged in Palestine; but as the name
of their place dates as far back as the time of Athelstan, the
Dacres no doubt took their name, like most of the families of the
district, from the place where they were settled, and with all
deference to the cross-legged knight[18] in the church, who may
or may not have battled at the siege of Acre, its present Norman
spelling is more likely to have arisen from the manner in which
it is entered in the Domesday Book than from any exploits of his
before that famous fortress. That they were men of high spirit and
enterprise, and favourites of the ladies, there exists convincing
evidence. Matilda, the great heiress of Gilsland,[19] was by
Randolph Dacre carried off from Warwick Castle, in the night-time,
while she was Edward the Third's Ward, and under the custody and
care of Thomas de Beauchamp, a stout Earl of Warwick; and Thomas
Lord Dacre dashingly followed the example of his ancestor, nearly
two centuries afterwards, by carrying off, also in the night time,
from Brougham Castle, Elizabeth of Greystoke, the heiress of his
superior lord, who was also the King's ward, and in custody of
Henry Lord Clifford, who, says Mr. Howard, probably intended to
marry her. Their vigour and ability displayed as wardens of the
Marches must also add favourably to our estimate of them as men.
Sandford in his MS. gives the following curious account, written
apparently immediately after the repair of the Castle by the Earl
of Sussex:--"And from Matterdale mountains comes Daker Bek; almost
at the foot thereof stands Dacker Castle alone, and no more house
about it, And I protest looks very sorrowfull, for the loss of its
founders, in that huge battle of Touton feild: and that totall
eclips of that great Lord Dacres, in that Grand Rebellion with
lords Northumberland, and Westmorland in Queen Elizabeth's time,
and in the north called _Dacre's Raide_.
"----but it seems an heroyick Chivaleir, steeles the heir of Lord
Moulton of Kirkoswald and Naward and Gilsland, forth of Warwick
Castle, the 5th year of King Edward the 3rd; and in the 9th year of
the same king had his pdon for marying her and Created Lord Dacres
and Moulton. In King Henry the eight's time the yong Lord Dacres
steels the female heir of the Lord Graistoke forth of Broham Castle
besides Peareth: where the Lord Clifford had gott her of the king
for his sons mariage: and thereupon was the statute made of felony
to marry an heir. And thus became the Lord Dacres decorate with all
the hono^{rs} and Lands of the Lord Graistok a very great Baron:
but the now Earle of Sussex Ancesto^{re} had married the female
heir of the Lord Dacres in King Edward the 4th time, before the
Lands of Graistock came to the Lord Dacre's house."
The Barony of Greystoke, which comprehends all that part of
Cumberland, on the south side of the Forest of Inglewood, between
the seignory of Penrith and the manor of Castlerigg near Keswick,
and contains an area comprehending the parishes of Greystoke,
Dacre, and part of Crosthwaite, and nearly twenty manors, was given
by Ranulph de Meschines, Earl of Cumberland, to one Lyulph, whose
posterity assumed the name of the place, and possessed it until
the reign of Henry the Seventh, when their heiress conveyed it in
marriage to Thomas Lord Dacre, of Gilsland, whose family ended in
two daughters, who married the two sons of the Duke of Norfolk.
Philip Howard, Earl of Arundel, the Duke's eldest son, had, with
his wife, Lady Anne Dacre, the lands of Greystoke, which have since
continued in his illustrious family.
The original fortress of Greystock was built in the reign of Edward
III. by Lord William de Greystock, that nobleman having obtained
the king's license to castellate his manor-house of Greystock in
the year 1353. Being garrisoned for Charles I., it was destroyed by
a detachment of the Parliamentary army in June, 1648, except one
tower and part of another. The Castle was almost entirely rebuilt
about the middle of last century by the Hon. Charles Howard, and
additional extensions were subsequently made by his great-grandson,
the eleventh Duke of Norfolk, who bequeathed it to the present Mr.
Howard, by whom the work of renovation was continued and completed
in 1846. In the night of the 3rd and 4th of May, 1868, it was very
seriously damaged by fire.
Elizabeth Greystoke, Baroness Greystoke and Wemme, was a minor
at the time of her father's death. She was the only daughter of
Sir Robert Greystoke, knight, who died June 17th, 1483, in the
lifetime of his father, Ralph, seventeenth Baron Greystoke. By an
inquisition held after the death of that nobleman, it was found
that he died on Friday next after the Feast of Pentecost, in the
second year of King Henry VII., namely, June 1st, 1487. He was
succeeded by Elizabeth, his grand-daughter and heiress, who during
her minority was a ward of the crown, and had special livery of all
her lands in 1506. This lady married Thomas, ninth Baron Dacre of
Gillesland, and third Lord Dacre of the North; by which marriage
the Barony of Greystoke became united with that of Gillesland.
The nobleman in whose custody the King had placed his ward was
Henry the tenth Baron Clifford, better known as Lord Clifford
the Shepherd. He had married a cousin of Henry VII., and on the
accession of that monarch had been restored, by the reversal of
his father's attainder, to his honours and estates. Their sons had
been educated together, and brought up in habits of intimacy; and
the friendship thus formed in youth was continued after the one had
succeeded to the crown as Henry VIII., and the other had ceased
to be " Wild Henry Clifford," and had been advanced by his royal
kinsman and associate to the dignity of Earl of Cumberland.
Of the Lady Elizabeth it is stated that "lord Clifford gott her
of the king for his son's marriage;" or for himself, "who probably
intended to marry her." These suppositions lose something of their
importance when we learn that a considerable disparity in years
existed between Lord Clifford and the Lady, as well as between her
and his son; the former being nearly thirty years her senior, and
the latter almost a dozen years her junior; and during a great
portion of her minority, the first Lady Clifford, though probably
residing much apart from her husband, or unhappily with him, was
yet alive. He was, however, a nobleman nearly allied to the king,
of great power and influence in the north of England, and had been
neighbour to the old Lord Greystoke, her grandfather. Under the
circumstances, the selection made by the sovereign was a natural
one. Her youth, her rank, and her rich inheritance, were a prize
worthy of the aspiration of the noblest among her peers, whoever
may have been the suitor intended for her by the king; and they
were won by one who afterwards showed that he was as gallant in war
as he had proved himself to be daring and loyal in love.
Lord Dacre, after imitating the spirited bearing of his ancestor
in his love affair, exhibited it in an equal degree in a more
serious enterprise, when it was attended with equal success. He
had a principal command in the English army in the battle of
Flodden Field, which was gained on the 9th of September, 1514,
over the Scots, who had invaded the kingdom during the absence of
Henry VIII. at Tournay. He commanded the right wing of the army;
and wheeling about during the action, he fell upon the rear of
the enemy and put them to the sword without resistance, and thus
contributed greatly to the complete victory which followed.
The gratitude of his sovereign for his faithful services invested
him with the dignity of the most noble Order of the Garter, and
with the office of Lord Warden of the West Marches. He died
October 24th, 1525, and was buried with his wife, under the rich
altar-tomb, in the south aisle of the choir of Lanercost.
Brougham Castle in the thirteenth century, the time of John de
Veteripont, the most ancient owner that history points out, is
called in instruments wherein his name is mentioned, the _house of
Brougham_; from which it is inferred that license had not then been
procured to embattle it. It came to the Cliffords by the marriage
of his grand-daughter Isabella, the last of the Veteriponts,
with Roger, son and heir of Roger Clifford, of Clifford Castle,
Herts, whom the king had appointed guardian to her during her
minority.[20] This Roger de Clifford built the greater part of the
Castle, and had placed over its inner gateway the inscription--THIS
MADE ROGER; "which," says Bishop Nicholson, "some would have to
be understood not so much of _his_ raising the Castle, as of the
Castle raising _him_, in allusion to his advancement of fortune by
his marriage, this Castle being part of his wife's inheritance."
On the death of Roger, who was slain in the Isle of Anglesey, in a
skirmish with the Welsh, his widow, during her son's minority, sat
as sheriffess in the county of Westmorland, upon the bench with the
judges there, "concerning the legality of which," says the Countess
of Pembroke, "I obtained Lord Hailes his opinion."[21]
Her grandson Robert built the eastern parts of the Castle. During
the subsequent centuries it fell several times into decay, having
been destroyed by the Scots and by fire, and was as often restored.
King James was magnificently entertained at Brougham Castle, on
the sixth, seventh, and eighth days of August, 1617, on his return
from his last journey out of Scotland. After this visit it appears
to have been again injured by fire, and to have lain ruinous until
1651 and 1652, when it was repaired for the last time, by Anne,
Countess of Pembroke, who tells us, "After I had been there myself
to direct the building of it, did I cause my old decayed Castle
of Brougham to be repaired, and also the tower called the _Roman
Tower_, in the said old castle, and the court house, for keeping
my courts in, with some dozen or fourteen rooms to be built in it
upon the old foundation." The _tower of leagues_ and the _Pagan
tower_ are mentioned in her Memoirs; and also a state room called
_Greystocke Chamber_. But the room in which her father was born,
her "blessed mother" died, and King James lodged in 1617, she never
fails to mention, as being that in which she lay, in all her visits
to this place. After the death of the Countess, the Castle appears
to have been neglected, and has gradually gone to decay.
FOOTNOTES:
[18] Cross-legs have been proved of late not to indicate Crusaders
always.
[19] Matilda de Multon, the daughter and heir of Thomas de Multon, of
Gilsland, was only thirteen years of age at the time of her father's
death, when she became the ward of King Edward II.; but in 1317 by the
marriage which consummated this act of daring chivalry, the barony was
transferred to the Dacre family.
[20] The King committed these ladies (Isabella and Idonea de
Veteripont), being then young, to the guardianship of Roger de
Clifford, of Clifford Castle, Herefordshire, and Roger de Leybourne.
According to the custom of the times, and the real intent of the trust,
as soon as the heiresses were of proper age, they were married to the
sons of their guardians.--_Pennant._
[21] It has again and again been stated, that the Countess herself in
the seventeenth century repeated this exhibition of her ancestress
in the thirteenth: and not merely as an assertion of her right, but
frequently and habitually. No evidence has been found, that she ever
did so at all. She was, however, recognized as sheriff, and she
exercised the authority of the office by deputy. Thus we have her
recording that she appointed such a deputy sheriff in 1651. The office
appears to have been regarded as attached to the estate of Brougham
Castle, or the other lands which had originally belonged to the
Veteriponts; it descended with those estates to the Earls of Thanet:
but in 1850 a sheriff was appointed by the crown, under the authority
of an Act passed in the previous session of Parliament, entitled "An
Act to provide for the execution for one year of the Office of Sheriff
in the County of Westmorland."
THRELKELD TARN:
OR, TRUTH FROM THE DEEPS.
By doubts and darkest thoughts oppress'd,
From cheerful hope out-driven,
A sceptic laid him down to rest
Mid regions earthquake-riven.
And scanning Nature's awful face,
And all the glorious sky,
He cried--"To perish, and no trace
Survive us when we die,--
"This, spite of hope, is man's forlorn
And unremitting lot;
No realm awaits the heart outworn;
Earth fades, and heaven is not.
"For Reason's ray, like yon bright sun,
Rebukes the feebler light
Of hope from star-eyed Fable won,
And old Tradition's night.
"We shall no more to life arise,
Nor reassume our breath,
Nor light revisit these dim eyes
Once closed in endless death.
"As soon shall stars at noontide beam
While burns the sun's bright ray,
As stand before high Truth the dream
That Thought survives the clay."--
He turned: beside him yawning wide
Lay Mountains hugely rent:
Whence far within their depths espied,
A little gleam was sent.
One star the blackened pool below
Reflected bright and clear,
While earth was revelling in the glow
And sunshine of the year.
Then starting, cried he--"Heaven! thou art
Above our powers to know.
Take thou this blindness from my heart,
And let me, trusting, go."
NOTES TO "THRELKELD TARN; OR TRUTH FROM THE DEEPS."
Threlkeld or Scales Tarn is a small lake lying deeply secluded in
a recess on the north eastern side of Saddleback, or Blencathra,
between that mountain and Scales Fell. From the peculiarity of its
situation it has excited considerable curiosity: but the supposed
difficulty of access to it, its insignificant size, and the
peculiar nature of its attractions, cause it to be seldom visited
except by those who take it on their way to the top of Linethwaite
Fell, the most elevated point of the Saddleback range.
Having gained, by a toilsome and rugged ascent from the south-east,
the margin of the cavity in which the Tarn is imbedded, let the
traveller be supposed to stand directly facing the middle of the
mountain, the form of which gives its name to Saddleback. From
the high land between its two most elevated points before him,
and jutting right out to the north-east, depends an enormous
perpendicular rock called Tarn Crag; at the base of which,
engulphed in an immense basin or cavity of steeps, above and on the
left lofty and precipitous, and gradually diminishing as they curve
on the right, lies Threlkeld Tarn, described as a beautiful piece
of circular transparent water, covering a space of from thirty to
thirty-five acres, and surrounded with a well defined shore. From
the summit, elevated upwards of two hundred yards above it, its
surface is black, though smooth as a mirror; and it lies so deeply
imbedded, that it is said, the reflection of the stars may be seen
therein at noonday. It is generally sunless; and when illuminated,
it is in the morning, and chiefly through an aperture to the east,
formed by the running waters in the direction of Penrith. "A wild
spot it is," says Southey, "as ever was chosen by a cheerful party
where to rest, and take their merry repast upon a summer's day.
The green mountain, the dark pool, the crag under which it lies,
and the little stream which steals from it, are the only objects;
the gentle voice of that stream the only sound, unless a kite
be wheeling above, or a sheep bleats on the fell side. A silent
solitary place; and such solitude heightens social enjoyment, as
much as it conduces to lonely meditation."
Southey adds, in a note--"Absurd accounts have been published both
of the place itself, and the difficulty of reaching it. The Tarn
has been said to be so deep that the reflection of the stars may be
seen in it at noonday--and that the sun never shines upon it. One
of these assertions is as fabulous as the other--and the Tarn, like
all Tarns, is shallow."
Its claim to this singularity need not be wholly rejected, however,
on the ground of shallowness, if, to be deeply imbedded, rather
than to be deep, be the essential condition. Several of the most
credible inhabitants thereabouts have affirmed that they frequently
see stars in it at mid-day; but it is also stated that in order to
discover that phenomenon, there must be a concurrence of several
circumstances, viz: the firmament must be perfectly clear, the air
and the water unagitated; and the spectator must be placed at a
certain height above the lake, and as much below the summit of the
partially surrounding ridge.
The impression produced upon travellers a century ago by the
features of Blencathra at a considerable elevation, will excite a
smile in tourists of the present day. The _Southern_ face of the
mountain is "furrowed with hideous chasms." One of these "though by
far the least formidable," is described as "unconceivably horrid:"
"its width is about two hundred yards, and its depth at least six
hundred." Between two of these horrible abysses, and separated from
the body of the mountain on all sides by deep ravines, a portion of
the hill somewhat pyramidal in shape stands out like an enormous
buttress. "I stood upon this," says the narrator, whose account is
quoted, "and had on each side a gulf about two hundred yards wide,
and at least eight hundred deep; their sides were rocky, bare, and
rough, scarcely the appearance of vegetation upon them: and their
bottoms were covered with pointed broken rocks." Again he "arrived
where the mountain has every appearance of being split; and at the
'bottom' he 'saw hills about forty yards high and a mile in length,
which seem to have been raised from the rubbish that had fallen
from the mountain.'" From the summit he "could not help observing
that the back of this mountain is as remarkably smooth, as the
front is horrid."
Over this front of Blencathra, the bold and rugged brow which it
presents when seen from the road to Matterdale, or from the Vale
of St. John's, the view of the country to the south and east is
most beautiful. The northern side is, as has been said, remarkably
smooth, and in striking contrast to that so ruggedly and grandly
broken down towards the south, where every thing around bears
evident marks of some great and terrible convulsion of nature.
Mr. Green with his companion, Mr. Otley, was among the early
adventurers who stood on the highest ridge of Blencathra.
This accurate observer, whose descriptions of this, and other
unfrequented and unalterable places, will never be old, describes
without exaggeration the difficulties of the ground about the upper
part of this mountain. Describing the neighbourhood of the Tarn,
he says, "From Linthwaite Pike on soft green turf, we descended
steeply, first southward, and then in an easterly direction to the
tarn,--a beautiful circular piece of transparent water, with a
well defined shore. Here we found ourselves engulphed in a basin
of steeps, having Tarn Crag on the north, the rocks falling from
Sharp Edge on the east, and on the west, the soft turf on which we
made our downward progress. These side grounds, in pleasant grassy
banks, verge to the stream issuing from the lake, whence there is
a charming opening to the town of Penrith; and Cross Fell seen in
the extreme distance. Wishing to vary our line in returning to the
place we had left, we crossed the stream, and commenced a steep
ascent at the foot of Sharp Edge. We had not gone far before we
were aware that our journey would be attended with perils; the
passage gradually grew narrower, and the declivity on each hand
awfully precipitous. From walking erect, we were reduced to the
necessity either of bestriding the ridge or of moving on one of its
sides, with our hands lying over the top, as a security against
tumbling into the tarn on the left, or into a frightful gully on
the right, both of immense depth. Sometimes we thought it prudent
to return; but that seemed unmanly, and we proceeded; thinking with
Shakespeare, that "dangers retreat when boldly they're confronted."
Mr. Otley was the leader, who, on gaining steady footing, looked
back on the writer, whom he perceived viewing at leisure from his
saddle the remainder of his upward course."
ROBIN THE DEVIL'S COURTESY.
While the vales of the North keep the Philipsons' fame,
Calgarth and Holm-Isle will exult at their name!
Ever true to the rights of the King, and his throne,--
Now hearken how Robin was true to his own!
"Ride, brother! ride stoutly, ride in from Carlisle!
For the Roundheads from Kendal beleaguer Holm-Isle.
On land and on mere I have fifty at bay;
And I speed on mine arrow this message away!"--
The arrow struck truly the henchman's far door;
And swift from the arrow that message he tore.
Then, booted and spurr'd, over mountain and plain
He rides as for life, and he rides not in vain.
He has reached the fair City, has sought through the crowd
The bold form of his master, and thus spoke aloud--
"The Roundheads beleaguer my lord in his Isle,
And he bids thee for life to ride in from Carlisle."--
He rode with his men, and he came to the Mere,
When a shout for the Philipsons burst on his ear;
And his errand sped well; for the Whigs to a man,
At the sight of his horsemen, all mounted and ran.
"Now listen, my Brother!--I stay'd by the Isle,
Whilst thou for the King wert array'd at Carlisle;
I have stood by thy treasure; I've guarded thy store;
I have kept our good name; and now this I'll do more!
"Yon braggart, that thief-like came on in the dark,
And thought to catch Robin--but miss'd his good mark!
I'll repay him his visit; and, by the great King!
I'll be straight with the varlet, and make his casque ring."--
With a half-score of horsemen, next Sunday at morn,
While the sound of the bells o'er the meadows was borne,
To the Kent he rode easily--on to the town--
And along the dull street--with clenched hand and dark frown.
"Is there none of this Boaster's fanatical crew
In all Kendal to give me the welcome that's due?
Not a blade of old Noll's, or in street or in porch?
By the Rood, then I'll look for such grace in the church!"
He spurr'd his wild horse through the open church door;
He spurr'd to the chancel, and scann'd it well o'er;
Then turned by the Altar, and glanced at each one
Of the Roundheads that leapt from their knees, and look'd on.
But their Leader, the trooper, his foe at the Mere,
His eye could not 'light on--"He cannot be here!"
So he rushed at the portal; but not ere arose
From the panic-loosed swordsmen harsh words and hard blows.
He dashed at the doorway, unstooping; a stroke
From the arch rent his helmet, his saddle-girths broke;
Half-stunn'd from the ground he strove up to his steed,
And ungirth'd has he mounted, and off with good speed.
With his men at his back, that stood keeping true ward
By each gate, when he entered alone the churchyard,
Soon left he the rebel rout straggling behind;
And was off to his Mere like a hawk on the wind.
And there with his half-score of horsemen once more
He cross'd to his calm little Isle, from the shore;
And then said bold Robin--"I've miss'd him, tis true;
But I paid back his visit--so much was his due!
"Had I caught but a glance of the low canting knave,
The next psalm that they sung had been over his grave!"--
And they guess'd through all Westmorland whose was the hand
That would dare such a deed with so feeble a band.
Saying--"Robin the Devil, who man never fear'd,
Would have dared to take Satan himself by the beard;
Then why not a troublesome Whig at his prayers!
--He'll not try to catch Robin again unawares."
NOTES TO "ROBIN THE DEVIL'S COURTESY."
Holm Isle, Belle Isle, or Curwen's Island, as it is sometimes
called from the name of its present proprietor, formerly belonged
to the Philipsons of Calgarth, an ancient family in Westmorland.
It is the largest island in Windermere, lying obliquely across
the lake, just above its narrowest part called the Straits, and
opposite to Bowness. It is of an oblong shape, distant on one side
from the shore about half a mile, on the other considerably less,
while at its northern and southern points there is a large sheet
of water extending four or five miles. It is about one mile and
three-quarters in circumference, and contains nearly thirty acres
of land. Its shores are irregular, occasionally retiring into bays,
or breaking into creeks. A circular structure surmounted by a
dome-shaped roof was erected upon it in 1776, which is so planned
as to command a prospect of the whole lake. The plantations,
consisting of Weymouth pines, ash and other trees, are disposed so
as to afford a complete shelter to the house, without intercepting
the view. The grounds are tastefully laid out; and the island is
surrounded by a gravel walk, which strangers are permitted to use.
In the middle are a few clumps of trees; and a neat boat-house has
been erected contiguous to the place of landing.
When the ground underneath the site of the house was excavated,
traces of an ancient building were discovered at a considerable
depth below the surface; among which were a great number of old
bricks, and a chimney-piece in its perfect state. Several pieces
of old armour, weapons, and cannon balls were also found embedded
in the soil. In levelling the ground on the north part of the
building, a beautiful pavement formed of a small kind of pebbles,
and several curious gravel walks were cut through. These were
probably some remains of "the strong house on the island," in
which Huddleston Philipson is said to have left the family treasure
under the care of his brother "Robin," while he was absent in the
Royal cause at the siege of Carlisle.
During the civil wars these two members of the Philipson family
served the king. Huddleston, the elder, who was the proprietor
of this island, commanded a regiment. Robert held a commission
as major in the same service. He was a man of great spirit and
enterprise; and for his many feats of personal valour, had obtained
among the Oliverians of those parts the appellation of _Robin the
Devil_.
After the war had subsided, and the more direful effects of public
opposition had ceased, revenge and private malice long kept alive
the animosities of individuals. Colonel Briggs, a distant kinsman
of the Philipsons, of whom, notwithstanding, he was a bitter enemy,
and a steady friend to the usurpation, resided at this time at
Kendal; and under the double character of a leading magistrate and
an active commander, held the county in awe. This person having
heard that Major Philipson was at his brother's house, on the
island in Windermere, resolved, if possible, to seize and punish a
man who had made himself so particularly obnoxious. With this view
he mustered a party which he thought sufficient, and went himself
on the enterprise. How it was conducted the narrator does not
inform us--whether he got together the navigation of the lake, and
blockaded the place by sea, or whether he landed, and carried on
his approach in form. It is probable, as he was reduced to severe
privation, that Briggs had seized all the boats upon the lake,
and stopped the supplies. Neither do we learn the strength of the
garrison within, nor of the works without, though every gentleman's
house was at that time in some degree a fortress. All we learn is,
that Major Philipson endured a siege of eight or ten days with
great gallantry; till his brother the Colonel, hearing of his
distress, raised a party, and relieved him; or, as another account
says, till his brother returned from Carlisle, after the siege of
that city was raised.
It was now the Major's turn to make reprisals. He put himself
therefore at the head of a little troop of horse, and rode to
Kendal. Here being informed that Colonel Briggs was at prayers
(for it was on a Sunday morning), he stationed his men properly in
the avenues, and himself, armed, rode directly into the church. It
is said he intended to seize the Colonel and carry him off; but
as this seems to have been totally impracticable, it is rather
probable that his intention was to kill him on the spot; and in the
midst of the confusion, to escape. Whatever his intention was, it
was frustrated, for Briggs happened to be elsewhere.
The congregation, as might be expected, was thrown into great
confusion on seeing an armed man, on horseback, make his
appearance amongst them; and the Major, taking advantage of their
astonishment, turned his horse round, and walked quietly out.
But having given an alarm, he was presently assaulted as he left
the assembly; and, being seized, his girths were cut, and he was
unhorsed.
Another account says, that having dashed forward down the principal
aisle of the church, and having discovered that his principal
object could not be effected, he was making his escape by another
aisle, when his head came violently in contact with the arch of
the doorway, which was much lower than that through which he had
entered; that his helmet was struck off by the blow, his saddle
girth gave way, and he himself, much stunned, was thrown to the
ground.
At this instant his party made a furious attack on the assailants,
who taking advantage of his mishap, attempted to detain him; and
the Major killed with his own hand the man who had seized him,
clapped the saddle, ungirthed as it was, upon the horse, and
vaulting into it, rode full speed through the streets of Kendal,
calling his men to follow him, and with his whole party made a
safe retreat to his asylum on the lake, which he reached about two
o'clock.
The action marked the man. Many knew him; and they who did not,
knew as well from the exploit, that it could be nobody but _Robin
the Devil_.
In the Bellingham Chapel, in Kendal Church, is suspended high over
an ancient altar tomb, a battered helmet, through whose crust of
whitewash the rust of ages is plainly to be discerned. Whether this
antique casque belonged to Sir Roger Bellingham, who was interred
A. D. 1557 in the tomb beneath, and was exalted as a token of
the distinction he had received, when made a knight banneret by
the hand of his sovereign on the field of battle, or was won by
the puissant burgesses of Kendal from one of the Philipsons, and
elevated to its present position as a trophy of their valour, it
is, strangely enough, called the "Rebel's Cap," and forms the theme
of the bold and sacreligious action recorded of Robert Philipson.
As for "Robin" (who has also, though unjustly, been calumniated
and accused of having murdered the persons to whom the skulls at
Calgarth belonged, and who figures, it is said, in many other
desperate adventures), after the final defeat at Worcester had,
by depressing for a time the hopes of the royalists, in some
degree restored a sort of subdued quiet to the kingdom, finding a
pacific life irksome to his restless spirit, he passed over into
the sister country, and there fell in some nameless rencontre in
the Irish wars, sealing by a warrior's fate a course of long tried
and devoted attachment to his king; in his death, as in his life,
affording a memorable illustration of the fine sentiment embodied
in these proud lines--
"Master! lead on and I will follow thee
To the last gasp, with truth and loyalty."
During the Protectorate of Cromwell, Briggs ruled in the
ascendancy; but on the accession of Charles the Second, he was
obliged for a long period to hide in the wilds of Furness.
Two hundred years have rolled away, since the generation that
saw those events has vanished from the earth, and every tangible
memorial of the island hero has been thought to have perished with
him. Nevertheless, time has spared one fragile, though little
noticed relic; for in the library of that most interesting of
our northern English fanes, the Parish Church of Cartmel, whose
age-stricken walls, so rich in examples of each style of Gothic
architecture, rise but a few miles from the foot of the lake, in
the centre of a vale of much beauty of a monastic character, there
is retained upon the shelves a small volume in Latin, entitled
"Vincentii Lirinensis hæres, Oxoniæ, 1631," on one of the blank
leaves of which is this inscription in MS., the signature to which
has been partly torn off:--
"For Mr Rob. Philipson.
Inveniam, spero, quamvis Peregrinus, amicos:
Mite peto tecum cominus hospitium. R----"
It is pleasing to dwell on this enduring testimony of regard for
a man, whose portrait, as limned on the historic canvas, has
hitherto been looked upon as that only of a bold unnurtured ruffler
in an age of strife. Seen under the effect of this touch by the
hand of friendship, a gentler grace illumes the air of one, whose
unwavering principles and firm temper well fitted him to encounter
the troubles of a stormy epoch, while, as long as the island itself
shall endure, his heroic shadow rising over its groves, will cast
the enthralling interest of a romantic episode upon a scene so
captivating by its natural loveliness.
That the individual so addressed, was our Robin of Satanic
notoriety, there cannot reasonably be a doubt, as the pedigree of
the Crook Hall Philipsons does not recognise any other member of
the family of that name, living between the time of the publication
of the book, and the death of their last male heir. Neither is the
genealogical tree of the Calgarth branch enriched with the name
between that and 1652, when Christopher Philipson (of the house of
Calgarth) who, amid the bitter struggle of parties, seems to have
been devoted to the cultivation of letters, and who is supposed
to have presented the book, along with others, to the library at
Cartmel, died. Therefore to the successful soldier, whose actions
gave to himself and his cause so chivalrous a colouring, alone,
must the inscription be applied, the evidence it affords furnishing
another illustration of the saying that "the Devil is not always
as black as he is painted." But whether it be questionable that
it was directed to the royalist Robin, or not, the probability is
sufficiently great to justify what has been said on the subject.
Recent research through public archives has ascertained that the
family of the Philipsons was established in Westmorland at least
as far back as the reign of Edward III., for in an inquisition
relative to the possessions of the chantry on Saint Mary's Holme,
taken in 1355, the name of John Philipson is recorded as tenant to
certain lands belonging to that religious foundation.
This family owned not only Calgarth Hall and extensive domains
which reached along the shores of Windermere, from Low Wood to
Rayrigg, consisting of beautiful woods and rich pastures, but also
Crook and Holling Halls, with much of the surrounding country, as
well as the large island in the centre of the lake, opposite to
Bowness, in documents of the 13th century especially designated
"Le Holme," but the earliest name of which was Wynandermere
Isle, afterwards changed to the "Long Holme," which latter word
signifies, in the old vernacular, "an island or plain by the
water side," and in which they had a mansion of the old fashioned
Westmorland kind, strongly fortified, called the Holme House.
Their alliances having connected them with many of the chief
families of the county, they fixed their principal dwelling places
at Holling, and at Crook or Thwatterden Halls; which latter abode
in the time of Queen Elizabeth again became the seat of a younger
branch of the house at Calgarth.
With Sir Christopher Philipson, the last heir male of the family
of Crook Hall, who, according to Mr. West, lived in the Holme in
1705, and who died in that year, the race was extinguished. Their
mouldered dust lies beneath the pavement in Windermere Church, and
their homes, for the most part but grey and naked ruins, know them
no more.
THE LAY OF LORD LUCY OF EGREMOND.
On that Mount surnamed "of Sorrow"
Glass'd in Enna's winding flood,
Looking forth through many a morrow
Both the warriors, Lucies, stood;
Stood beside the ramparts hoary,
Brothers, vow'd their brows to wreathe
In the Holy Land with glory,
Or its sands to rest beneath.
Quietly the vale was lying,
Farm and meadow, forge and mill,
As the day-star faintly dying
Paled above the eastern hill.
But beneath the cullis'd portal
Press'd the pent-up throng of war,
Eager for the strife immortal
With the Soldan's hosts afar.
Fame has all his soul's embraces--
Clasps Lord Lucy maid nor wife.
As the warriors' vizor'd faces
Turn towards the land of strife.
Through the gate beneath the towering
Pile they wind in shining mail.
Soon afar the fortress lowering
Sinks beneath them in the vale.
Scawfell saw them take the billow,
Man by man on Cumbria's shore;
Carmel's foot was first their pillow
When again to land they bore.
And in holy fight they bound them
To their Saviour's service true;
Fought and bled, through hosts around them,
Till their ranks were faint and few.
Then beneath the foe contending,
Faithful, fearless, but in vain,
Lo, the brothers bound and bending
Drag the hopeless captive's chain.
In the Moslem dungeon wasting,
England's bravest, both they lie;
No sweet hope nor solace tasting,
Only blank captivity.
Months have rolled; and moons are waning;
Then stood Lucy forth and said,--
"Emir, over millions reigning!
We are two in dungeon laid.
I, who bore a noble's banner,
I have halls and realms afar,
Wealth which many a lordly manor
Yields, beneath the western star.
"Let the Emir's heart be gracious!
Free my brother at my side;
And a ransom rich and precious
We will bring o'er ocean wide.
So we two, whose arms avail'd not
Here our freedom to sustain,
But whose constant courage fail'd not,
May be Freedom's sons again."
Greed for gain o'er wrath prevailing
Softened soon the tyrant's mind.
Homewards one is swiftly sailing;
Calmly one will wait behind.
For a twelve-months thus they parted.
Weary months, the year, went o'er.
But that brother, evil-hearted,
From the West return'd no more.
Then the Emir's soul no longer
Would its vengeance stern forego;
All his rage suppress'd the stronger,
Burn'd, and burst upon his foe.
And he bade his hair be knotted
Into cords around a beam,
There to chain him till he rotted,
Where no light of heaven could gleam.
And in hunger sore he wasted;
And his nails grew like a bird's;
Day's sweet blesséd airs untasted,
And no sound of human words!
Changed in soul, and form, and feature,
Ah! how changed from that fair mould.
In which heaven had stamped its creature
Man and warrior, mild as bold!
Yet one heart whose daily gladness
Once had been, from latticed bower
To look down on him in sadness
Walking forth at evening hour;
She, the Emir's fairest daughter,
Sees brave Lucy now no more,--
Till unresting love has brought her
Trembling to his dungeon's floor.
There, with one mute form attending,
Swift her arm the faulchion drew
Through his locks; the hatterel rending[22]
From him, as it cleaved them through.
And with words of woman-kindness
Whisper'd she--"To light and air,
Life and love, from dungeon blindness,
Are we come the brave to bear."
And for love of him she bore him
To a ship, wherein he rode
Seaward till the bright sky o'er him
Circled round his own abode.
Then his castle-horn he sounded,
Which none other's skill could sound,
Where the traitor sat, confounded,
With his bold retainers round.
But brave Lucy's soul forgave him
All that wrong so foully done;
Him who went not back to save him
With the ransom he had won.
Yea, and more: "From Duddon's borders
Far as Esk, and from the sea
To where Hard-knott's ancient warders
Sleep," he said, "I give to thee.
"Here once more by vale and mountain,
On these ramparts side by side,
Wells up from my heart a fountain
Wastes and dungeons have not dried."
And his stately halls he entered,
Borne mid cheers and warriors' clang;
While a thousand welcomes, centred
In one shout of triumph, rang.
High the feast and great the story
Then that fill'd his ancient halls.
Healths to Lucy's House and glory
Shook the banners on the walls.
And their deep foundations hail'd him
With such echoes as were born
When his own true breath avail'd him
On the faithful Castle-horn.
And 'twas joy again to wander
On his own fair fields, and chase
There the wild wolf, and bring under
The strong deer in deadly race.
And if sometimes more the forest
Won him, museful and alone;
'Twas when secret thoughts were sorest.
Turn'd upon the past and gone.
But that lone and lordly bosom
Sought no mate of high degree;
Wooed no fair and beauteous blossom
From a noble kindred tree,--
As might have beseem'd, to wear her
Throned within a warrior's breast;
Evermore to bloom, the sharer
Of its love, its life, its rest.
So in field, and hall, and tourney,
As he lived--upon a day,
Wearied with a toilsome journey,
Came a guest from far away;
Feebly at his gate and humbly
Asking, "Dwells Lord Lucy here?"
But all question parried dumbly,
Till the voice she sought was near.
Then indeed the sorrow-laden,
Travel-stricken form sunk down;
Slow the hatterel forth the maiden
Drew; he knew her! 'twas his own!
Knew her, as she stood before him
On that barren Syrian shore,
When from wrath and death she bore him
Where no wrong might touch him more.
Bear her in! he tells them of her,
Tells them all with eyeballs dim.
Cannot be but he must love her,
For she bears such love to him.
She has left her father's mansion,
Left her country, faith, and name,
Travell'd o'er the sea's expansion,
Him to find in life and fame.
Was there ever like devotion?--
Is he husband, father; she
Who has braved the boundless ocean
Will his serving maiden be.
No! she shall abide in honour,
One for ever at his side;
Every gift and grace upon her
That beseems a warrior's bride.
Then again his days were gladden'd
With more joys than e'er of yore.
And if thought at times was sadden'd
With the memories which it bore,
Clasping oft his wife with true love,
He would say with whispering breath--
"Love is life indeed! for through love
I am here, reprieved from death!"
And his soul's allegiance fail'd not
That fair consort, all his days.
And their blissful love--avail'd not
Chance or time to quench its rays.
Love unto his gate had brought her
O'er the seas from far beyond.
And with love the Emir's daughter
Ruled the halls of Egremond.
But that kinsman, far divided
From them by remorse and shame,
Round his courts in secret glided
Ghost-like--nevermore the same:
Conscience-torn, repentant, weary,
Burning, longing for the close
Of that pilgrimage so dreary.
Power had come, but not repose.
Shadows the rebuked and chastened,
Worn-out warrior lowly laid.
And from Bega's cloisters hastened
Thrice the prior with his aid:
Thrice: And ere the leaves had faded,
Brave Lord Lucy clasped his breast;[23]
Kiss'd him; and the convent shaded
One more spirit into rest.
NOTES TO "THE LAY OF LORD LUCY OF EGREMOND."
The name of Egremont seems to be derived from its ancient
possessors, the Normans, and being changed by a trifling corruption
of their language, carries the same meaning, and signifies the
Mount of Sorrow.
The charter of Richard de Lucy, granted to the burgesses in
the time of King John, declares it to be given and confirmed
"burgensibus meis de _Acrimonte_," &c.
William the Conqueror having established himself on the throne of
England, and added the county of Cumberland, which he wrested from
Malcolm, king of Scotland, to his northern possessions; he gave it,
together with the barony of Westmorland, to Randolph or Ranulph
du Briquesard, also surnamed le Meschin, Vicomte du Bessin, elder
brother of William le Meschin. This nobleman was allied to the
Conqueror by marriage with his niece, and was one of his numerous
train of military adventurers. He was the first Norman paramount
feudatory of Cumberland. When Ranulph granted out to his several
retainers their respective allotments; reserving to himself the
forest of Inglewood, he gave to his brother, William le Meschin,
the great barony of Copeland, bounded by the rivers Duddon and
Derwent, and the sea. The latter seated himself at Egremont and
there erected a castle; and in distinction of this his baronial
seat, he changed the name of the whole territory to that of the
barony of Egremont. After possessing this estate with great power
for several years, and dying without male issue, it devolved to
his daughter Alice, married to Robert de Romili, Lord of Skipton.
They having no male issue, these two great baronies descended
to their only daughter Alice, who married William Fitz-Duncan,
Earl of Murray, nephew to David, King of Scots. By this marriage
there was issue a son, who died in infancy, and three daughters
who divided the vast inheritance. To Amabil, the second daughter,
the barony of Egremont came in partition; and by her marriage with
Reginald Lucy, passed to that family. William Fitz-Duncan was Lord
of the adjoining Cumbrian seigniory or honor of Cockermouth, and
of the barony of Allerdale below Derwent, which large estates had
descended to him from his mother Octreda, who inherited them from
her grandfather Waldeof, first lord of Allerdale, to whom they
had been granted by Ranulph de Meschin. Waldeof was the son of
Gospatrick, Earl of Dunbar.
Particular mention is made of two only of the name of Lucy in
succession: Reginald de Lucy, who was governor of Nottingham for
the King, in the rebellion of the Earl of Leicester, and who also
attended the coronation of Richard I. among the other Barons; and
Richard de Lucy, his son, who, in the reign of King John, paid a
fine of three hundred marks for the livery of all his lands in
Coupland and Canteberge, _and to have the liberty of marrying
whom he pleased_, &c. He married Ada, one of the two daughters
and co-heiresses of Hugh de Morville; and obtained a grant from
King John, by which he claimed and held the whole property of his
father-in-law, without partition to the other daughter, Joane.
He died before or about the 15th year of King John, leaving two
daughters, between whom the estates were divided, and who both
married into the Multon family.
At that time, and long after, it was a part of the King's
prerogative to interfere in the marriages of his nobility.[24]
The subsequent acts of the widowed Ada de Lucy afford us a fine
illustration of the exercise of this prerogative on the part of
the sovereign in the matters of widows and heiresses. Ada paid
a fine of five hundred marks for livery of her inheritance; as
also for dowry of her late husband's lands; and that she might
not be compelled to marry again. She espoused, however, without
compulsion, and without the king's licence, Thomas de Multon; in
consequence of which, the Castle of Egremont, and her other lands,
were seized by the Crown. But upon paying a compensation, they were
restored, and she had livery of them again. Her second husband, on
his payment of one thousand marks to the crown, was made guardian
over the two daughters, and co-heiresses, of her first husband, de
Lucy: and as a necessary consequence, and, in fact, in accordance
with the permission implied by the arrangement, he married them to
his two sons by his first wife.
These two daughters and co-heiresses of Lucy having married the two
sons of Thomas de Multon, the elder carried with her the lordship
of Egremont; while the son of the younger assumed the surname
of his maternal family, and was ancestor of the barons Lucy of
Cockermouth. The infant daughter of Anthony, the third and last
baron Lucy, dying in the year following his own demise, the barony
was carried by the marriage of his sister Maude with the first Earl
of Northumberland to the Percy family: thence to the Seymours,
Dukes of Somerset; and through them to Wyndham, Earl of Egremont,
by whose descendant, the first Lord Leconfield, it is at present
enjoyed.
Egremont was anciently a borough, sending two members to
parliament; but was disfranchised on the petition of the burgesses,
to avoid the expense of representation. The burgesses possessed
several privileges, but all records of them are lost. The
ordinances of Richard de Lucy for the government of the borough
is a curious record, in which several singularities are to be
observed, which point out to us the customs of that distant age.
By this burgage tenure, the people of Egremont were obliged to
find armed men, for the defence of the Castle, forty days at their
own charge. The lord was entitled to forty days' credit for goods,
and no more; and his burgesses might refuse to supply him, till
the debt which had exceeded that date was paid. They were bound to
aids for the redemption of the lord and his heir from captivity;
for the knighthood of one of the lord's sons, and the marriage
of one of his daughters. They were to find him twelve men for
his military array. They were to hold watch and ward. They could
not enter the forest with bow and arrow. They were relieved from
cutting off the dogs' feet within the borough, as being a necessary
and customary defence: on the borders, the dogs appointed to be
kept for defence, were called _slough dogs_: this privilege points
out, that within the limits of forests, the inhabitants keeping
dogs for defence were to lop off one foot or more, to prevent their
chasing the game; which did not spoil them for the defence of a
dwelling. A singular privilege appears in the case of a burgess
committing fornication with the daughter of a rustic, one who was
not a burgess; that he should not be liable to the fine imposed in
other cases for that offence, unless he had seduced by promise of
marriage. The fine for seducing a woman belonging to the borough
was three shillings to the lord. By the rule for inspecting dyers,
weavers, and fullers, it seems those were the only trades at that
time within the borough under the character of craftsmen. The
burgesses who had ploughs were to till the lord's demesne one day
in the year, and every burgess to find a reaper: their labour was
from morning _ad nonam_, which was three o'clock, as from six to
three.
Egremont was probably a place of strength, and the seat of some
powerful chief, during the Heptarchy, and in the time of the
Danes. The ruins of the Castle, on the west of the town, stand on
an eminence, the northern extremity of which forms a lofty mound,
seventy-eight feet in perpendicular height above the ditch which
surrounds the fortress. On the crown of this hill, it is believed,
there formerly stood a Danish fortification. The mound is said to
be artificial. Tradition goes so far as to assert that it is formed
of soil brought by St. Bega from Ireland, as ballast for her ship.
The miraculous power of the Saint must have been largely exercised
to increase it to its present proportions. It still, however,
retains the virtue given to Irish earth by the blessing of St.
Patrick, and no reptile can live upon it.
This fortress is not of very great extent, but bears singular marks
of antiquity and strength. The approach and grand entrance from
the south, has been kept by a draw-bridge over a deep moat. The
entrance to the castle is by a gateway vaulted with semi-circular
arches, and guarded by a strong tower. The architecture of this
tower, which is the chief part of the fortress now standing, points
out its antiquity to be at least coeval with the entry of the
Normans. The outward wall has enclosed a considerable area of a
square form; but it is now gone so much to decay, that no probable
conjecture can be made as to the particular manner in which it
was fortified. On the side next the town a postern remains. To
the westward, from the area, there is an ascent to three narrow
gates, standing close together, and on a straight line, which have
communicated with the outworks: these are apparently of more modern
architecture, and have each been defended with a portcullis. Beyond
these gates is the lofty mount, which has already been referred to,
and on which anciently stood a circular tower, the western side
of which endured the rage of time till within the last century.
The whole fortification is surrounded by a moat, more properly
so called than a ditch, as it appears to have been walled on both
sides. This is strengthened with an outward rampart of earth, which
is five hundred paces in circumference. A small brook runs on the
eastern side of the Castle, and it may be presumed, anciently
filled the moat. The mode of building which appears in part of
the walls, is rather uncommon, the construction being of large
thin stones, placed in an inclined position, the courses lying in
different directions, so as to form a kind of feathered work, the
whole run together with lime and pebbles, impenetrably strong. It
seems to have been copied from the filling parts of the Roman wall.
An old tradition connects the lords of this Castle with the
Crusades. One version of it given in the histories of Cumberland,
for it is variously related, is to this effect:--"The Baron of
Egremont being taken prisoner beyond the seas by the infidels,
could not be redeemed without a great ransom, and being for
England, entered his brother or kinsman for his surety, promising
with all possible speed to send him money to set him free; but
upon his return home to Egremont, he changed his mind, and most
unnaturally and unthankfully suffered his brother to lie in prison,
in great distress and extremity, until the hair was grown to an
unusual length, like to a woman's hair. The Pagans being out of
hopes of the ransom, in great rage most cruelly hanged up their
pledge, binding the long hair of his head to a beam in the prison,
and tied his hands so behind him, that he could not reach to the
top where the knot was fastened to loose himself: during his
imprisonment, the Paynim's daughter became enamoured of him, and
sought all good means for his deliverance, but could not enlarge
him: she understanding of this last cruelty, by means made to his
keeper, entered the prison, and taking her knife to cut the hair,
being hastened, she cut the skin of his head, so as, with the
weight of his body, he rent away the rest, and fell down to the
earth half dead; but she presently took him up, causing surgeons to
attend him secretly, till he recovered his former health, beauty,
and strength, and so entreated her father for him that he set him
at liberty. Then, desirous to revenge his brother's ingratitude,
he got leave to depart to his country, and took home with him the
hatterell of his hair rent off as aforesaid, and a bugle-horn,
which he commonly used to carry about him, when he was in England,
where he shortly arrived, and coming to Egremont Castle about
noontide of the day, where his brother was at dinner, he blew
his bugle-horn, which (says the tradition) his brother the baron
presently acknowledged, and thereby conjectured his brother's
return; and then sending his friends and servants to learn his
brother's mind to him, and how he had escaped, they brought back
the report of all the miserable torment which he had endured
for his unfaithful brother the baron, which so astonished the
baron (half dead before with the shameful remembrance of his own
disloyalty and breach of promise) that he abandoned all company and
would not look on his brother, till his just wrath was pacified by
diligent entreaty of their friends. And to be sure of his brother's
future kindness, he gave the _lordship of Millum_ to him and his
heirs for ever. Whereupon the first Lords of Millum gave for their
arms _the horn and the hatterell_.
Others relate that it was the baron who remained as hostage: and
that on his release from captivity by the Paynim's daughter, and
after his departure to his native country, urged by her love
towards him, she found her way across the sea, and presenting
herself at his castle-gate, with the hatterell of his hair which
she had preserved as a token, was joyfully recognized by the Baron,
who made her his wife and the mistress of his halls.
It is, on various grounds, an anachronism to refer this tradition
to the period when the Lucies were Lords of Egremont. For,
according to Denton, the great seignory of Millom "in the time of
King Henry I. was given by William Meschines, Lord of Egremont,
to ... de Boyvill, father to Godard de Boyvill, named in ancient
evidences Godardus Dapifer." This accords with the tradition, which
is very old, and is given by both Denton and Sandford, and which
makes, as we have seen, the Boyvills to be very near of kin to the
Lords of Egremont. It also particularises the occasion upon which
Millom was transferred to that family; who took their surname from
the place, and were styled de-Millom.
That some members of the family were engaged in the crusades, we
learn from the record that Arthur Boyvill or de Millom, the third
lord, and the son of Godardus Dapifer, granted to the Abbey of St.
Mary in Furness the services of Kirksanton in Millom, which Robert
de Boyvill, his cousin-german, then held of him; and soon after he
mortgaged the same to the Abbot of Furness, until his return from
the Holy Land.
The crest of Huddleston of Hutton John is, Two arms, dexter and
sinister embowed, vested, argent, holding in their hands a scalp
proper, the inside gules. The tradition of the Horn of Egremont
Castle, which could only be sounded by the rightful lord, and
which forms the subject of a fine poem by Mr. Wordsworth, is
said properly to belong to Hutton-John, an ancient manor of the
Huddlestons, who were descended from the Boyvills in the female
line; Joan, the daughter and heiress of the last of the de-Milloms,
in the reign of Henry III., having married Sir John Hudleston, Kt.;
and thus transferred the seignory into that family, with whom it
continued for a period of about 500 years.
The name of Egremont will remind the poetical reader of the story
of the "Youthful Romili," celebrated by Wordsworth in his noble
ballad "The Founding of Bolton Priory," and by Rogers in his less
ambitious lines "The Boy of Egremond." It seems to be by no means
certain to which generation of William le Meschines' descendants
the tale belongs. Denton says, "Alice Romley, the third daughter
and co-heir of William Fitz-Duncan, was the fourth lady of
Allerdale: but having no children alive at her death, she gave
away divers manors and lands to houses of religion, and to her
friends and kinsmen. She had a son named William, who was drowned
in Craven coming home from hunting or hawking. His hound or spaniel
being tied to his girdle by a line, (as they crossed the water near
Barden Tower, in Craven) pulled his master from off his horse and
drowned him. When the report of his mischance came to his mother,
she answered, "_Bootless bayl brings endless sorrow_." She had also
three daughters, Alice, Avice, and Mavice, who all died unmarried,
and without children; wherefore the inheritance was after her death
parted between the house of Albemarl and Reginald Lucy, Baron of
Egremont, descending to her sister's children and their posterity."
This is Whitaker's statement:--"In the year 1121 William le
Meschines and Cecilia his wife founded a Priory for canons regular,
at Embsay, which was dedicated to St. Mary and St. Cuthbert, and
continued there about thirty-three years, when it is said by
tradition to have been translated to Bolton, on the following
account.
"The founders of Embsay were now dead, and had left a daughter,
who adopted her mother's name, Romillé, and was married to William
Fitz-Duncan. They had issue a son, commonly called the Boy of
Egremond (one of his grandfather's baronies, where he was probably
born), who, surviving an elder brother, became the last hope of the
family.
"In the deep solitude of the woods betwixt Bolton and Barden, the
Wharf suddenly contracts itself to a rocky channel little more
than four feet wide, and pours through the tremendous fissure with
a rapidity proportionate to its confinement. This place was then,
as it is yet, called the Strid, from a feat often exercised by
persons of more agility than prudence, who stride from brink to
brink, regardless of the destruction which awaits a faltering step.
Such, according to tradition, was the fate of young Romillé, who
inconsiderately bounding over the chasm with a greyhound in his
leash, the animal hung back, and drew his unfortunate master into
the torrent. The forester, who accompanied Romillé, and beheld
his fate, returned to the Lady Aäliza, and, with despair in his
countenance, enquired, 'What is good for a bootless Bene?' To which
the mother, apprehending that some great calamity had befallen her
son, instantly replied, 'Endless Sorrow.'
"The language of this question, almost unintelligible at present,
proves the antiquity of the story, which nearly amounts to proving
its truth. But 'bootless Bene' is unavailing prayer; and the
meaning, though imperfectly expressed, seems to have been, 'What
remains when prayer is useless?'"
The accuracy of this account, though admitted to be true so far as
the death of a scion of Romili's house, is however doubted by Dr.
Whitaker, who states that the son of the Lady Alice or Aäliza was a
party and witness to the charter of translation to Bolton in 1154
of the Canons of the Priory of Embsay, founded in 1121 by William
de Meschines and Cecilia de Romili his wife. Besides, as the Boy
of Egremond was alive in 1160, and a partaker in the rebellion of
the Pictish Celts of Scotland, of which the object was to set him
on the throne as the rightful heir, Dr. Whitaker is of opinion that
the story refers to one of the sons (both of whom died young) of
Cecilia le Meschines, grandmother of Lady Alice.
There is however an oversight of some importance in Whitaker's
statement. He altogether omits the second generation of the
descendants of William le Meschines. Alice, the daughter of W. le
Meschines, married Robert de Romili; Alice, her daughter, married
Fitz-Duncan, who assumed the name of his wife, and was William le
Romili. If their son was "the Boy of Egremond," he could not have
been a witness to the charter of translation in 1154. If he was
drowned in the Wharf, his death could not have been the occasion of
the refounding of the Priory at Bolton. If the son of Cecilia le
Meschines was "the Boy of Egremond"; as he might be so styled from
his father's barony; he may have been drowned at the Strid, but
his mother could not have been the second foundress of the Priory;
for, as Whitaker says, the founders of Embsay were already dead.
Tradition, moreover, clings to the name of the Lady Alice, as being
that of the pious dispenser of her goods to sacred and religious
uses. And however history may conflict with tradition, there will
remain, that the Lady of Skipton, Cockermouth, and the Allerdales,
bestowed her lands and goods most liberally upon the Abbeys of
Fountains and Pomfret, and other religious confraternities;
that she, the Lady Alice, seems always to have cherished those
dispositions whose spiritual convictions moved in unison with
the votive religious practices of the age; and although she, for
the health of her dear son's soul (if he it were who perished in
the Wharf) could not have founded near the scene of his untimely
fate, the Priory before mentioned; its legendary history, which
has so enshrined her affections and her sorrows, will continue to
connect in the future, as in the past, the image of the youthful
Romili with her griefs, and the stately Priory of Bolton with his
imperishable name.
FOOTNOTES:
[22] The scalp with the hair attached.
[23] In the early and middle ages kissing was the common form of
salutation, and the _osculum pacis_ was a sign of reconciliation and
charity. Examples will occur to every reader of Scripture and the
classics.
[24] Dr. Whitaker. Vide notes to the "Bridals of Dacre," for instances.
SÖLVAR-HOW.
Up the valley of Brathay rode Dagmar the Dane.
There was gold on her bit, there was silk on her rein.
You might see her white steed in the distance afar,
On the green-breasted hill, shining out like a star;
Where beyond her on high in his barrow lay sleeping
Old Sölvar the chief; and the shade, that sat keeping
His fame, by his tomb sang the Norseland's wild strain.
As the white steed of Dagmar shone, breasting the hill;
To the mound where old Sölvar lies lonely and still,
In the red light of evening, arresting her gaze,
Flocked the meek mountain ewes and the steers up the ways,
With the firstlings and yearlings, from hill top and hollow,
Gathering far, the sweet voice of the Phantom to follow--
To them sweeter than murmur of fountain and rill.
There was joy in their looks, in their eyes the clear light
Glistened searchingly forth on that mystical sight.
And from far, too, the white steed of Dagmar the Dane
Pricked his ears, stepping proudly, unheeding the rein;
And aside to the summit turned joyfully pacing;
While the steers and the ewes listened wistfully gazing,
And the Phantom sat singing of Sölvar the Bright.
O'er the pools of the Brathay, from Skelwith's lone tower
The sire of the princess looked forth in that hour.
He beheld the white steed of his child, like a star
On the green-breasted hill, and he cried from afar--
"She has heard his wild strains on the hill-top awaken,
And I from this hour am alone and forsaken.
--Not her voice nor her foot-fall, to come to me more!"
For to Dagmar the fair, when the flocks of the field
And the herds were in motion their homage to yield
To the bright Norseland Boy--with the fire and the grace
Of his sires in his limbs and their pride in his face--
In the garb of his country, rehearsing the story
Of chiefs and of kings and the Norseland's old glory--
Was the Phantom in all his bright beauty revealed.
There entranced in that vision, enchained by his tongue,
As the strains through his harp-strings melodiously rung,
Sat the maid on White Svend mid the yearlings; till now
Far departing he turns from the hill's sunny brow;
And the ewes at his feet awhile falteringly follow,
Then range back bewildered to hill-top and hollow;
While the Maid on his fast-fading accents still hung.
Through the still light receding his loose tresses streamed;
But to fly with him still was the dream she had dreamed;
Side by side o'er the hills, through the valleys, and on
To the Norseland to hear his wild songs all alone;
And to chase from his lips every accent of sorrow,
As they walked through the dawn of a brighter to-morrow
Into sunlight that heaven upon earth never beamed.
Springing down from White Svend, swiftly Dagmar the Dane
Cast aside on his neck the rich silk-tassel'd rein;
With her eyes fixed afar o'er the green mountain sward,
Whence the bright Norseland Boy cast a backward regard.
Call aloud from thy Tower, call aloud and implore her,
Hapless sire! to return, ere the night gathers o'er her!
She can hear but the voice of the Phantom's sweet strain.
Light and fleet was her foot over hollow and hill;
Till they reached the rude cleft of the deep-roaring Ghyll.
On the black dungeon's brink not a moment he stay'd;
O'er the black roaring Ghyll glided softly the Shade.
Like a thin wreath of mist she descried him far over--
And her cry pierced the night-boding hill tops above her;
When down the loose rocks plunged, and bridged the dark Ghyll.
Heard the eagle that shriek from his eyrie on high?
Struck his wings the poised rocks as he rushed to the sky?
Did the wild goat leap, startled, and press from their hold
With his hoof the loose crags?--that they bounded and roll'd
Far above, down, and on, soughing, plunging, and clashing,
Till they reached the dark Ghyll, and fell, wedging and crashing,
In the gulf's horrid jaws, there for ever to lie.
The fleet foot of Dagmar sprang light to the stone,
Where it bridged the dread gulf, in the twilight, alone.
For one moment she stood with her eyes straining o'er
Into space, for the bright one that answered no more.
He was gone from the hand she stretched, vainly imploring;
He was gone from the heart that beat, madly adoring:
And a voice from the waters cried wailingly--"Gone."
Roar thou on, Dungeon-Ghyll! there was mourning in vain
In the fortress of Skelwith for Dagmar the Dane.
From their tower on the cliff they looked, tearful and pale,
On her riderless steed as it came down the vale.
In her bower and in hall there was wailing and sorrow.
And the hills shone renewed with each glorious to-morrow.
But their bright star, their Dagmar, they knew not again.
NOTES TO "SÖLVAR HOW."
While many Celtic names of places remain to attest the prolonged
sovereignty of the Britons in Cumbria, by far the greater number
refer to a period when the enterprising Northmen, coming from
various shores, but all included under the comprehensive title
of Danes, had pushed their conquests into the mountain country
of Cumberland and Westmorland and those portions of the north of
Lancashire, which are comprised within the district of the English
Lakes. This territory had become the exclusive possession of the
Norwegian settlers. Every height and how, every lake and tarn,
every swamp and fountain, every ravine and ghyll, every important
habitation on the mountain side, the dwelling place amidst the
cleared land in the forest, the narrow dell, the open valley,
every one is associated with some fine old name that belonged to
our Scandinavian forefathers. Silver How is the hill of Sölvar,
and Butter-lip-how, the mound of Buthar, surnamed Lepr the Nimble;
Windermere and Buttermere, and Elter-water are the meres and water
called after the ancient Norsemen, Windar, and Buthar or Butar,
and Eldir, Gunnerskeld, and Ironkeld, and Butter-eld-keld, are
the spring or marsh of Gunnar, and Hiarn, and Buthar the Old, or
Elder. Bekangs-Ghyll, and Staingill, and Thortillgill, indicate the
ravines or fissures, which were probably at one time the boundaries
respectively of the lands of Bekan, and Steini, and Thortil;
Seatallau and Seatoller were once the dwelling places whence Elli
and Oller looked on the plains below them; and in Ormthwaile, and
Branthwaite, and Gillerthwaite we recognise the lands cleared amid
the forests with the axe, whose several possessors were Ormr, and
Biorn, and Geller; while Borrodale, and Ennerdale, and Riggindale,
and Bordale recall the days when these remote valleys were subject
to the lordly strangers Borrhy, and Einar, and Regin, and Bor. All
these names are Scandinavian proper names, and are to be found in
the language of that ancient race, of whose sojourn amongst our
hills so many traces remain in the nomenclature of the district.
Coming from the wildest and poorest part of the Norwegian coast,
and mixing with the Celtic tribes of these regions, in the early
ages; those hardy sons of the sea made extensive and permanent
settlements among them. They penetrated into the remotest recesses
of the mountains, carrying thither their wild belief in the old
northern gods, and their rude ideas of a future life. Their warlike
recollections, and their attachment to the scenes of their valorous
exploits, fostered the notion which was not uncommon among them,
that the spirits of chieftains could sometimes leave the halls
of Valhalla, and, seated each on his own sepulchral hill, could
look around him on the peaceful land over which in life he had
held rule, or on that beloved sea which had borne him so often to
war and conquest. It was this thought that induced them to select
for their burial places high mountains, or elevated spots in the
valleys and plains. As a natural result of their long continued
dominion in the North of England, they came to be classed in the
imagination of the people with invisible and mystic beings which
haunted that district. The shadows of the remote old hills were
the abodes of enchantment and superstition. And the spirits of the
departed were supposed to be seen visiting the earth, sometimes in
the guise of a Celtic warrior careering on the wind, and sometimes
in the form of one of the old northern chieftains sitting solitary
upon his barrow. It is related of one being permitted to do so for
the purpose of comforting his disconsolate widow, and telling her
how much her sorrow disquieted him. Hence also the dwellers among
the hills, it is said, still fancy they hear on the evening breeze
musical tones as of harp strings played upon, and melancholy lays
in a foreign tongue; a beautiful concert, to which we owe the
exquisite medieval legend of the cattle, in thraldom to the potent
spirit of harmony that rings through the air, often when no musical
sound is audible to the organ of man, pricking up their ears in
astonishment, as they listen to the Danish or Norseland Boy, sadly
singing the old bardic lays over the barrows of his once mighty
forefathers.
It has been conjectured that the colonization of this district by
the Northmen was effected at two distinct periods, by two separate
streams of emigration, issuing from two different parts of the
Scandinavian shore. The first recorded invasion of Cumberland by
the Danes appears to have taken place about the year 875; when an
army under the command of Halfdene, having entered Northumberland
and made permanent settlements there, commenced a series of
incursions into the adjacent countries lying on the north and
west, and thereby reached the borders of the lake region, first
plundering them and finally settling there. The indications of
the presence of the northern adventurers in that quarter are
found to be more purely of a Danish character than those which
abound beyond the eastern line of the district, and which may with
great probability be referred to a colonization more particularly
Norwegian.
Our own histories make no mention of anything bearing upon the
subject, but there seem to be good reasons for concluding that
Cumberland was also invaded from the sea coast. The Norwegian
sea-rover Olaf, according to Snorro Sturlessen, had visited, among
other countries, both Cumberland and Wales. And Mr. Ferguson
supposes, from various circumstances, which concur to fix the date
of the Norwegian settlements here in the interval between 945 and
1000, that his descents must have taken place somewhere about the
year 990. At that period the Cumbrian Britons had been for half
a century in subjugation to the Saxons, and since the death of
Dunmail their country had been handed over to Malcolm to be held in
fealty by the Scottish crown. The scattered remnants of the Celtic
tribes were for the most part shut up amongst their hills, or had
retired into Wales. The plains of Westmorland and Cumberland on
the north and east were probably chiefly occupied by a mixed Saxon
and Danish population; for nearly a century had elapsed since the
Danes from Northumberland had overrun them. In fifty years more the
result of events was, as we are informed by Henry of Huntingdon,
that one of the principal abodes of the "Danes," under which title
old writers comprehend all Northmen, was in Cumberland. A stream of
Northern emigrants, issuing, it may be supposed, from the districts
of the Tellemark, and the Hardanger, a name signifying "a place of
hunger and poverty," had descended along the north of Scotland,
swept the western side of the island, fixed its head-quarters in
the Isle of Man, and from thence succeeded in obtaining a firm
footing upon the opposite shore of England; a land, like their
own, of mountains and valleys, waiting for a people as they were
for a settlement, a wild and untamed country, always thinly
populated and never cultivated, a land of rocks and forests and of
desolation. These protected by their ships, having command of the
coast, and being unopposed except by the apparently impenetrable
mountain barriers before them, these warlike settlers cleared for
themselves homes amidst the woods, began to gather tribute from the
mountain sides, and laid the foundations of those "thwaites" and
"seats" and "gates" and "garths," which at the end of almost nine
centuries of fluctuation and change still bear testimony to their
wide-spread rule and are called by their Northern names.
Not only do traces of them everywhere survive in names which
indicate possession and location, or in words which particularise
the multiform features of the country and describe the minor
variations of its surface; but the sites of their legislative and
judicial institutions, and their places of burial, as well as their
towns and villages, are preserved in that local nomenclature which
lives in the language spoken by their kinsmen in the mother-land
at the present day. The old Norse element has penetrated, and
diffused itself, and hardened into the dialect of the Cumberland
and Westmorland "fell-siders," and emphatically pronounces from
whom it came. And, lastly, the physical and moral characteristics,
as well as the manners and customs of the people, are those of the
hardy race, whose transmitted blood gave the larger nerve and more
enduring vigour which characterise their frame. Tall, bony, and
firmly knit; fair-haired, and of Sanguine complexion; possessing
strong feelings of independance, and a large share of shrewdness
and mother-wit; intolerant of oppression; cautious, resolute,
astute and brave; these people, and the Cumbrians, especially,
crown their list of claims to be of Norse descent with one more
striking feature, a litigious spirit. Litigation appears to be
almost as natural and necessary to their minds, as wrestling and
other manly exercises are to their limbs: in respect to which, as
well as to other amusements in which they are said to bear some
resemblance to the old Icelanders, they bear away the palm from the
rest of England.
Dungeon Ghyll in Great Langdale is a deep chasm or fissure in the
southern face of the first great buttress of the Pikes. It is
formed by a considerable stream from Pike o' Stickle; which after
making several fine leaps down the mountain side, tumbles at length
over a lofty precipice about eighty feet between impending and
perpendicular rocks into a deep and gloomy basin. A few slender
branches are seen springing from the crevices in either face of
the chasm near the top; and immediately above the basin, a natural
arch, made by two large stones which have rolled from a higher
part of the mountain, and got wedged together between the cheeks
of rock. By scrambling over some rough stones in the bed of the
stream, the largest and finest chamber may be reached; and the
visitor stands underneath the arch, and in front of the waterfall.
Over the bridge thus rudely formed, Wordsworth's "Idle Shepherd
Boy" challenged his comrade to pass; and even ladies have had the
intrepidity or temerity to cross it, undeterred by the narrowness
and awkwardness of the footing, and the threatening aspect of the
dismal gulf below.
The station in the field adjoining the farm house called
Skelwith-Fold, is the site where the Danish fortress is assumed to
have stood.
THE CHURCH AMONG THE MOUNTAINS.
In this sweet vale where peace has found
An undisturbed abode,
The everlasting hills surround
A temple reared to God;
Where one pure stream, the Gospel's sound,
Flows as it ever flow'd.
Here never reach the angry jars
Which break the Church's rest.
The unity that strife debars
Is on this Branch imprest;
Her truths of old no discord mars;
Here peace is in her breast.
One Book reveals the living lore
Of prophets, saints, and kings.
One mild apostle here its store
To every household brings;
And on this temple's sacred floor
The pure glad tidings sings.
Race follows race from field and home,
And all in earth are laid:
But steadfast as the starry dome
Above, the truth is spread
Around their feet, howe'er they roam,
Unquestioned, ungainsaid.
How blest, to live and hope in peace
Like these! nor hear the knell
Of some sure promise, made to cease
Beneath the mystic's spell,
Or subtle casuist's caprice--
And know that all is well.
In vainest strifes we cast away
Too much from life's fair page.
The flock becomes the spoiler's prey,
Because the shepherds rage.
And while the life is but a day,
The warfare lasts an age.
But here may piety rejoice
To tread the ancient ways:
Still make the one true part the choice
Of even the darkest days;
And lift an undivided voice
Of thankful prayer and praise.
Guard, Sovereign of the heights and rills!
These precincts of Thy fold;
This little Church, which thus fulfils
Thy purpose framed of old.
And this Thy flock amidst these hills
Still in Thy bosom hold.
NOTES TO "THE CHURCH AMONG THE MOUNTAINS."
Wordsworth in his description of the Lake Country as it was, and
had been through centuries, till within about one hundred years,
thus alludes to the places of worship. "Towards the head of these
Dales was found a perfect Republic of shepherds and agriculturists,
among whom the plough of each man was confined to the maintenance
of his own family, or to the occasional accommodation of his
neighbour. Two or three cows furnished each family with milk and
cheese. The Chapel was the only edifice that presided over these
dwellings, the supreme head of this pure commonwealth: the members
of which existed in the midst of a powerful empire, like an ideal
society or an organised community, whose constitution had been
imposed and regulated by the mountains which protected it.
"The _religio loci_ is nowhere violated by these unstinted, yet
unpretending works of human hands. They exhibit generally a well
proportioned oblong, with a suitable porch, in some instances a
steeple tower, and in others nothing more than a small belfry, in
which one or two bells hang visibly. A man must be very insensible
who would not have been touched with pleasure at the sight of
the former Chapel of Buttermere, so strikingly expressing by its
diminutive size, how small must have been the congregation there
assembled, as it were, like one family; and proclaiming at the
same time to the passenger, in connection with the surrounding
mountains, the depth of that seclusion in which the people lived,
that rendered necessary the building of a separate place of worship
for so few. The edifice was scarcely larger than many of the
single stones or fragments of rock which were scattered near it.
The old Chapel was perhaps the most diminutive in all England,
being incapable of receiving more than half a dozen families. The
length of the outer wall was about seventeen feet. The curacy was
'certified to the Governors of Queen Anne's Bounty at £1. paid by
the contributions of the inhabitants,' and it was also certified,
'this Chapel and Wythop were served by Readers, except that the
Curate of Lorton officiated there three or four times in the year.'"
Such cures were held in these northern counties by unordained
persons, till about the middle of George II.'s reign; when the
Bishops came to a resolution, that no one should officiate who was
not in orders. But, because there would have been some injustice
and some hardship in ejecting the existing incumbents, they were
admitted to deacons' orders without undergoing any examination.
The person who was then Reader as it was called, at the Chapel in
the Vale of Newlands, and who received this kind of ordination,
exercised the various trades of Clogger, Tailor, and Butter-print
maker.
How otherwise than by following secular occupations were even
Readers to exist? The Chapel of "Secmurthow" on the south side of
the river Derwent, not far from the foot of Bassenthwaite lake,
was certified to the Governors of Queen Anne's Bounty at £2.,
being the interest of £40. raised by the inhabitants for a Reader.
"Before its augmentation," says Hutchinson, "the Reader of divine
service had a precarious income; but an actual custom existed for
several years of allowing the poor minister a _whittle-gate_. He
was privileged to go from house to house in the Chapelry, and stay
a certain number of days at each place, where he was permitted to
enter his _whittle_ or knife with the rest of the family. This
custom," he adds, "has been abolished in such modern times, that it
is in the memory of many now living." (i.e. 1794.)
The inhabitants of many of the Chapelries in the north got by
custom from the Rectors or Vicars the right of nominating and
presenting the curate; for this reason: before the death of Queen
Anne, many of the Chapelries were not worth above two or three
pounds a year, and the donees could not get persons properly
qualified to serve them; so they left them to the inhabitants,
who raised voluntary contributions for them in addition to their
salary, with clothes yearly and whittle-gate.
Clothes yearly, were one new suit of clothes, two pairs of shoes,
and one pair of clogs, shirts, stockings, etc., as they could
bargain.
Whittlegate is, to have two or three weeks' victuals at each house,
according to the ability of the inhabitants, which was settled
amongst them, so that he should go his course as regularly as the
sun, and complete it annually. Few houses having more knives than
one or two, the pastor was often obliged to buy his own; sometimes
it was bought for him by the chapel-wardens. He marched from house
to house with his whittle seeking fresh pasturage; and as master of
the herd, he had the elbow chair at the table-head, which was often
made of part of a hollow ash-tree, such as may be seen in those
parts at this day.
Buttermere was said to allow its priest whittle-gate, and twenty
shillings yearly; by other accounts, "clogg-shoes, harden-sark,
whittle-gate, and guse-gate"--that is, a pair of shoes clogged or
iron-shod, a shirt of coarse linen or hemp once a year, free-living
at each parishioner's house for a certain number of days, and the
right to pasture a goose or geese on the common.
The Wytheburn reader had sark, whittle-gate, and guse-gate.
The Mungrisdale priest had £6. 0_s._ 9_d._ a year.
Many worthies have appeared, nevertheless, among these unpretending
ministers of the dales; most prominently so, Robert Walker, for
a long period curate of Seathwaite, and surnamed for his many
virtues and industry, the Wonderful: of whose life and actions
an interesting and detailed account is given in the Notes in
Wordsworth's Works.
The Chapel of Martindale, a perpetual curacy under the vicarage
of Barton, near Penrith, was served for 67 years by a Mr. Richard
Birket. The ancient endowment was only £2. 15_s._ 4_d._ per annum,
a small house, and about four acres of land. At his first coming,
Birket's whole property consisted of two shirts and one suit of
clothes; yet he amassed a considerable sum of money. Being the only
man except one in the parish who could write, he transcribed most
of the law papers of his parishioners. Whenever he lent money,
he deducted at the time of lending, two shillings in the pound
for interest, and the term of the loan never exceeded a year.
He charged for writing a receipt twopence, and for a promissory
note fourpence; and used other means of extortion. He likewise
taught a school, and served as parish-clerk; and in both these
offices he showed his wonderful turn for economy and gain; for
his quarter-dues from his scholars being small, he had from the
parents of each scholar a fortnight's board and lodging; and
the Easter-dues being usually paid in eggs, he, at the time of
collecting, carried with him a board, in which was a hole that
served him as a gauge, and he positively refused to accept any
which would pass through. He got a fortune of £60 with his wife; to
whom he left at his decease the sum of £1200. Clark says, that on
account of transacting most of the law affairs of his parishioners,
he was called Sir Richard, or the Lawyer. But with reference to
this title, Nicholson, Bishop of Carlisle, at the beginning of the
18th century says, "Since I can remember, there was not a reader in
any chapel who was not called 'Sir.'" The old designation of the
clergy before the Reformation was always "Sir"; knight being added
as the military or civil distinction. It has also been stated that
the last curate of this parish, or of these parts at all, called
"Sir," was the Reverend Richard Birket (apud 1689).
On the death of Mr. Birket no one would undertake the cure, on
account of the smallness of the stipend: those therefore of the
parishioners who could read, performed the service by turns. Things
remained in this situation for some time; at length a little
decrepid man, named Brownrigg, to whom Mr. Birket had taught a
little Latin and Greek, was by the parishioners appointed perpetual
Reader. For this they allowed him, with the consent of the Donee,
the church perquisites, then worth about £12 per annum. Brownrigg
being a man of good character, and there being no clergyman within
several miles to baptize their children, or bury their dead, the
parishioners petitioned the Bishop to grant him deacon's orders;
this was accordingly done, and he served the cure forty-eight years.
Mr. Mattinson, the curate of Paterdale, who died about the year
1770, was a singular character. For fifty-six years he officiated
at the small "chapel with the yew tree," at the foot of St.
Sunday's Crag. His ordinary income was generally twelve pounds a
year, and never above eighteen. He married and lived comfortably,
and had four children, all of whom he christened and married,
educating his son to be a scholar, and sending him to College. He
buried his mother; married his father and buried him; christened
his wife, and published his own banns of marriage in the church. He
lived to the age of ninety-six, and died worth a thousand pounds.
It has been alleged that this provident curate assisted his wife
to card and spin the tithe wool which fell to his lot, viz. one
third; that he taught a school which brought him in about five
pounds a year; that his wife was skilful and eminent as a midwife,
performing her functions for the small sum of one shilling; but
as according to ancient custom she was likewise cook at the
christening dinner, she received some culinary perquisites which
somewhat increased her profits. Clarke adds, "One thing more I must
beg leave to mention concerning Mrs. Mattinson: On the day of her
marriage, her father boasted that his two daughters were married to
the two best men in Paterdale, the priest and the bag piper."
In Langdale, in Clark's time, the poor Curate was obliged to sell
ale to support himself and his family; and, he says, "At his house
I have played _Barnaby_ with him on the Sabbath morning, when he
left us with the good old song,
'I'll but preach, and be with you again.'"
Taking all their circumstances into consideration, it is not to be
wondered at that the personal failings of these men were looked
upon by their neighbours with a leniency which would hardly be
intelligible elsewhere. Not very long ago an excellent old dame
only recently deceased, who for her intelligence and goodness
was respected and esteemed by the highest and the lowest, and
was one of the finest specimens of nature's gentlewomen to be
found anywhere, was heard warmly upholding the character of a
neighbouring clergyman in these words,--"Well, I'll not say but he
may have _slanted_ now and then, at a christenin' or a weddin'; but
for buryin' a corp, he is undeniable!"
In 1866 the Bishop of Carlisle consecrated a new church at Wythop
on the shores of Bassenthwaite Lake. The old building which this
edifice is intended to supersede is a decayed barn-like structure,
supplied with a bell which hung from an adjoining tree. Some
curious customs are associated with this Church. It was built in
1473. For some hundreds of years the inhabitants of the Chapelry
were in the habit of dividing it into four quarters, from each of
which a representative was elected yearly; the functions of the
four being set forth in a document dated 1623. They have to elect
a parish minister or reader, who was generally the schoolmaster,
a layman being eligible; they had to collect "devotion money,"
supervise the repairs of the fabric, and look after the parish
school. The stipend of the minister was 10½d. per Sunday. Here is a
copy of an old receipt:--"Received of the chapelmen of Wythop the
sum of 28s. 5d. for thirty-one weeks' reading wages, by me, John
Fisher." The stipend was however supplemented by Whittlegate; he
was boarded and lodged by the inhabitants of the four quarters in
turn. The value of the living at the present day is only £51 per
annum.
This old church which is to remain as a curiosity, stands high on
a mountain side; and not many years ago nettles grew luxuriantly
beneath the seats in the pews and along the middle of the passage.
A narrow board on a moveable bracket constitutes the communion
table, and the vessels employed in the celebration of the Lord's
Supper are a pewter cheese-plate and pewter pot. There is no
font provided for baptisms, the purpose was served by a common
earthenware vessel; nor is any vestry room attached to the building.
Vestries are seldom to be found in these remote chapels. And in the
chapel at Matterdale, the sacramental wine used to be kept in a
wooden keg, or small cask; perhaps is so still.
It is said of Whitbeck Chapel, which lies on the base of Black
Combe, near the sea shore, that smugglers frequenting that exposed
part of the coast, on many occasions deposited their illegal
cargoes within its walls, until a convenient opportunity arose
for removing them unobserved. Sunday sometimes came round when
the sacred edifice was not in the most suitable condition for
celebrating divine service. The parish clerk had then to advise
the minister that it would be inconvenient to officiate on that
day. It was not politic to scrutinize too closely the nature of
the difficulty that existed: it was sufficiently understood. A
substantial sample of the intruding contraband element found its
way to the house of the minister; and forthwith due notice was
circulated among the parishioners that the usual service would
not be held until the Sunday following. Meanwhile the stores were
disposed of, and the wild and desperate adventurers were in full
career again towards the Manx or Scottish shore.
In 1300 the Lady of Allerdale, and of the Honour of Cockermouth,
Isabel Countess of Albemarle was summoned to prove by what right
she held a market at Crosthwaite (near Keswick). She denied
that she held any market there, but said that the men of the
neighbourhood met at the Church on Festival days, and there sold
flesh and fish; and that she as lady of the Manor of Derwent Fells
took no toll. This practice being persevered in, in 1306 the
inhabitants of Cockermouth represented in a petition to parliament
that there was a great concourse of people every Sunday at
Crosthwaite Church, where corn, flour, beans, peas, linen, cloth,
meat, fish, and other merchandise were bought and sold, which was
so very injurious to the market at Cockermouth, that the persons
of that place who farmed the tolls of the king were unable to pay
their rent. Upon this a prohibitory proclamation was issued against
the continuance of such an unseemly usage.
Things had not got quite straight in this respect within the
sanctuary at a much later period. The Rev. Thos. Warcup, incumbent
of the parish church of Wigton, in the civil war was obliged to fly
on account of his loyalty to the sovereign. After the restoration
of Charles II. he returned to his cure; and tradition says, that
the butcher-market was then held upon the Sunday, and the butchers
hung up their carcasses even at the church door, to attract the
notice of their customers as they went in and came out of church;
and it was not an unfrequent thing to see people, who had made
their bargains before prayer began, hang their joints of meat over
the backs of the seats until the pious clergyman had finished the
service. The zealous priest, after having long, but ineffectually,
endeavoured to make his congregation sensible of the indecency of
such practices, undertook a journey to London, on foot, for the
purpose of petitioning the king to have the market-day established
on the Tuesday; which favour it is said he had interest enough to
obtain.
This faithful priest long before his death caused his own monument
to be erected in the churchyard, with this inscription in verse of
his own composing:
Thomas Warcup prepar'd this stone,
To mind him of his best home.
Little but sin and misery here,
Till we be carried on our bier.
Out of the grave and earth's dust,
The Lord will raise me up, I trust;
To live with Christe eternallie,
Who, me to save, himself did die.
Mihi est Christus et in vita et in morte lucrum. Phil. i. 21.
Obiit anno 1653.
Thus it appears his decease did not take place until some years
after the date at which he records his death; probably a period
marked by some important change in his life, or of unusual
solemnity reminds us that only thirty-five years ago, at a very few
miles from its base, one who served the pastoral office more than
fifty years, eking out a wretched maintenance upon a small farm;
while his sons were at the plough, was of necessity compelled to
send his daughters with horses and carts for coals and lime, and to
lead manure to the fields and distribute it over the land; whilst
the Dean and Chapter of his diocese were the patrons of his cure.
Such things can hardly be witnessed at this day. But a minister may
be seen even now (1867) on the other side of the district, leading
the choir in the aisle, in his surplice, with bow and fiddle in
his hands, and then resuming his place at the desk, with becoming
solemnity, until the course of the service requires his instrument
again. His sense of harmony is acute; for in the middle of the
psalm, his arms will fly apart, and the volume of sound be stopped,
until an offensive note has been ejected, and the strain rectified,
and renewed.
A curious discovery has recently been made in the venerable
parish church of Windermere. The plaster having come away over
one of the arches, a band of red and black was revealed. On the
removal of more of the thick layers of whitewash, a beautiful
inscription in old English characters was found. Further search
was instituted, and similar inscriptions have been discovered on
all the walls between the arches in the nave. It is conjectured
that these inscriptions were placed in the church at the time of
the Reformation, as they are mostly directed against the dogma of
transubstantiation, whilst they give plain instructions in the
doctrine of the Sacraments.
On the north side of the nave the following have been deciphered:--
"Howe many sacramentes are their?--Two: baptisme and the supper of
the Lord.
"In baptisme which ys ye signe yt may be seene?--Water onelie.
"Which is ye grace yt cannot be seene?--The washinge awaie of
synnes by the bloode of Christe.
"In the Lordes supper which is ye signe yt may be sene?--Breade and
Wyne.
"Which is ye grace yt cannot be seene?--The bodie and bloode of
Christe."
On the south wall the inscriptions are as follow:--
"In goinge to ye table of the Lord, what ought a man to consider or
doe pryncipalie?--T examine him selfe.
"Is the breade and wine turned into ye bodie and bloode of
Christe?--No, for if you turne or take away ye signe that may be
sene it is no sacrament.
"For the strengthenynge of your faith, howe many things learne
yow in ye Lordes Supper?--Two: as by ye hand and mouthe, my bodie
receiuth breade and wine: so by faithe, my soule dothe feade of ye
bodie and blood of Christ: secondlie all ye benefittes of Christ
his passion and his righteousness, are as surelye sealled up to be
mine as my selfe had wrought them.
"To the strengthening of your faithe how many thinges learne you in
baptisme?--Two: first, as water washeth away the filthines of ye
fleshe: so ye bloode of Christ washeth awaie synne from my soull;
secondly, I am taught to rise againe to neunes of life."
G. AND T. COWARD, PRINTERS, CARLISLE.
SECOND EDITION.
_Small Crown 8vo. In neat Cloth binding, Price 3s. 6d._
THE FOLK-SPEECH OF CUMBERLAND and some Districts Adjacent; being
short Stories and Rhymes in the Dialects of the West Border
Counties. By ALEX. CRAIG GIBSON, F.S.A.
The tales are remarkable for their spirit and humour. The poetry, too,
is marked by the same characteristics.--_Westminster Review._
The stories and rhymes have the freshness of nature about
them.--_Contemporary Review._
Brimful of humour, homely wit and sense, and reflect the character and
life and ways of thought of an honest sturdy people.--_Spectator._
The stories, or prose pieces, are wonderfully clever and well
done.--_Saturday Review._
This is an uncommon book, combining, as it does, in an extraordinary
degree, the recondite lore which throws antiquarians into ecstacies,
with the shrewd humour, the descriptive force, and the poetic charm
which, garbed in the old Norse-rooted vernacular which Cumbrians
love so well, will secure for it a cordial reception among all those
who claim "canny Cumberland" for their childhood's home.--_Eddowes's
Shrewsbury Journal._
His poems are pictures in very natural colours.--_Durham Chronicle._
Destined to an honourable place among the choicest productions of our
native literature.--_Carlisle Journal._
Besides being a learned antiquary, he has wit, humour, and a true vein
of poetry in him, and the literary skill, in addition to turn all these
to the best account.--_Carlisle Express._
In its way perfectly unique.--_Carlisle Examiner._
CARLISLE: G. AND T. COWARD. LONDON: J. RUSSELL SMITH.
_Small Crown 8vo. In neat Cloth binding, Price 3s.6d._
"CUMMERLAND TALK;" being Short Tales and Rhymes in the Dialect of
that County. By JOHN RICHARDSON, of Saint John's.
A very good specimen of its class. The ordinary subscriber to Mudie's
would not for a moment dream of ever looking into it, and yet Mr.
Richardson possesses far more ability than the generality of novelists
who are so popular.--_Westminster Review._
Good and pleasant.--_Saturday Review._
There are both pathos and humour in the various stories and ballads
furnished by Mr. Richardson. We congratulate Cumberland on having so
many able champions and admirers of her dialect.--_Athenæum._
Some of the rhymes are admirable. "It's nobbut me!" is a capital
specimen of a popular lyric poem.--_Notes and Queries._
He has seized on some of the most striking habits of thought, and
describes them simply and naturally, without any straining after
effect.--_Carlisle Patriot._
To all lovers of the dialect literature of this county the volume will
be heartily welcome.--_Whitehaven News._
A worthy companion to Dr. Gibson's "Folk Speech."--_Wigton Advertiser._
The sketches are quite equal to anything of the kind we have
seen.--_Kendal Mercury._
A very pleasant addition to the records of the dialect of
Cumberland.--_Westmorland Gazette._
The best and most comprehensive reflex of the folk-speech of Cumberland
that has been put into our hands.--_Soulby's Ulverston Advertiser._
There is plenty of variety in the volume.--_Ulverston Mirror._
CARLISLE: G. AND T. COWARD. LONDON: J. RUSSELL SMITH.
_F. Cap 8vo. Price 2s. 6d._
SONGS AND BALLADS
By JOHN JAMES LONSDALE,
Author of "The Ship Boy's Letter," "Robin's Return," &c.
WITH A BRIEF MEMOIR.
_From the ATHENÆUM._
Mr. Lonsdale's songs have not only great merit, but they display the
very variety of which he himself was sceptical. His first lay, "Minna,"
might lay claim even to imagination; nevertheless, for completeness
and delicacy of execution, we prefer some of his shorter pieces. Of
most of these it may be said that they are the dramatic expressions of
emotional ideas. In many cases, however, these songs have the robust
interest of story, or that of character and picture. When it is borne
in mind that by far the greater portion of these lays were written for
music, no small praise must be awarded to the poet, not only for the
suitability of his themes to his purpose, but for the picturesqueness
and fancy with which he has invested them under difficult conditions.
_From the WESTMINSTER REVIEW._
Poetry seems now to flourish more in the north than in the south of
England. Not long ago we noticed an admirable collection of Cumberland
ballads, containing two songs by Miss Blamire, which are amongst the
most beautiful and pathetic in our language. We have now a small volume
by a Cumberland poet, which may be put on the same shelf with Kirke
White. Like Kirke White's, Mr. Lonsdale's life seems to have been
marked by pain and disappointment. Like Kirk White too, he died before
his powers were full developed. A delicate pathos and a vein of humour
characterize his best pieces.
_From the SPECTATOR._
"The Children's Kingdom" is really touching. The picture of the band of
children setting out in the morning bright and happy, lingering in the
forest at noon, and creeping to their journey's end at midnight with
tearful eyes, has a decided charm.
_From NOTES AND QUERIES._
A volume containing some very pleasing poems by a young Cumberland
poet, who but for his early death, would probably have taken a foremost
place amongst the lyrists of our day.
CARLISLE: G. AND T. COWARD. LONDON: J. RUSSELL SMITH.
_Small Crown 8vo. Price 3s. 6d. Cloth Limp._
A GLOSSARY of the WORDS and PHRASES OF FURNESS (North Lancashire),
with Illustrative Quotations, principally from the Old Northern
Writers. By J. P. MORRIS, F.A.S.L.
We are thoroughly pleased with the creditable way in which Mr.
Morris has performed his task. We had marked a number of words, the
explanation of which struck us as being good and to the point, but
space unfortunately fails us. We commend the Furness Glossary to all
students of our dialects.--_Westminster Review._
The collection of words is remarkably good, and Mr. Morris has most
wisely and at considerable pains and trouble illustrated them with
extracts from old writers.--_The Reliquary Quarterly Review._
Mr. Morris is well known in the district, both as a writer and an
antiquarian. His labours in the work before us evince him to be a
zealous and untiring student. We trust his book will have the success
which we think it well deserves.--_Ulverston Advertiser._
The stranger who takes up his abode in Furness will find Mr. Morris's
little book a capital helpmate.--_Ulverston Mirror._
Apart from its etymological value the work is highly acceptable as a
contribution to local literature.--_Carlisle Journal._
We cordially recommend the glossary to admirers of the old writers, and
to all curious philologists.--_Carlisle Patriot._
Valuable as tracing to their source many good old forms of the Furness
dialect, and as explaining not a few archaisms which have been
stumbling-blocks to students of their mother tongue.--_Whitehaven
News._
CARLISLE: G. AND T. COWARD. LONDON: J. RUSSELL SMITH.
_Price 3s. 6d. in Cloth; or 5s. in Extra Gilt Binding._
POEMS. BY PETER BURN.
A NEW AND COMPLETE EDITION.
If Mr. Burn's genius does not soar very high, he leads us into many
a charming scene in country and town, and imparts moral truths and
homely lessons. In many points our author resembles Cowper, notably in
his humour and practical aim. One end of poetry is to give pleasure,
and wherever these poems find their way they will both teach and
delight.--_Literary World._
If Mr. Burn will confine himself to pieces as expressive and suggestive
as "The Leaves are Dying," or as sweet as "The Rivulet," he need not
despair of taking a good position amongst the ever-increasing host of
minor poets.--_The Scotsman._
Throughout the volume there is a healthy, vigorous tone, worthy of
the land of song from which the author hails. The book is a desirable
contribution to the already rich literature of Cumberland.--_Dundee
Advertiser._
* * * * *
THE SONGS AND BALLADS OF CUMBERLAND AND THE LAKE COUNTRY; with
Biographical Sketches, Notes, and Glossary. Edited by SIDNEY GILPIN.
(_A New and Revised Edition in preparation._)
CARLISLE: G. AND T. COWARD. LONDON: J. RUSSELL SMITH.
_F. Cap 8vo. Price 2s.6d., in neat Cloth binding._
MISS BLAMIRE'S SONGS AND POEMS; together with Songs by her friend
MISS GILPIN of Scaleby Castle. With Portrait of Miss Blamire.
She was an anomaly in literature. She had far too modest an opinion
of herself; an extreme seldom run into, and sometimes, as in this
case, attended like other extremes with disadvantages. We are
inclined, however, to think that if we have lost a great deal by
her ultra-modesty, we have gained something. Without it, it is
questionable whether she would have abandoned herself so entirely to
her inclination, and left us those exquisite lyrics which derive their
charms from the simple, undisguised thoughts which they contain. The
characteristic of her poetry is its simplicity. It is the simplicity
of genuine pathos. It enters into all her compositions, and is perhaps
preeminent in her Scottish songs.--_Carlisle Journal, 1842._
In her songs, whether in pure English, or in the Cumbrian or Scottish
dialect, she is animated, simple, and tender, often touching a chord
which thrills a sympathetic string deep in the reader's bosom. It may,
indeed, be confidently predicted of several of these lyrics, that they
will live with the best productions of their age, and longer than many
that were at first allowed to rank more highly.--_Chambers' Journal,
1842._
* * * * *
_F. Cap 8vo. Price 2s., in neat Cloth binding._
ROBERT ANDERSON'S CUMBERLAND BALLADS.
As a pourtrayer of rustic manners--as a relator of homely incident--as
a hander down of ancient customs, and of ways of life fast wearing or
worn out--as an exponent of the feelings, tastes, habits, and language
of the most interesting class in a most interesting district, and
in some other respects, we hold Anderson to be unequalled, not in
Cumberland only, but in England. As a description of a long, rapid,
and varied succession of scenes--every one a photograph--occurring at
a gathering of country people intent upon enjoying themselves in their
own uncouth roystering fashion, given in rattling, jingling, regularly
irregular rhymes, with a chorus that is of itself a concentration of
uproarious fun and revelry, we have never read or heard anything like
Anderson's "Worton Wedding."----Whitehaven Herald._
CARLISLE: G. AND T. COWARD. LONDON: J. RUSSELL SMITH.
_Small Crown 8vo. Price One Shilling._
FORNESS FOLK, THE'R SAYIN'S AN' DEWIN'S: or Sketches of Life and
Character in Lonsdale North of the Sands. BY ROGER PIKETAH.
We have been greatly entertained by these stories, which reveal to
us traits of a humoursome, shrewd, sturdy race, of whom from their
geographical isolation, very little has been communicated to us by the
compilers of guide books or by local sketchers.--_Carlisle Patriot._
We can honestly say the tales are not spoiled in serving up. They come
upon the reader with almost the full force of _viva voce_ recital, and
prove conclusively that Roger Piketah is a thorough master of the "mak
o' toak" which he has so cleverly manipulated.--_Whitehaven News._
Whoever Roger Piketah may be, he has succeeded in producing a good
reflex of some of our Furness traditions, idioms, and opinions; and we
venture to predict it will be a favorite at penny readings and other
places.--_Ulverston Advertiser._
_F. Cap 8vo. Price 3s. 6d._
POEMS BY MRS. WILSON TWENTYMAN of Evening Hill. Dedicated, by
permission, to H. W. LONGFELLOW.
_F. Cap 8vo. Price 2s. 6d._
ROUGH NOTES OF SEVEN CAMPAIGNS in Spain, France, and America, from
1809 to 1815. By JOHN SPENCER COOPER, late Sergeant in the 7th
Royal Fusileers.
CARLISLE: G. AND T. COWARD. LONDON: J. RUSSELL SMITH.
_Crown 8vo. Price 1s. in extra Cloth Binding: or 6d. in neat Paper
Cover._
OLD CASTLES: Including Sketches of CARLISLE, CORBY, and LINSTOCK
CASTLES; with a Poem on Carlisle. By M. S., Author of an "Essay on
Shakspeare," &c.
WISE WIFF. A Tale in the Cumberland Dialect By the Author of "Joe
and the Geologist." Price Threepence.
THREE FURNESS DIALECT TALES. Price Threepence. Contains:--Siege o'
Brou'ton, Lebby Beck Dobby, Invasion o' U'ston.
THE SONGS AND BALLADS OF CUMBERLAND With Music by WILLIAM METCALFE.
1. D'YE KEN JOHN PEEL? Words by John Woodcock Graves. Price 4s.
2. LAL DINAH GRAYSON ("M'appen I may"). Words by Alex. Craig
Gibson. Price 4s.
3. REED ROBIN. Words by Robert Anderson. Price 2s. 6d.
4. "WELCOME INTO CUMBERLAND." Words by the Rev. T. Ellwood. Price
3s.
5. THE WAEFU' HEART. Words by Miss Blamire. Price 2s. 6d.
THE WELCOME INTO CUMBERLAND QUADRILLE. Price 4s.
THE JOHN PEEL MARCH. Price 4s.
(_To be continued._) _The above at Half-Price._
CARLISLE: G. AND T. COWARD.
Transcriber's Notes
Obvious punctuation errors repaired.
Hyphen removed: wicker[-]work (p. 42), extra[-]ordinary (p. 141),
eye[-]balls (p. 301), ferry[-]man (p. 171), hearth[-]stone (pp. 19
(twice), 44), high[-]road (p. 263), loop[-]hole (p. 74), noon[-]day (p.
282), out[-]buildings (p. 174), out[-]worn (p. 279), pre[-]eminent (ad
for Miss Blamire's Songs and Poems), two[-]pence (p. 18).
Space removed: water[ ]spout (p. 190), wicker[ ]work (p. 79).
Spelling normalized to "Souther Fell[-side]".
P. 13: Herlingfordbury Park -> Hertingfordbury Park.
P. 26: Sire de Couci -> Sire de Courci.
P. 122: Darwentwater -> Derwentwater.
P. 127: Of brighest laurels -> Of brightest laurels.
P. 159: gave lands in Leakly -> gave lands in Leakley.
Pp. 177, 292: Phillipson -> Philipson.
P. 269: the story is old -> the story is told.
P. 291: that that through which he had entered -> than that through
which he had entered.
P. 329: served him as a guage -> served him as a gauge.
Ad for Poems by Peter Burn: she leads us -> he leads us.
Ad for The Songs and Ballads of Cumberland: The abore at Half-Price ->
The above at Half-Price.
*** End of this LibraryBlog Digital Book "Lays and Legends of the English Lake Country - With Copious Notes" ***
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