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 Tales and Legends 
 
 OF THE 
 
 ENGLISH LAKES.
 
 TALES AND LEGENDS 
 
 OF THE 
 
 ENGLISH Lakes 
 
 BY THE LATE 
 
 WILSON AEMISTEAD 
 
 Author 0/ ' The Flora of Liverpool," etc. 
 
 LONDON: SIMPKIN, MARSHALL & CO 
 GLASGOW: THOMAS D. MORISON 
 
 1891
 
 GR 
 
 ! Zu2. 
 PREFACE. _ ,4 A"7 
 
 ' 9 c^ 1 
 
 No part of the world possesses so many charms for the 
 contemplative mind as the admirable scenery of our 
 English Lake District. None can furnish so wide a field 
 for the excursions of a plaN'ful imagination, as those 
 peaceful gleus which are formed by the fantastic sweeps 
 of onr northern mountains. 
 
 The lover of nature, whose delight it is to traverse this 
 romantic region, beholds here scenes the most lovely 
 opening out on every hand. Mountains and dales wild 
 enough, in all conscience, amidst which are hidden placid, 
 silver lakes, embosomed in the most delicious, fairlyland 
 valleys, diversified with beautiful mansions, and snow- 
 white cottacres, nestling in all the luxuriance of their native 
 woods and coppices. 
 
 It has been justly said that the district from Lancaster, 
 and the Bay of Morecambe, to the borders of Scotland, 
 includes in its territory the richest valleys, the wildest 
 mountains, the dreariest moorlands, the greenest meadows, 
 the most barren rocks, the thickest and most verdant woods, 
 the sweetest towns and villages, the smoothest rivers, which 
 the salmon loves to haunt ; the most turbulent mountain 
 streams, in whose dark pools, here and there, the speckled 
 trout finds a dwelling-place ; the gayest garden flowers, the 
 loveliest heaths that ever grew wild, high hills, deep mines, 
 noble families, and the loveliest maidens of the land. 
 
 Whether we contemplate the sublime grandeur of its 
 
 mountains, or listen to the melodious murmurs of the 
 
 distant waterfalls, or meditate along the margins of its 
 
 woodland streams in the evening's calm, we must be 
 
 enchanted with the scene, and feel fully prepared to exclaim 
 
 with the poet : — 
 
 "Lives there a man with soul so dead, 
 As never to himself hath said, 
 This is my own, my native land ! " 
 
 The Lake District has long been regarded as the romantic 
 " classic ground " of England. The Tour of Gray and 
 others formerly, and the works and residence of some of 
 the most celebrated poets of our day, have thrown a "sacred 
 halo " around it in the eye of the stranger, endeared as it is 
 
 IISSOST'
 
 VI PREFACE. 
 
 by JiviriL;' and departed genius ; and have exalted the 
 
 enthusiasm with which the visitor surveys a region that 
 
 embodies more variety of charming scenery, and of 
 
 picturesque magnificence, than an equal space of our own 
 
 or of any other country. In extent, indeed, the sister 
 
 kingdoms may surpass it, but not in beauty; and, save in 
 
 their "diadem of snow," its mountains may be said to rival 
 
 the sublimity of the Alps, without their vastness. Where, 
 
 in all Europe, in all the wide world, can more lovely and 
 
 enchanting spots be found than are embosomed amongst the 
 
 lakes and mountains of Cumberland and Westmorland ? 
 
 The increased and increasino^ facilities afforded for visiting^ 
 
 the unrivalled scenery of the Lake district, naturally excite 
 
 a corresponding desire to supply the tourist with every 
 
 incident connected with this interesting locality. 
 
 The great number of popular publications as Guides and 
 
 Tours to the Lakes, which, at different intervals, have been 
 
 eagerly received, is a striking proof of the patriotic interest 
 
 that attaches to the district. These, though they are, many 
 
 of them, replete with valuable information, and render the 
 
 traveller much necessary aid, are most of them deficient in 
 
 their allusion to the history and traditions of some of the 
 
 more remarkable sites of this romantic region. 
 
 To supply this deficiency, in part, is the object of the present 
 
 Work. The interest of a country abounding in spots the 
 
 most attractive in themselves, is greatly enhanced by the 
 
 local associations attaching to it, its connection with bygone 
 
 days, be they of the historical or legendary kind ; for, 
 
 "Holier seems the ground 
 To him who catches on the gale 
 The spirit of a mournful tale, 
 Embodied in the sound." 
 
 In the following pages are narrated a few of the romantic 
 stories the country affords. The district, it is true, is not 
 particularly rich in historical incidents ; nor has it been the 
 scene of man}' great events; yet, it has been justly said by 
 a popular writer, what it wants in history it more than 
 makes up in poetr}'. 
 
 True, it may appear to be richer in scenerj'- than in 
 legend, and in poetry than romance ; but, the fact is, its 
 legends and romance have been neglected. The district is 
 highly suggestive of both, but it has had no Sir Walter Scott 
 to make the most of them. A part of the land so famous
 
 PREFACE. ■. i 
 
 for beauty and for song, independent of its Border 
 proximity, is one peculiarly favourable to the lovers of old 
 legends ; its atmosphere is one in which fancy most delights 
 to soar and to hover, and it contains a mine of materials for 
 romance yet almost untouched. '■^ 
 
 The fierce feuds and stormful outgoings of the adjoining 
 Borders, are full of interest and of romance peculiar to 
 themselves. "Battles have assailed the banks" of nearh^ 
 every stream — some of the strongholds yet remain, wherein 
 the mosstroopers, clad in steel from head to foot, issued 
 forth in the morning light — the hills are there, with the 
 heath, across which they sped on gallant steeds, with lances 
 outstretched, and gleaming helmets — the paths are yet green 
 amid the dun moor along which they drove their spoil — 
 and in solitary farm-houses, or lonely cottages, ancient 
 dames may yet be met with, who can repeat, in song or 
 story, the wild deeds which their mothers saw, and their 
 sires performed. 
 
 Once there were more castles than churches in the 
 country, to defend it from the Scot; and though these 
 castles now, for the most part, stand solitary monuments 
 of past ages and conditions of things, yet around them still 
 linger the fame of heroic deeds, and the twilight melancholy 
 of once absorbing woes. Besides its many other interesting 
 monuments of antiquity, 'tis not without its aged monasteries 
 and " ivy-mantled towers." 
 
 It has been trul^^ said the spirit of romance is departing 
 from the land in which we dwell. Our forests are felled 
 where the freebooters of former days flourished — the fish 
 are chased from our lakes by steamboats — the hills of heath, 
 where the deer roved, are enclosed, and ploughed and 
 harrowed over periodically — the green slopes and dusky 
 dells, where nobles chased the roe, and the sunny glades of 
 the forest into which they emerged, with gallant trains 
 and bridles rin^incr, and their hunting grear o-Utterinij in the 
 glorious sunlight of the olden time — all these are gone ; 
 and as we wander over the land, Ave find mostly drains and 
 furrows, stone dykes, and straight fences, where the heather 
 hung its blue bells unseen from year to year, save by the 
 gorcock or the hare, or the myriads of wild bees that circled 
 i-ound the breathing flowers, and, humming within their tiny 
 cells, sought out the sweet treasures which nature had hidden
 
 Viii PREFACE. 
 
 there. Our castles and abbeys are in ruins — our Border- 
 keeps are moulderinf]^ to the ground — the battle grounds 
 have been torn up by the plough — our briery glens and leafy 
 shaws, consecrated by immortal song to past loves, have been 
 ruthlessly desecrated — our ancient sports are at an end — m « 
 are a changed people — and the olden time is truly gone. 
 
 Let it never be thought that we rejoice not in the presert 
 because vre regret the past. We feel, and are thankful for 
 the blessings and comforts which the improved arts of the 
 age impart to us; we exult in the progress of science 
 throughout the land ; we can even look with complacency 
 upon a railroad, though it intersect, with its prosaic line, 
 the woodlands where we first felt the poetry of life — 
 though the very hawthorn, beneath which we breathed our 
 vows of eternal fidelity to her who noAV lies nightly in our 
 bosom, has been rooted up to prepare a path for it. 
 
 We see all this, and we think of it without regret. Our 
 reason approving, consents to it; yet our imagination 
 answers, '' The spirit of romance is departing from us, and 
 we sigh for the olden time." 
 
 Imagination is a faculty in which we delight, and 
 phrenologists say that men are happy only in the active 
 exercise of their faculties. Therefore it is, that, leaving 
 the practical speculations of the arts and sciences, we have 
 chosen to select a field wherein imagination may fly her 
 boldest flight, and we have allowed our fancy to rove amid 
 scenes of fictitious bliss or woe, or amidst the real sorrows 
 and joys of many an " owre true tale." 
 
 I only add that, should the pleasure of the tourist be 
 enhanced by a perusal of any of the following tales connected 
 with the Lake district, it will confer a still greater pleasure 
 on the writer, even than that of cullinof them, from time to 
 
 1 • 1 • • • 
 
 time, ournig his visits to those nooks hallowed by poetry, 
 or consecrated by history, which a frequent residence m 
 this locality has afforded him the opportunity of exploring. 
 They are ofiered to the lover of nature, and to the admirer 
 of the picturesque, with the hope that, whilst delighting in 
 nature's sublimities, which are self-evident, proclaiming, at 
 every step, their Divine original, he may not pass by 
 unheedeil some of the remarkable spots of history or 
 romance without feelino: interested in their associations.
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 HELWISE; OE, THE ILL-FATED LOVERS; 
 
 PAGE 
 
 A TALE OF MUNCASTER HALL, - - 13 
 
 ST. HEKBERT, 
 
 THE HERMIT OF DERWENTWATER, - - 22 
 
 THE LOVERS' VOWS : 
 
 A TALE OF FURNtSS ABBEY, - - 28 
 
 THE STONE OF WALLOW CRAG; 
 
 OR, THE POET OF KENTMERE, - 30 
 
 THE SKULLS OF CALGARTH. 
 
 A LEGEND OF WINDERMERE LAKE, - - 43 
 
 THE LUCK OF EDEN HALL. 
 
 A TALE OF THE MUSGRAVES, - - 45
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 THE MAID OF HADEA SCAR; 
 
 PAOE 
 
 OK, THE MYSTERIOUS STRANGER, - - 50 
 
 THE TWO BROTHERS. 
 
 A TALE OF ENNERDALE,- - - 52 
 
 EMMA; OR, THE MURDERED MAID. 
 
 A TRAGEDY OF THE LAKE DISTRICT, - 68 
 
 ASSOCIATIONS OF CARLISLE : 
 
 HISTORICAL, POETICAL, AND ROJL^NTIC, - 72 
 
 THE DRUIDS' SACRIFICE. 
 
 A LEGEND OF KESWICK, - - 102 
 
 THE HEIGHTS OF HELVELLYN; 
 
 OR, THE UNFORTUNATE TOURIST, - - 111 
 
 THE REGATTA; 
 
 OR, THE LOVERS^ OF DERWENTWATER, - 117
 
 CONTENTS. XI 
 
 THE SHEPHEED OE GREEN-HEAD GHYLL. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 A TALE OF GRASMERE VALE, - - 124 
 
 THE INSCEIBED EOCKS OF WINDEEMEEE. 
 
 138 
 
 EDGAE, THE LOED OF ENNEEDALE. 
 
 A TRADITION OF WOTOBANK, NEAR EGREMONT, 140 
 
 LADY EVA AND THE GIANT. 
 
 A LEGEND OF YEWDALE, - - 151 
 
 KIEKBY LONSDALE BEIDGE. 
 
 A LEGEND, - - _ 156 
 
 THE SPECTEE AEMY. 
 
 A WEIRD TALE OF SOUTRA FELL, - - 160 
 
 EUSTIC POETS OF THE LAKE DISTEICT. 
 
 JOHN OLDLAND AND JAMIE MUCKELT, - 173
 
 xii CONTENTS. 
 
 THE HART'S-HOHN TREE. 
 
 PAOX 
 
 A TRADITION OF PENRITH, - - 177 
 
 THE QUAKERESS BRIDE. 
 
 A TALE OF THE MOUNTAINS, - - 178 
 
 THE BEAUTY OF BUTTERMERE ; 
 
 OR, TRAGEDY IN REAL LIFE, - - 19 
 
 THE BORDER FREEBOOTERS; 
 
 OR, A FIGHT IN BORROWDALE, - - 222 
 
 JOSSY WITH WHIPS. 
 
 A PARISH CHARACTER, - - - 226 
 
 EMMA AND SIR EGLAMORE. 
 
 A LEGEND OF ULLSWATER, - - 228 
 
 THE BRIDAL OF TRIERMAIN. 
 
 A LEGEND OF THE VALE OF ST, JOHN, - 234
 
 Tales and Legends 
 
 OF 
 
 English Lakes. 
 
 HELWISE ; OE, THE ILL-FATED LOVERS : 
 
 A TALE OF MUNCASTER HALL. 
 
 'HOUGH ample testimony is borne to the simple and 
 engaging manners of the Lake residents, I must confess 
 ^ there is a little Vandalism among them. They do not 
 feel that generous love and veneration for the glorious 
 remains of other years which ought to warm the breast 
 of every Englishman. My uncle was indignant at the 
 inattention paid to the scattered ruins of Penrith Castle. 
 
 " The Turks," he observed, " could only have turned the 
 ruined habitations of the Christian nobles into cattle-sheds 
 and pigstyes ! " 
 
 We sat ourselves down at the edge of the moat, where 
 the disgusting inroads of modern improvements would least 
 obtrude themselves on our view, to contemplate the ruined 
 strength and fallen grandeur of our ancestors. We were 
 scarcely seated when an elderly gentleman, on whose 
 countenance a cheerful good nature was visibly impressed, 
 approached us. My uncle invited him to take a seat on our 
 green sofa, with which invitation he smilingly complied. 
 
 My uncle, whose ideas were at least two centuries old, 
 opened the conversation by an allusion to those times when
 
 14 TALES OF THE ENGLISH LAKES. 
 
 our old northern castles shone in all their splendour ; and 
 their inhabitants possessed their original power. 
 
 " How much of their outward dignity have the higher 
 classes lost," observed my uncle, " since literature and com- 
 merce have shed their genial influence on our favoured isle." 
 
 " Yes," replied the stranger; "and how much have the 
 lower classes been elevated since that period. The ranks of 
 society are less distinct; and the system of equality is 
 perhaps as nearly realised as the well-being of society could 
 admit." 
 
 " In some respects it may be so," said my father ; " but I 
 think that we might 3'et dispense with some of that pride 
 which separates man from his brother man." 
 
 " If one may believe report," said my sister, " there was 
 more love in former times than there is now. People were 
 kinder then ; men were more faithful ; and unions in general 
 more happy than they are at present." 
 
 "I can tell you a story on that subject," replied the 
 stranger, "which will be interesting to the young people, 
 and I hope no way disagreeable to old ones. For I count 
 the person who cannot sympathise in a love story to be 
 unfit for any social duty, and calculated for nothing but 
 the cloister or the cell." 
 
 " By all means," exclaimed my sister, " let us hear it. If 
 there be anything about the firm faith of a female heart, it 
 will be pleasing." 
 
 " If there be anything," said my uncle, " about the 
 manners of our ancestors, it will be instructive." 
 
 " If there be anything," said my father, " about the villany 
 of man in it, it must be true." 
 
 " There will be something about all these," replied the 
 stranger, and he now related the story. 
 
 It was customary in the times to which I allude, said our 
 garrulous acquaintance, for the owners of these old halls 
 and castles to retain each a jester in his mansion, called by
 
 THE ILL-FATED LOVERS. 15 
 
 the common people a fool. According to custom Siv Allan 
 Pennington had a jester, whose name was Thomas Skelton, 
 but whose common apj^ellation was Tom Fool of Muncaster. 
 But I shall have occasion to mention him in the course of 
 my story ; as he performed a tragical part in it — rather too 
 much so, to be enumerated among the drolleries of a common 
 jester. I will, however, give you the tale as I have often 
 heard the parson repeat it to an old maiden aunt of mine, 
 with whom I was brought up ; and who never heard it 
 without a copious flow of tears. 
 
 The morning was most delightful (this was the parson's 
 uniform way of introducing the story), when the level 
 beams of the sun first gleamed on the smooth surface of 
 Devoke Water, and informed the joyous villagers that it 
 was the First of May. The wooden clogs were stripped 
 from the feet of the blooming damsels, and the leathern 
 shoes, which had been carefully preserved from the preceding 
 year, and many of which iiad adorned the feet of their 
 mothers and grandmothers, were taken out of the paper 
 which enveloped them. The oil with which they had been 
 rubbed twelve months before was polished by the warm 
 hand to a tine gloss. Every garden was robbed of its 
 bloom to form garlands and chaplets in order to beautify 
 what could not be beautified ; for what — the parson would 
 say, looking languishingly at my aunt — could add beauty 
 to a Cumberland maiden ? 
 
 The Maypole was reared in a delightful meadow on the 
 banks of Devoke Water; and the maidens blooming in 
 beauty, and the youths bounding in health, repaired thither 
 from the surrounding cottages. As the festive dance com- 
 menced, the soul of innocent gaiety began to expand. The 
 festoons of flowers waving from the Maypole, and the 
 garlands of the damsels, all gently agitated by a slight 
 breeze, gave a gracefulness to the scene which no language 
 can describe. It seemed as if the exhilarating^ breath of
 
 i6 TALES OF THE ENGLISH LAKES. 
 
 spring gave elasticity to the youthful limb, and a higher 
 zest to the spirits, as the lively music gave emotion to the 
 nimble feet of the light-footed dancers. 
 
 At the first pause in the dance every eye was attracted 
 towards a most heavenly maiden, attired in the simple garb 
 of a Cumberland shepherdess. She came tripping along the 
 meadow in the full glow of her beauty, and, with a smile, 
 joined the maiden circle. Every tongue was inquiring, 
 " Wha is she ? " — and every eye was eager to obtain a 
 glance of her charms. Several of the most respectable 
 shepherds offered to lead her to the dance, but she modestly 
 refused. Among the rest \Yild Will of Whitbeck, as he was 
 generally called, urged her to favour him with her hand. 
 
 " I only came," said she, " to be a spectator of these 
 innocent gaities ; and, should I share in them, I should wish 
 to procure a more modest partner." 
 
 " A modest partner !" exclaimed Will, " van et darn't luik 
 at ya : yan etle stand eating his thooms, and just whisperen 
 la doon, 'will ya dance?' A poor feckless thing et darn't 
 lait a sweetheart withoot its minny ga wi' it." 
 
 " You will please to leave me, shepherd," replied the maid, 
 " and carry your raillery to other ears where it may be 
 more agreeable." 
 
 " I'll hev a kiss furst," said Will, " for that canny feace 
 and filed tongue hez quite laid ma ith brears." 
 
 " Forbear your rudeness, for God's sake," cried the damsel ; 
 " or you may repent it." 
 
 " By all the powers af love and beauty," exclaimed the 
 carpenter's son, stepping up at that moment, " unless he 
 stands oflf he shall repent it. Will you take a dance with 
 me, fair maiden ? " 
 
 She willingly complied. But the elder and more ex- 
 perienced part of the company said they observed a glance 
 pass between them, which said they had met before. This 
 renewed the inquiry who the damsel might be, but in vain.
 
 THE ILL-FATED LOVERS. 17 
 
 Will retired in a gloomy rage, swearing that he would dis- 
 cover who the girl was, and have revenge on the carpenter, 
 if it cost him his life. 
 
 The lovers heard not his threats, but I'epaired to the May- 
 pole ; and, as they danced around it, sang the following 
 roundelay : — 
 
 " What are monarchs' courts, my dear ? 
 
 Can their splendour jdeld them bliss ? 
 Can the thrones and crowns of kings 
 
 Yield a joy as sweet as this ? ' 
 
 Dancing round the Maypole ! 
 
 Here no care or pain, my dear, 
 
 Can into our bosom steal ; 
 Heaven itself can scarce surpass 
 
 Pleasures such as these we feel. 
 
 Dancing round the Maypole ! 
 
 Now, returning Spring, my dear, 
 Wakes the birds on every spray — 
 
 We, whose hearts are formed for love. 
 Sure may be as blithe as the3^ 
 
 Dancing round the Maypole ! 
 
 Hark the song of love, my dear. 
 
 Every heart and tongue employ ; 
 And shall we, less fond than they, 
 
 Mix not in the general joy. 
 
 Dancing round the Maypole ! 
 
 Let our glowing hearts, my dear. 
 
 Revel in the burning bliss ; — 
 Speak our feelings through our e3^es, 
 
 And seal our union with a kiss. 
 Dancing round the Maypole !
 
 i8 TALES OF THE ENGLISH LAKES. 
 
 Various were the conjectures respecting the unknown 
 shepherdess ; though all the country maids agreed that slie 
 was not what she seemed. 
 
 " Be wha she will," said Wild Will of Whitbeck, " I'll 
 hunt it oot." 
 
 "She's niver worth it," observed a girl, who probably 
 thought Will might employ his time better. But Will was 
 not to be driven from his purpose. And some of those who 
 had been refused by the fair unknown urged Will to make 
 his promise good. Therefore, when the evening drew on, 
 and the young people began to pair off towards home, Will, 
 and two of his companions who were not more agreeably 
 occupied, followed Richard, the carpenter's son, and his 
 lovely partner, towards home. But little did they expect 
 to see her sheltered in Muncaster Hall. As the lovers stood 
 exchanging vows of eternal constancy at the garden gate, 
 their pursuers heard enough to inform them that the maid 
 was Helwise, daughter of Sir Allan Pennington; and to 
 convince them that their faith was mutually plighted. 
 
 " Noo," said Will, " I hev him o' the hip. For Sir 
 Ferdinand Hoddleston, of Milium Castle, wants et wed that 
 leddy ; an' if I yance let him kna et this silly carpenter 
 follows her, he'll meak an example on him." 
 
 When Will informed the neighbours next Sunday 
 of his discovery, they were struck with astonishment 
 at the handsome young carpenter's audacity, as they 
 termed it. The young women hoped and trusted that 
 Sir Allan M^ould never know ; for it would be a pity 
 that so nice a young man should be hanged — as he was 
 sure to be, if Sir Allan knew that he courted his daughter. 
 At the same time they thought he might have been 
 content with one of the shepherd girls; yet it was 
 hard he should be hanged for love. He deserved to 
 be sent out of the country, the young men observed. 
 The maidens thought it would be a pity to send
 
 THE ILL-FATED LOVERS. 19 
 
 him away ; but they might put him in a nunnery, or some- 
 thing of that sort. 
 
 Wild Will of Whitbeck gave no opinion on the subject — 
 his plans were deeper. He knew Sir Ferdinand and his 
 temper well. He had often attended him in his sporting 
 excursions ; and, owing to his never-failing flow of rustic 
 wit, could any time find admittance at Milium Castle, where 
 his drolleries would beguile Sir Ferdinand of a melancholy 
 hour. Will, therefore, adopted this plan to make Sir 
 Ferdinand the avenger of the insult he had received from 
 the carpenter, and the repulse he had met with from the 
 lovely Helwise. 
 
 " We had fine spooart o'th first o' May," said Will ; " but 
 I got cruel ill vext." 
 
 " What happened to vex thee ? " inquired Sir Ferdinand. 
 
 " Wya, ye see," said Will, " Sir Allan's daughter donned 
 hersell like a country hoody, an thought et naebody could 
 a kent her, but I kent her weel eneugh." 
 
 " And did that vex thee ? " replied Sir Ferdinand. 
 
 " I sa her," replied Will, "an mear oor an' that, I followed 
 em heam, an sa em give yan another a kiss. When she put 
 her arms roond his neck, I Avar stark wood. What ! war 
 Dick better ner me ? " 
 
 The train was now laid. Will had roused Sir Ferdinand's 
 vengeance, without giving the least hint that he suspected 
 such a thing. 
 
 " Shall I ! " exclaimed Sir Ferdinand, as soon as Will had 
 retired, " Shall I be made a fool of by a carpenter's son ? 
 Shall such a wretch as that presume to be my rival in the 
 affections of the loveliestmaid in Cumberland? Curse the idea! 
 He shall be taught to know his duty better. No, I scorn 
 to ajiply to Sir Allan. I will be my own avenger. Were 
 he removed I should be at peace. That will do. He dies ! " 
 
 " Once resolved, Sir Ferdinand felt no rest till his scheme 
 was accomplished. The morning had scarcely dawned till
 
 20 TALES OF THE ENGLISH LAKES. 
 
 lie mounted and rode for Muncaster Hall. Few of tlie 
 family were stirring when Sir Ferdinand arrived. Tom 
 Fool, however, was up, and hastened to meet the knight, who 
 had often expressed himself pleased with Tom's rustic wit. 
 
 " Good morning, Tom," said Sir Ferdinand, " what makes 
 you laugh so this morning, Tom ? " 
 
 " Lord Lucy's footman," replied Tom, " put a trick on 
 me the last time he was here ; and I have been leaving him 
 back what I owed him, for I would be in no man's debt." 
 
 " How hast thou managed thy revenge ? " returned Sir 
 Ferdinand. 
 
 " He asked me," said Tom, " if the river was passable ; 
 and I told him it was, for nine of our family had just gone 
 over. (' They were nine geese,' whispered Tom, ' but I did 
 not tell him that.') The fool set into the river, and would 
 have been drowned, I believe, if I had not helped him out." 
 
 " If thou'lt revenge me of a scoundrel who lives here," 
 said Sir Ferdinand, " I'll make a man of thee." 
 
 " You'll do what Sir Allan could never do, then." replied 
 Tom, with a laugh. " But who is it, pray ? " 
 
 " 'Tis the carpenter," replied the knight. 
 
 " I owe him a grudge, too," said Tom ; " for I put those 
 three shillings which j^ou gave me into a hole, and I found 
 them weezend every time I went to look at them ; and now 
 they are only three silver pennies. I have just found out 
 that Dick has weezend them." 
 
 " Then kill him, Tom, with his own axe, when he is 
 asleep sometime ; and I'll see that thou takes no harm for 
 it," replied Sir Ferdinand. 
 
 " He deserves it, and I'll do it," said Tom. 
 
 " There's three crowns for thee," said Sir Ferdinand, " and 
 he'll not weezen them, if thou follow my advice." 
 
 Tom wanted no further inducement. His own injuries, 
 and the hopes of reward from Sir Ferdinand soon influenced 
 him. And the next day, while the unsuspecting carjienter
 
 THE ILL-FATED LOVERS. 21 
 
 was taking his after-dinner nap, and dreaming probably of 
 the incomparable beauties of his adorable Helwise, Tom 
 entered the shed, and, with one blow of the axe, severed the 
 carpenter's head from his body. 
 
 " There," said Tom to the servants, " I have hid Dick's 
 head under a heap of shavings ; and he will not find that 
 so easily, when he awakes, as he did my shillings." 
 
 Sir Ferdinand was grievously disappointed in his scheme ; 
 for the lovely Helwise had buried her heart in the same 
 grave that held the remains of her sleeping lover. It was 
 in vain that Sir Ferdinand urged the tenderness and sincerity 
 of his passion. She was deaf to his entreaties. Her heart 
 was cold, and no human power could warm it. The noisy 
 mirth of the hall she could hear unmoved ; the mazy 
 intricacies of the festive dance could not reanimate her; 
 the glowing beauties of the summer landscape were gloomy 
 and dull as December. She resolved to seclude herself 
 from the giddy world, and brood over her own sorrows in a 
 nunnery. She therefore retired to the Benedictine Convent 
 of Maiden Castle — the ruins of which are still visible 
 behind higher end of Soulby Fell ; where she passed her 
 few remaining days in piety and silent solitude. 
 
 The conscience of Sir Ferdinand left him no repose ; and, 
 to stifle recollections which became continually more 
 insupportable, he joined the army, and soon after fell in 
 the battle of Bos worth Field, fighting against the Earl of 
 Richmond. He left a very handsome estate in the neighbour- 
 hood of Kirksancton to St. Mary's Abbey of Furuess, to 
 purchase masses for the repose of his own soul, and the soul 
 of the J^oung carpenter.
 
 22 TALES OF THE ENGLISH LAKES. 
 ST. HEUBERT, 
 
 THE HERMIT OF DERWENTWATER. 
 
 MONGST the beautiful isles of Der went water, that 
 named St. Herbert's Island deserves a more than 
 ordinaiy uotice, as well for its beauty as its historical 
 associations. This insulated paradise includes an 
 extent of four or five acres, well covered with wood, and is 
 situated near the centre of the lake. It obtained its name 
 from St. Herbert, a priest and confessor, who, " to avoid the 
 intercourse of man, and that nothing might withdraw his 
 attention from unceasing mortification and prayer," about the 
 middle of the 7th century, chose this island for his lonely abode. 
 
 " St. Herbert hither came, 
 And here for many seasons, from the world 
 Removed, and the affections of tlie world, 
 He dwelt in solitude." 
 
 The locality was well adapted to the severit}- of his religious 
 life ; he was surrounded by the lake, from v\dience he 
 received his simple diet. On every hand the voice of 
 waterfalls excited the most solemn strains of meditation — 
 rocks and mountains were his daily prospect, inspiring his 
 mind with ideas of the might and majesty of the Creator. 
 
 That St. Herbert had his hermitage on this island is 
 certain from the authority of the venerable Bede, as well as 
 from tradition, and nowhere could ancient eremite find more 
 profound peace, or a place of so great beauty, whence to 
 bear on the wings of imagination his orisons to heaven. 
 
 St. Herbert was particularly distinguished for his friend- 
 ship to St. Cuthbert, bishop of Lindisfarne, with whom he 
 was contemporary ; and, according to a legendary tale, at 
 the intercession of St. Herbert both these holy men expired
 
 THE HERMIT OF DERVVENTWATER. 23 
 
 on the same day, and in the same hour and minute, which, 
 according to Bede, was in 678 or 087. 
 
 At Lindisfarne, expecting death, 
 
 The good St. Cuthbert lay, 
 With wasted frame and feeble breath ; 
 
 And monks were there to pray. 
 
 The brotherhood had gathered round, 
 
 His parting words to hear, 
 To see his saintly labours crown' d, 
 
 And stretch him on the biei\ 
 
 His ej^es grew dim ; his voice sunk low ; 
 
 The choral song arose ; 
 And ere its sounds had ceas'd to flow, 
 
 His spirit found repose. 
 
 At that same hour, a holy man, 
 
 St. Herbert, well renown'd. 
 Gave token that his earthly span 
 
 Had reach'd its utmost bound. 
 
 St. Cuthbert, in his early years. 
 
 Had led him on his way ; 
 When the tree falls, the fruit it bears 
 
 Will surely, too, decay. 
 
 The monks of Lindisfarne meanwhile 
 
 Were gazing on their dead ; 
 At that same hour, in Derwent isle, 
 
 A kindred soul had fled. 
 
 There is but little information on record respecting St, 
 Herbert, and had it not been for his intimacy with St. 
 Cuthbert, his name probably would not have been handed 
 down to posterity at all. In truth, he did little more than 
 pray and meditate on this spot. It was his wish to live and
 
 24 TALES OF THE ENGLISH LAKES. 
 
 die unknown. Though one in spirit, St. Cuthbert and the 
 Hermit of Derwentwaterwere entirely di.s,similar in character. 
 St. Cuthbert was bishop of Lindisfarne, an eminent preacher 
 in his day, whose eloquence influenced the will of many, 
 and whose active zeal contributed to the advancement of 
 the then dominant church, of which he was one of the main 
 pillars and rulers. St. Herbert was altogether a man of 
 prayer. He retired from the world to this solitude, and 
 passed his days in devotion. The two saints used to meet 
 once a year for spiritual communion. Which had most 
 influence with the Ruler of heaven we cannot say. 
 
 The venerable Bede writes thus of the Hermit of Der- 
 wentwater : — ". 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 of 
 Derwent, he used to visit St. Cuthbert every year, to receive 
 from his lips the doctrine of eternal life. When this holy 
 priest heard of St. Cuthbert's coming to Lugabalia, he came 
 after his usual manner, desiring to be comforted more and 
 more, with the hope of everlasting blisse, by his divine 
 exhortations. As they sate 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 corporally 
 in this world ; for I know well the time of my dissolution 
 is at hand, and the lajdng aside of this earthly tabernacle 
 draweth on apace.' 
 
 "When Herberte hear.l this, he fell down ai 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
 
 THE HERMIT OF DERWENTWATER. 2$. 
 
 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 or omitted, through ignorance and frailty, I straight- 
 way used my earnest efforts to amend after your ghostly 
 counsel, will, and judgment. At this earnest and affectionate 
 request of Herbertes, the bishop went to prayer, and 
 presently being certified in spirit that his 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 unto us our prayer.' 
 
 " The truth of which promise and prophecy was well 
 proved in that which ensued ; for their separation was the 
 last that befel 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 the hermit's little oratory or chapel might 
 be kept in repair after his death, as a particular veneration 
 appears to have been paid to this retreat, and the memory 
 of the saint ; for, at the distance of almost seven centuries, 
 we find this place resorted to in holy services and processions, 
 and the hermit's memory celebrated in religious offices.* 
 
 * lu the register of Bishop Appieby, in 1374, there is an indulgence of 
 forty days to any inhabitant of the parish of Crossthwaite, that should 
 attend the Vicar to St. Herbert's Isle, on the 13th of April, yearly, that 
 beiug the anniversary of his death, there to celebrate mass in memory of 
 St. Herbert. Processions and ceremonies of this kind had, in those days, 
 a powerful effect on the minds of the lower orders of society. Perhaps it 
 was better they should have some religion, though tinctured with a degree 
 of superstition, than have been possessed of minds irreverent towards 
 heaven, and souls totally absorbed in the darkness of ignorance, and given 
 up to gross licentiousness.
 
 26 TALES OF THE ENGLISH LAKES. 
 
 The remains of" the hermitage are still visible ; and near to 
 these hallowed ruins stands a small grotto of unhewn stone, 
 called the New Hermitage, erected some years ago by Sir 
 Wilfrid Lawson, to whose representative the island at 
 present belongs. The dwelling of the anchorite consisted 
 of two apartments, one of which, about twenty feet in 
 length by sixteen in width, appears to have been his 
 chapel ; the other, whose dimensions are considerably less, 
 was his cell. 
 
 The passion for solitude and a recluse life which reigned 
 in the days of this saint, and was cherished b}^ the monastic 
 school, at first sight may appear to us uncouth and 
 enthusiastic; yet when we examine into those times, our 
 astonishment will cease, if we consider the estate of those 
 men, who, under all the prejudices of education, were living 
 in an age of ignorance, vassalage, and rapine ; and we shall 
 rather applaud than condemn a devotee, who, disgusted 
 with the world and the sins of men, consigns his life to the 
 service of the Deity in retirement. We may suppose we 
 hear the saint exclaiming with the poet — 
 
 " Blest be that hand Divine, which gently laid 
 My heart at rest beneath this humble shade ; 
 The world's a stately bark, on dangerous seas, 
 With pleasure seen, but boarded at our peril ; 
 Here on a single plank, thrown safe on shore, 
 I hear the tumult of the distant throng, 
 As that of seas remote or dying storms ; 
 And meditate on scenes more silent still, 
 Pursue my theme, and fight the fear of death. 
 Here, like a shepherd gazing from his hut, 
 Touching his reed or leaning on his staff. 
 Eager ambition's fiery chase I see ; 
 I see the circling hunt of noisy men 
 Burst law's enclosures, leaj) the mounds of right, 
 Pursuing and pursued, each other's prey;
 
 THE HERMIT OF DERWENTWATER. 27 
 
 As wolves for rapine, as the fox for wiles, 
 
 Till Death, that mighty hunter, earths them all." 
 
 Younof's Excursion. 
 
 Wordsworth has the following beautiful lines on the 
 Hermit of Derwentwater : — 
 
 " If thou, in the dear love of some one friend. 
 
 Hast been so happy that thou know'st what thoughts 
 
 Will sometimes, in the happiness of love, 
 
 Make the heart sink, then wilt thou reverence 
 
 This quiet spot ; and, stranger, not unmoved. 
 
 Wilt thou behold this shapeless heap of stones, 
 
 The desolate ruins of St. Herbert's cell. 
 
 There stood his threshold ; there was spread the roof 
 
 That sheltered him, a self-secluded, man. 
 
 After long exercise in social cares. 
 
 And offices humane, intent to adore 
 
 The Deity with undistracted mind. 
 
 And meditate on everlasting things 
 
 In utter solitude. But he had left 
 
 A fellow-labourer, whom the good man loved 
 
 As his own soul. And when, with eye upraised 
 
 To heaven, he knelt before the crucifix. 
 
 While o'er the lake the cataract of Ladore 
 
 Pealed to his orison, and when he paced 
 
 Along the beach of this small isle, and thought 
 
 Of his companion, he would pray that both 
 
 (Now that their earthly duties were fulfilled) 
 
 Might die in the same moment. Nor in vain 
 
 So prayed he ! As our chroniclers report, 
 
 Though here the hermit numbered his last hours, 
 
 Far from St. Cuthbert, his beloved friend. 
 
 Those holy men died in the self -same day.''
 
 28 TALKS OF THE ENGLISH LAKES. 
 
 THE LOVERS' VOWS: 
 
 A TALE OF FURNESS ABBEY. 
 
 CAN just remember the circumstance ; it happened 
 
 wlien I was a boy and went to Urswick school. 
 
 Matilda — I will not mention her other name, because 
 
 her friends are still living — Matilda was one of the 
 
 loveliest females I ever knew. Her father had a small estate 
 
 at , near Stainton ; and she being his only child, he fondly 
 
 imagined that her beauty and her fortune would procure her 
 a respectable match. But alas ! how often do your parents 
 err in their calculations on the happiness which, they fondly 
 imagine, will arise from the conduct of their children ! 
 
 Matilda had accompanied James, a neighbouring farmer's 
 son, to school, when infancy gave room to no other thoughts 
 but those of play. James had ever distinguished the lovely 
 Matilda for his playmate ; for her he had collected the 
 deepest tinged May gowlings that grew in the meadows 
 below the village ; he spared no pains to procure the finest 
 specimens of hawthorn blossoms, to place in her bonnet; 
 and would artlessly compliment her on her appearance 
 under the flowery wreath. He was always ready to assist 
 her in conning her lessons at school, and oftener wrought 
 her questions than she did herself. 
 
 At an early age James was removed from school, and 
 bound to an Ulverstone trader. Matilda and James met 
 or heard of each other no more, till he had completed, his 
 eighteenth year, and the hard and active service in which 
 he was employed had given his fine manly form an appear- 
 ance at once imposing and captivating. Matilda, too, was 
 improved in every eye, but particularly in James'. Never 
 had James seen so lovelj^ a maid as his former playmate. 
 That friendship which had been so closely cemented in
 
 THE LOVERS' VOWS. 29 
 
 infancy, required very little assistance from the blind god 
 to ripen it into love. Their youthful hearts Avere disengaged ; 
 they had neither of them ever felt an interest for any 
 person, equal to what they had felt for each other ; and they 
 soon resolved to render their attachment as binding and as 
 permanent, as it was pure and undivided. 
 
 The period had arrived when James must again trust 
 himself to the faithless deep, when he must leave his Matilda 
 to have her fidelity tried by other suitors ; and she must 
 trust her James to the temptation of foreign beauties. Both, 
 therefore, were willing to bind themselves by some solemn 
 pledge to live but for each other. 
 
 For this purpose, they repaired, on the evening before 
 James' departure, to the ruins of Furness Abbey. It was a 
 fine autumnal evening; the sun had set in the greatest 
 beauty ; and the moon was hastening up the eastern sky, 
 through a track slightly interspersed with thin fleecy clouds, 
 which added to its beauty, rather than impaired it. They 
 knelt in the roofless quire, near where the altar formerly 
 stood; and, fondly locked in each other's arms, they repeated, 
 in the presence of heaven, their vows of deathless love. 
 James was dressed in his best seaman's dress — a bluejacket, 
 with a multitude of silver-plated buttons, and white 
 trowsers ; while Matilda leaned on his neck in a dress of 
 the purest white muslin, carelessly wrapped in a shawl of 
 light blue. 
 
 I have been thus particular, said the narrator in describing 
 their dresses, because this is the picture I would paint: — 
 I would sketch an east view of the abbey, looking in at the 
 large east window, where two lovers were kneeling, folded 
 in each other's arms — the moonbeams just striking upon the 
 most prominent parts of their figures — the deep shadows 
 occasioned by the broken columns and scattered fragments, 
 should recede into the distance — the dark gray ruins, and 
 the deep green and brown of the oaks, slightly but brilliantly
 
 30 TALES OF THE ENGLISH LAKES. 
 
 gilded by the moon, should peep out of the lengthened 
 gloom with sparkling effect. But on the figures I would 
 bestow the greatest attention. What manly vigour I 
 would give to his attitude! What sweetness, what loveli- 
 ness to hers! 
 
 But what became of the betrothed lovers ? Their fate 
 was a melancholy one. James returned to his ship, and 
 never returned from his voyage. He was killed by the first 
 broadside of a French privateer, which the captain foolishly 
 ventured to engage with. For Matilda, she regularly went 
 to the Abbey to visit the spot where she last saw him; 
 and there she would stand for hours, with her hands clasped 
 on her breast, fjazing on that heaven which alone had been 
 witness to their mutual vows. Indeed, I think this would 
 make a picture almost equal to the other. How fine a 
 contrast would the light and fairy form of Matilda make 
 with the broken fragments of the ruined Abbey; it would 
 give a life and effect to the picture which you have no 
 conception of. I am confident if you once drew a picture 
 of this kind, you would never again sketch a scene without 
 a story to it. 
 
 THE STONE OF WALLOW CRAG; 
 
 OR, THE POET OF KENTMERE. 
 
 GHARLES WILLIAMS was one of those individuals 
 who are "born to blush unseen." It is probable, 
 QJ, therefore, that his name is unknown, and that his 
 merits might have slept in obscurity but for us. We 
 suspect that he has never been heard of before, and it is 
 very likely that he never will be again. Charles had no 
 long line of ancestors whose merits he could impute to 
 himself. His great-grandfather had, to be sure, been the
 
 THE STONE OF WALLOW CRAG. 31 
 
 most noted wrestler in his day ; and had annually won the 
 belt at Bowness and at Keswick, but his prowess was forgot 
 by all but his immediate descendants ; and even his hard- 
 earned belts had long since been cut up for repairing cart 
 gear. Though Charles was only the son of a small farmer, 
 yet there was one thing on which the family prided itself — 
 there was a W. W. over the kitchen door which 
 
 " Was a sartan sign," his mother argued, "et that hoos hed 
 belengd to them sometime lang sen." 
 
 There was one circumstance which we ought not to omitj 
 particularly as it excited no inconsiderable interest, at the 
 thiie, through all the neighbourhood of Kentmere. On the 
 very da}^ and as far as we can ascertain, at the very hour, 
 when Charles was born, a huge stone, self-moved, rolled 
 down Wallow Crag into Hawes Water ! The old women 
 could and would account for it no other way than that he 
 was born to be droond. Mr. Gough, who was then beginninof 
 to exhibit the first dawning of that genius which has procured 
 him the esteem and admiration of all true lovers of rational 
 philosophy, would gladly have convinced them that it was 
 nothing but the effects of a thaw which had taken place 
 only a few days before. But they argued that 
 
 " Thear hed been many a tha afoar, but niver a stane 
 rolled doon Wallow Crag afoar." 
 
 Charles however grew up to be a boy, just as if this 
 ominous stone had continued to sit secure on the mountain's 
 ridge. But it might be said of him that " a strange and 
 wayward wight was he." While other boys were ranging 
 through the woods in pursuit of bird-nests, Charles would 
 stretch himself on a smooth-faced rock, and pore 011 the 
 adjacent landscape like one half crazed. To retire into a 
 lonely wood behind his father's house, and teach a little 
 brook, which ran through it, to take a thousand fantastic 
 forms, was to Charles the sweetest recreation he could enjoy. 
 The perpetual wings of time had now spread fifteen or
 
 32 TALES OF THE ENGLISH L/VKES. 
 
 sixteen winters over the vale of Kentmere, since the stone 
 rolled into Hawes Water, and Charles was grown a tall and 
 graceful boy. The little time which his father had spared 
 him to school, had not been misem{)loyed by the active 
 youth ; and though he felt a diffidence about entering into 
 conversation, it was generally allowed that, when he did 
 unloosen his tongue, he could argue any man in the valley, 
 except the parson, who never stopt to hear anybody 
 speak but himself, and the schoolmaster, who never spoke 
 at all. 
 
 One evening about this time, as Charles was returning 
 from an accustomed ramble, where he had been enjoying a 
 view of the mist slowly gathering among the mountain 
 heads to the north, he was aroused from his reverie by a 
 shrill scream ; a young female had been pursuing a footpath 
 over the adjoining field, and was at that instant closely 
 followed by a neighbour's bull. Charles, with the speed of 
 lightning, was at the girl's side ; and, with a presence of 
 mind oftener found in boys than men, he snatched the 
 umbrella out of her hand, and unfurled it in the enraged 
 animal's face. The astonished beast retreated a few paces, 
 and, according to a standing rule among mad bulls, having 
 been foiled in its first attempt, it did not make a second 
 attack. 
 
 Charles, with that gallantry which is a concomitant of 
 generous minds, proposed to see the aflrighted maid to her 
 father's dwelling. Maria was a girl whom Charles had 
 known from her infancy ; he had played with her at school, 
 but he never before observed that she possessed anj'-thing 
 superior to the other girls of the dale. But this evening, as 
 she hung on his arm and thanked him with such a pair of 
 soft blue eyes so kindly — as the colour varied so often on 
 her cheek — and her bosom throbbed so agitatedly, he 
 discovered that Maria possessed more charms than all the 
 valley beside.
 
 THE STONE OF WALLOW CRAG. 33 
 
 This evening's adventure formed an epoch in the life of 
 Charles Williams. All his actions were now influenced by 
 one all-powerful impulse. Ardent in his admiration of 
 nature's charms, that ardour was now transferred from the 
 general beauties of creation to the particular beauties of 
 the lovely Maria. Indeed, Maria was peculiarly formed 
 to please the fancy, and captivate the heart, of a youth like 
 Charles. There was a symmetry in her limbs, an elegance 
 in her person, and a simple gracefulness in her motions, 
 which rendered her an agreeable object even to the most 
 indifferent observer. But the charms of her mind were 
 the gems on which be placed the highest value. There was 
 a sombre shade of seriousness, perfectly distinct from 
 melancholy, which none could behold without feeling 
 interested. This seriousness, however, had nothing in it 
 inimical to that lively joyance which gives so delicious a 
 zest to our youthful days. 
 
 She even possessed a vivacity that accompanied all her 
 actions, and threw her real character into the distance. 
 Though endued with the keenest sensibility, she appeared 
 all life and gaiety. Wherever she was, she was the soul of 
 the little company — her lively wit and her smiling beauty 
 pvocured her attention wherever she showed herself. This 
 beautiful mixture of the gay and the grave assumed, on 
 some occasions, such strange contrasts, that she seemed to 
 be composed of inconsistencies. Often in her little evening 
 rambles with her young companions, after having put them 
 all in good humour with themselves and with one another, 
 by her little flattering railleries and harmless frolics, she 
 would in an instant bound away from the group with the 
 elastic grace of a mountain nymph — abruptly enter the 
 cottage of some sick or suffering neighbour, with a smile on 
 her countenance, like the angel of comfort charged with 
 blessings, kindly inquire after their various wants and 
 distresses, soothe them with consolatory hopes of better
 
 34 TALES OF THE ENGLISH LAKES. 
 
 days, offer all those little assistances which old and 
 decaying age accepts so gratefully at the hands of youth, 
 and after mingling a sigh or a tear with theirs, again join 
 her gay companions as though nothing had occurred. 
 
 In the innocent society of this amiable maiden, Charles 
 passed the sweetest hours of his existence. His former 
 boyish pursuits were renounced. The windmill, on a rock 
 at a little distance, though nearly matured, was never 
 completed ; the water- works in the wood were permitted to 
 run to ruin, even the perpetual motion in the room over the 
 old kitchen, which was in a state of great forwardness, was 
 neglected for a time, and eventually relinquished. 
 
 It is supposed, our intelligent correspondent says, that if 
 Charles had never been in love, it is probable that he had 
 never been a poet. And in confirmation of this idea, we 
 observe that his first productions are of the amatory kind — 
 " odes to beauty," " lines to Maria," " acrostics," &c. Among 
 these fragments, we found a little airy piece without a head 
 but we suppose intended for Maria : 
 
 " If all the world was made of kisses, 
 And all those kisses w^ere made foi- me, 
 And I was made for you, my love. 
 How happy we should be ! 
 
 If all the graces were join'd in one. 
 And all the wit and beauty too, 
 They'd make a maid like you, my love, 
 They'd make a maid like you ! " 
 
 Some of his lyric pieces exhibit a strange mixture of 
 philosophy and passion, learning and love. In the eleventh 
 page of the manuscript before us, we find as curious a speci- 
 men of this kind as we ever recollect. It is much interlined 
 and seems never to have been finished.
 
 THE STONE OF WALLOW CRAG. 35 
 
 ON LOVE. 
 
 " Newton's keen observant eye, 
 Found a power pervade creation ; 
 Ignorant of when or why, 
 He fondly called it gravitation. 
 
 But 'tis love that binds the spheres — 
 Love's the real central-forces — 
 Wheels them round their varying years. 
 Impels them on, and shapes their courses. 
 
 Nature all abounds in love, 
 What is there but feels its power ? 
 Hear it warblincr in the orrove ! 
 See it blooming in a flower ! 
 
 What's attraction, pray, but love ? 
 And affinity's the same." 
 
 But the tender passion does not seem to have engrossed 
 all his poetical powers, as we find several pieces both grave 
 and gay on different subjects. One of these we shall select 
 as it seems to possess some originality, and has been 
 occasioned apparently by that influx of strangers which 
 generally enlivens the lake district during the summer 
 months ; some of whom have probably noticed our mountain 
 bard, if we may judge from one of the stanzas. 
 
 THE STRANGER AT THE LAKES. 
 
 " When summer suns lick up the dew. 
 And ail the heavens are painted blue, 
 'Tis then with smiling cheeks we view. 
 The stranoer at the Lakes.
 
 2,6 TAL]<:S OF THE ENGLISH LAKES. 
 
 Wlien morning tips with gold the boughs, 
 And tinges Skiddaw's cloud-kiss'd brows, 
 Then round the lake the boatman rows, 
 The stranger at the Lakes. 
 
 When gray-rob'd evening steps serene, 
 Across the sweetly-varied green, 
 Beside some cascade may be seen 
 The stranger at the Lakes. 
 
 Embosomed here the rustic bard, 
 Who oft has thought his fortune hard, 
 Is pleas'd to share the kind regard 
 Of strangers at the Lakes. 
 
 He whose ideas never stray 
 Beyond the parson's gig and gray, 
 Stares at the carriage and relay 
 Of strangers at the Lakes. 
 
 As by his cot the phseton flies, 
 The peasant gapes with mouth and eyes, 
 And to his wond'ring family ci'ies, 
 ' A stranger at the Lakes ! ' 
 
 Sometimes when brewers' clerks appear, 
 And Boniface is short of gear, 
 He says, * Kind Sirs, we've had, this year, 
 Few strangers at the Lakes.' 
 
 At Christmas, Poll, the barmaid, shows 
 Her lustre gown and new kid shoes, 
 And says, ' I tipp'd the cash for those 
 From strangers at the Lakes.' 
 
 But could the post-horse neighing say 
 What he has suffer'd night and day, 
 'Tis much, I think, if he would pray 
 For strano-ers at the Lakes."
 
 THE STONE OF WALLOW CRAG. 37 
 
 Time, it is said, has wings ; but Charles never observed 
 that it even moved, till he found himself in his twentieth 
 year. That love which at first sought only to relieve itself 
 in the society of its object, now began to assume a 
 determined character. But to any but lovers, the descrip- 
 tion of love scenes would be irksome. It will be quite 
 sufiicient if we hint at the affair, and leave our readers 
 to fill up the outline. We will only therefore assure them 
 on the best authority, that Charles set out no less than 
 three several times with a resolute determination to declare 
 the full extent of his passion, and solicit the fair hand of 
 Maria ; and that as soon as he saw the maid, his purpose 
 "dis.^olved like the baseless fabric of a vision;" that Charles 
 at length conquered this timidity, and urged his suit with 
 such ardour, that he was heard afterwards to say he believed 
 love was like steam, the more it was compressed, the greater 
 was its elasticity ; that Maria received the declaration with 
 all due bashfulness, aiid promised to be his bride as soon as 
 she had completed her twenty-first year; that Charles, as is 
 usual on such occasions, flew home on the wings of ecstasy, 
 &c. It seems to have been about this time that the 
 following birthday ode was written — perhaps while he was 
 suffering under the effects of his own bashfulness : — 
 
 " Maria, this is just the day, 
 Some twenty years ago, they say. 
 You fiU'd your mother's arms ; 
 A little puling sprig of love, 
 So kindly dropp'd from heaven above. 
 To bless me with j^our charms. 
 
 Obeying custom, I intend 
 
 Some little birthday gift to send — 
 
 But sta}', what must it be ? 
 Of beauty you have quite a share, 
 Accomplish'd too, as well as fair, 
 
 And richer far than me.
 
 38 TALES OF THE ENGLISH LAKES. 
 
 I would not ever have it said, 
 
 I offer'd trinkets to the maid, 
 Which you might scorn to take ; 
 
 I'll offer then no works of art ; 
 
 I'll give you, love, an honest heart — 
 Pray, keep it for my sake." 
 Our correspondent says he would be happy if he could 
 here conclude his narrative, as Sir Walter Scott does, with 
 a happy marriage ; for however delightful the transition 
 from sorrow to joy may be, the reverse, even in description, 
 has no charms. But poor Charles was doomed to be hurled 
 from the height of his felicity to the lowest depths of 
 despair. The joyful promise had scarcely escaped the lovely 
 lips of Maria, and while her lover was j^et giddy with his 
 joy, when the amiable maid was attacked by a severe illness, 
 which baffled all the doctor's skill. If entreaties for human 
 or divine aid could have prolonged the existence of the ill- 
 fated Maria, she had not died. Charles was ever at her 
 pillow — his studies were relinquished — his poetry was 
 neglected — and the dying Maria filled the whole extent of 
 his capacious mind. But all was vain ; the grisly monster 
 Death had selected her as his victim, and he would not 
 quit his hold ; he was deaf alike to the lamentations of a 
 parent, the regrets of friends, and the distractions of a 
 betrothed lover. 
 
 Though every succeeding morning showed how great was 
 the havoc that disease was making in her tender frame, and 
 the period of her suffering was evidently approaching, 
 Charles still hoped she would soon be well. If she was 
 more than usually debilitated, he observed that the fever 
 had left her, and she only wanted her strength recruiting, 
 and they would then renew their walks. If the hectic flush 
 overspread her cheeks, he hailed it as the sign of returning 
 health. And thus he hoped even against hope. His reason 
 would have convinced him she was dying, if reason had
 
 THE STONE OF WALLOW CRAG. 39 
 
 been allowed to speak ; but he wished her to live, and he 
 would not stoop to think that she would die. Thus he 
 fulfilled the remarks of the poet — 
 
 "We join in the fraud, and ourselves we deceiv^e. 
 What we wish to be true, love bids us believe." 
 
 When at last the pale hue of death overspread her once- 
 blooming cheek, when she turned her languid eye towards 
 her lover and faltered " farewell," when she closed her faded 
 eyes and expired in prayer, Charles stood by the bedside 
 like a being bereft of power and motion. The deepest 
 despair overwhelmed him — his hopes were blasted — his fond 
 creation of future bliss was in an instant destroyed, and his 
 mind received a shock too powerful for nature to sustain. 
 
 From this moment a smile was never seen to illuminate 
 his features, the most gloomy and secluded places were bis 
 favourite haunts. He avoided society as if the breath of 
 man was pestilential; and occupied his time in brooding- 
 over his own melancholy. In his manuscript we find a 
 number of melancholy eff'usions, which were evidently 
 written about this time; and clearly bespeak a mind 
 bordering on the gloomy verge of insanity. But as they 
 are some of them by far the best pieces in the collection — 
 a proof that poetry and madness are nearly allied — we will 
 select two which tend to illustrate the awful state of the 
 writer's mind. 
 
 THE EVENING WALK. 
 
 " How soothing to the soul the shade 
 
 Which evening spreads around ! 
 How bright the dewy gems that braid 
 
 The foliage of the ground. 
 
 No sound is heard thro' ether wide, 
 
 From hill or coppice green. 
 Save where the streamlet seems to chide 
 
 The stillness of the scene.
 
 40 TALES OF THE ENGLISH LAKES. 
 
 Contagion catches on the soul, 
 
 And lulls e'en grief to rest ; 
 No more contending passions roll 
 
 Along the troubled breast. 
 
 I seem a moment to have lost 
 
 The sense of former pain ; 
 As if my peace had ne'er been crost, 
 
 Or joy could spring again. 
 
 But ah ! 'tis there ! — the pang is there ; 
 
 Maria breathes no more ! 
 So fond, so constant, kind, and fair, 
 
 Her reign of love is o'er. 
 
 No more through scenes like these shall we 
 
 Together fondly stray ; 
 Till night itself would seem to me 
 
 More genial than the day. 
 
 I feel the cold night's gathering gloom 
 
 Infect my throbbing breast ; 
 It tells me that the friendly tomb 
 
 Alone can give me rest. 
 
 I then shall sleep the sleep serene, 
 
 Where she so long has slept ; 
 Nor be the wretch I long have been, 
 
 Nor weep as I have wept." 
 
 THE CHURCHYARD. 
 
 " Here, then, my weary head shall rest, 
 
 Here weep and sigh alone ; 
 And press the marble to my breast. 
 
 And kiss the senseless stone.
 
 THE STONE OF WALLOW CRAG. 41 
 
 I'm calmer now — a silv'ry sound 
 
 Is whisp'ring in my ear ; 
 That tells me this is sacred ground, 
 
 And she is hov'ring near. 
 
 Celestial stillness reigns around, 
 
 Serenely beats my breast ; 
 Maria's spirit treads this ground, 
 
 And hushes me to rest. 
 
 I see Maria hov'ring there — 
 
 She waves her wings of light ; 
 Angelic music fills the air, 
 
 And charms the ear of night. 
 
 Stay, lovely maiden, longer stay, 
 
 And bless thy lover's eyes ; 
 And do not soar so fast away 
 
 To seek thy native skies. 
 
 'Tis gone — the lovely vision's gone ! 
 
 And night's dim shades prevail ; 
 Again, I feel myself alone, 
 
 And pour my fruitless wail. 
 
 I seem like one who madly raves 
 
 Among the silent dead ; 
 And start to hear the hollow graves 
 
 Re-echo to my tread. 
 
 But I shall soon forget my woes, 
 
 And dry my ev'ry tear, 
 And rest as unconcern'd as tho.se 
 
 Who sleep serenely here." 
 
 So far from having a salutary effect upon the mind of 
 Charles, time seems only to have increased the despondency 
 that had enveloped and clouded the reasoning faculties of
 
 42 TALES OF THE ENGLISH LAKES. 
 
 our poet. We j&nd, in a sabsequent part of the volume, the 
 following lines, which show that his mind was giving way 
 under the pressure of acute distress : — 
 
 " Ah ! tell me not of busy life — 
 Its bustling folly — joyless strife — 
 
 Can these dispel my care ? 
 No — let me seek some cavern drear, 
 Where not a sound can meet my ear, 
 But groans of death, and shrieks of fear, 
 
 The music of despair ? 
 
 The black'ning storm, the driving rain, 
 Shall cool the fever in my brain. 
 
 And lull me to repose : 
 Then, when the thunders o'er me roll, 
 And spirits 'scream and goblins howl, 
 The tempest shall compose my soul, 
 
 And cheat me of my woes." 
 
 About six months did Charles continue in this deplorable 
 condition, attracting the sympathy of all who beheld 
 hira. And often when he passed the cottage doors, where, 
 in happier days, he had accompanied Maria on her errands 
 of benevolence, the objects of his former bountj' would look 
 after him with a sigh, and say, " Poor Charles ! Poor 
 Charles ! " 
 
 Though he generally spent the day in rambling about the 
 woods and hills, the hour of his return seldom exceeded 
 that of nightfall. One evening, however, he delayed his 
 return ; his parents ma-de every enquiry, but in vain. He 
 had been seen on Harter-fell in the afternoon, but no 
 further tidings could be obtained. Early next morning the 
 melancholy suspicion was confirmed — he was found 
 drowned. It is rumoured in the vale, says our friend, but 
 he will not vouch for its truth, that he was found in the
 
 THE SKULLS OF CALGARTH. 43 
 
 very spot where the stone rolled down when he was born. 
 It appears that he had meditated this act from the following 
 lines, which shall conclude our extracts : — 
 
 " And what is death, that I should dread 
 To mingle with the silent dead ? 
 'Tis but a pang — and pangs are o'er ; 
 A throb — and throbbing is no more ; 
 One struggle — and that one my last : 
 A gasp — a groan — and all is past ! " 
 
 THE SKULLS OF CALGAKTH. 
 
 A LEGEND OF WINDERMERE LAKE. 
 
 ^HIS old mansion of Calgarth, on the banks of Lake 
 Windermere, is built much in the style of Levens and 
 Sizergh, Some of the rooms have been elegantly 
 finished ; but, having been a long time in the 
 possession of farmers, who occupy but a part of it, it is much 
 gone out of repair, and has, on the whole, a melancholy 
 appearance. This circumstance, in concurrence with the 
 superstitious notions which have ever been common in 
 country places, and the particular mentioned hereafter, have 
 probably given rise to a report, which has long prevailed, 
 that the house is haunted. And many are the stories of 
 frightful visions and mischievous deeds which the goblins of 
 the place are said to have performed, to terrify and distress 
 the harmless neighbourhood. These fables are not yet 
 entirely disbelieved. Spectres still are seen, and there are 
 two human skulls, which have lain in the window of a 
 large room as long as can be remembered, whose history 
 and reputed properties are too singular not to contribute 
 something to this story of " the haunted house," and to let 
 them be passed over in this route.
 
 44 TALES OF THE ENGLISH LAKES. 
 
 It lias been a popular tale in these parts of immemorial 
 standing, that these skulls formerly belonged to two poor 
 old people, who were unjustly executed for a robbery ; to 
 perpetuate their innocence, some ghost brought them there; 
 and that they are, for that end, indestructible, and in effect, 
 " immoveable." For, it is said, to what place soever they 
 were taken, or however used, they were still presently seen 
 again in their old dormitory, the window. As the report 
 goes, they have been buried, burned, powdered, and dis- 
 persed in the winds, and upon the lake, several times, to no 
 purpose as to their removal and destruction : so far, says 
 common fame. Certain it is these human remains still 
 exist, and it would be thought an impeachment of the taste 
 and curiosity of the nymphs and swains of the neighbour- 
 ing villages, if they could not say they had once seen the 
 skulls of Calgarth. 
 
 As a more rational account of the matter (though still 
 lame and unsatisfactory), it is told by some, that there 
 formerly lived in the house a famous doctress, who had two 
 skeletons by her, for the usual purposes of her profession ; 
 and the skulls happening to meet with better preservation 
 than the rest of the bones, they were accidentally honoured 
 with this singular notice, But, be their origin what it may, 
 their legend is too whimsical and improbable to deserve 
 being recorded, otherwise than as an instance of the never- 
 failing credulity of ignorance and superstition.
 
 THE LUCK OF EDEN HALL. ^5 
 
 THE LUCK OF EDEN HALL. 
 
 A TALE OF THE MUSGRAVES. 
 
 I ■ ijDEN HALL, the seat of the chief of the famous border 
 \\l clan of Musgrave, is a large and handsome edifice, on 
 the westbank of the river Eden, built in the taste which 
 preA'ailed about the time of the Charles's. Being 
 bordered with trees, it forms an elegant feature in the pleasure 
 grounds. There is here preserved, with scrupulous care, an 
 old and anciently-painted glass goblet, called the " Luck of 
 Edenhall, ' which would appear, from the following traditionary 
 legend, to be wedded to the fortunes of its present possessors. 
 The butler, in going to procure water at St. Cuthbert's well, in 
 the neighbourhood (rather an unusual employment for a 
 butler) came suddenly upon a company of fairies, who were 
 feasting and making merry on the green sward. In their 
 flight they left behind this glass, and one of them returning 
 for it, found it in the hands of the butler. Seeing that its 
 recovery was hopeless, she flew away, singing aloud — 
 
 "If that glass should break or fall, 
 Farewell the luck of Eden Hall." 
 
 The connection of the prosperity of the family with the 
 integrity of an inanimate object, has frequently been one of 
 the playthings of tradition, and traces of the superstition 
 are found in ancient fable. There is a le^cend of this kind 
 attached to a pear, preserved in a silver box at Coalstoun, 
 the seat of the Earl of Dalhousie, near Haddington ; and 
 there is or was, a glass cap at Muncaster castle, given by 
 Henry YI. to Sir John Pennington, which, from the general 
 opinion of the King's sanctity, and that he entailed with 
 the gift a blessing on the family, was called '• the Luck of 
 Muncaster."
 
 46 TALES OF THE ENGLISH LAKES. 
 
 The initials, L H. S., are marked upon the case containing 
 the goblet at Eden Hall, sufficiently showing the sacred 
 uses to which it was originally appropriated. Philip, Duke 
 of Wharton, alludes to it in his ballad, called — 
 
 THE DRINKING MATCH OF EDEN HALL. 
 
 " God prosper long, from being broke, 
 
 The 'Luck of Eden Hall!' 
 A doleful drinking bout I sing, 
 
 There lately did befal. 
 To chase the spleen with cup and cann, 
 
 Duke Philip took his way; 
 Babes yet unborn shall never see 
 
 The like of such a day. 
 The stout and ever-thirsty duke 
 
 A vow to God did make ; 
 His pleasure within Cumberland 
 
 Those live-long nights to take. 
 Sir Musgrave, too, of Martindale, 
 
 A true and worthy knight ; 
 Estoon with him a bargain made 
 
 In drinking to delight. 
 The bumpers swiftly pass about. 
 
 Six in an hand went round ; 
 And, W' ith their calling for more wine, 
 
 They made the hall resound. 
 Now, when these merry tidings reach'd 
 
 The Earl of Harold's ears, 
 And am I, quoth he, with an oath. 
 
 Thus slighted by my peers ? 
 Saddle my steed, bring forth my boots, 
 
 I'll be with them right quick, 
 And, master sheriff, come j^'ou too. 
 
 We'll know this scurv}^ trick.
 
 THE LUCK OF EDEN HALL. 47 
 
 Lo, yonder doth Earl Harold come, 
 
 Did one at table say : 
 'Tis well, reply'd the mettl'd Duke, 
 
 How will he get away ? 
 
 When thus the Earl began : — Great Duke, 
 
 I'll know how this did chance, 
 Without inviting me : — sure this 
 
 You did not learn in France. 
 
 One of us two, for this offence, 
 
 Under the board shall lie : 
 I know thee well ; a Duke thou art. 
 
 So some years hence shall I. 
 
 But trust me, Wharton, pity 'twere 
 
 So much good wine to spill, 
 As those companions here may drink, 
 
 Ere they have had their fill. 
 
 Let thou and I, in bumpers full, 
 
 This grand affair decide, 
 Accurs'd be he, Duke Wharton said, 
 
 By whom it is deny'd. 
 
 To Andrews, and to Hotbam fair. 
 
 Then man}^ a pint went round : 
 And many a gallant gentleman 
 
 Lay sick upon the ground. 
 
 When, at the last, the Duke found out 
 
 He had the Earl secure. 
 He ply'd him with a full pint-glass, 
 
 Which laid him on the floor. 
 
 Who never spake more words than these, 
 
 After he downwards sunk ; 
 My worthy friends, revenge my fall, 
 
 Duke Wharton sees me drunk.
 
 48 TALES OF THE ENGLISH LAKES. 
 
 Then, with a groan, Duke Philip held 
 
 The sick man by the joint ; 
 And said, Earl Harold, stead of thee, 
 
 Would I had drank this pint. 
 
 Alack, my very heart doth bleed. 
 
 And doth within me sink ! 
 For surely a more sober Earl 
 
 Did never swallow drink. 
 
 With that the sheriff, in a rage, 
 
 To see the Earl so smit, 
 Vow'd to revenge the dead-drunk peer 
 
 LTppn renowned St. Kitt, 
 
 Then stepp'd a gallant squire forth, 
 
 Of visage thin and pale ; 
 Lloyd was his name, and of Gany Hall, 
 
 Fast by the river Swale ; 
 
 Who said, he would not have it told 
 
 Where Eden river ran. 
 That, unconcerned, he should sit by, 
 
 So, sheriff, I'm your man. 
 
 Now, when these tiding-s reach'd the room, 
 
 Where the Duke lay in bed, 
 How that the squire thus suddenly 
 
 Upon the floor was laid : 
 
 heavy tidings ! quoth the Duke, 
 Cumberland thou witness be, 
 
 1 have not any captain, more 
 
 Of such account as he. 
 
 Like tidings to Earl Thanet came, 
 
 Within as short a space, 
 How that the under sheriff, too, 
 
 Was fallen from his place.
 
 THE LUCK OF EDEN HALL. 49 
 
 Now God be with him, said the Earl, 
 
 Sith 'twill no better be ; 
 I trust I have within my town 
 
 As drunken knights as he. 
 
 Of all the number that were there, 
 
 Sir Rains he scorned to yield ; 
 But, with a bumper in his hand, 
 
 He stacro-er'd o'er the field. 
 
 Thus did this dare contention end, 
 
 And each man of the slain 
 Were quickly carried off to sleep, 
 
 Their senses to regain. 
 
 God bless the King, the Duchess fat, 
 
 And keep the land in peace ; 
 And grant that drunkenness henceforth 
 . 'Mong noblemen may cease ! " &c. 
 
 J. H. Wiffen wrote a short poem upon the "Luck of 
 Eden Hall," and the German* poet, Upland, has a ballad 
 upon the same subject. 
 
 The Musgraves are a family of great antiquity and 
 reputation.- They came to England with the Conqueror, 
 and settled first in Musgrave, in Westmoreland ; then at 
 Hartley Castle, in the same county ; and, finally, at their 
 present residence at Eden Hall. Sir Philip Musgrave, who 
 was commander-in-chief of the king's troops for Cumberland 
 and Westmoreland, in the Parliamentary war, just walks 
 across the stage in Scott's legend of Montrose ; but, by 
 mistake the novelist calls him Sir Miles.
 
 50 TALES OF THE ENGLISH LAKES. 
 THE MAID OF HARDRA SCAB ; 
 
 OR, THE MYSTERIOUS STRANGER. 
 
 'N the early part of the summer of 1807, a very handsome 
 young lady, apparently about twenty-two, came to the 
 village of Hawes,and took lodgings there. She positively 
 refused to tell either her name or the place of her residence. 
 Her manners were highly accomplished, though her be- 
 haviour sometimes assumed a degree of wildness and 
 incoherence, which raised doubts as to the state of her 
 mind. Her dress was rather rich than splendid ; and white 
 was her customary attire. Abroad pink ribbon was always 
 tied round her waist, with two ends behind, reaching to her 
 feet. It was observed that she took particular pleasure in 
 seeing these ribbons flutter in the wind, as she rambled 
 over the adjoining fells. Curiosity, that busy personage in 
 most places, and particularly so in the village of Hawes 
 was eager to trace the history of the mysterious visitor, but 
 in vain. The most distant allusion to the subject always 
 produced silence. 
 
 Some supposed that she was a young lady who had been 
 crossed in love, and had fled hither to brood over her disap- 
 pointment in solitude ; indeed her conduct rather sanctioned 
 such an opinion, for she kept no companj^ When she saw 
 any one, it was to administer relief or to enquire after their 
 wants. 
 
 Others thought she might be some young widow, who 
 had chosen to linger out her existence in obscurity in such 
 a secluded spot as that. This opinion did not want support 
 for she was constant in her visits to all the widows in the 
 village, beside lodging with one. 
 
 Others again thought she was betrothed to some military 
 oflficer, and chose to escape the importunities of other lovers,
 
 THE MAID OF HARDRA SCAR. 51 
 
 by hiding herself here till peace should restore ber future 
 husband to her arms. 
 
 Such were a few of the many surmises which at that 
 time constituted the tea-table gossip at Hawes. Though 
 each party felt confident that its own opinion was right, it 
 remained only vague conjecture ; for the young lady herself 
 never dropped a single hint which could in the least turn 
 the scale of imagination to the side of certainty. 
 
 One evening, having taken her accustomed ramble, she 
 did not return ; and the widow with whom she lodged 
 became extremely impatient and uneasy. Inquiries were 
 made in ail directions, but no one had seen her. Several 
 3'oung men volunteered to search her usual haunts, but 
 nothing could be found. 
 
 For several weeks, and even months, the sudden disap- 
 pearance of the fair stranger continued to occupy the 
 principal attention of the village. Nor will this appear 
 surprising, when you recollect that only seldom anything 
 occurs in a place like that of a romantic nature ; yet the 
 hearts of the inhabitants are as open to the sympathies of 
 humanity in that place as in others. 
 
 At last it was remembered that a carriage, with the blinds 
 up, had called to water the horses at Mr. Clark's on that 
 evening ; and had driven forward without any one alighting. 
 At the time it was considered to be an empty carriage ; but 
 when the fair stranger was found to have disappeared so 
 mysteriously the same evening, it was concluded that she 
 had been carried off by her friends in this very carriage. 
 
 Without attempting to explain how this was, she was 
 never heard of after that day. 
 
 The picture I would draw from this story is simply this : — 
 One of her usual walks was up the glen to Hardra water- 
 fall. Every day, when the weather would permit, did she 
 traverse this glen. After viewing the immense column of 
 water which there is precipitated over the projecting rock
 
 52 TALES OF THE ENGLISH LAKES. 
 
 into the uiiiathomable cistern at its foot, she would ascend 
 the steep acclivity which leads to the top of the rock. 
 Upon a natural rude column of stone on. the left hand side, 
 which appears to have been torn from the parent rock 
 during some convulsion of nature, would she stand for 
 hours, her long pink ribbons fluttering in the mountain 
 breeze. I know of no finer subject than this for a picture. 
 The broken and overhancfiuor rocks — the loose fragments at 
 their feet — the cascade itself, the finest in the country — the 
 brook fretting and foaming down the rugged glen — the 
 stunted trees, and matted foliage, which protrude from the 
 fissures of this natural wall — the huge erect pillar of stone, 
 which rears its detached mass above the adjoining rock — 
 and one of the loveliest females I ever saw, attired in 
 flowing white drapery, which, with the ribbons, fluttered 
 and pla3'"ed upon the wind — could you find a subject equal 
 to this for interest, one equal to it for sublimity and beauty ? 
 
 THE TWO BEOTHEES. 
 
 A TALE OF ENNERDALE. 
 
 HESE Tourists, heaven preserve us ! needs must live 
 A profitable life : some glance along. 
 Rapid and gay, as if the earth were air. 
 And they were butterflies to wheel about 
 Long as the summer lasted : some, as wise, 
 Perch'd on the forehead of a jutting crag, 
 Pencil in hand and book upon the knee, 
 Will look and scribble, scribble on and look. 
 Until a man might travel twelve stout miles, 
 Or reap an acre of his neighbour's corn. 
 But, for that moping son of idleness, 
 Why can he tarry yonder ? — In our churchyard
 
 THE TWO BROTHERS. 53 
 
 Is neither epitaph nor monument, 
 
 Tombstone nor name — only the turf we tread 
 
 And a few natural graves." To Jane, his wife, 
 
 Thus spake the homely priest of Ennerdale. 
 
 It was a July evening; and he sat 
 
 Upon the long stone-seat beneath the eaves, 
 
 Of his old cottage, — as it chanced, that day, 
 
 Employ'd in winter's work. Upon the stone 
 
 His wife sate near him, teasing matted wool, 
 
 While, from the twin cards tooth'd with glittering wire, 
 
 He fed the spindle of his youngest child. 
 
 Who turned her large round wheel in the open air 
 
 With back and forward steps. Towards the field 
 
 In which the parish chapel stood alone, 
 
 Girt round with a bare ring of mossy wall, 
 
 While half an hour went by, the priest had sent 
 
 Many a long look of wonder : and at last, 
 
 Risen from his seat, beside the snow-white ridge 
 
 Of carded wool which the old man had piled 
 
 He laid his implements with gentle care. 
 
 Each in the other lock'd ; and, down the path 
 
 That from his cottage to the churchyard led, 
 
 He took his way, impatient to accost 
 
 The stranger, whom he saw still lino-erinij there. 
 
 'Twas one well-known to him in former days, 
 A shepherd lad, — who, ere his sixteenth year. 
 Had left that calling, tempted to entrust 
 His expectations to the fickle winds 
 And perilous w^aters — with the mariners 
 A fellow-mariner — and so had fared 
 Through twenty seasons ; but he had been rear'd 
 Among the mountains, and he in his heart 
 Was half a shepherd on the stormy seas. 
 Oft in the piping shrouds had Leonard heard
 
 54 TALES OF THE ENGLISH LAKES. 
 
 The tones of Avaterlalls and inland sounds 
 
 Of caves and trees : — and, when the regular wind 
 
 Between the tropics fill'd the steady sail, 
 
 And blew with the same breath through days and weeks, 
 
 Lengthening invisibly its weary line 
 
 Along the cloudless main, he, in those hours 
 
 Of tiresome indolence, would often hang 
 
 Over the vessel's side, and gaze and gaze ; 
 
 And, while the broad green wave and s})arkling foam 
 
 Flash'd round him images and hues that wrought 
 
 In union with the employment of his heart. 
 
 He, thus by feverish passion overcome. 
 
 Even with the organs of his bodily eye, 
 
 Below him, in the bosom of the deep, 
 
 Saw mountains — saw the forms of sheep that grazed 
 
 On verdant hills — with dwellings among trees. 
 
 And shepherds clad in the same country gray 
 
 Which he himself had worn. 
 
 And now at last 
 From perils manifold, with some small wealth 
 Acquired by traffic 'mid the Lidian Isles, 
 To his paternal home he is return'd. 
 With a determined purpose to resume 
 The life he had lived there; both for the sake 
 Of many darling pleasures, and the love 
 Which to an only brother he has borne 
 In all his hardships, since that happy time 
 When, whether it blew foul or fair, they two 
 Were brother shepherds on their native hills. 
 — They were the last of all their race ; and now, 
 When Leonard had approach'd his home, his heart 
 Fail'd in him ; and, not venturing to inquire 
 Tidings of one whom he so dearly loved, 
 Towards the churchyard he had turn'd aside ;
 
 THE TWO BROTHERS. 55 
 
 That as he knew in what particular spot 
 
 His family were laid, he thence might learn 
 
 If still his brother lived, or to the file 
 
 Another grave was added. — He had found 
 
 Another grave, near which a full half-hour 
 
 He had remain'd ; but, as he gazed, there grew 
 
 Such a confusion in his memory, 
 
 That he began to doubt ; and he had hopes 
 
 That he had seen this heap of turf before — 
 
 That it was not another grave, but one 
 
 He had forgotten. He had lost his path. 
 
 As up the vale, that afternoon, he walk'd 
 
 Through fields which once had been well known to him : 
 
 And O what joy the recollection now 
 
 Sent to his heart ! He lifted up his eyes. 
 
 And, looking round, imagined that he saw 
 
 Strange alteration wrought on every side 
 
 Among the woods and fields, and that the rocks 
 
 And everlasting hills themselves were changed. 
 
 By this the priest, who down the field had come 
 Unseen by Leonard, at the churchyard gate 
 Stopp'd short, — and thence, at leisure, limb by limb 
 Perused him with a gay complacency, 
 Ay, thought the vicar smiling to himself, 
 'Tis one of those who needs must leave the path 
 Of the world's business to go wild alone : 
 His arms have a perpetual holiday ; 
 The happy man will creep about the fields, 
 Following his fancies by the hour, to bring 
 Tears down his cheek, or solitar}' smiles 
 Into his face, until the setting sun 
 Write Fool upon his forehead. Planted thus 
 Beneath a shed that over-arch'd the gate 
 Of this rude churchyard,. till the stars appcar'd.
 
 56 TALES OF THE ENGLISH LAKES. 
 
 Tho ffood man inif:jht have communed with himself, 
 But that the stranger, who had left the grave, 
 Approach'd ; he recognised the priest at once, 
 And, after greetings interchanged, and given 
 B}'' Leonard to the vicar as to one 
 Unknown to him, this dialogue ensued. 
 
 LEONARD. 
 
 You live, Sir, in these dales a quiet life ; 
 
 Your years make up one peaceful family ; 
 
 And who would grieve and fret, if, welcome come 
 
 And welcome gone, they are so like each other. 
 
 They cannot be remember'd ? Scarce a funeral 
 
 Comes to this churchyard once in eighteen months ; 
 
 And yet, some changes must take place among you ; 
 
 And you, who dwell here, even among these rocks 
 
 Can trace the finger of mortality. 
 
 And see, that with our threescore years and ten 
 
 We are not all that perish. 1 remember 
 
 (For many years ago I passed this road) 
 
 There was a foot- way all along the fields 
 
 By the brook-side — 'tis gone — and that dark cleft ! 
 
 To me it does not seem to wear the face 
 
 Which then it had. 
 
 PRIEST. 
 
 Nay, Sir, for aught I know, 
 That chasm is much the same — 
 
 LEONARD. 
 
 But, surely, yonder — 
 
 PRIEST. 
 
 Ay, there, indeed, your memory is a friend 
 That does not play you false. — On that tall pike 
 (It is the loneliest place of all these hills)
 
 THE TWO BROTHERS. 57 
 
 There were two springs that bubbled side by sidf^, 
 As if they had been made that they might be 
 Companions for each other ; the huge crag 
 Was rent with lightning — one hath disappear'd : 
 
 The other, left behind, is flowing still.* 
 
 For accidents and changes such as these. 
 We want not store of them ; — a water.spout 
 Will bring down half a mountain ; what a feast 
 For folks that wander up and down like you, 
 To see an acre's breadth of that wide cliff 
 One roaring cataract ! — a sharp May-storm 
 Will come with loads of January snow. 
 And in one night send twenty scoie of sheep 
 To feed the ravens : or a shepherd dies 
 By some untoward death among the rocks; 
 The ice breaks up and sweeps away a bridge — 
 A wood is fell'd : — and then for our own homes ! 
 A child is born or christen'd, a field plough'd, 
 A daughter sent to service, a web spun, 
 The old house-clock is decked with a new" face ; 
 And hence, so far from wanting facts or dates 
 To chronicle the time, we all have here 
 A pair of diaries — one serving. Sir, 
 For the whole dale, and one for each fireside — 
 Yours was a stranger's judgment : for historians, 
 Commend me to these valleys ! 
 
 LEONARD. 
 
 Yet your churchyard 
 Seems, if such freedom may be used with you, 
 To say that you are heedless of the past : 
 An orphan could not find his mother's grave : 
 Here's neither head nor foot-stone, plate of brass, 
 
 * This actually took place on Kidstow Pike, at the head of Hawes 
 Water.
 
 58 TALES OF THE ENGLISH LAKES. 
 
 Cross-bones nor skull — tjpe of our earthly state 
 Nor emblem of our hopes : the dead man's home 
 Is but a fellow to that pasture-field. 
 
 PRIEST. 
 
 Why, there, Sir. is a thought that's new to me ! 
 
 The stone-cutters, 'tis true, might beg their bread 
 
 If every English churchyard were like ours ; 
 
 Yet your conclusion wanders from the truth : 
 
 We have no need of names and epitaphs ; 
 
 We talk about the dead by our firesides. 
 
 And then for our immortal part ! we want 
 
 No symbols, Sir, to tell us that plain tale : 
 
 The thought of death sits easy on the man 
 
 Who has been born and dies among the mountains. 
 
 LEONARD. 
 
 Your dalesmen, then, do in each other's thoughts 
 Possess a kind of second life : no doubt 
 You, Sir, could help me to the history 
 Of half these graves ? 
 
 PRIEST. 
 
 For eight-score winters past, 
 With what I've witness'd, and with what I've heard, 
 Perhaps I might; and on a winter-evening, 
 If you were seated at my chimney's nook, 
 By turning o'er these hillocks one by one. 
 We two could travel, Sir, through a strange round : 
 Yet all in the broad highway of the world. 
 Now there's a grave — your foot is half upon it — 
 It looks just like the rest; and yet that man 
 Died broken-hearted. 
 
 LEONARD. 
 
 'Tis a common case. 
 We'll take another : who is he that lies
 
 THE TWO BROTHERS. 59 
 
 Beneath yon ridge, the last of those three graves ? 
 It touches on that piece of native rock 
 Left in the churchyard wall. 
 
 PKIEST. 
 
 That's Walter Ewbank. 
 He had as white a head and fresh a cheek 
 As ever were produced by youth and age 
 Engendering in the blood of hale fourscore. 
 Through five long generations had the heart 
 Of Walter's forefathers o'erflow'd the bounds 
 Of their inheritance, that single cottage — 
 You see it yonder ! — and those few green fields. 
 They toil'd and wrought, and still, from sire to son, 
 Each struggled, and each yielded as before 
 A little — yet a little — and old Walter, 
 They left to him the family heart, and land 
 With other burthens than the crop it bore. 
 Year after year the old man still kept up 
 A cheerful mind, and buffeted with bond, 
 Interest, and mortgages ; at last he sank, 
 And went into his grave before his time. 
 Poor Walter ! whether it was care that spurred him 
 God only knows, but to the very last 
 He had the lightest foot in Ennerdale : 
 His pace was never that of an old man : 
 I almost see him tripping down the path 
 With his two grandsons after him ; — but you, 
 Unless our landlord be your host to-night, 
 Have far to travel — and on these rough paths 
 Even in the longest day of midsummer — 
 
 LEONAED. 
 But those two orphans !
 
 6o TALES OF THE ENGLISH LAKES. 
 
 PRIEST. 
 
 Or[)haris ! — .such they were- 
 Yet not while Walter lived: — for, though their parents 
 Lay buried side by side as now they lie, 
 The old man was a father to the boys, 
 Two fathers in one father : — and if tears, 
 Shed when he talk'd of them where they were not, 
 And haun tings from the infirmity of love. 
 Are aught of Nvhat makes up a mother's heart, 
 This old man, in the day of his old age, 
 Was half a mother to them. — If you weep, Sir, 
 To hear a stranger talking about strangers, 
 Heaven bless you when you are among your kindred ! 
 Ay — you may turn that way — it is a grave 
 Which will bear lookiag at. 
 
 LEONARD. 
 
 These boys — I hope 
 They loved this good old man ? — 
 
 PRIEST. 
 
 They did — and truly : 
 But that was what we almost overlook'd, 
 They were such darlings of each other. For, 
 Though from their cradles they had lived with Walter, 
 The only kinsman near them, and though he 
 Inclined to them, by reason of his age, 
 With a more fond, fauiiliar tenderness. 
 They, notwithstanding, had much love to spare, 
 And it all went into each other's hearts. 
 Leonard, the elder by just eighteen months. 
 Was two years taller ; 'twas a joy to see, 
 To hear, to meet them ! — From their house the school 
 Is distant three short miles — and in the time 
 Of storm and thaw, when every water-coui'se
 
 THE TWO BROTHERS. 6i 
 
 And unbridg-ed stream, such as you may have noticed 
 
 Crossing our roads at every hundred steps, 
 
 Was swoln into a noisy rivulet, 
 
 Would Leonard then, when elder boys perhaps 
 
 RemainM at home, go staggering through the fords, 
 
 Bearing his brother on his back. I've seen him 
 
 On windy days, in one of those stray brooks — 
 
 Ay, more than once I've seen him — mid-leg deep, 
 
 Their two books lying both on a dry stone 
 
 Upon the hither side; and once I said, 
 
 As I remember, looking round these rocks 
 
 And hills on which we all of us were born. 
 
 That God who made the great book of the world 
 
 Would bless such piet}" — 
 
 LEONARD. 
 
 It may be then — 
 
 PRIEST. 
 
 Never did worthier lads break English bread ; 
 
 The finest Sunday that the autumn saw 
 
 With all its mealy clusters of ripe nuts, 
 
 Could never keep these boys away from church, 
 
 Or tempt them to an hour of Sabbath breach. 
 
 Leonard and James 1 I warrant, every corner 
 
 Among these rocks, and every hollow place 
 
 Where foot could come, to one or both of them 
 
 Was known as well as to the flowers that grow there. 
 
 Like roe-bucks tbe}^ went bounding o'er the hills ; 
 
 They played like two young ravens on the crags ; 
 
 Then the}^ could write, ay, and speak too as well 
 
 As man 3^ of their betters — aud for Leonard ! 
 
 The ver}^ night before he went away. 
 
 In my own house I put into his hand
 
 62 TALES OF THE ENGLISH LAKES. 
 
 A Bible, and I'd wager house and field 
 That, if he is alive, he has it yet. 
 
 LEONARD. 
 
 It seems, these brothers have not lived to be 
 A comfort to each other — 
 
 PRIEST. 
 
 That they might 
 Live to such end, is what both old and young 
 In this our valley all of us have wish'd. 
 And what, for my part, I have often pray'd : 
 But Leonard — 
 
 LEONARD. 
 
 Then James is still left among you ? 
 PRIEST. 
 'Tis of the elder brother I am speaking : 
 They had an uncle : — he was at that time 
 A thriving man, and traflBck'd on the seas ; 
 And, but for that same uncle, to this hour 
 Leonard had never handled rope or shroud. 
 For the boy loved the life which we lead here : 
 And though of unripe years, a stripling only, 
 His soul was knit to this his native soil. 
 But, as I said, old Walter was too weak 
 To strive with such a torrent; when he died, 
 The estate and house were sold ; and all their sheep, 
 A pretty flock, and which, for aught I know. 
 Had clothed the Ewbanks for a thousand years : — 
 Well — all was gone, and they were destitute. 
 And Leonard, chiefly for his brother's sake, 
 Resolved to try his fortune on the seas. 
 Twelve years are past since we had tidings from him. 
 If there were one among us who had heard 
 That Leonard Ewbank was come home again,
 
 THE TWO BROTHERS. 63 
 
 From the great Gavel,* down by Leeza's banks, 
 
 And down the Enna, far as Egremont, 
 
 The day would be a very festival ; 
 
 And those two bells of ours, which there you see 
 
 Hanging in the open air — but, O, good Sir ! 
 
 This is sad talk — they'll never sound for him — 
 
 Living or dead. When last we heard of him. 
 
 He was in slavery among the Moors 
 
 Upon the Barbary coast, 'Twas not a little 
 
 That would bring down his spirit ; and no doubt. 
 
 Before it ended in his death, the youth 
 
 Was sadly cross'd — Poor Leonard ! when we parted, 
 
 He took me by the hand, and said to me, 
 
 If ever the day came when he was rich, 
 
 He would return, and on his father's land 
 
 He would grow old among us. 
 
 LEONARD. 
 
 If that day 
 Should come, 'twould needs be a glad day for him ; 
 He would himself, no doubt, be happy then 
 As any that should meet him — 
 
 PRIEST. 
 
 Happy ! Sir — 
 
 LEONARD. 
 
 You said his kindred all were in their graves, 
 And that he had one brother — 
 
 *The Great Gavel, so called, I imagine, from its resemblance to the 
 gable end of a house, is one of the highest of the Cumberland mountains. 
 It stands at the head of the several vales of Ennerdale, Wastdale, and 
 Borrowdale. 
 
 The Leeza is a river which flows into the lake of Ennerdale ; on issuing 
 from the lake it changes its name, and is called the End, Eyne, or Enna. 
 It falls into the sea a little below Egremont.
 
 64 TALES OF THE ENGLISH LAKES. 
 
 PRIEST. 
 
 That is but 
 A fellow tale of sorrow. From his youth 
 James, though not sickly, yet was delicate ; 
 And Leonard being always by his side 
 Had done so many offices about him, 
 That, though he was not of a timid nature. 
 Yet still the spirit of a mountain boy 
 In him was somewhat check'd ; and, when his brother 
 Was gone to sea, and he was left alone, 
 The little colour that he had was soon 
 Stolen from his cheek ; he droop'd, and pined, and pined- 
 
 LEONARD. 
 
 But these are all the graves of full-grown men ! 
 
 PRIEST. 
 
 Ay, Sir, that pass'd away : we took him to us ; 
 
 He was the child of all the dale — he lived 
 
 Three months with one, and six months with another ; 
 
 And wanted neither food, nor clothes, nor love ; 
 
 And many, many happy days were his. 
 
 But, whether blithe or sad, 'tis my belief 
 
 His absent brother still was at his heart. 
 
 And, when he dwelt beneath our roof, we found 
 
 (A practice till this time unknown to him) 
 
 That often, rising from his bed at night, 
 
 He in his sleep would walk about, and sleeping 
 
 He sought his brother Leonard. — You are moved ; 
 
 Forgive me, Sir : before I spoke to you, 
 
 I judged you most unkindly. 
 
 LEONARD. 
 
 But this youth 
 
 How did he die at last ?
 
 THE TWO BROTHERS. 65 
 
 PEIEST. 
 
 One sweet May morning 
 (It will be twelve years since when Spring returns) 
 He had gone forth among the new-dropp'd lambs, 
 With two or three companions, whom their course 
 Of occupation led from height to height 
 Under a cloudless sun, till he, at length, 
 Through weariness, or, haply, to indulge 
 The humour of the moment, lagg'd behind. 
 You see yon precipice ; — it wears the shape 
 Of a vast building made of many crags ; 
 And in the midst is one particular rock 
 That rises like a column from the vale, 
 Whence by our shepherds it is called The Pillar. 
 Upon its aery summit crown'd with heath. 
 The loiterer, not unnoticed by his comrades, 
 Lay stretch'd at ease ; but, passing by the place 
 On their return, they found that he was gone. 
 No ill was fear'd ; but one of them by chance 
 Entering, when evening was far spent, the house 
 Which at that time was James's home, there learned 
 That nobody had seen him all that day ; 
 The morning came, and still he was unheard of ; 
 The neighbours were alarm'd, and to the brook 
 Some hasten'd, some towards the lake ; ere noon 
 They found him at the foot of that same rock — 
 Dead, and with mangled limbs. The third day after 
 I buried him, poor youth, and there he lies ! 
 
 LEONARD. 
 
 And that then is his grave ! — Before his death 
 You say that he saw many happy years ? 
 
 PRIEST. 
 
 Ay, that he did —
 
 66 TALES OF THE ENGLISH LAKES. 
 
 LEONARD. 
 
 And all went well with him? — 
 
 PRIEST. 
 
 If he had one, the youth had twenty homes. 
 
 LEONARD. 
 
 And you believe, then, that his mind was easy ? 
 
 PRIEST. 
 
 Yes, long before he died, he found that time 
 
 Is a true friend to sorrow ; and unless 
 
 His thoughts were turn'd on Leonard's luckless fortune, 
 
 He talk'd about him with a cheerful love. 
 
 LEONARD. 
 
 He could not come to an unhallow'd end ! 
 
 PRIEST. 
 
 Nay, God forbid ! — You recollect I mention'd 
 
 A habit which disquietude and grief 
 
 Had brought upon him ; and we all conjectured 
 
 That, as the day was warm, he had lain down 
 
 Upon the grass, and waiting for his comrades, 
 
 He there had fallen asleep ; that in his sleep 
 
 He to the margin of the precipice 
 
 Had walk'd, and from the summit had fallen headlong. 
 
 And so, no doubt, he perished : at the time, 
 
 We guess, that in his hands he must have held 
 
 His shepherd's staff: for midway in the cliflf 
 
 It had been caught ; and there for many years 
 
 It hung, and moulder'd there. 
 
 The priest here ended — 
 The stranger would have thank'd him, but he felt 
 A gushing from his heart, that took awav
 
 THE TWO BROTHERS. 67 
 
 The power of speech. Both left the spot in silence ; 
 
 And Leonard, when they reach'd the churchyard gate, 
 
 As the priest lifted up the latch, turned round, 
 
 And, looking at the grave, he said, " My Brother ! " 
 
 The vicar did not hear the words : and now, 
 
 Pointing towards the cottage, he entreated 
 
 That Leonard would partake his homely fare; 
 
 The other thank'd him with a fervent voice. 
 
 But added, that, the evening being calm. 
 
 He would pursue his journey. So they parted. 
 
 It was not long ere Leonard reach'd a grove 
 
 That overhung the road : he there stopp'd short. 
 
 And, sitting down beneath the trees, review'd 
 
 All that the priest had said : his early years 
 
 Were with him in his heart : his cherish'd hopes. 
 
 And thoughts which had been his an hour before. 
 
 All press'd on him with such a weight, that now 
 
 This vale, where he had been so happy, seem'd 
 
 A place in which he could not bear to live: 
 
 So he relinquish'd all his purposes. 
 
 He travell'd on to Egremont: and thence. 
 
 That night, he wrote a letter to the priest. 
 
 Reminding him of what had pass'd between them; 
 
 And adding, with a hope to be forgiven, 
 
 That it was from the weakness of his heart 
 
 He had not dared to tell him who he was. 
 
 This done, he went on shipboard, and is now 
 A seaman, a grey-headed mariner.
 
 68 TALES OF THE ENGLISH LAKES. 
 EEMA; OR, THE MURDERED MAID. 
 
 A TRAGKDY OF THE LAKE DISTRICT. 
 
 C 
 
 >N the death of Emma's father, she found herself, with 
 
 [/>■ a widowed mother, deprived, at one stroke, of nearly 
 
 all the comforts, and the means of procuring them, 
 
 which she had enjoyed during her father's lifetime. 
 
 A small jointure of thirty pounds a-year was all that 
 
 remained to her mother, for her father had died insolvent. 
 
 This thirty pounds a-year Emma thought might support 
 her mother, if she could support herself. Determined to 
 burden no one for her subsistence, and believing that humble 
 servitude was, in the eyes of Heaven and of men, more 
 honourable than a mean and degrading dependence on the 
 bounty of friends for a precarious supply of our temporary 
 wants. 
 
 Her mother strenuously opposed Emma's resolution of 
 going to service. She would subject herself to any priva- 
 tions, rather than her young and lovely daughter would be 
 reduced to this severe necessity — she would work for hire 
 — she would beg — she would borrow — she should almost 
 steal, rather than Emma should be compelled to labour. 
 Her mother's entreaties, however, so far from having the 
 desired effect of preventing her going to service, only con- 
 firmed Emma in her previous resolution. Should she be a 
 burden to her mother — to that mother who expressed so 
 tender a solicitation for her welfare — who was rapidly 
 descending the downhill of life — who had all her days been 
 accustomed to the elegances of taste ? No, no ; rather than 
 take anything from her, she would add a little to her 
 comforts ; and a portion of her yearly wage should be set 
 apart as a present to her mother. 
 
 The affectionate mother, who had never before parted a
 
 THE MURDERED MAID. 69 
 
 single day with her daughter, saw her set out to her place 
 of service (a gentleman's family among the lakes, where her 
 father had been upon terms of intimacy) with an aching 
 heart. She felt as if she was parting with her for the last 
 time ; and required all the resolution she was mistress of to 
 tear herself from her dear Emma. " Go," she said, " and 
 take a mother's fondest, warmest blessing; and if you 
 should find yourself unable to accomplish your resolution, 
 or feel any inconvenience, return and share what Heaven 
 has left us, with an affectionate mother. It is not much, 
 Heaven knows; but I could doubly enjoy it, were it less, if 
 I had 3'ou to share it." Emma assured her mother, that if 
 any unforeseen difiiculty occurred, she would instantly repair 
 to her natal home ; and cheered her with a promise of con- 
 stantly writing. This pacified, but did not console her 
 mother. She knew too well the independent spirit of 
 her daughter to hope for her return, except on some awful 
 emergency. 
 
 Time rolled on, and repeated letters, both from Emma 
 and her mistress, assured the mother that all was well, 
 and that Emma was healthy and happy. At length Emma 
 sent the joyful intelligence that she would come over on 
 Whitsun Sunday morning, and spend the week with her. 
 
 Emma arose, with buoj^ant spirits, packed ujd a small 
 bundle of necessaries in a handkerchief, put her wages in 
 her bosom, and set out to see and cheer her affectionate 
 parent. The morning was extremely fine, and she amused 
 herself with the bright and varied prospect, till the road, 
 descending a steep hill, led her into a richly romantic 
 valley. A copse of wood overhung the road, a huge rock 
 formed the fence on that side next the wood, and seemed 
 like a natural wall. Over the rock fell, in three or four 
 unequal cascades, the stream of a brook which might be 
 heard tumbling through the wood to a considerable distance. 
 Ciase to the place where the water left the wood, one part
 
 70 TALES OF THE ENGLISH LAKES. 
 
 of the rock .shot up to an immense height, hearing no very 
 distant resemblance to the ruins of an old castle. From a 
 fissure in the rock grew the stump of an old oak, whose 
 branches had apparently been lopped by the wind, except 
 one, which, bending down almost to the stream, had 
 escaped its ravages by its humble situation. On a large 
 stone, in this romantic spot, Emma sat down to rest herself 
 awhile, and slake her thirst at the stream. 
 
 Though Emma's heart did not entertain a thought but of 
 the joy her mother would feel on receiving the first-fruits 
 of her first wages, every bosom was not warmed by so 
 generous an impulse. Sam the cow-lad at Emma's master's 
 had ascertained that she had that day received her wages, 
 and was gone to her mother's ; and he instantly formed the 
 resolution to rob the generous girl of the hard earned 
 pittance. By a nearer route, over the hills, he sought to 
 meet her in this solitary spot, where there was little 
 possibility of being surprised in the action. While Emma 
 was thus meditating on the happiness which she would 
 soon feel in her mother's arms, Sam came up and commanded 
 her to deliver up her money; she entreated him to leave 
 her a little for a present to her mother, but the human fiend 
 (and human fiends are the worst fiends), refused to leave 
 her a farthing. He had secured the booty, and Emma wa« 
 preparing to pursue her journey, when the horrid thought 
 entered his head, that unless he added murder to his 
 robbery, he would be liable to punishment for his crime. 
 There was not a moment for deliberation ; and the lovely, 
 the young, the innocent Emma fell a corpse at the wretch's 
 feet. Fear added wings to the speed of the villain, and he 
 fied, as if from the face of heaven. 
 
 The day passed on with the same calm serenity as if 
 nothing had happened. Noon came to the widow's cottage 
 but no Emma arrived. As the evening drew on the 
 mother's unhappiness increased ; and she set out to meet
 
 THE MURDERED MAID. 71 
 
 her daughter, for whose fate she felt most keenl}^ %Yithout 
 being able to assign any cause. As the sun was sinking, 
 amid a rich profusion of evening tints, which threw a 
 dazzling lustre over all the scene, the widow reached the 
 vale where her murdered daughter slept her last long sleep. 
 But the pencil alone can finish the picture — words are of 
 no utility. 
 
 It would be superfluous to say that I would have the 
 last picture sketched at the moment when the mother first 
 discovers that it is the lifeless body of her daughter that 
 lies stained with its own gore, that she is bending over. 
 Cold must be that heart that would not feel the full force 
 of such a piece. Poor would the richest landscape you ever 
 drew appear, when compared with this. 
 
 It is strange that those who profess to have hearts so 
 open to the beauties of nature, should reject the loveliest 
 object in it. Adam, though placed in the midst of Paradise, 
 was not content till Eve was added to its other beauties ; 
 nor would I ever draw a picture without such an enlivening 
 object. Beside, in most of our fine sublime scenes about 
 the lakes, we lose the principal zest of the piece by having 
 nothing beautiful to contrast with tlie rugged. The more 
 wild and terrible the scene I had to paint, the greater care 
 would I take to introduce some lovely female form to mark 
 the contrast ; then 
 
 " Each would give each a double charm. 
 Like pearls upon an Ethiop's ai-m."
 
 ■J2 TALES OF THE ENGLISH LAKES. 
 
 HISTOllICAL, POETICAL, AND ROMANTIC 
 
 ASSOCIATIONS OF CARLISLE. 
 
 one versed in ballad lore — no reader of old poetry 
 and romance, can approach Carlisle for the first time 
 without pleasurable emotion. Carlisle is the border 
 city — the city of King Arthur and his knights. It 
 has been the scene of many a stout siege and bloody feud ; 
 of many a fierce foray, and mournful execution, and of 
 many a just punishment upon traitors and reivers. It is, 
 consequently, not to be pictured to the imagination without 
 unusual interest. Old traditions of events like these have 
 made it among the most remarkable of the cities of England; 
 and it would be difficult to name another around which 
 are clustered so many memories of such various degrees of 
 attraction to the poetical and historical antiquary. Its 
 approach from the south, though striking, gives no idea of 
 its antiquity and former feudalism. It is situated in an 
 extensive plain, surrounded in the distance by mountains, 
 amongst which Saddleback, Skiddaw, and Crossfell, are 
 prominent; and from afar off, with the smoke of its 
 households hanging over it, does undoubtedly impress the 
 imagination with ideas of the romantic. 
 
 Nearer approach, however, dissipates this illusion. We 
 lose sight of the valley, being in it, and of the mountains, 
 in the presence of immediate objects. Tall chimneys rear 
 their heads in considerable numbers, pouring forth 
 steam and smoke, and with square buildings and their 
 numerous windows, prove incontestabl}'' that modern 
 Carlisle is a manufacturing city, and has associations 
 very different from those of its former history. On 
 entrance, the contrast between the past and the present 
 becomes still more vivid. We see that its walls and sfates
 
 CARLISLE: HISTORICAL AND ROMANTIC. 73 
 
 have disappeared ; that its streets are clean, Avide and com- 
 fortable, which no ancient streets in England ever were •, 
 and that it has altogether a juvenile, busy, and thriving 
 appearance, giving few signs (to the eye at least) that it has 
 been in existence above a century. It is true that two 
 venerable relics, its castle and its cathedral, renaain to attest 
 its bygone grandeur and glory ; but these are not immedi- 
 ately visible, and have to be sought out by the enquiring 
 stranger ; whilst all around him is modern and prosaic; and 
 a mere reduplication of the same characteristics of English 
 life and manners that he must have seen in a hundred other 
 places. 
 
 Still, however, it is " merry Carlisle," and " bonnie 
 Carlisle," although, like all other mundane things, it has 
 been changed by time ; and is quite as much King Arthur's 
 city as England is King Arthur's England ; and brimfull of 
 associations which the traveller will be at no loss to recall, 
 of the crime and sorrow — the "fierce wars and faithful loves" 
 of our ancestors, from the year 800 downwards to 1745. 
 Not that Carlisle is only a thousand years old. It has a 
 much earlier origin than the year 800, having been founded 
 by the Romans. By them it was called Luguballium, or 
 Luguvallum, signifying the tower or station by the wall, 
 and was so named from its contiguity to the wall of Severus. 
 The Saxons, disliking this long and awkward name, 
 abbreviated it into Luel ; and afterwards in speaking of it, 
 called it Caer-luel, or the city of Luel ; from whence comes 
 its present designation of Carlisle. It is supposed to have 
 been during the Saxon period, if not the chief city, the 
 frequent residence of that great mythic personage. King 
 Arthur, where he 
 
 With fifty good and able 
 Knights that resorted unto him 
 And were of his round table :
 
 74 TALES OF THE ENGLISH LAKES. 
 
 Did hold his jousts and tournaments, 
 
 Whereto were many pressed, 
 Wherein some knights did far excel 
 
 And eke surmount the rest. 
 
 Among these knights, Sir Lancelot du Lake, Sir Bevis, and 
 Sir Gawaine are the most consjncuous in tradition. One of 
 the most celebrated of our most ancieut ballads relates to 
 the latter, and to his marriage with the mis-shapen lady 
 that afterwards became so fair. The story is a very 
 beautiful one; and was the model upon which Chaucer 
 founded his Wife of Bath's Tale. It is worth repeating, for 
 the sake of those to whom the uncouth rhymes of ancient 
 days are not familiar; but though it is likely enough that 
 the number of these is but few, it is too interesting, as 
 connected with Carlisle, to be left unmentioned in a chapter 
 expressly devoted to the poetical antiquities of the place. 
 
 THE MARRIAGE OF SIR GAWAINE. 
 
 King Arthur lives in merry Cai'leile, 
 
 And seemly is to see : 
 And there with him queene Guenever, 
 
 That bride so bright of blee. 
 
 And there with him queene Guenever, 
 That bride so bright in bowre ; 
 
 And all his barons about him stoode, 
 That were both stiffe and stowre. 
 
 The king a royale Christmasse kept, 
 With mirth and princelye cheare ; 
 
 To him repaired many a knighte, 
 That came both farre and neare. 
 
 And when they were to dinner sette, 
 
 And cups went freely round : 
 Before them came a faire damselle, 
 
 And knelt upon the ground.
 
 CARLISLE: HISTORICAL AND ROMANTIC. 75 
 
 A boone ! a boone ! O kinge Arthure, 
 
 I beg a boone of thee ; 
 Avenge me of a carlish knighte, 
 
 Who hath shent my love and me. 
 
 At Tearne-Wadling,* his castle stands, 
 
 Near to that lake so fair, 
 And proudlye rise the battlements. 
 
 And streamers deck the air. 
 
 Noe gentle knighte, nor ladye gay, 
 
 May pass that castle-walle ; 
 But from that foule discurteous knighte, 
 
 Mishappe will them befalle. 
 
 Hee's twyce the size of common men, 
 Wi' thewes, and sin ewes stronge. 
 
 And on his backe he bears a clubbe, 
 That is both thicke and longe. 
 
 This grimme barone, 'twas our harde happe. 
 
 But yester morne to see ; 
 When to his bowre he bare my love, 
 
 And sore misused me. 
 
 And when I told him, King Arthure 
 
 As lyttle shold him spare ; 
 Goe tell, sayd he, that cuckold kinge, 
 
 To meete me if he dare. 
 
 Upp then sterted King Arthure, 
 
 And sware by hille and dale, 
 He ne'er wolde quitt that grimme barone. 
 
 Till he had made him quail. 
 
 * A note to this passage iu '* Percy's Reliques " (the editor of which, it 
 must be stated, modernised and added to this ballad), informs us that 
 Tearue-Wadling is near Hesketh, on the road from Penrith, where there is 
 a tradition still in existence that an old castle once stood upon the spot.
 
 y6 TALES OF THE ENGLISH LAKES. 
 
 Kin^: Arthur sets off in a njreat rage. The opprobrious term, 
 which galled him the more because it was true, fired his 
 blood, and he challenged the"grimme barone" to mortal 
 combat. 
 
 Sir Gawaine, who seems to have been of a stature as 
 gigantic as the famous Sir Hugh Caesar, who is buried at 
 Penrith, conquered him by enchantment: his sinews lost 
 their strength, his arms sank powerless at his side ; and he 
 only received the boon of life at the hands of his enemy by 
 swearing upon his faith as a knight, to return upon New 
 Year's da}^ and bring "true w^ord what thing it was that 
 women most desired." 
 
 Go fetch my sword Excalibar : 
 
 Goe saddle mee my steede, 
 Nowe, by my faye, that grimme barone 
 
 Shall rue this ruthfulle deede. 
 
 And when he came to Tearne-Wadling, 
 
 Beneath the castle-walle ; 
 " Come forth ; come forth ; thou proud barone, 
 
 Or yielde thyself my thralle." 
 
 On magicke grounde that castle stoode. 
 And fenc'd with many a spelle : 
 
 Noe valiant knighte could tread thereon, 
 But straite his courage felle. 
 
 Forth then rush'd that carlish knight, 
 
 King Arthur felte tlie charme : 
 His sturdy sine^ys lost their strengthe, 
 
 Down sunke his feeble arme. 
 
 Nowe j'ield thee, yield thee, King Arthure, 
 
 Nowe yield thee unto mee : 
 Or fighte with mee, or lose thy lande, 
 
 Noe better terms maye bee.
 
 CARLISLE: HISTORICAL AND ROMANTIC. J7 
 
 Unlesse thou sweare upon the rooil, 
 
 And promise on thy faye, 
 Here to returne to Tearne-Wadling 
 
 Upon the New Yeare's daye : 
 
 And bringe me worde what thing it is 
 
 All women moste desyre : 
 This is thy ransome, Arthure, he says, 
 
 He have noe other hyre. 
 
 King Arthur then helde up his hande, 
 
 And sweare upon his faye, 
 Then tooke his leave of the grimme barone, 
 
 And faste hee rode awaye. 
 
 And he rode east, and he rode west, 
 
 And did of all inquyre, 
 What thing it is all women crave, 
 
 And what they most desyre. 
 
 King Arthur made due inquiry ; but it was not so easy a 
 matter to discover the secret. 
 
 Some told him riches, pompe, or state ; 
 
 Some rayment fine and brighte ; 
 Some told him mirthe; some flatterye ; 
 
 And some a jollye knighte: 
 
 In letters all King Arthur wrote, 
 And seal'd them w^ith his ringe ; 
 
 But still his minde was helde in doubte, 
 Each tolde a different thinge. 
 
 As New Year's day approached, his tribulation increased; 
 for though he might have told the " grimme barone " with 
 much truth many things that women did much desire, he 
 was not at all sure that his version of what they most desired, 
 would hit the fancy of tlie Lord of Tarn-Wadling, who 
 had set him to expound the riddle. He would not give up, 
 however, and one day, —
 
 7^ TALES OF THE ENGLISH LAKES. 
 
 As ruthfulle he rode over a more, 
 
 He saw a ladye sitte 
 Between an oke, and a greene lioll^ye, 
 
 All clad in " red scarlette." 
 
 Her nose was crookt and turned outwarde, 
 
 Her chin stoode all awreye ; 
 And where as sholde have been her mouthe, 
 
 Lo I there was set her eye : 
 
 Her haires, like serpents, clung aboute 
 
 Her cheekes of deadlye hewe : 
 A worse-form'd ladye than she was, 
 
 No man mote ever vie we. 
 
 This ill-conditioned damsel tells him the secret, however, 
 upon condition that he will bring her a " fair and courtly 
 knight to marry her," — a condition which, considering all 
 the circumstances, must have seemed to the good king as 
 bad as the jumping out of the frying-pan into the fire. The 
 great secret is, as she expresses it, " that all women will 
 have their wille, and this is their chief desyre," which 
 Arthur forthwith tells to the " grimme barone ; " and so 
 acquits himself as far as he is concerned. The other 
 trouble, however, still remains, and fills the king's mind 
 with anxiety. Queen Guinevere, who was outraged as well 
 as her husband by the opprobrious message of the " grimme 
 barone," but who had never thought of the very obvious 
 solution of the riddle he had been set, comes out to meet 
 him on his return, and inquires how he has sped. He 
 details his new tribulation in having promised to procure 
 a fair knight to marry this ugly, mis-shapen creature. 
 Comfort is nearer at hand than he thought, and Sir Gawaine, 
 his own nephew, "his sister's son," bids him be merrj'e and 
 lighte," for he will marry her, however roul and loathsome 
 she may be. He does so accordingly: —
 
 CARLISLE: HISTORICAL AND ROMANTIC. 79 
 
 And when they were in wed-bed laid, 
 
 And all were done awaye : 
 " Come turne to me, mine owne wed-lord, 
 
 Come turne to mee, I praye." 
 
 Sir Gawaine scant could lift his head, 
 
 For sorrowe and for care ; 
 When lo ! instead of that lothelye dame, 
 
 He sawe a young ladye faire. 
 
 Sweet blushes stayn'd her rud-red cheeke. 
 
 Her eyen were blacke as sloe ; 
 The ripening cherrye swellde her lippe, 
 
 And all her necke was snowe. 
 
 Agreeably surprised at the change, Sir Gawaine soon learns 
 to love the lady. She informs him that, by a cruel fate, 
 she cannot be fair both night and day ; and asks him which 
 he prefers. He hints that the night would be most pleasant ; 
 to which she replies : — 
 
 What when gaye ladyes goe with their lordes 
 
 To drinke the ale and wine ; 
 Alas ! then I must hide myself, 
 
 I must not go, with mine ? 
 
 " My faire ladye. Sir Gawaine sayd, 
 I yield me to thy skille ; 
 Because thou art my owne ladye 
 Thou shalt have all thy wille." 
 
 The spell is broken. She tells him her history ; and that 
 henceforth she shall be fair both night and day. 
 
 My father was an aged knighte, 
 
 And yet it chanced soe, 
 He took to wife a false ladye, 
 
 Whiche brousfhte me to this woe.
 
 8o TALES OF THE ENGLISH LAKES. 
 
 Shee witch'd mee, being a faire younge raaide, 
 
 In the grene forest to dwell e ; 
 And there to abide in lothlye shape, 
 
 Most like a fiend of hello. 
 
 Midst mores and mosses, woods, and wilds ; 
 
 To lead a lonesome life : 
 Till some yonge faire and courtlye knighte 
 
 Wolde marrje me for his wife : 
 
 Nor fully to gaine mine owne trewe shape, 
 
 Such was her devilish skille ; 
 Until he wolde yielde to be ruled by mee, 
 
 And let mee have all my wille. 
 
 She witch'd my brother to a carlish boore, 
 
 And made him stiffe and stronge; 
 And built him a bowre on magicke grounde. 
 
 To live by rapine and wronge. 
 
 But now the spelle is broken throughe. 
 
 And wronge is turnde to righte ; 
 Henceforth I shall bee a faire ladye, 
 
 And hee a gentle knighte. 
 
 Another ballad, equall}'- celebrated, though not so beauti- 
 ful, also relates to King Arthur's residence at Carlisle, and 
 to the truth of the imputation cast upon Queen Guinevere 
 by the " grimme bavone " of the last story. It is entitled 
 " The Boy and the Mantle," commencing somewhat un- 
 couthly : — 
 
 In the third day of May, 
 
 To Carleile did come 
 A kind curteous child 
 
 That cold much of wisdome. 
 
 This " child " brings that wondrous mantle which no lady 
 who is not chaste can wear ; and it is tried upon all the
 
 CARLISLE: HISTORICAL AND RO:\IANTIC. 8i 
 
 dames of the court. When Queen Guinevere put it on, it 
 was suddenly rent from the top to the bottom, and turned 
 in succession all manner of colours, and is told as follows: — 
 
 God speed thee, king Arthur, 
 
 Sitting at thy meate ; 
 And the goodly queene Guinevere, 
 
 I cannott her forgett. 
 
 I tell you, lords, in this hall ; 
 
 I bid you all to " heede ;" 
 Except you be the more surer 
 
 Is you for to dread. 
 
 He plucked out of his " porterner," 
 
 And longer wold not dwell, 
 He pulled forth a pretty mantle, 
 
 Betweene two nut- shells. 
 
 Have thou here, king Arthur ; 
 
 Have thou here of mee, 
 Give itt to thy comely queene 
 
 Shapen as itt is alreadye. 
 
 Itt shall never become that wiffe, 
 
 That hath once done amisse. 
 Then every knight in the king's court 
 
 Began to care for " his." 
 
 Forth Came dame Guinevere ; 
 
 To the mantle shee her " hied ; " 
 The ladye shee was newfangle. 
 
 But yett she was afFrayd. 
 
 When she had taken the mantle ; 
 
 She stoode as shee had beene madd ; 
 It was from the top to the toe 
 
 As sheeres had itt shread.
 
 82 TALES OF THE ENGLISH LAKES. 
 
 One while was it " gule ;" 
 
 Another while was itt greene ; 
 Another while w^as it wadded : 
 
 111 itt did her beseeme. 
 
 Another while w^as it blacke 
 
 And bore the worst hue : 
 By my troth, quoth king Arthur, 
 
 I thinke thou be not true. 
 
 She threw down the mantle. 
 
 That bright was of blee ; 
 Fast, with a rudd redd, 
 
 To her chamber can shee flee. 
 
 She curst the weaver, and the walker 
 That clothe that had wrought ; 
 
 And bade a vengeance on his crown e. 
 That hither had it broughte. 
 
 The lady of Sir Kay, another of King Arthur's knights, 
 tries it on with no better success; and the ballad thus 
 corroborates the old traditions reported by the earliest 
 historians, that the court of the British King was anything 
 but a pure one, " and that Queen Guinevere was noted for 
 breach of faith to her husband," especially with her 
 husband's friend, Sir Lancelot du Lake, the hero himself of 
 manj' a goodly ballad ; and of some passages in the Morte 
 Arthur. 
 
 Mixing the real with the fabulous history of Carlisle, and 
 taking both in chronological order, we must leave these 
 ancient ballads to relate that, during the period of the 
 British Kings, Carlisle suffered from the incursions of the 
 Scots and Picts, by whom it was ultimately reduced to 
 ruins; it was rebuilt by Egfrid, King of Northumberland, 
 who surrounded and fortified it with a w^all ; founded a 
 monastery and a college of secular priests. It was once
 
 CARLISLE: HISTORICAL AND ROMANTIC. 83 
 
 more destroyed by the Danes, about the year 900, who 
 tlirew down the walls, burned its houses, chiefly built of 
 wood, and killed every person in it, man, woman, and child. 
 It remained in ruins, it is believed, for nearly 200 years. 
 On the return of William Rufus from Alnwick, after 
 concluding a peace with the turbulent Scotch, he passed 
 over the remains of this once celebrated city, and observing 
 that it must have been a place of great strength, and could 
 be made so again, he resolved to rebuild it for the protection 
 of the border. He did so : and Carlisle became of more 
 importance than it had ever been before. Its castle was 
 built and garrisoned ; and every means taken to render it a 
 stronghold both for offensive and defensive warfare. Henry 
 the first completed what Rufus had so well begun, erected 
 Carlisle into an Episcopal see in the year 1132, making 
 Athelwold, his confessor, the first bishop. 
 
 In Evans's Collection of Old Ballads is one relatiner to a 
 bishop of Carlisle at this early period. It is entitled 
 " Bishop Thurston and the King of Scots:" and contains some 
 beautiful passages which render it worthy of all the publicity 
 that can be given to it; especially as the whole composition 
 inculcates sentiments of abhorrence for warfare, rare at the 
 time it was penned, but now, happily, in the ascendant. 
 Soon after King Stephen's departure for Normandy, a.d. 1137, 
 the King of Scotland entered England in a hostile manner. 
 Stephen's Government was not in a position to resist an in- 
 vasion at that time ; and the miseries of war were averted by 
 the interposition of the venerable Bishop Thurston, who 
 prevailed upon the Scotch King to meet him at Roxburgh, 
 and used such arguments as induced him to return to his 
 own country in peace. They are said to have been argu- 
 ments of Christian charity, and not the arguments of policy 
 and the sword, which bisho})s as well as barons could use 
 in those days. A few stanzas will show the excellent spirit 
 of the ballad.
 
 84 TALES OF THE ENGLISH LAKES. 
 
 Through the fair country of Tiviotdale 
 
 King David marched forth ; 
 King David and his princely son, 
 
 The heroes of the North. 
 
 And holy Thurston fro' merry Carlisle, 
 
 In haste his way doth wind, 
 With many a cross-bearer before. 
 
 And many a knight behind. 
 
 The arguments used by the bishop to dissuade the invader 
 are of universal interest, and as applicable now as then : — 
 
 Out then spoke the holy Thurston, 
 And full of woe spake he, 
 " Christ, thy kingdom of heavenly bliss, 
 Alas, when shall we see ! 
 
 For here on earth is nought but sin. 
 
 And kings for pride do ill, 
 And when they with each other war 
 
 The poor folks blood must spill. 
 
 What hath the husbandman done wrong 
 
 That he must spoil his grain ? 
 What the poor widow, and what the child, 
 
 That they must all be slain ? 
 
 And what is the simple maid to blame 
 
 To be made of lust the prey ? 
 And what the lowly village priest 
 
 That they so oft do slay ? 
 
 And when the doleful day of doom 
 
 Shall call ye from the grave, 
 From the crying blood of these innocents 
 
 What tyrants shall ye save ?
 
 CARLISLE: HISTORICAL AND ROMANTIC. 85 
 
 Now thiuk thee well, O mortal King, 
 
 And thy misdeeds bemoan, 
 And think what will save thy hapless soul, 
 
 When all thy pomp is gone. 
 
 Nor fancy that alms will save thy soul, 
 Though bounteous they be given ; 
 
 Nor the rearing of abbeys all rich endowed 
 Will carry thy soul to heaven." 
 
 From the time of Henry I. the place began to prosper, 
 though it appears from Stowe that, in 1829, a great portion 
 of it was burned down. In the year 1300, King Edward I. 
 summoned his barons and knights to meet him here on the 
 feast-day of St. John the Baptist, to prepare for the 
 invasion of Scotland ; which was afterwards commenced by 
 the siege of Carlaverock castle. The same monarch also 
 summoned a Parliament to meet here in the year 1307, the 
 last parliament of his reign. A complete list of the members 
 who attended is to be found in Stowe sAnnals,mchidmg, says 
 the historian, " eighty-seven earls and barons, twenty bishops, 
 sixty-one abbots, and eight priors, besides many deacons, 
 archdeacons and other inferior clerks. The subject of their 
 deliberations was the Scottish war, and the sore annoyance 
 given by Robert Bruce. The King remained here from 
 January, when the Parliament was summoned, during all 
 the winter and summer, disposing of many things concern- 
 ing Scotland at his pleasure," but vexing himself to death 
 at his inability, from sickness and other causes, to march 
 against Robert Bruce. He had some revenge, however, for 
 a party of his men " capturing one Thomas, that was a 
 knight, and one Alexander, that was a priest and dean of 
 Glasgow," who had been sent by Robert Bruce to "allure 
 away the English people by gentle persuasion;" he had 
 them summarily hanged, drawn, and quartered, and placed 
 their heads upon the gates of Carlisle — those gates where
 
 86 TALES OF THE ENGLISH LAKES. 
 
 the heads of so many Scotchmen were afterwards to grin in 
 ghastly horror until 1745. 
 
 Among the poetical and historical associations connected 
 with Carlisle, the famous battle of Otterbourne, and. the 
 still more famous ballad which celebrates it, must not be 
 omitted. In the twelfth year of Richard 11., A.D. 1388, 
 the Scotch made a great raid over the border, and ravaged 
 the whole country about Carlisle, driving away large 
 quantities of cattle, and taking no less than 300 men 
 prisoners. Another division of them extended their 
 ravages into the counties of Northumberland and Durham ; 
 and grew so insolent as to render a vigorous eflort 
 necessary to crush them, on the part of the English. 
 
 It fell about the Lammas tide 
 
 When yoemen win their hay, 
 The doughty Douglass 'gan to ride 
 
 In England to take a prey. 
 
 The Earl of Fife withoute strife 
 
 He hound liiin over Solway. 
 The great wolde even together ride 
 
 The race they may rue for aye. 
 
 The version of the ballad, as given by Percy, is the only 
 one of the many versions extant which makes allusion to 
 the partv^ that ravaged Carlisle. The main interest is 
 centred around Newcastle, and on the doings of the other 
 division of the Scotch. There is, however, another ballad 
 of which Carlisle is more exclusively the theme. It is 
 somewhat less known to the English reader, not being found 
 in Percy's Reliques ; and describes a scene which was very 
 common to the border for a long period. Mr. Gilbert has 
 illustrated it b}'^ a picturesque sketch. The principal 
 portions of this ballad, sufficient to tell the story, are here 
 transcribed. In the year 1596, William Armstrong, of 
 Kinmont, better known as Kinmout Willie, a noted reiver.
 
 CARLISLE: HISTORICAL AND ROMANTIC. 87 
 
 or border trooper, and stealer of Englishaieu's cattle, was 
 taken prisoner b}' Lord Scrope, the Warden of the Western 
 Marches, and safely lodged in Carlisle Castle. A truce 
 existed at the time between Lord Scrope and the Lord of 
 Buccleugh, who severally watched over the interests of the 
 English and Scottish sides of the border; and the Lord of 
 Buccleugh, incensed that the truce had been broken by the 
 capture of Willie, demanded that he should be set at liberty. 
 Lord Scrope refused; and the Lord of Buccleugh, with a 
 small body of two hundred men, performed the daring feat 
 of surprising the castle of Carlisle, and rescuing his country- 
 man. The"fause Sakelde," alluded to in the ballad, was 
 the then possessor of Corby castle, and sheriff" of Cumberland 
 — the chief of the powerful family of the Salkeldes; and 
 " Hairibee " was the slang phrase for the place of execution 
 at Carlisle. 
 
 KINMONT WILLIE. 
 
 have ye na heard o' the fause Sakelde, 
 
 O have ye na heard o' the keen Lord Scrope, 
 
 How they have taken bold Kinmont Willie 
 On Hairibee to hang him up ? 
 
 Had Willie had but twenty men — 
 
 But twenty men as stout as he, 
 Fause Sakelde had never the Kinraont ta'en 
 
 Wi' eight score in his company. 
 
 They bound his legs beneath the steed, 
 They tied his hands behind his back, 
 
 They guarded him, five score on each side. 
 And brought him over the Liddel-rack. 
 
 They led him through the Liddel-rack, 
 And also through the Carlisle sands, 
 
 They brought him to Carlisle Castell 
 To be at my Lord Scrope's commands.
 
 88 TALES OF THE ENGLISH LAKES. 
 
 Now word is gone to the bold keeper 
 
 Iq Branksome hall where that he lay, , 
 
 That Lord Scrope had taken Kinmont Willie 
 Between the hours of night and day. 
 
 He struck the table with his hand, 
 
 He made the red wine spring on hie — 
 " Now Christ's curse on my head," he said, 
 " But avenged on Lord Scrope I will be. 
 
 " O is my helmet a widow's cap, 
 
 Or my lance a wand of the willow tree ? 
 Or my arm a lady's lily hand, 
 
 That an English Lord should lightly me ? 
 
 " And have they taken him, Kinmont Willie, 
 Against the truce of Border tide ? 
 And forfi'otten that the bold Buccleugh 
 Is keeper here on the Scottish side ? 
 
 " And have they taken him, Kinmont Willie, 
 Withouten either dread or fear. 
 And forgotten that the bold Buccleugh, 
 Can back a steed and shake a spear ? 
 
 " O were there war between the lands. 
 As well as I wot that there is none, 
 I would slight Carlisle Castell high. 
 
 Though it were builded of marble stone. 
 
 " I would set that Castell in a low, 
 And sloken it with English blood, 
 There's never a man in Cumberland 
 
 Should tell where Carlisle Castell stood. 
 
 " But since nae war's between the lands 
 
 And there is peace and peace should be ; 
 I'll neither harm English lad or lass. 
 And yet the Kinmont shall go free."
 
 CARLISLE: HISTORICAL AND ROMANTIC. 89 
 
 Then on we held for Carlisle town 
 
 And at Staneshaw bank the Eden we crossed, 
 
 The water was great and mickle of spait 
 But there never a man nor horse we lost. 
 
 And when we reached the Staneshaw bank, 
 
 The wind was rising loud and hie, 
 And there the laird gar'd leave our steeds 
 
 For fear that they should stamp and nie. 
 
 And when we left the Staneshaw bank. 
 
 The wind began full loud to blaw, 
 But 'twas wind and weet, and fire and sleet, 
 
 When we came beneath the castle wa'. 
 
 We crept on knees and held our breath, 
 Till we placed the ladders against the wa'. 
 
 And ready was bold Buccleugh himself 
 To mount the first before us a'. 
 
 He has ta'en the watchman by the throat, 
 He flung him down upon the lead ; 
 " Had there not been peace between our land, 
 Upon the other side thou hadst gaed." 
 
 " Now sound our trumpet," quoth Buccleugh, 
 Let's waken Lord Scrope, right merrilie ; 
 Then loud the Warder's trumpet blew, 
 " Wha daur meddle wi' me ? " 
 
 Wi' coulters and wi' forehammers 
 
 We garred the bars bang merrilie, 
 Until we came to the inner prison. 
 
 Where Kinmont Willie he did lie. 
 
 And when we came to the lower prison, 
 Where Kinmont Willie he did lie. 
 " sleep ye, wake ye, Kinmont Willie, 
 Upon the morn that thou's to die ? "
 
 90 TALES OF THE ENGLISH LAKES. 
 
 " 0, I sleep saft, and I wake aft, 
 
 It's long since sleeping was fley'd frae me ! 
 Gie ray service back to my wife and bairns, 
 And a' gude fellows that speir for me ! " 
 
 The Red R-owan has lifted him up 
 The starkest man in Teviotdale ; 
 " Abide, abide now, Red Rowan, 
 
 Till of Lord Scrope I take farewell. 
 
 " Farewell, farewell, my good Lord Scrope, 
 My good Lord Scrope, farewell," he cried, 
 
 " I'll pay you for my lodging maill. 
 
 When first we meet on the border side." 
 
 Then shoulder high, with shout and cry, 
 We bore him down the ladder lang. 
 
 At every stride Red Rowan made 
 
 I wot the Kinmont's airms played clang. 
 
 " 0, mony a time," quoth Kinmont Willie, 
 " I have ridden horse both wild and woad, 
 But a rougher beast than Red Rowan, 
 I ween my legs have ne'er bestrode ! " 
 
 We scarce had reached the Haneshaw bank, 
 When all the Carlisle hills were rung, 
 
 And a thousand men on horse and foot 
 Came wi' the keen Lord Scrope along. 
 
 Buccleugh has turned to Eden water, 
 
 Even where it flowed from bank to brim. 
 
 And he has plunged in wi' a' his band 
 And safely swam them thro' the stream. 
 
 He turned him on the other side, 
 
 And at Lord Scrope his glove flung he, 
 " If ye like na.' my visit in merry England, 
 In fair Scotland come visit me ! "
 
 CARLISLE: HISTORICAL AND ROMANTIC. 91 
 
 This was a dariDg exploit, and has been gallantly sung. 
 The word seem to come out of the mouth of one of the very 
 moss troopers who had acted a part in the achievement, and 
 the whole composition is rough but finely flavoured ; and 
 strongly dramatic. Queen Elizabeth, when she heard of it, 
 was highly indignant, and " stormed not a little." Two 
 years afterwards, the "bold Buccleugh" was in England, 
 and Elizabeth was anxious to see so doughty a chieftain. 
 He was presented accordingly, and Elizabeth, in a rough 
 and peremptory manner, demanded of him how he had 
 dared to undertake an enterprise so desperate and pre- 
 sumptuous ! 
 
 " What is it," replied the undaunted Scot, " that a man 
 dare not do ? " 
 
 Elizabeth, struck with his boldness, turned to a lord in 
 waiting, and said, " with ten thousand men such as this, our 
 brother of Scotland might shake the firmest throne in 
 Europe." 
 
 There is another ballad relating to the same Lord Scrope, 
 and the execution of a noted reiver, named " Hughie the 
 Graeme," who had made woeful havoc in his time among 
 the farmsteads of the Marches, and the cattle of "merry 
 England." Hughie did not escape Hairibee. The actual 
 offence for which he suffered was his stealing the Bishop of 
 Carlisle's mai'e. The following is the ballad : — 
 
 HUGHIE THE GR^ME. 
 
 Gude Lord Scroope's to the hunting gane, 
 
 He has ridden our moss and muir ; 
 And he has grippit Hughie the Gr?eme, 
 
 For stealing o' the bishop's mare. 
 
 " Now, Good Lord Scroope, this may not be ! 
 
 Here hangs a broadsword by my side ; 
 And if that thou canst conquer me, 
 
 The matter it may soon be tryed.
 
 92 TALES OF THE ENGLISH LAKES. 
 
 " I ne'er was afraid of a tiaitor thief, 
 
 Although ray name be Hugliie the Graeme ; 
 
 I'll nijike thee repent thee of thy deeds, 
 If God but ffrant me life and time. 
 
 " Then do your worst now, good Lord Scroope, 
 And deal your blows as hard as you can ; 
 
 It shall be tried within an hour. 
 
 Which of us two is the better man." 
 
 But as they were dealing their blows so free. 
 
 And both so bloody at the time, 
 Over the moss came ten yeomen so tall, 
 
 All for to take brave Hughie the Graeme. 
 
 Then they ha'e gribbit Hughie the Graeme, 
 And brought him up through Carlisle town ; 
 
 The lasses and lads stood on the walls, 
 
 Crying, "Hughie the Graeme, thou'se ne'er gae down!" 
 
 Then ha'e they chosen a jury of men, 
 
 The best that were in Carlisle town : 
 And twelve of them cried out at once, 
 
 " Hughie the Graeme, thou must gae down ! " 
 
 Then up bespake him gude Lord Hume, 
 
 As he sat by the judge's knee : 
 "Twenty white owsen, my gude Lord, 
 
 If you'll grant Hughie the Graeme to me." 
 
 " O no, no, my gude Lord Hume ! 
 
 Forsooth, and sae it mauna be ; 
 For were there but three Graemes of the name, 
 
 They suld be hanged a' for me." 
 
 'Twas up and spake the gude Lady Hume, 
 
 As siie sat by the judge's knee : 
 " A peck of white pennies, m}^ gude lord judge. 
 
 If you'll grant Hughie the Graeme to me."
 
 CARLISLE: HISTORICAL AND ROMANTIC. 93 
 
 " no, O no, my gucle Lady Hume ! 
 
 Forsooth and so it mustna be; 
 Were be but the one Graeme of the name, 
 
 He snld be hano-ed hio-h for me." 
 
 " If I be guilty," said Hughie the Grseme, 
 " Of me my friends shall have small talk : " 
 
 And he has leaped fifteen feet and three, 
 
 Tho' his hands they were tied behind his back. 
 
 He looked over his left shoulder, 
 
 And for to see what he might see ; 
 There was he aware of his ould father, 
 
 Came tearing his hair most piteously. 
 
 '• O hauld your tongue, my father," he says, 
 
 " And see that ye dinna weep for me ! 
 For they may ravish me o' my life. 
 
 But they canna banish me fro' heaven hie. 
 
 " Fare ye weel, fair Maggie, my wife ! 
 
 The last time we came ower the muir, 
 'Twas thou bereft me of my life. 
 
 And wi' the bishop thou play'd the whore. 
 
 " Hei'e, Johnnie Armstrong, take thou my sword, 
 
 That is made 0' the metal sae fine ; 
 And when thou comest to the English side, 
 
 Remember the death of Hughie the Gneme." 
 
 There are two or more versions of the foregoing : one in 
 Ritson's Collection ; and one communicated by Burns to 
 Johnson's Museum. The ballad of Hobbie Noble relates 
 to a hero of the same stamp, who suffered about the same 
 period, at the same place, for a similar love for English oxen 
 and sheep. Hobbie was an Englishman ; who, finding less 
 difference in the laws of " mine and thine" on the Scotch 
 side of the border, and more sympathy with such loose
 
 94 TALES OF THE ENGLISH LAKES. 
 
 notions of property as he possessed, established himself 
 among the Scotch, and helped them to ravage the country 
 to Carlisle southward, whenever opportunity offered. The 
 Scotch, however, proved false to him. The Armstrongs, 
 amongst whom he was residing, were bribed by the English 
 to decoy him over the border upon pretence of a raid or 
 foray ; where he was delivered up to a party from Carlisle 
 castle, that had long been on the look-out lor him. By 
 these he was taken to Carlisle, and hanged on Hairibee in 
 less than twenty-four hours afterwards. * 
 
 HOBBIE NOBLE. 
 
 Foul fa' the breast first treason bred in ! 
 
 That Liddesdale may safely say : 
 For in it there was baith meat and drink, 
 
 And corn unto our geldings gay. 
 
 And we were a' stout-hearted men, 
 
 As England she might often say ; 
 But now we may turn our backs and flee. 
 
 Since brave Noble is sold away. 
 
 Now Hobbie was an Englishman, 
 
 And born in Bewcastle dale ; 
 But his misdeeds they were so great, 
 
 They banished him to Liddesdale. 
 
 At Kershope foot the tryst was set, 
 
 Kershope of the lilye lee ; 
 And there was traitor Sim o' the Mains, 
 
 And with him a private companie. 
 
 Then Hobbie has graithed his body fair, 
 
 Baith wi' the iron and wi' the steil ; 
 And he has ta'en out his fringed gray, 
 
 And there brave Hobbie he rade him weel.
 
 CARLISLE: HISTORICAL AND ROMANTIC. 95 
 
 Then Hobbie is down the water gane, 
 
 E'en as fast as he could hie ! 
 The' a' should ha'e bursten and broken their hearts, 
 
 Frae that riding tryst he wad na be. 
 
 " Weel be ye met, my feres five ! 
 
 And now, what is your will wi' me ? " 
 Then they cried a' wi' ae consent, 
 
 Thou'rt welcome here, brave Noble, to me, 
 
 " Wilt thou with us into England ride, 
 
 And thy safe warrand we will be ? 
 If we get a horse worth a hundred pound, 
 
 Upon his back thou sune sail be." 
 
 " I dare not by day into England ride, 
 
 The land-serjeant has me at feid; 
 And I know not what evil may betide, 
 
 For Peter of Whitfield, his brother is dead. 
 
 " And Anton Shiel he loves not me, 
 
 For I gat twa drifts o' his sheep ; 
 The great Earl of Whitfield loves me not, 
 
 For nae gear frae me he e'er could keep. 
 
 " But will ye stay till the day gae down. 
 
 Until the night come o'er the grund, 
 And I'll be a guide worth ony twa 
 
 That may in Liddesdale be found ? 
 
 " Though the night be black as pick and tar 
 
 I'll guide ye o'er yon hill sae hie, 
 And bring ye a' in safety back, 
 
 If ye'll be true and follow me." 
 
 He has guided them o'er moss and muir, 
 
 O'er hill and hope, and mony a down ; 
 Until they came to the Foulbogshiel, 
 
 And there, brave Noble, he lighted down.
 
 96 TALES OF THE ENGLISH LAKES. 
 
 But word is gane to the land Serjeant, 
 
 In Askerton where that he lay — 
 "The deer that ye ha'e hunted sae lang, 
 
 Is seen into the Waste this day." 
 
 " Then Hobbie Noble is that deer ! 
 
 I wot he carries the style fii' hie ; 
 Aft has he driven our bluid hounds back, 
 
 And set ourselves at little lee. 
 
 " Gar warn the bows of Hartlie burn ; 
 
 See they sharp their arrows on the wa' ; 
 Warn Willeva and Speir Edom, 
 
 And see the morn they meet me a'. 
 
 " Gar meet me on the Rodric-haugh, 
 
 And see it be by break o' day : 
 And we will on to Conscouthart-green, 
 
 For there, I think, we'll get our prey." 
 
 Then Hobbie Noble has dreimit a dreim, 
 In the Foulbogsheil, where that he lay ; 
 
 He dreimit his horse was aneith him shot. 
 And he himself got hard away. 
 
 The cocks could craw, the day could daw, 
 And I wot sae even fell down the rain ; 
 
 Had Hobbie na awakened at that time. 
 
 In the Foulbogshiel he had been ta'en or slain. 
 
 " Awake, awake, my feres five ! 
 
 I trow here make a fu' ill day ; 
 Yet the worst cloak o' this company, 
 
 I hope shall cross the Waste this day." 
 
 Now Hobbie thought the gates were clear, 
 
 But even, alas ! it was na sae ; 
 The}'' were beset by cruel men and kten 
 
 That away brave Hobbie might na gae.
 
 CARLISLE: HISTORICAL AND ROMANTIC. 97 
 
 " Yet follow me, ray feres five, 
 
 And see ye keip of me guid ray ; 
 And the worst cloak o' this company, 
 
 Even yet may cross the Waste this day." 
 
 But the land-serjeant's men came Hobbie before, 
 
 The traitor Sim came Hobbie behin'. 
 So had Noble been wight as Wallace was, 
 
 Away, alas ! he might na win. 
 
 Then Hobbie had but a laddie's sword, 
 
 But he did mair than a laddie's deed ; 
 For that sword had cleared Conscouthart-green, 
 
 Had it not broke o'er Jerswigham's head. 
 
 Then they ha'e ta'en brave Hobbie Noble, 
 
 Wi's ain bowstring the band him sae ; 
 But his gentle heart was ne'er sae sair, 
 
 As when his ain five bound him on the brae. 
 
 They ha'e ta'en him on for west Carlisle ; 
 
 They asked him if he ken'd the way ? 
 Though much he thought, yet little he said ; 
 
 He knew the gate as weel as they. 
 
 They ha'e ta'en him up the Ricker-gate ; 
 
 The wives they cast their windows wide ; 
 And every wife to another can say ; 
 
 " That's the man loosed Jock o' the Side !" 
 
 " Fy on ye, woman, why ca' ye me man ? 
 
 For it's nae man that I'm used like ; 
 Am but like a forfonghen hound, 
 
 Has been fighting in a dirty syke." 
 
 They ha'e had him up through Carlisle town. 
 
 And set him by the chimney fire ; 
 They gave brave Noble a loaf to eat, 
 
 And that was little his desire.
 
 98 TALES OF THE ENGLISH LAKES. 
 
 They gave him a wheaten loaf to eat, 
 
 And after that a can of beer ; 
 And they a' cried with one consent, 
 
 " Eat, brave Noble, and make gude cheir ! 
 " Confess my lord's horse, Hobbie," they said, 
 
 " And to-morrow in Carlisle thou's na die." 
 " How can I confess them," Hobbie says, 
 
 " When I never saw them with my e'e ? " 
 The Hobbie has sworn a fu' great aith. 
 
 By the day that he was gotten and born. 
 He never had onything o' my lord's, 
 
 That either eat him grass or corn. 
 "Now fare thee weel, sweet Manger ton! 
 
 For I think again I'll ne'er thee see : 
 I wad ha'e betrayed nae lad nor alive. 
 
 For a' the gowd o' Christentie. 
 
 " And fare thee weel, sweet Liddesdale ! 
 
 Baith the hie land and the law ; 
 Keep ye weel frae the traitor lilains ! 
 
 For gowd and gear he'll sell 3'e a'. 
 " Yet wad I rather be ca'd Hobbie Noble, 
 
 In Carlisle where he suffers for his fau't, 
 Thau I'd be ca'd the traitor Mains, 
 
 That eats and drinks o' the meal and maut." 
 
 Referring the reader to Percy's Reliques for " Adam 
 Bell, Clym of the Clough, and William of Cloudesley," a 
 long and interesting ballad of this period, or somewhat 
 earlier, we conclude this portion of the poetical antiquities 
 of Carlisle by a very beautiful and touching ballad, " the 
 lament of the border widow." It is founded upon the story 
 of Cock burn of Henderland, a noted disturber of the 
 English districts ; who did not, however, suflfer at Carlisle, 
 though he had ravaged its neighbourhood ; nor at the hands 
 of the English, whose laws he had violated. James the
 
 CARLISLE: HISTORICAL AND ROMANTIC. 99 
 
 Fifth, scandalized at the excesses of these border reivers, 
 made an excursion into their country in 1529, and executed 
 summary justice upon several of the most turbulent and 
 lawless of them, including the famous Johnnie Armstrong, 
 Adam Scot of Tushielaw, and Cockburn of Henderland, 
 
 The latter was hanged, by the King's order, over the gate 
 of his own keep, or tower, while his lady fled to the banks 
 of a mountain-stream, called the Henderland burn, and sat 
 down at the foot of a foaming cataract, to drown, amid the 
 sound of the roaring waters, the noise of the drums that 
 announced the close of her husband's existence. The place 
 where she sat is still shown to the stranger. The author of 
 the ballad is unknown. It was taken down from recitation 
 in the Ettrick forest, and is as affecting a ballad as any in 
 the language, abounding with touches of genuine pathos, 
 and most lovely simplicity of sorrow. Exquisite is the 
 whole composition ; and many of the passages are worthy 
 of the greatest of poets. 
 
 My love, he built me a bonny bower, 
 And clad it a' wi' lilye flower, 
 A brawer bower ye ne'er did see. 
 Than my true love he built for me. 
 
 There came a man by middle day. 
 He spied his sport and went away. 
 And brought the King that very night. 
 Who brake my bower and slew my knight. 
 
 He slew my knight, to me sae dear. 
 He slew my knight and poined his gear ; 
 My servants all for life did flee. 
 And left me in extremitie. 
 
 I sewed his sheet, making my moan ; 
 I watched the corpse myself alone ; 
 I watched the body night and day. 
 No living creature came that way.
 
 100 TALES OF THE ENGLISH LAKES. 
 
 I took his body on my back, 
 
 And whiles I gaed, and whiles I sat, 
 
 I digged a grave and laid him in, 
 
 And happed him with the sod sae green. 
 
 But think na ye my heart was sair, 
 When I laid the mould on his yellow hair ! 
 think na ye my heart was wae 
 When I turned about away to gae ! 
 
 Nae living man I'll love again, 
 Since that my lovely knight is slain ; 
 Wi' ae lock of his yellow hair 
 I'll bind my heart for evermair. 
 
 The devoted wife was buried with her husband. In a 
 deserted burial place, which once surrounded the keep of 
 Henderland, the monument was lately, and perhaps is still, 
 to be seen. It is a large stone, broken into three parts, 
 but some armorial bearings are traceable, and the following 
 inscription — legible though much defaced, " Here ltes 
 Perys of Cokburne and his wyfe, Marjory." 
 
 Durinof the civil wars with the " Roses," Carlisle suffered 
 severely; sometimes from the one party and sometimes 
 from the other — a calamity which it shared, however, with 
 all the other principal towns of the kingdom. In the 
 formidable rising against Henry the Eighth, led originally 
 by Sir Robert Aske, and known as the Pilgrimage of Grace, 
 the city was besieged by 8000 men. They were under the 
 command of Nicholas Musgrave, Thomas Gilley, and others, 
 who appeared as leaders of the movement, after it had been 
 abandoned by Aske and its other originators. The citizens, 
 knowing that the Duke of Norfolk was marchino- to their 
 relief, sallied out upon their besiegers, and put them to 
 flight. Seventy of the leaders were captured by the Duke ; 
 but Musgrave, the prime mover, escaped. The others were
 
 CARLISLE: HISTORICAL AND ROMANTIC, loi 
 
 hanged and beheaded^ and their heads placed upon the gates 
 of the city. This happened in the year 1537. 
 
 Little more than a century afterwards, Carlisle suffered a 
 severer siege by the Scotch and Parliamentary forces, under 
 General Lesley. It was defended for the Royalists by Sir 
 Thomas Glenham ; and surrendered on the 28th of June, 
 1645, after having held out for more than six months. During 
 the siege, the distress of the garrison and the inhabitants 
 was so severe, that the flesh of horses, dogs, rats, and other 
 vermin was eaten. Bread was exhausted and hemp-seed 
 substituted ; which in its turn became so dear as to be un- 
 purchasable by all except the most wealthy. A coinage of 
 silver pieces, of three .shillings value, was instituted in the 
 castle during the siege, from the plate of the inhabitants, 
 which was sent in for the purpose. The diary of Isaac 
 TuUie, a resident in the city during the siege, preserved 
 among the Harleian MSS. in the British Museum, states 
 that "the citizens were so shrunk from starvation, that 
 they could not choose but laugh at one another, to see their 
 clothes hang upon them as upon men on gibbets, for one 
 might put one's head and fists between the doublets and 
 shirts of many of them."
 
 102 TALES OF THE ENGLISH LAKES. 
 THE DRUIDS' SACIIIFICE. 
 
 A LEGEND OF KESWICK. 
 
 Mark yon altnr 
 
 See this wide circus 
 
 Skirted with unhewn stone ; they awe my soul, 
 As if the very Genius of the place 
 Himself appeared, and with terrific tread 
 
 Stalked through his drear domain 
 
 Know that thou stand'st on consecrated ground — 
 
 The mighty pile of magic-planted rocks, 
 
 Thus ranged in mystic order, marks the place 
 
 Where but at times of holiest festival 
 
 The Druid led his train. Mason. 
 
 fHE old road between Keswick and Penrith passes over 
 a rough hill, called Castle Rigg, which the new road 
 ^^ now avoids. In a field adjoining this road, on the 
 right hand side going to Penrith, just on the crown 
 of the hill, and at the distance of a mile and a-half east 
 by north from Keswick, are the remains of a Druidical 
 Temple, popularly named the Druids' Stones. 
 
 These interesting memorials of the primeval age of 
 Bj-itain consist of forty-eight rude, unhewn blocks of granite, 
 thirty-eight of which are disposed in an oval figure, of 
 wdiich the diameter is thirty-four yards from north to south, 
 and nearly thirty from east to we^t: the remaining ten 
 stones form an oblong square on the eastern side of the oval 
 area. The latter enclosure, which is seven yards by three, 
 is supposed to have been the sacred place, exclusively 
 appropriated to the Druidical order, where the priests 
 assembled to perform their mystical rites, and to determine 
 on matters of government and judicature. The largest of
 
 THE DRUIDS' SACRIFICE. 103 
 
 the stones is upwards of seven feet in li eight, and may 
 weigh about eight tons, but the greater number measure 
 only three or four feet in height ; they mostly stand in an 
 erect position. 
 
 The situation of this ancient place for superstitious 
 worship has been skilfully chosen, when considered with 
 reference to the idolatrous superstitions of the Druids ; the 
 objects of which were to subdue the mind with appalling 
 images, and to extort obedience through the agency of terror. 
 It is seated in the neighbourhood of Skiddaw, Blencathara, 
 and Helvellyn, and some of the highest mountains of 
 Cumberland, whose clouded summits impended over the 
 sacrificial altar, casting obscure shadows through its precincts. 
 Hither the trembling worshippers repaired, to hear and to 
 acknowledge the teachings and denunciations of their 
 potent masters. In the eyes of the barbarian Britons, alike 
 ignorant, credulous, and superstitious, the place would 
 appear to be the very sanctuary of Omnipotence, and the 
 Druid ministers themselves an impersonation of their gods. 
 Wind and cloud, storm and tempest, wrought powerfully in 
 the abstruse mysteries and terrific incantations constituting 
 the Druidical worship ; and the mind was prostrated, with 
 terrific awe, at the shrine where natural sublimity combined 
 with human cunning to thrill its scarcely awakened faculties. 
 Here, at midnight, every Druid, summoned by the terrible 
 horn, never sounded but upon high occasions, and descending 
 from his mountain or secret cave, might assemble, without 
 intrusion from one sacrilegious footstep, and celebrate a 
 festival. 
 
 " By rites of such strange potency. 
 
 As, done in open day, would dim the sun. 
 
 Though 'throned in noontide brightness." 
 
 The tourist will tread this once hallowed circle, where 
 the Druids ofiered their adorations to Deity, and sat in
 
 I04 TALES OF THE ENGLISH LAKES. 
 
 judt^ment on their fellow-men, with a mixture of awe and 
 veneration, so well expressed by the poet — 
 
 "Skirted with unhewn stone, it awes my soul 
 As if the very Genius of the place 
 Himself appeared, and with terrific tread 
 Stalked through this drear domain." 
 
 In spite of the ravages of time, assisted by the destructive 
 hand of man, many Druidical monuments still remain 
 amongst the seclusions of the lakes and mountains of 
 Cumberland and Westmoreland, and many are the strange 
 tales connected with them. For the interest of our readers, 
 we select the following : — 
 
 In times long gone by, when these mountains reared 
 their naked heads to the clouds — when their sides were 
 clothed with oak, and their feet were wet with morasses — 
 when the wibl cow and the wolf contested the mastership 
 of the unclaimed propert}^ — when human feet had never 
 trod these hills or vales — a mighty warrior left his com- 
 panions in the south and journeyed hitherward. His 
 followers, as they traversed the forests towards the north, 
 met with a beautiful river, at the foot of a gentle hill, well 
 clothed with wood. The warrior said to his companions, 
 let us here, construct our tents. Here is wood for shelter 
 and fire; and this river and these mountains will supply us 
 with food. 
 
 Then they fixed poles in the ground, and fastened them 
 together with wicker-work of branches, and covered them 
 with the green sod from the ground. And the warrior said, 
 the old oak trees around our dwellings will shelter us from 
 the storm in winter, and shade us from the sun in summer. 
 Thus they continued to pass the time in hunting the wild 
 deer among the hills, anil in fishing in the adjoining river; 
 and as they were not disturbed by wars, tiiey rapidly in- 
 creased in strencrth and immbers.
 
 THE DRUIDS' SACRIFICE. 105 
 
 Their ancient priests or Druids retired farther north, 
 because their solemn rites required the greatest privacy ; 
 and the mistletoe, their sacred emblem, abounded more 
 among the northern forests. Besides, stones to construct 
 their temples of were more easily procured among these 
 hills; and being far from the haunts of men, they could 
 indulge in the gloomy eoatemplation of the vindictive 
 character of the Deity — for they knew him only as a Being 
 capable of revenging every insult offered to His name. 
 
 When their town was become very populous, there lived 
 in it a youth of superior strength and agility, who was 
 remarked for being particularly expert with the bow, and 
 so swift that few could outstrip him in the race. At feats 
 of strength or skill, he was ever foremost : and, in attacking 
 the wolf, or the wild cow, few possessed so daring a soul. 
 It is an old maxim, with few exceptions, that love is the 
 companion of bravery — and Mudor loved the gentle Ella. 
 They had retired, at an early age, to a grove farther up the 
 river, where -stood the image of their God Mogan, which 
 had been purchased of some Phenician merchants, along 
 with some iron hatchets, in exchange for the skins of beasts, 
 slain in the chase. Before this rude representation of the 
 Deity they mutually pledged their vows ; and to render 
 those pledges more binding, they each stained a blue sun on 
 their breasts, as a memorial that their faith should be as 
 durable as the light of that luminary. No one felt so proud 
 on hearing the praise of Mudor as Ella did — no one hailed 
 his return from the chase, loaded with spoils, with the 
 warmth of Ella — nor did any one so much admire the 
 elegance of the blue symbols of his prowess and his faith, 
 which were painted on his skin, as did the faithful Ella. 
 Reared in two adjoining cabins, their infant sports had been 
 together. For her he had plunged into the morass to 
 procure the richest and sweetest water-lilies — he had climlied 
 the loftiest oak to gain the cushat eggs — and the scarf of
 
 io6 TALES OF THE ENGLISH LAKES. 
 
 squirrel skins which screened 'her from the cold, was the 
 produce of his most early adventures in the chase. Thus 
 circumstanced, their hearts were knit together by those ties 
 which bind the savage as well as the civilized ; for the heart 
 of the naked Indian who treads the burning sands of the 
 desert is as warm to the tender impressions of love as the 
 prince who stretches his limbs on a silken couch, or reposes 
 on a bed of down. 
 
 These faithful lovers dreamt of no unkindly fate inter- 
 fering, when a fever broke out in the town, and swept 
 away a number of its inhabitants. Application was made 
 to the priest of Mogan to avert the awful visitation by 
 prayer; but he returned for answer, that the wickedness of 
 the people had offended the Great Invisible, and the fever 
 was sent as a just punishment. The Druids, therefore, who 
 resided in the neighbourhood, made a pilgrimage to one of 
 their largest temples, situated among the mountains, in the 
 midst of a vast forest. The Arch-Druid, having gathered 
 the mistletoe, just as the rising sun licked the dew from its 
 berries, and performed a number of other rites, to obtain 
 answer from the Great Spirit, informed them that Heaven 
 would not be appeased unless a young virgin was immolated 
 as a sacrifice for the sins of the inhabitants. When this 
 intelligence was announced, the utmost dismay seized on 
 every heart. Parents trembled for their daughters, and the 
 dauofhters trembled for themselves : for no one knew on 
 whom the lot would fall. 
 
 The Druids of the neighbouring groves assembled together, 
 and cast lots, according to their established usage. The lot 
 fell on Ella ! Sad was the heart of Mudor when he heard 
 this; and vainly did he entreat that some other victim 
 might be selected in her stead. It was the irrevocable 
 decree of heaven, and the priests had not the power to alter 
 it. No one felt the sentence less severely than Ella did. 
 She resigned herself to the will of the Deity ; and would
 
 THE DRUIDS' SACRIFICE. 107 
 
 not render unavailable the sacrifice by any vain and foolish 
 complaints. Still the affection she felt for Mudor would 
 steal across her mind, and a momentary wish that she 
 might have lived to fulfil her vows would interrupt her 
 devotional complacency. 
 
 The morning arrived when Ella was to be conveyed far into 
 the deserts, among the northern mountains, to the gloomy 
 dell, where Heaven would alone be appeased. Mudor, at a 
 humble distance, followed the procession of the Druids, and 
 separating himself from the crowd which usually assembled 
 to witness those awful rites of the Druid priests, appeared 
 like one who had no conception of what was passing before 
 him. They at length arrived at the place of sacrifice, which 
 was a gloomy dell, in the midst of a forest, near the V)anks 
 of a river, surrounded by magnificent scenery. This dell 
 was a curious cavity in the rock, of ccmsiderable extent, 
 and rendered almost dark by the overhanging branches of 
 the ancient oaks which grew above it. A small circular 
 area, surrounded with large upright stones, was the place of 
 sacrifice. The priests assembled to perform their horrid 
 rites ; while the gaping crowd hung in the fissures of the 
 rock on each side, or sat on the branches of the trees, wait- 
 ing the celebration of the awful ceremony. The bards, 
 with their heads crowned with oak, advanced to the north 
 side of the circle; and after paying obedience to the sun, 
 they chanted the following hymn : — 
 
 " Being great, who reign'st alone. 
 Veiled in clouds, unseen, unknown, 
 Centre of the vast profound. 
 Clouds of darkness close thee round. 
 
 " Thy nod makes storms and tempests rise, 
 Thy breath makes thunder shake the skies, 
 Thy frown turns noon-day into night. 
 And makes the sun withdraw his lii>ht.
 
 io8 TALES OF THE ENGLISH LAKES. 
 
 "Beneath thy anger we ex\)iici, 
 The victims of thy vengeful ire; 
 Destruction rules at thy command, 
 And ruin blackens all the land." 
 
 A small cabin of basket-work was erected near the 
 w^estern side of the circle, in the lowest part of the dell, 
 with a door opening towards the Druidical circle. In this 
 the youthful Ella was to be immolated. She was brought 
 into the circle ; a garland of oak leaves was bound round 
 her neck, a chaplet of wild flowers placed on her head, and 
 a piece of mistletoe in her hand. Thus adorned she was led 
 to the centre of the circle, and supported there by two aged 
 priests, while the bards chanted the following invocation to 
 the sun : — 
 
 FIRST BARD. 
 
 " See, thy destined victim see, 
 Bright, and chaste, and pure as thee, 
 Let this sinless virgin please thee. 
 Sinful man could ne'er appease thee." 
 
 SECOND BARD. 
 
 " Bound her brows the wild flowers see, 
 Emblems of thy purity — 
 
 Touch'd by mortal's fingers never ; — 
 Bound her breast the oak survey, 
 Which like thee can ne'er decay — 
 
 Innocence endures for ever." 
 
 THIRD BARD. 
 
 " Spirit! who no birth has known, 
 Springing from thyself alone, 
 We thy living emblem show 
 In the mj'stic mistletoe : — 
 Springs and grows without a root — 
 Yields without flower its fruit —
 
 THE DRUIDS' SACRIFICE. 109 
 
 Seeks from earth no mother's care — 
 Lives and blooms the child of air." 
 
 FOURTH BARD. 
 
 " Thou dost thy mystic circle trace 
 Along the vaulted blue profound, 
 And, emblematic of thy race, 
 
 We tread our mystic circle round." 
 
 ALL THE BARDS. 
 
 " Shine upon us, mighty God — 
 
 Raise this drooping world of ours — 
 Send from thy divine abode. 
 
 Cheering sun and fruitful showers." 
 
 The lovely Ella was then enclosed in the wicker cabin : a 
 (juautity of dry withered leaves, and small dry branches, 
 were laid all round the cabin ready to set fire to. Every one 
 of the crowd was obliged to furnish at least one stick 
 towards producing a fire to consume the victim. But 
 Mudor stood at a distance, determined rather to incur the 
 vengeance of the Invisible Spirit than add one particle to the 
 destruction of his adorable Ella. The Arch-Druid took two 
 pieces of wood, and exposing them to the sun, rubbed them 
 together, while all the bards chanted the following verse : — 
 
 " Sun descend in a ray of light, 
 Wrapp'd in thy power and clad in thy might; 
 Come in a red and a fiery stream, 
 Come in a bright and glowing beam ; 
 Come in thy flaming chariot down, 
 Burn the wood in a flame of thy own." 
 
 The friction of the two pieces of wood had the desiied 
 effect — they took fire. The sticks and leaves round the 
 cabin which contained the ill-fated Ella were instantly in a 
 blaze. As the flames arose the bards chanted, with loud 
 voices, the following verses: —
 
 no TALES OF THE ENGLISH LAKES. 
 
 " Mighty Sovereign of the skies, 
 Accept this virgin sacrifice, 
 Let her spotless soul atone 
 For wicked actions not her own. 
 As to death her spirit stoops, 
 As she faints and as she droops. 
 Lay aside thy fiery crown 
 And spare, O spare, her native town ! 
 She was good, and she was kind, 
 And she possess'd a heavenly mind ; 
 Wicked man could ne'er atone 
 For his sins and crimes alone, 
 A purer victim must be found 
 To wash the stain away." 
 
 The bards stopped short, and raised their hands with 
 astonishment — the crowd shrieked out with fear — and all 
 the rites were suspended; for at that moment a flood of 
 water burst out from the fissures of the rock on every side, 
 and came rolling down the dell like a river. The wicket 
 hurdle in which Ella was confined was instantly surrounded 
 by the flood — the fire was quenched, and she came out un- 
 hurt. It is said that a voice was heard by the Arch-Druid 
 of solemn import, intimating that human victims were not 
 acceptable to the Deity — that a greater sacrifice was about 
 to be off'ered — and that the reign of Druidism was at an end. 
 Tbe Arch-Druid, turning his face towards the sun for a 
 moment, and then to the other priests, remarked that some 
 mighty change was surely about to take place among them; 
 for this was a miracle they could have no conception of. 
 
 The assembly dispersed in consternation ; and the devoted 
 Ella was happily restored to the arms of the overjoyed Mudor, 
 with whom she lived to a good old age ; and the rock has 
 occasionally poured forth its stream ever since.
 
 THE HEIGHTS OF HELVELLYN. in 
 THE HEIGHTS OF HELVELLYN; 
 
 OR, THE UNFORTUNATE TOURIST. 
 
 "N making an ascent of Helvellyn, some tourists are bold 
 (jl enough to traverse the giddy and dangerous heights of 
 Striding Edge : " but this road," says the Bard of the 
 Lakes, " ought not to be taken by any one with weak 
 nerves, as the top in many places scarcely affords room to 
 plant the foot, and is beset with awful precipices on either 
 side." The path on one part of the pass is certainly not 
 more than two yards broad, and a tremendous precipice 
 descending on each side makes it truly appalling and 
 perilous. 
 
 Mr. Baines, who, with a companion, ascended Helvellyn 
 by this pass some years ago, thus describes it : — " The ridge 
 we were upon — Striding Edge — was the shorter but more 
 rugged path ; and, in spite of the warnings of our boatman, 
 we chose it, being incited by curiosity, and perhaps quite as 
 much by the motive which actuates most men in fighting 
 duels — a fear lest our courage should be called in question 
 if we declined the danger. We therefore addressed ourselves 
 to the passage of Striding Edge ; but if we had seen the 
 most dangerous part before we came to it, we should have 
 been content to take the safer though more cowardly branch 
 of the alternative offered to us. As we ascended, the hill 
 became more steep and rugged, till at length the ridge 
 presented nothing but rocks, the narrow edges of which lay 
 upwards in the direction of the sky. Their sides became 
 steeper and steeper, and it Avas with difficulty that we crept 
 along paths not wider than a goat-track, to avoid clambering 
 among the crags which formed the very ridge of the hill. 
 At length it became impossible to find footing on the side, 
 and we betook ourselves of necessity to the ri<lge itself.
 
 112 TALES OF THE ENGLISH LAKES. 
 
 We now came in view of the most formidaVjle part of 
 Stridinor Edoe, and found that it rather deserved to be com- 
 pared to a narrow wall, several hundred feet in heiglit, 
 connecting the hill whicli we had been ascending with the 
 head of the mountain, than to the steep roof of a house. 
 It appeared to us to be absolutely precipitous on each side, 
 and the top of the rocky wall was not more than from one 
 to two yards wide, whilst in some places we could not see, 
 before we came to it, as much ground as would serve to 
 plant a foot upon — the rocks presenting their sharp and 
 rugged edges upwards, like slates or tiles standing on end. 
 If we had had a guide, all this would have been much less 
 terrific, because he would have led the way, and shown us 
 where to place every footstep. The possibility that we 
 might, after all, have taken a wrong direction, or that in 
 some part of the pass we should find ourselves in a situation 
 where we could neither advance nor retreat, gave us con- 
 siderable alarm. Neither of us, however, expressed our 
 fears at the time ; and I felt myself bound to keep up both 
 my own spirits and George's, as the blame would have been 
 chiefly mine if any accident had happened. I therefore 
 talked loudly and confidently as we scrambled along, keep- 
 ing all my eyes about me, and giving him such instructions as 
 his want of experience in climbing rendered necessary. 
 He said little or nothino- and never ventured to cast a look 
 either at the tarn which lay several hundred feet below us 
 on one side, or to the equally awful depth on the other ; 
 but, fixing his eyes on the ridge itself as if he were fascinated, 
 he crept on after me as cautiously and yet as fast as he 
 could. In this wa\' we crossed the long and dangerous 
 pass of Striding Edge, till we came to the last ascent of the 
 mountain." 
 
 A melancholy interest attaches to this spot, from the 
 fate of a young man who perished in its locality some years 
 ago. It was here that Charles Gough, of Manchester, a
 
 THE HEIGHTS OF HELVELLYN. 113 
 
 frequent visitor to the Lakes, met with an accident which 
 caused his death. This unfortunate " young lover of nature," 
 confiding in his knowledge of the country, attempted to 
 cross Helvellyn from Patterdale to Wythburn by the pass 
 of Striding Edge just described. He set out late one after- 
 noon early in the spring of 1805, without any guide, and 
 attended by no companion but his faithful dog. Darkness, 
 it is supposed, came on before his expectation, and a fall of 
 snow having partially concealed the path, rendered it still 
 more dangerous. He wandered from the track, and his body 
 was found in one of those deep recesses where human foot 
 rarely treads. It could never be ascertained whether he 
 was killed by falling from the rocks, or he perished from 
 hunger. Let us hope that death came with friendly care to 
 shorten sufferings that might have been yet more awful. 
 
 Three mouths elapsed before his remains were discovered ; 
 when the faithful dog, which was his constant attendant 
 during frequent solitary rambles amidst the wilds of Cumber- 
 land and Westmorland, was discovered still watching over the 
 lifeless remains of his master. This striking and affecting- 
 instance of canine faithfulness has been commemorated by 
 Wordsworth in his beautiful poem entitled FicJelify. 
 
 A barking sound the shepherd hears, 
 
 A cry as of a dog or fox ; 
 He halts, and searches with his eyes 
 
 Among the scattered rocks : 
 And now at distance can discern 
 A stirring in a brake of fern ; 
 And instantly a dog is seen, 
 Glancing through that covert green. 
 
 The dog is not of mountain breed ; 
 
 Its motions too are wild and shy ; 
 With something, as the shepherd thinks, 
 
 Unusual in its cry.
 
 114 TALES OF THE ENGLISH LAKES 
 
 Nor is there any one in sight 
 All round, in hollow, or on height : 
 Nor shout, nor whistle, strikes the ear; 
 What is the creature doinfj here ? 
 
 It was a cove, a huge recess. 
 
 That keeps till Juno December's snow; 
 A lofty precipice in front, 
 
 A silent tarn below ! 
 Far in the bosom of Helvellyn, 
 Kemote from public road or dwelling, 
 Pathway, or cultivated land, 
 From trace of human foot or hand. 
 
 There, sometimes doth the leaping fish 
 Send through the tarn a lonely cheer; 
 
 The crag repeats the raven's croak, 
 Li symphony austere; 
 
 Thither the rainbow comes — the cloud — 
 
 And mists that spread the flj'ing shroud ; 
 
 And sunbeams, and the sounding blast 
 
 That, if it could, would hurry past ; 
 
 But that enormous barrier binds it fast. 
 
 Not free from boding thoughts awhile 
 The shepherd stood : then makes his way 
 
 Towards the dog, o'er rocks and stones. 
 As quickly as he may ; 
 
 Nor far had gone before he found 
 
 A human figure on the ground ; 
 
 The appall'd discoverer, with a sigh 
 
 Looks round to learn the history. 
 
 From those abrupt and perilous rocks 
 The man had fall'n, that place of fear ! 
 
 At length upon the shepherd's mind 
 It breaks, and all is clear:
 
 THE HEIGHTS OF HELVELLYN. 115 
 
 He instantly recall'd the name, 
 
 And who he was, and whence he came ; 
 
 Remember'd too the veiy day, 
 
 On which the traveller pass'd this way. 
 
 But hear a wonder, for whose sake 
 
 This lamentable tale I tell ! 
 A lasting monument of words 
 
 This wonder merits well. 
 The dog, which still was hovering nigh, 
 Repeating the same timid cry, 
 This dog had been, through three months' space, 
 A dweller in that savage place. 
 
 Yes, proof was plain, that since that da}^. 
 
 When this ill-fated traveller died, 
 The dog had watched about the spot, 
 
 Or by his master's side : 
 How nourish'd here through such long time, 
 He knows, who gave that love sublime ; 
 And gave that strength of feeling, great. 
 Above all human estimate. 
 
 The melancholy circumstances connected with the death 
 of Charles Gough have also been beautifully depicted by 
 the powerful pen of Sir Walter Scott, who has paid a 
 pleasing tribute to the "pilgrim of nature" in some highly 
 pathetic stanzas, which, by the by, are rendered additionally 
 interesting from the following anecdote connected with 
 them: — "Our two charming poets, Walter Scott and 
 Campbell, walking together " (says Ryan, in his Poetry and 
 the Poets), " and speaking of this incident, each agreed, in 
 the spirit of amicable rivalship, to make it the subject of a 
 poem. Scott, on his way home, composed the following 
 exquisite lines, which he sent the next day to Campbell, 
 who returned them with this reply : — ' I confess myself 
 vanquished : if I were to live a thousand years, I could
 
 ii6 TALES OF THE ENGLISH LAKES. 
 
 never write anything ecjual to this, on the sanic stilijeet; ' 
 and he never attempted it," 
 
 I climbed the dark brow of the mighty Helvellyn, 
 
 Lakes and mountains beneath me gleamed misty and 
 wide; 
 
 All was still — save by fits, when the eagle was yelling, 
 And, starting around me, the echoes replied. 
 
 On the right, Striding Edge round the Red Tarn was 
 bending, 
 
 And Catchedecam its left verge was defending. 
 
 One huge nameless rock in front was impending, 
 
 When I marked the sad spot where the wanderer died. 
 
 Dark green was that spot, 'mid the brown mountain 
 heather, 
 
 Where the pilgrim of nature lay stretched in decay. 
 Like the corpse of an outcast, abandoned to weather, 
 
 Till the mountain winds wasted the tenantless clay : 
 Not yet quite deserted, though lonely extended. 
 For faithful in death, his mute favourite attended, 
 1'lie much-loved remains of his master defended. 
 
 And chased the hill-fox and the raven away. 
 
 How long didst thou think that his silence was slumber — 
 When the wind waved his garments how oft didst thou 
 start — 
 
 How many long days and long nights didst thou number, 
 Ere he faded before thee, the friend of thy heart ? — 
 
 And ah ! was it meet that no requiem read o'er him ; 
 
 No mother to weep, and no friend to deplore him ; 
 
 And thou, little guardian, alone stretched before him, 
 Unhonoured the pilgrim from life should depart ? 
 
 When a prince to the fate of a peasant has yielded, 
 The tapestry waves dark round the dim-lighted hall ; 
 
 With escutcheons of silver the coffin is shielded, 
 And the pages stand mute by the canopied pall ;
 
 THE LOVERS OF DERWENTWATER. 117 
 
 Through the courts, at deep midnight, the torches are 
 
 gleaming, 
 In the proudly arched chapel the banners are beaming, 
 Far 9 down the long aisle sacred music is streaming, 
 Lamenting a chief of the people should fall. 
 
 But meeter for thee, gentle lover of nature. 
 
 To lay down thy head like the meek mountain iamb. 
 When, wildered, he drops from some rock high in stature, 
 
 And draws his last breath by the side of his dam : 
 And more stately thy couch by this desert lake lying, 
 Thy obsequies sung by the gray plover flying, 
 With but one faithful friend to witness thy dying, 
 In the arms of Helvellyn and Catchedecara. 
 
 Charles Gough is said to have been a young gentleman of 
 talent, and of an amiable disposition. His remains peace- 
 fully repose in the chapel-yard at Patterdale. 
 
 THE REGATTA; 
 
 OR, THE LOVERS OF DERWENTWATER. 
 
 N annual regatta takes place on Derweutwater, when 
 the several sports of racing, rowing, and wrestling, 
 are maintained with great spirit. 
 The following is an excellent description of one of 
 these occasions in former times : — " At eight o'clock in the 
 morning a vast concour.se of ladies and gentlemen appeared 
 on the side of Derwent Lake, where a number of marquees, 
 extending about 400 yards, were erected for their ac- 
 commodation. At twelve, such of the company as were 
 invited by Mr. Pocklington passed over in boats to the 
 island which bears his name ; and, on their landing, were 
 saluted by a discharge of his artillery, consisting of five
 
 ii8 TALES OF THE ENGLISH LAKES. 
 
 four pounders and one nine pounder. This iniglit properly 
 be called the opening of the regatta; for as soon as the 
 echo of this discharge had ceased, a signal gun was fired, 
 and five boats, which lay upon their oars (on that part of 
 the lake which runs nearest the town of Keswick), instantly 
 pushed off the shore and began the race. A view from any 
 of the attendant boats, of which there were several, pre- 
 sented a scene which beggars all description. The sides of 
 the hoary mountains were clad with spectators, and the 
 glassy surface of the lake was variegated with numbers of 
 pleasure barges, which, trimmed out in all the gayest 
 colours, and glittering in the rays of the meridian sun, gave 
 a new appearance to the celebrated beauties of this match- 
 less vale. The contending boats passed Pocklington's 
 Island, and rounding St. Herbert's Isle and Rampsholme, 
 edged down by the outside of Lord's Island, describing, in 
 the race, almost a perfect circle, and, during the greatest 
 part of it, in full view of the company. 
 
 " About three o'clock preparations were made for a sham 
 attack on Pocklington's Island. The fleet, consisting of 
 several barges, armed with small cannon and muskets, 
 retired out of view, behind Friar Crag, to prepare for action ; 
 previous to which a flag of truce was sent to the governor, 
 with a summons to surrender on honourable terms. A 
 defiance was returned ; soon after which the fleet was seen 
 advancing with great spirit before the batteries, and 
 instantly forming a curved line, a terrible cannonading 
 began on both sides, accompanied with a dreadful discharge 
 of musketr3\ This continued for some time, and being 
 echoed from hill to hill in an amazing variety of sounds, 
 filled the ear with whatever could produce astonishment 
 and awe. All nature seemed to be in an uproar; which 
 impressed, on the awakened imagination, the most lively 
 ideas of " the war of elements " and " crush of worlds." 
 After a severe conflict, the enemies were driven from the
 
 THE LOVERS OF DERWENTWATER. 119 
 
 attack in great disorder. A feu-de-joie was then fired in 
 the port, and oft repeated by the responsive echoes. The 
 fleet, after a little delay, formed again; and practising a 
 variety of beautiful manoeuvres, renewed the attack. Uproar 
 again sprung up, and the deep-toned echoes of the mountains 
 again joined in solemn chorus; which was heard at the 
 distance of ten leagues to leeward, through the easterl}'- 
 opening of that vast amphitheatre, as far as Appleby. 
 
 " The garrison at last capitulated ; and the entertainment 
 of the water being finished, towards the evening the companj'^ 
 rowed to Keswick, to which place, from the water's edge, 
 a range of lamps was fixed, very happily disposed, and a 
 number of fire-works played ofi". An assembly room, which 
 was built for the purpose, next received the ladies and 
 gentlemen, and a dance concluded this annual festivity. 
 
 " Whilst we sat to regale, the barge put off from shore, to 
 a station where the finest echoes were to be obtained from 
 the surrounding mountains. The vessel was provided with 
 six brass cannon, mounted on swivels ; on discharging one 
 of these pieces the report was echoed from the opposite 
 rocks, where, by reverberation, it seemed to roll from cliff 
 to cliff, and return through every cave and valley, till the 
 decreasing tumult died away upon the ear. 
 
 " The instant it ceased the sound of every distant water- 
 fall was heard ; but for an instant only ; for the momentary 
 stillness was interrupted by the returning echo on the hills 
 behind; where the report was repeated like a peal of 
 thunder bursting over our heads, continuing for several 
 seconds, flying from haunt to haunt, till once more the 
 sound gradually declined. Again the voice of waterfalls 
 possessed the interval, till to the right the more distant 
 thunders arose upon some other mountains, and seemed to 
 take its way up every winding dale and creek ; sometimes 
 behind, on this side, or on that, in wondrous speed running 
 its dreadful course ; when the echo reached the mountains
 
 I20 TALES OF THE ENGLISH LAKES. 
 
 within the line and channel of the breeze, it was heard at 
 once on the right and left at the extremities of the lake. 
 In this manner was the report of every discharge re-echoed 
 seven times distinctly." 
 
 The following descriptive poem appeared on the occasion 
 of a regatta at Keswick : — 
 
 ■ Scarcely had day's bright god begun his course, 
 
 And chas'd the misty vapours from the lake, 
 
 When, ardent all for pleasure, forth there sprung 
 
 A bright assemblage of firm, active youths, 
 
 And virgins blushing like the op'ning bud. 
 
 Nay, some there were who sought the sportive scene 
 
 Whom frozen age had bow'd with iron hand ; 
 
 Drawn by the force of curiosity, 
 
 Or by the workings of parental care, 
 
 To watch and guard their blooming daughter's steps. 
 
 The neigh'bouring rustics, too, with massy limbs, 
 
 Inur'd to toil, inur'd to fun and rain ; 
 
 Each led his fav'rite damsel to the sight. 
 
 And talk'd of love, or laugh'd with hearty roar. 
 
 " And now the vessels all in order range. 
 To try the fortune of the wat'ry race. 
 The rowers sit; their eyes with ardour glow, 
 Attentive watching the appointed sign. 
 And now the gun, the signal for the course. 
 Rends with its iron voice th' o'ervaulting sky, 
 And distant rocks, redoubling, echo back 
 The horrid note. Instantly they start. 
 And, adverse looking, try their utmost skill. 
 Big swells each bulky muscle, strain'd with toil ; 
 O'er their knit brows the drops of labour pour, 
 Whilst on their faces anxious fear and hope 
 Alternate sit depicted. Now they come 
 Almost within the grasp of victory :
 
 THE LOVERS OF DERWENTWATER. 121 
 
 Then, then what rapture fires the victor's mind, 
 When with his toil-strained arm he shakes the flap-, 
 And shouts, applauding, echo all around. 
 
 "Now o'er the aznre lake the horrid din 
 
 Of mimic war resounds ; the echoing cliffs 
 
 Reverberate, in doubled thunder, back 
 
 The awful sounds : fierce peal succeeds to peal 
 
 In saA'^age dire confusion. Had the rocks, 
 
 Which awful frown above this limpid plain, 
 
 Been shaken from their venerable seats. 
 
 Rift by the bolts of Jove, and scattered round. 
 
 No sound more loud, more awful, could be heard ! 
 
 The hero, who, inur'd to bloody war, 
 
 Has stood by Elliot, or by Rodney's side, 
 
 Whilst million- winged deaths were whistling round, 
 
 Now feels his heart beat high ; strong throbs each pulse, 
 
 His kindling eyes flash fire : upright he stands. 
 
 As when on some dread, memorable da}' 
 
 He saw the Frenchmen strike, or Spaniards burn. 
 
 His tender spouse, the dear, the soft reward 
 
 Of all his toils, astonish'd with the din, 
 
 Clings to his side, half-pleased and half-afraid ; 
 
 When softer echoes roll the distant roar, 
 
 She smiles ; but when the air-affiighting guns 
 
 With iron clamours shake th' impending rocks, 
 
 She trembling presses hard her husband's hand. 
 
 And weeps to think the perils he has 'scap'd. 
 
 " But hark ! 'tis silent ! see, the fleet retires ! 
 
 The mellow horns now pour victorious sounds. 
 
 Whilst every rock returns the softened strain. 
 
 O ! now foi- Shakspeare, or for Milton's mu.^e. 
 
 To paint this mingled tide of harmony ! 
 
 Each cliff, each rock, each mountain, wood, and dale, 
 
 Return a varied note ; it floats in air ;
 
 122 TALES OF THE ENGLISH LAKES. 
 
 It mixes, meets, returns ; 'tis soft, 'tis loud : 
 As if th' unnumber'd spirits of the rock 
 Held their aerial concerts 'midst the hills ; 
 And to his golden harp each join'd his voice, 
 To welcome to their bower the ' Fairy Queen.' 
 
 " Thus joyous and delightful pass'd the day, 
 Yet not unruffled was this tide of j>y : 
 The fair, the innocent Amelia was 
 The pride and flower of all the virgin throng 1 
 Her long Damoetas loved, she too loved him, 
 But looks alone revealed the mutual flame, 
 For virgin modesty had bound their thoughts 
 In chains, as yet unbroken. On this day, 
 Whilst she in rapture viewed th' enchanting scene 
 (Urged by the motion of the limpid wave), 
 Her vessel rolling, headlong plunged her in 
 The blue profound ! She sank, then rose again ; * 
 Then sank, to rise no more ! Damoetas, near. 
 Beheld her fall : of life regardless then. 
 He leaped into the flood ; with nervous arm 
 He cut the crystal deep, and plunging down. 
 Seized, and brought her up again to life. 
 
 " Restored now, she op'd her radiant eyes, 
 
 And looking gratitude ineffable, 
 
 * Is it then you, Damcetas 1 you whom long 
 
 My virgin heart hath own'd ! ' She could no mor. : 
 
 The rosy hue again forsook her cheek. 
 
 The light her eyes, and pallid death awhile 
 
 Seemed to return and re-demand his prey. 
 
 What then, Damoetas, were the dire alarms 
 
 That rent thy manly bosom ? Love, despair, 
 
 Grief, and astonishment, exert at once 
 
 The utmost of their force to tear thy soul ! 
 
 But see, the rose again resumes its seat
 
 THE LOVERS OF DERWENTWATER. 123 
 
 Upon her cheek ! again her op'ning eye 
 
 Beams softened lustre ! Kneeling by her side 
 
 Damoetas press'd her hand ; in falt'ring words 
 
 Propos'd his am'rous suit. Her parents near, 
 
 Relieved now from the heart-corrodinof fear, 
 
 First poured in tender words their grateful hearts, 
 
 Then to Damoetas gave the willing hand 
 
 Of their beloved Amelia, Instant joy 
 
 Flushed lively in his cheek, and fired his heart 
 
 With all the rapt'rous bliss of mutual love. 
 
 He tried in vain to speak, for words, alas ! 
 
 Could ill express tumultuous joys like his; 
 
 He stammer'd, blush'd, and thanked them in thought. 
 
 " And now the fiery charioteer of day 
 
 Drove down the western steep his blazing car. 
 
 When homeward all return to close their sports. 
 
 And usher in with dance the sable night. 
 
 The sprightly music sounds, the youths advance, 
 
 And blooming virgins from the beauteous group ; 
 
 Then joined in couples, active as the light. 
 
 They tread the mazy dance ; the swains the while 
 
 Join in sweet toil, and press the given hand, 
 
 And slyly talk of love ; or else, askance, 
 
 Speak by their looks the feelings of the heart."
 
 124 TALES OF THE ENGLISH LAKES. 
 THE SHEPHERD OF GREEN-HEAD GHYLL. 
 
 A TALE OF GRASMERE VALE. 
 
 "F from the public way you turn your steps 
 
 Up the tumultuous brook of Green-head Ghyll, 
 You will suppose that with an upright path 
 Your feet must struggle ; in such bold asceut 
 
 The pastoral mountains front you, face to face. 
 
 But, courage ! for around that boisterous brook 
 
 The mountains have all opened out themselves, 
 
 And made a hidden valley of their own. 
 
 No habitation can be seen ; but they 
 
 Who journey thither find themselves alone 
 
 With a few sheep, with rocks and stones, and kites 
 
 That overhead are sailing in the sky. 
 
 It is in truth an utter solitude ; 
 
 Nor should I have made mention of this dell 
 
 But for one object which you might pass by — 
 
 Might see and notice not. Beside the brook 
 
 Appears a straggling heap of unhewn stones ! 
 
 And to that place a story appertains, 
 
 Which, though it be ungarnished with events, 
 
 Is not unfit, I deem, for the fireside, 
 
 Or for the summer shade. It was the first 
 
 Of those domestic tales that spake to me 
 
 Of shepherds, dwellers in the valleys, men 
 
 Whom I already loved : — not verily 
 
 For their own sakes, but for the fields and hills 
 
 Where was their occupation and abode. 
 
 And hence this tale, while I was 5"et a bo}'' 
 
 Careless of books, yet having felt the power 
 
 Of nature, by the gentle agency 
 
 Of natural objects led me on to feel
 
 THE SHEPHERD OF GREEN-HEAD GHYLL. 125 
 
 For passions that were not my own, and think 
 (At random and imperfectly indeed) 
 On man, the heart of man, and human life. 
 Therefore, although it be a history 
 Homely and rude, I will relate the same 
 For the delight of a few natural hearts : 
 And, with yet fonder feeling, for the sake 
 Of youthful poets, who among these hills 
 Will be my second self when I am gone. 
 
 Upon the forest-side in Grasmere Vale 
 There dwelt a shepherd, Michael was his name ; 
 An old man, stout of hea,rt, and strong of limb. 
 His bodily frame had been from youth to age 
 Of an unusual strength ; his mind was keen, 
 Intense, and frugal, apt for all affairs. 
 And in his shepherd's calling he was prompt 
 And w^atchful more than ordinary men. 
 Hence had he learned the meaning of all winds. 
 Of blasts of every tone; and, oftentimes 
 When others heeded not, he heard the south 
 Make subterraneous music, like the noise 
 Of bagpipers on distant Highland hills. 
 The shepherd, at such warning, of his flock 
 Bethought him, and be to himself would sa}', 
 " The winds are now devising work for me ! " 
 And, truly, at all times, the storm — that drives 
 The traveller to a shelter — summoned him 
 Up to the mountains : he had been alone 
 Amid the heart of many thousand mists, 
 That came to him and left him on the heights. 
 So lived he till his eightieth year was past. 
 And grossly that man errs, who should suppose 
 That the green valleys, and the streams and rocks 
 Were things indifferent to the shepherd's thoughts.
 
 126 TALES OF THE ENGLISH LAKES. 
 
 Fields, where with cheerful spirits he had breathed 
 
 The common air; the hills, which he so oft 
 
 Had climbed with vigorous steps ; which had impressed 
 
 So many incidents upon his mind 
 
 Of hardship, skill, or courage, joy or fear ; 
 
 Which like a book preserved the memory 
 
 Of the dumb animals whom he had saved, 
 
 Had fed or sheltered, linking to such acts, 
 
 So grateful in themselves, the certainty 
 
 Of honourable gain ; these fields, these hills, 
 
 Which were his living being, even more 
 
 Than his own blood — what could they less ? had laid 
 
 Strong hold on his affections, were to him 
 
 A pleasurable feeling of blind love. 
 
 The pleasure which there is in life itself. 
 
 His days had not been passed in singleness. 
 His helpmate was a comely matron, old — 
 Though younger than himself full twenty years. 
 She was a woman of a stirring life. 
 Whose heart was in her house : two wheels she had 
 Of antique form, this large for spinning wool. 
 That small for flax ; and if one wheel had rest. 
 It was because the other was at work. 
 The pair had but one inmate in their house, 
 An only child, who had been born to them 
 When Michael, telling o'er his years, began 
 To deem that he was old — in shepherd's phrase, 
 With one foot in the grave. This only son, 
 With two brave sheep-dogs tried in many a storm. 
 The one of an inestimable worth, 
 Made all their household. I may truly say. 
 That they were as a proverb in the vale 
 For endless industry. When day was gone, 
 And from their occupations out of doors
 
 THE SHEPHERD OF GREEN-HEAD GHYLL. 127 
 
 The son and father were come home, even then, 
 
 Their labour did not cease ; unless when all 
 
 Turned to their cleanly supper-board, and there, 
 
 Each with a mess of pottage and skimmed milk. 
 
 Sat round their basket piled with oaten cakes, 
 
 And their plain home-made cheese. Yet when their meal 
 
 Was ended, Luke (for so the son was named) 
 
 And his old father both betook themselves 
 
 To such convenient work as might employ 
 
 Their hands by the fireside ; perhaps to card wool 
 
 For the housewife's spindle, or repair 
 
 Some injury done to sickle, flail, or scythe. 
 
 Or other implement of house or field. 
 
 Down from the ceiling, by the chimney's edge 
 That in our ancient uncouth country style 
 Did with a huge projection overbrow 
 Large space beneath, as duly as the light 
 Of day grew dim the housewife hung a lamp ; 
 An aged utensil, which had performed 
 Service beyond all others of its kind. 
 Early at evening did it burn and late, 
 Surviving comrade of uncounted hours, 
 Which going by from year to year had found 
 And left the couple neither gay perhaps 
 Nor cheerful, yet with objects and with hopes, 
 Living a life of eager industry. 
 
 And now when Luke had reached his eighteenth year, 
 There by the light of this old lamp they sat, 
 Father and son, while late into the night 
 The housewife plied her own peculiar work. 
 Making the cottage through the silent hours 
 Murmur as with the sound of summer flies. 
 This light was famous in its neighbourhood, 
 And was a public symbol of the life
 
 128 TALES OF THE ENGLISH LAKES. 
 
 l^he thrifty pair had lived. For, as it chanced, 
 
 Their cottage on a plot of rising ground 
 
 Stood single, with large prospect, north and south, 
 
 High into Easedale, up to Dunmail-Raise, 
 
 And westward to the village near the lake ; 
 
 And from this constant light, so regular 
 
 And so far seen, the house itself, by all 
 
 Who dwelt within the limits of the vale, 
 
 Both old and young, was named The Evening Star. 
 
 Thus living on through such a length of years, 
 The shepherd, if he loved himself, must needs 
 Have loved his helpmate; but to Michael's heart 
 This son of his old age was yet more dear — 
 Less from instinctive tenderness, the same 
 Blind spirit, which is in the blood of all — 
 Than that a child, more than all other gifts, 
 Brings hope with it, and forward-looking thoughts, 
 And stirrings of inquietude, when they 
 By tendency of nature needs must fail. 
 Exceeding was the love he bare to him. 
 His heart, and his heart's joy ! For oftentimes 
 Old Michael, while he was a babe in arms, 
 Had done him female service, not alone 
 For pastime and delight, as is the use 
 Of fathers, but with patient mind enforced 
 To acts of tenderness ; and he had rocked 
 His cradle with a woman's gentle hand. 
 
 And, in a latter time, ere yet the boy 
 Had put on boy's attire, did Michael love, 
 Albeit of a stern unbending mind. 
 To have tlie young one in his sight, when he 
 Had work by his own door, or when he sat 
 With sheep before him on his shepherd's stool 
 Beneath that larsje old oak, which near their door
 
 THE SHEPHERD OF GREEN-HEAD GHYLL. 129 
 
 Stood — and, from its enormous breadth of shade, 
 
 Chosen for the shearer's covert from the sun, 
 
 Thence in our rustic dialect was called 
 
 The Clipping Tree,* a name which yet it bears. 
 
 There while they two were sitting in the shade. 
 
 With others round them, earnest all and blythe. 
 
 Would Michael exercise his heart with looks 
 
 Of fond correction and reproof bestowed 
 
 Upon the child, if he disturbed the sheep 
 
 By catching at their legs, or with his shouts 
 
 Scared them, while they lay still beneath the shears. 
 
 And when by heaven's good grace the boy grew up 
 A healthy lad, and carried in his cheek 
 Two steady roses that were five years old. 
 Then Michael from a winter coppice cut 
 With his own hands a sapling, which he hooped 
 With iron, making it throughout in all 
 Due requisites a perfect shepherd's stafij 
 And gave it to the boy ; wherewith equipp'd 
 He as a watchman oftentimes was placed 
 At gate or gap, to stem or turn the flock ; 
 And, to his office prematurely called. 
 There stood the urchin, as you will divine, 
 Something between a hinderance and a help ; 
 And for this cause not always, I believe, 
 Receiving from his father hire of praise ; 
 Though nought was left undone which stafi", or voice, 
 Or looks, or threatening gestures could perform. 
 
 But soon as Luke, full ten years old, could stand 
 Against the mountain blasts ; and to the heights. 
 Not fearing toil, nor length of weary ways, 
 He with his father daily went, and they 
 
 * Clipping is the word used in the North of England for shearing.
 
 130 TALES OF THE ENGLISH LAKES. 
 
 Were as companions, why should I relate 
 That objects which the shepherd loved before 
 Were dearer now ? that from the boy there came 
 Feelings and emanations — things which were 
 Light to the sun and music to the wind ; 
 And that the old man's heart seemed born again. 
 
 Thus in his father's sight the boy grew up : 
 And now when he had reached his eighteenth year, 
 He was his comfort and his daily hope. 
 
 While in this sort the simple household lived 
 From day to day, to Michael's ear there came 
 Distressful tidings. Long before the time 
 Of which I speak, the shepherd had been bound 
 In surety for his brother's son, a man 
 Of an industrious life, and ample means ; 
 But unforeseen misfortunes suddenly 
 Had prest upon him, and old Michael now 
 Was summoned to discharge the forfeiture ; 
 A grievous penalty, but littje less 
 Than half his substance. This unlooked-for claim, 
 At the first hearing, for a moment took 
 More hope out of his life than he supposed 
 That any old man ever could have lost. 
 As soon as he had gathered so much strength 
 That he could look his trouble in the face, 
 It seemed that his whole refuge was to sell 
 A portion of his patrimonial fields. 
 Such was his first resolve ; he thought again. 
 And his heart failed him. " Isabel," said he, 
 Two evenings after he had heard the news, 
 " I have been toiling more than seventy years. 
 And in the open sunshine of God's love 
 Have we all lived; yet if these fields of ours 
 Should pass into a stranger's hand, I think
 
 THE SHEPHERD OF GREEN-HEAD GHYLL. 131 
 
 That I could not lie quiet in my grave. 
 
 Our lot is a hard lot ; the sun himself 
 
 Has scarcely been more diligent than I ; 
 
 And I have lived to be a fool at last 
 
 To my own family. An evil man 
 
 That was, and made an evil choice, if he 
 
 Were false to us ; and if he were not false, 
 
 There are ten thousand to whom loss like this 
 
 Had been no sorrow. I forgive him ; but 
 
 'Twere better to be dumb than to talk thus. 
 
 When I began, my purpose was to speak 
 
 Of remedies and of a cheerful hope. 
 
 Our Luke shall leave us, Isabel ; the land 
 
 Shall not go from us, and it shall be free ; 
 
 He shall possess it, free as is the wind 
 
 That passes over it. We have, thou kuow'st, 
 
 Another kinsman, he will be our friend 
 
 In this distress. He is a prosperous man, 
 
 Thriving in trade, and Luke to him shall go. 
 
 And with his kinsman's help and his own thrift. 
 
 He quickly will repair this loss, and then 
 
 May come again to us. If here he stay, 
 
 What can be done ? Where every one is poor, 
 
 What can be gained ? " At this the old man paused, 
 
 And Isabel sat silent, for her mind 
 
 Was busy looking back into past times. 
 
 There's Richard Bateman, thought she to herself, 
 
 He was a parish-boy ; at the church door 
 
 They made a gathering for him — shillings, pence. 
 
 And halfpennies, wherewith the neighbours bought 
 
 A basket, which they filled with pedlar's wares ; 
 
 And, with this basket on his arm, the lad 
 
 Went up to London, found a master there, 
 
 Who out of many, chose the trusty boy 
 
 To go and overlook his merchandize
 
 132 TALES OF THE ENGLISH LAKES. 
 
 Beyond the seas ; where he grew wondrous rich, 
 And left estates and monies to the poor, 
 And at his birth-place built a chapel, floored 
 With marble which he sent from foreign lands. 
 These thoughts and many others of like sort, 
 Passed quickly through the mind of Isabel, 
 And her face brightened. The old man was gl^.i, 
 And thus resumed : — " Well, Isabel ! this scheme 
 These two days has been meat and drink to me. 
 Far more than we have lost is left us yet. 
 We have enough ; I wish indeed that I 
 Were younger ; but this hope is a good hope. 
 Make ready Luke's best garments, of the best 
 Buy for him more, and let us send him forth 
 To-morrow, or the next day, or to-night : 
 If he could go, the boy should go to-night." 
 Here Michael ceased, and to the fields went forth 
 With a light heart. The housewife for five days 
 Was restless morn and night, and all day long 
 Wrought on with her best fingers to prepare 
 Things needful for the journey of her son. 
 But Isabel was glad when Sunday came 
 To stop her in her work ; for, when she lay 
 By Michael's side, she through the last two nights 
 Heard him, how he was troubled in his sleep : 
 And when they rose at morning she could see 
 That all his hopes were gone. That day at noon 
 She said to Luke, while they two by themselves 
 Were sitting at the door, " Thou must not go : 
 We have no other child but thee to lose. 
 None to remember — do not go away. 
 For if thou leave thy father he will die." 
 The youth made answer with a jocund voice : 
 And Isabel, when she had told her fears. 
 Recovered heart. That eveninsr her best fare
 
 THE SHEPHERD OF GREEN-HEAD GHYLL, 133 
 
 Did she bring forth, and all together sat 
 Like happy people round a Christmas fire. 
 
 With daylight Isabel resumed her work ; 
 And all the ensuing week the house appeared 
 As cheerful as a grove in spring : at length 
 The expected letter from their kinsman came, 
 With kind assurances that he would do 
 His utmost for the welfare of the boy ; 
 To which requests were added, that forthwith 
 He might be sent to him. Ten times or more 
 The letter was read over ; Isabel 
 Went forth to show it to the neighbours round ; 
 Nor was there at that time on English land 
 A prouder heart than Luke's. When Isabel 
 Had to her house returned, the old man said, 
 " He shall depart to-morrow." To this word 
 The housewife answered, talking much of things 
 Which if at such short notice he should go. 
 Would surely be forgotten. But at length 
 She gave consent, and Michael was at ease. 
 
 Near the tumultuous brook of Green-head Ghyll, 
 In that deep valley, Michael had designed 
 To build a sheepfold ; and, before he heard 
 The tidings of his melancholy loss. 
 For this same purpose he had gathered up 
 A heap of stones, which by the streamlet's edge 
 Lay thrown together, ready for the work. 
 With Luke that evening thitherward he walked ; 
 And soon as they had reached the place he stoppc- 1 
 And thus the old man spake to him : — " My son, 
 To-morrow thou wilt leave me: with full heart 
 I look upon thee, for thou art the same 
 That wert a promise to me ere thy birth. 
 And all thy life hast been my daily joy.
 
 134 TALES OF THE ENGLISH LAKES. 
 
 I will relate to thee some little part 
 
 Of our two histories : 'twill do thee good 
 
 When thou art from me ; even if I should speak 
 
 Of things thou canst not know of. After thou 
 
 First cam'st into the world — as oft befals 
 
 To new-born infants — thou didst sleep away 
 
 Two days, and blessings from thy father's tongue 
 
 Then fell upon thee. Day by day passed on, 
 
 And still I loved thee with increasinof love. 
 
 Never to living ear came sweeter sounds 
 
 Than when I heard thee by our own fireside 
 
 First uttering, without words, a natural tune ; 
 
 When thou, a feeble babe, didst in thy joy 
 
 Sing at thy mother's breast. M<mth followed month, 
 
 And in the open fields my life was passed, 
 
 And on the mountains, else I think that thou 
 
 Had'st been brought up upon thy father's knees. 
 
 But we were playmates, Luke : among these hills, 
 
 As well thou know'st in us, the old and young 
 
 Have played together, nor with me didst thou 
 
 Lack an}^ pleasure which a boy can know." 
 
 Luke had a manly heart ; but at these words 
 
 He sobbed aloud. The old man grasped his hand. 
 
 And said, " Nay, do not take it so : I see 
 
 That these are things of which I need not speak. 
 
 Even to the utmost I have been to thee 
 
 A kind and a good father ; and herein 
 
 I but repay a gift which I myself 
 
 Received at others' hands ; for, though now old 
 
 Beyond the common life of man, I still 
 
 Remember them who loved me in my youth. 
 
 Both of them sleep together : here they lived, 
 
 As all their forefathers had done; and when 
 
 At length their time was come, they were not loth 
 
 To give their bodies to the family mould.
 
 THE SHEPHERD OF GREEN-HEAD GHYLL. 135 
 
 I wish that thou shouldst live the life they lived : 
 
 But 'tis a long time to look back, my son, 
 
 And see so little gain from threescore years. 
 
 These fields were burthened when they came to me ; 
 
 Till I was forty years of age, not more 
 
 Than half of my inheritance was mine. 
 
 I toiled and toiled : God bless'd me in my work, 
 
 And till these three weeks past the land was free. 
 
 It looks as if it never could endure 
 
 Another master. Heaven forgive me, Luke, 
 
 If I judge ill for thee, but it seems good 
 
 That thou shouldst go." At this the old man paused ; 
 
 Then pointing to the stones near which they stood, 
 
 Thus, after a short silence, he resumed : 
 
 " This was a work for us, and now, my son, 
 
 It is a work for me ; but lay one stone 
 
 Here ; lay it for me, Luke, with thine own hands. 
 
 Nay, boy, be of good hope ; we both may live 
 
 To see a better day. At eighty -four 
 
 I still am strong and hale : do thou thy part, 
 
 I will do mine. I will beoin again 
 
 With many tasks that were resigned to thee ; 
 
 Up to the heights, and in among the storms, 
 
 Will I without thee go again, and do 
 
 All works which I was wont to do alone. 
 
 Before I knew thy face. Heaven bless thee, boy 
 
 Thy heart these two weeks has been beating fast 
 
 With many hopes ; it should be so : yes, yes, 
 
 I knew that thou couldst never have a wish 
 
 To leave me, Luke ; thou hast been bound to me 
 
 Only by links of love ; when thou art gone. 
 
 What will be left to us ! But I forget 
 
 My purposes. Lay now the corner-stone. 
 
 As I requested ; and hereafter, Luke, 
 
 When thou art gone away, should evil men
 
 136 TALES OF THE ENGLISH LAKES. 
 
 Be thy companions, think of me, my son. 
 
 And of this moment : hither turn thy thoughts, 
 
 And God will strengthen thee : amid all fear 
 
 And all temptation, Luke, I pray that thou 
 
 Mayst bear in mind the life thy fathers lived, 
 
 Who, being innocent, did for that cause 
 
 Bestir them in good deeds. Now, fare-thee-well ; 
 
 When thou return'st, thou in this place wilt see 
 
 A work which is not here — a covenant — 
 
 'Twill be between us. But, whatever fate 
 
 Befal thee, I shall love thee to the last. 
 
 And bear thy memory with me to the grave." 
 
 The shepherd ended here, and Luke stooped down, 
 And, as his father had requested, laid 
 The first stone of the sheepfold. At the sight 
 The old man's grief broke from him, to his heart 
 He pressed his son, he kissed him and wept; 
 And to the house together they returned. 
 Hushed was that house in peace, or seeming peace, 
 Ere the night fell ; with morrow's dawn the boy 
 Began his journey, and when he had reached 
 The public way, he put on a bold face ; 
 And all the neighbours, as he passed their doors. 
 Came forth with wishes and with farewell prayers, 
 That followed him till he was out of sight. 
 
 A good report did from their kinsman come. 
 Of Luke and his well-doing ; and the boy 
 Wrote loving letters, full of wondrous news, 
 Which, as the housewife phrased it, were, throughout, 
 " The prettiest letters that were ever seen." 
 Both parents read them with rejoicing hearts. 
 So, man}'^ months passed on, and once again 
 The shepherd went about his dailj'' work 
 With confident and cheerful thoughts ; and now
 
 THE SHEPHERD OF GREEN-HEAD GHYLL. 137 
 
 Sometimes when he could find a leisure hour 
 He to that valley took his way, and there 
 Wrought at the sheepfold. Meantime Luke began 
 To slacken in his duty ; and at length 
 He in the dissolute city gave himself 
 To evil courses ; ignominy and shame 
 Fell on him, so that he was driven at last 
 To seek a hiding place beyond the seas. 
 
 There is a comfort in the strength of love ; 
 'Twill make a thing endurable, which else 
 Would overset the brain, or break the heart. 
 I have conversed with more than one who well 
 Remember the old man, and what he was 
 Years after he had heard this heavy news. 
 His bodily frame had been from youth to age 
 Of an unusual strength. Among the rocks 
 He went, and still looked up upon the sun, 
 And listened to the wind ; and, as before, 
 Performed all kinds of labour for his sheep, 
 And for the land, his small inheritance. 
 And to that hollow dell from time to time 
 Did he repair, to build the fold of which 
 His flock had need. 'Tis not forgotten yet, 
 The pity which was then in every heart 
 For the old man : and 'tis believed by all 
 That man\' and many a day he thither went, 
 And never lifted up a single stone. 
 
 There, by the sheepfold, sometimes was he seen 
 Sitting alone, witli that his ftiithful dog. 
 Then old, beside him lying at his feet. 
 The length of full seven years from time to time 
 He at the building of this sheepfold wrought, 
 And left the work unfinished when he died. 
 Three years, or little more, did Isabel
 
 138 TALES OF THE ENGLISH LAKES. 
 
 Survive her husband : at her death the estate 
 
 Was sold, and went into a stranger's hand. 
 
 The cottage, which was named the Evening Star, 
 
 Is gone ; the ploughshare has been through the ground 
 
 On which it stood ; great changes have been wrought 
 
 In all the neighbourhood ; yet the oak is left 
 
 That grew beside their door ; and the remains 
 
 Of the unfinished sheepfold may be seen 
 
 Beside the boisterous brook of Green-head Ghyll. 
 
 THE INSCRIBED EOCKS OF WINDERMERE. 
 
 ^XJR boatman told us, that at a short distance on the 
 eastern side of Windermere lake, were some inscrip- 
 tions on the rocks, which were the greatest curiosities 
 of the place. The guide-book having made no mention 
 of them, we were the more anxious to see what they were, 
 and were rowed ashore accordingly, at a point not far from 
 Lowood Inn. Here we found every smooth surface afforded 
 by the rocks — every slab on the stratified formation — 
 covered with inscriptions, engraved with much toil, in 
 letters varying from six to twenty or twenty-four inches 
 in heisrht. On one larsje red stone of at least ten feet 
 square, was engraved "1883. Money. Liberty. Wealth. 
 Peace ; " — a catalogue of blessings very much to be desired. 
 On another stone was the simple date " 1688 : " expressive 
 enough of the engraver's political sentiments. And on 
 another, in larger characters, "A slave landing on the 
 British strand, becomes free." 
 
 All the largest stones, and slabs, some of which were 
 horizontal, others vertical, and the rest inclined at various 
 angles, and the whole of them giving evidence that the 
 place had formerly been a quarry, were covered with
 
 THE INSCRIBED ROCKS OF WINDERMERE. 139 
 
 inscriptions of a like purport. The following are a few of 
 the most striking. One immense surface of rock bore the 
 following names, which are transcribed in the original 
 order: — " SuN. Bulwer. Dryden. Davy. Burns. Scott. 
 BuRDETT. Garrick. Kemble. Gray. Kean. Milton. 
 Henry Brougham. James Watt. Professor Wilson. 
 Dr. Jenner." To which were added the words in characters 
 equally conspicuous, "The Liberty of the Press." 
 " Magna Charta." This slab was a testimony, apparently, 
 of the engraver's admiration of great intellect. One close 
 alongside side of it was of a different stjde, and bore the 
 date "1836," followed by the words, "William IV. 
 President Jackson. Louis Philippe. Britannia rules 
 the waves." Next to that again was a still larger sur- 
 face of rock on which was indented, "National Debt, 
 £800,000,000. SAVE my Country, Heaven ! George 
 III. AND William Pitt." " Money is the sinew of war." 
 "Field Marshal Wellington. Heroic Admiral 
 Nelson. Captain Cook. Admiral Rodney." One 
 stone, at least eight feet square, bore but one word in letters 
 a yard long, and that was significant enough — viz. " Steam." 
 On inquiring of the boatman who it was that had ex- 
 pended so much labour, he pointed out another stone, on 
 which were the words, "John Longmire, Engraver," and 
 informed us that it was a person of that name, who had 
 spent about six years of his prime in this work — labouring 
 here alone, and in all weathers — and both by night and by 
 day. He took great pleasure in the task ; and was, as the 
 boatman took pains to impress upon us, rather " dull " 
 at the time. This phrase, as he afterwards explained, 
 implies, in this part of the country, that he was deranged ; 
 and I thought, when looking with renewed interest upon 
 these mementos of his ingenuity and perseverance, mis- 
 applied though they were, that it was a happy circumstance 
 that an afflicted creature could have found solace under
 
 140 TALES OF THE ENGLISH LAKES. 
 
 calamity, in a manner so harmless. There was a method in 
 the work, and a sense, too, in the poor man's ideas, which 
 showed that his sympathies were in favour of the moral 
 and intellectual advancement of mankind ; and that, amid 
 the last feeble glimmerings of his own reason, he could do 
 honour to those whose intellect had benefited and adorned 
 our age. I could learn no further particulars of him ; our 
 friend, the boatman, not being able to say whether he were 
 dead or alive, or whether his " dullness " had ever manifested 
 itself in a more disorderly manner than in these inscrip- 
 tions. 
 
 EDGAR, THE LORD OF ENNERDALE. 
 
 A TRADITION OF WOTOBANK, NEAR EGREMONT. 
 
 "N the neighbourhood of Egremont, there is a romantic 
 hill called Wotobank, with which a traditionary story 
 is connected, and from which its name is said to have 
 originated. The tale relates that " a lord of Egremont, 
 with his lady Edwina and servants, was hunting the wolf ; 
 during the chase, the lady was missing, and after a long 
 and painful search, her body was found lying on this 
 romantic acclivity, or bank, mangled by a wolf, which was 
 in the ver}^ act of ravenously tearing it to pieces. The 
 sorrow of the husband, in the first transports of his grief, 
 was expressed by the words — " Wo to this bank ! " — whence 
 the hill obtained the name of " Wotobank." Mrs. Cowley 
 has adopted this legend for the subject of her beautiful 
 poem " Edwina." After ascending Skiddaw, and casting a 
 glance around — 
 
 " Here — across the tangley dells ; 
 There — on the misty distant fells," 
 
 the poetess thus proceeds : —
 
 THE LORD OF ENNERDALE. 141 
 
 — " But chiefly, Ennerdale, to thee I turn, 
 
 And o'er thy healthful vales heart-rended mourn ! 
 
 — For ah ! those plains, those vales, those sheltering woods, 
 
 Nourish'd by Bassenthwaite's contiguous floods. 
 
 Once witness'd such a sad and heavy deed 
 
 As makes the aching memory recede." 
 
 Then introducing the Lord of Ennerdale, she^continues — 
 
 ** He, the sole heir of Atheling was known, 
 
 Whose blood, stern Scotland ! 'midst thy heaths hasflown. 
 
 Not five and twenty summers o'er his head 
 
 Had led their orbs, when he preferr'd to wed 
 
 The sweet Edwina. Blooming were the charms 
 
 Which her fond father gave to Henry's arms. 
 
 Long had he woo'd the charming, bashful maid, 
 
 Who, yet to listen to Love's tales afraid. 
 
 By many modest arts — (so Love ordains) 
 
 Increas'd his passion, though increas'd his pains. 
 
 At length the nuptial morn burst from the sky, 
 
 Bidding prismatic light before her fly ; 
 
 Soft purple radiance streamed around her car, 
 
 Absorbing all the beams of every star ; — 
 
 Roses awaken'd as she pass'd along, 
 
 And the high lark perform'd his soaring song. 
 
 Whilst pinks, their fragrance shaking on the air, 
 
 The proud carnation's glories seem'd to share ; 
 
 The breezes snatch'd their odours as they flew, 
 
 And gave them in their turn pellucid dew, 
 
 Which fed their colours to a higher tone. 
 
 Till all the earth a vegetative rainbow shone. 
 
 Beneath her husband's roof the matchless fair 
 Graced each delight, and each domestic care. 
 Her plastic needle bade fresh flow'rets glow ; 
 And, hung in rich festoons, around her glow ; 
 In cooling grots her shell work seized the eye.
 
 142 TALES OF THE ENGLISH LAKES. 
 
 With skill arrang'd, to show each melting dye ; 
 
 Her taste the garden everywhere sustain'd, 
 
 In each parterre her vivid fancy reign'd. 
 
 Submissive yews in solid walls she form'd, 
 
 Or bade them rise a castle, yet unstorm'd ; 
 
 In love the eagle hover'd o'er its nest, 
 
 Or seem'd a couchant lion sunk to rest. 
 
 Her husband's sports his lov'd Edwina shar'd, 
 
 For her the hawking party was prepar'd ; 
 
 She roused the wolf — the foaming boar she chased, 
 
 And Danger's self was in her presence graced. 
 
 Thus roll'd two years on flowery wheels along, 
 
 Midst calm domestic bliss, and sport, and song. 
 
 O, Edgar ! from pernicious Gallia's shore, 
 
 Hadst thou, immoral youth ! return'd no more, 
 
 Such years tho' lengthen'd time had sweetly run, 
 
 Down to the faintest beams of life's last sun. 
 
 But thou returnd'st ! and thy voluptuous heart, 
 
 Which from temptation never knew to start, 
 
 Seized on Edwina as a lawful prize — 
 
 All dead to Honour's voice, and Conscience' secret cries. 
 
 Edgar to Ennerdale oft bent his way, 
 His form was courtly, and his manners gay ; 
 To Henry he would speak of wars he'd seen, 
 Of tournaments, and gaudes, 'midst peace serene. 
 When for Edwina's ear the tale was fram'd 
 The beauties of bright Gallia's court were nam'd, 
 Their lives, their loves, all past before her view. 
 And many things were feign'd he never knew. 
 At length the prudent fair remark'd the style. 
 And saw beneath his ease distorted guile; — 
 For virtue in his tales ne'er found a place, 
 Nor maiden vigilance, nor matron grace, 
 But wild and loose his glowing stories ran,
 
 THE LORD OF ENNERDALE. 143 
 
 And thus betray 'd the black designing man. 
 
 As when, in eastern climes, 'midst hours of play, 
 
 A sweet boy (wand'ring at the close of day, 
 
 Along the margin of a gadding stream, 
 
 Whilst Hope around him throws her fairy dream) 
 
 Sudden beholds the panther's deadly eye, 
 
 And turns, by impulse strong, his step to fly — 
 
 So turn'd Edwina, when she saw, reveal'd, 
 
 The net th' ensnaring youth had hop'd conceal'd : 
 
 Whenever he appear'd her air grew cold, 
 
 And awed to mute despair this baron bold ; 
 
 He by degrees forbore to seek her gate, 
 
 Who sat enshrin'd within, in Virtue's state. 
 
 But his wild wishes did not cease to rage, 
 
 Nor did he strive their fever to assuage — 
 
 For sinful love is ever dear to sin, 
 
 Its victims self-correction ne'er begin ; 
 
 But, hurried on by hell, pursue their road. 
 
 Nor heed surroundino; woes, nor tremble at their God ! 
 
 The huntsman blew his horn, ere listless day 
 
 Had from his shoulder thrown his robe of gray, 
 
 Ere he had shaken from his shining hair 
 
 The rosy mists which irrigate the air. 
 
 Lord Henry heard — and from his pillow sprung. 
 
 And bold responsive notes he cheerily sung ; 
 
 Then, " Wake my love ! " the happy husband cried, 
 
 To her, who, sweetly slumbering at his side, 
 
 Wish'd still, thus slumbering, to wear the morn. 
 
 And almost chid the tyrant horn — 
 
 Yet quick she rose, and quick her busy maids, 
 
 Folding her yellow locks in careless braids, 
 
 Equipp'd her for the field — sweeping she flew, 
 
 Like a slim arrow from the graceful yew. 
 
 Her jet-black steed more lively seem'd to bound.
 
 144 TALES OF THE ENGLISH LAKES. 
 
 When the light burden on his back he found — 
 
 The jet-black steed her husband had bestow'd, 
 
 When first, a huntress, at his side she rode ; 
 
 Long was his streaming main, his eye of fire, 
 
 Proved hi-i descent from no ignoble sire ; 
 
 He sprung 'midst Araby's far distant plains, 
 
 Whose sands the bleeding violet never stains. 
 
 And now the da}'" in all his glories drest, 
 
 Seem'd at the bugle's call to shake off rest. 
 
 He pour'd his beams around in ample floods — 
 
 Rivers of light descended on the woods ; 
 
 The plains, the valleys drank the radiant shower. 
 
 Each plant received it, and each gentle flower. 
 
 The Hunt inspir'd, the ambient sether rent 
 
 With varied sounds, as their keen course they bent : 
 
 The dogs, deep-mouth'd, in chorus form'd the cry, 
 
 And sent their forest greetings to the sky ; 
 
 The horn's full tone swell'd each pervading note, 
 
 And harmony and joy around the country float. 
 
 At length a boar, thro' a dark coppice side. 
 Amidst the rustling bushes seem'd to glide ; 
 Cautious he moved, like a fell thief of night, 
 Strung by his fears to unintended flight. 
 Close to the earth he softly crept along. 
 And shrubs, and underwood around him throng ; 
 But ah ! in vain he creeps, the air so thin, 
 Catches th' effluvia from his reeking skin. 
 The titillations to the hounds' keen nostrils fly, 
 Who instantly the brown recesses try. 
 Wlien turn'd before them into open view. 
 Quick transports from each bosom flew ; 
 The huntsman's law the churning savage found. 
 The}" sufler'd his escape twelve roods of ground. 
 Ere loose was let the eager mad'ning pack,
 
 THE LORD OF ENNERDALE. 145 
 
 To follow in the bristly monster's track ; 
 
 At length in close pursuit they pour along, 
 
 Urged or retarded by their Leader's thong. 
 
 O'er hills, through brakes, he led them many an hour, 
 
 Straining each nerve — exhausting ev'ry power : 
 
 Now hears the dogs' faint mouthings far behind, 
 
 Then scents them as around a beck they wind — 
 
 With dread and joy alternately is fill'd 
 
 Now high with hope, and now with terror chill'd ; 
 
 Then in despair he turns to meet the foe, 
 
 And rage and madness in his eyeballs glow — 
 
 When Heniy, darting on before the rest, 
 
 Fix'd the bright lance within his heaving breast, 
 
 His struggling breast convulsive motions strain, 
 
 His spouting veins the foaming coursers stain : 
 
 The death-notes issue from the brazen horn. 
 
 And from th' enormous trunk the head is torn. 
 
 Straight with the tusk-arm'd head upon his spear, 
 
 Lord Henry turn'd to Her — for ever dear ! 
 
 To lay the bleeding trophy at her feet, 
 
 And make his triumph more sincerely sweet — 
 
 But horror! no Edwina could be seen, 
 
 Nor on the hill's soft slope, or pasture green ; 
 
 Not shelter'd, near the torrent's fall she lay. 
 
 Nor on the forest's edge, escaped the day. 
 
 Nor was she on the plain — the valleys too. 
 
 Gave no Edwina to the aching view. 
 
 Wonder and dread compress her husband's heart, 
 
 O'er the surrounding scene his eye-beams dart ; 
 
 He moves — stands still — terror lifts up his hair, 
 
 He seems the pale-cheek'd spectre of despair. 
 
 And now was heard her steed's sonorous neigh, 
 
 Whose voice the rocks' firm echoes would obey; 
 
 Bounding, he comes towards them from the plain. 
 
 But his sweet mistress held no guiding rein —
 
 146 TALES OF THE ENGLISH LAKES. 
 
 The reins float loosely, as he cleft the air, 
 
 No mistress sweet, with guiding hand, was there ! 
 
 From all but Henry burst terrific cries, 
 
 Silent his dread — and quite suppress'd his sighs. 
 
 His manly features sink, his eyelids close, 
 
 And all his lineaments express his woes. 
 
 Speech ! 0, how weak, when mighty sorrows spring, 
 
 When fears excessive to the bosom cling ! 
 
 Words may to lighter troubles give a show. 
 
 But find no place where griefs transcendent grow. 
 
 At length they each a different way diverge. 
 
 Some to the mountain's haughty brow emerge, 
 
 Others pursue the plain — the wood — the dell, 
 
 Appointing where to meet, their fortune dear, to tell. 
 
 And now, Lady ! Empress of the day, 
 
 My pensive pen pursues thee on thy way ! 
 
 Amidst the heat and fury of the chace, 
 
 When the fleet horsemen scarce the eye could trace. 
 
 A road succinct Edwina meant to take, 
 
 And push'd her steed across an ancient brake ; 
 
 But in the thicket tangled and. dismayed, 
 
 And of the thorny solitude afraid, 
 
 Again she turn'd her horse — ah ! turn'd in vain, 
 
 She miss'd the op'ning to the neighb'ring plain. 
 
 At length dismounting, tremblingly she strove. 
 
 To force a path, through briars thickly wove ; 
 
 The horse releas'd, straight vanish'd from her eye, 
 
 And o'er opposing brambles seem'd to fly — 
 
 The distant hounds his prick'd-up ears invade, 
 
 And quick he skims o'er ev'ry glen and glade. 
 
 His mistress, thus forsook, with prickles torn. 
 
 And weeping oft with pain, and all forlorn, 
 
 At length acbiev'd a path, and saw a rill. 
 
 To which she mov'd, her ruby mouth to fill ; —
 
 THE LORD OF ENNERDALE. 147 
 
 Her taper'd hand immers'd beneath the stream, 
 
 Flash'd through the glassy wave with pearly gleam, 
 
 It bare the living moisture to her lips, 
 
 And eagerly the panting beauty sips. 
 
 The shining freshness o'er her brow she threw, 
 
 And bless'd the current as it sparkling flew ; 
 
 Then on its borders sought a short repose, 
 
 Whilst round her, doddergrass, and pansies rose. 
 
 Sleep soon, unbidden, caught her in his snare, 
 
 And folded in his arms the weary fair. 
 
 Two aspen trees in one smooth bark were bound, 
 
 And threw a thin and trembling shadow round. 
 
 The waters gently tinkled as they fell, 
 
 And a near sheep sustained a silvery bell, 
 
 Whilst breezes o'er her temples softly stray'd, 
 
 And 'midst her floating ringlets, leaping, played. 
 
 Who would not wish to linger in such rest. 
 
 Where waters, shades, and sounds, make sleeping blest ? 
 
 But, Powers Sublime ! who tread the burning air, 
 
 And give to sainted charity your care, 
 
 Where roved ye now ? — Where waved your filmy wings. 
 
 Where struck your harps their million-bearing strings ? 
 
 If on Light's rays, swift shot from pol-^ to pole, 
 
 Your essences supine you chose to roll. 
 
 Or the rich glowing tapestry to weave. 
 
 Which must the sun's retiring orb receive, 
 
 Yet still you should have left each task undone, 
 
 Fled from the glowing west — forsook the sun, 
 
 Rush'd in whole troops, nor left one sylph behind, 
 
 And all your cares to Eunerdale confined : 
 
 Clung round the aspens where Edwina slept. 
 
 And o'er her form your anxious vigils kept — 
 
 Whose slumbers long spun out their rosy dreams. 
 
 And still consoled her 'midst the noontide beams. 
 
 When a hard grasp which seized her listless hands.
 
 148 ,;5^,TALES OF THE ENGLISH LAKES. 
 
 Kude, snapt asunder their narcotic bands, 
 81ie>tarted, and she found, — ! hated sij^ht, 
 Close at her side the am'rous villain knight. 
 Who tried in specious terms his hopes to paint — 
 Inspir'd by ev'ry fiend, he call'd on every saint ! 
 
 Surprise, at first, held mute Edwina's tongue. 
 
 And many changes on his theme he rung. 
 
 Ere she could pour her chaste, her proud disdain, 
 
 Or check with cold contempt his odious strain. 
 
 At length she spoke. So once, Judean Fair ! 
 
 Thou turn'd'st upon the sober, hoary pair 
 
 Who slunk, with wanton thoughts and aspect grave, 
 
 To watch thee, rising from the gelid wave. 
 
 Insulted Virtue thunder'd from thy tongue, 
 
 And o'er th^^ eye indignant lightnings hung, 
 
 Swift came the vollied speech ; — grand was thy tone, 
 
 And Chastity in bright effulgence shone. 
 
 Around the ivory form dark myrtles grew, 
 
 To snatch thee from the gazing monster's view ; 
 
 Through their deep foliage came thy pointed words, 
 
 Thy glance was fire — thy sentences were swords ! 
 
 Such were Edwina's tones, her look, her air, 
 
 Striking the young seducer with despair ! 
 
 Yes, young he was, in beauty's fullest prime, 
 
 Untarnish'd yet, untouch'd by withering time ! 
 
 O'er his red cheek soft dimples playful ran, 
 
 Whilst grace and sinewy strength proclaimed The man ! 
 
 His charms, his passion, sweet Edwina spurned, 
 
 And with unfeigned abhorrence, stately turned ; 
 
 Then walk'd with mien composed across the moor. 
 
 Though tremblings seized her heart, and doubtings sore. 
 
 But Edgar soon she heard, step quick behind, 
 
 And then to mad'ning fears her soul resigned. 
 
 She seemed to borrow from the wind its wino-s,
 
 THE LORD OF ENNERDALE. 149 
 
 When from its southern portal first it springs — 
 
 Flying, as borne upon the billowy air, 
 
 Urged by distraction on, and blank despair. 
 
 Her base pursuer spurr'd by dire intent, 
 
 Kept closely in the track the fair one went ; 
 
 Nor hurried much, but thouo;ht her failins: feet 
 
 "Would soon retard a course so wondrous fleet — 
 
 He thought aris^ht, and in his felon arms, 
 
 Pressed Henry's beauteous wife, half wild with dread alarms. 
 
 Scarce had he dared to grasp her sinking frame, 
 When with the quickness of devouring flame, 
 A furious wolf from out the bordering wood 
 With eyes all glaring near Edwina stood — 
 The brindled hair rose stiff upon his chine, 
 Of ghastly, deathful joy, the horrid sign ; 
 His clinging sides confessed his famished state. 
 And his deep howl proclaimed a victim's fate. 
 The coward fled ! — ! now my pen forbear, 
 Nor with the shrieks of terror rend the air ! — 
 The wolfs fell teeth — but O ! I check the song. 
 Nor can the horrid, agonizing chord prolong. 
 
 The savage, starting from his bleeding prey, 
 Rush'd to his haunt, and briefly fled away ; 
 Approaching steps declared swift danger nigh. 
 And forc'd — too late ! the unglutted beast to fly. 
 Those steps were Henry's ! — he first reached the spot, 
 For him to reach it, was the dreadful lot ! 
 He saw her marble bosom torn — her mangled head ; 
 He saw — mysterious fate ! Edwina dead ! 
 Those eyes were closed, whose rich and beamy light, 
 Would shed a lustre on pale Sorrow's night — 
 Dumb was that honied mouth, whose graceful speech. 
 Beyond the schoolman's eloquence would reach ! 
 The snowy arras which lately clasped her lord,
 
 I50 TALES OF THE ENGLISH LAKES. 
 
 Now streaked with flowing blood — O ! thought abhorred 
 
 Before his starting eyes, all lifeless hang, 
 
 And give liim more than death's last, rending pang. 
 
 His cries of agony spread o'er the plain. 
 
 And reached the distant undulating main ; 
 
 His screams of anguish struck with terror more 
 
 Than the lank wolf's most desolating roar. 
 
 Vain his attendants sooth — in vain they pray, 
 
 Jn stormy grief he wearied down the day. 
 
 A furious maniac now he raged around. 
 
 And tore the bushes from the embracing ground. 
 
 Then spent, all prone upon the earth he fell, 
 
 And from his eyes the gushing torrents swell ; 
 
 When sorrow could articulate its grief, 
 
 When words allowed a transient shoit relief, 
 
 " Woe to thee, Bank ! " were the first sounds that burst, 
 
 " And be thy soil with bitter offspring curst ! 
 
 " Woe to thee, Bank, for thou art drunk with gore, 
 
 " The purest heart of woman ever bore ! " 
 
 " Woe to thee, Bank ! " the attendants echoed round, 
 
 And pitjing shepherds caught the grief-fraught sound. 
 
 Thus, to this hour, throusjh every changino: age. 
 
 Through ev'rj'' j-ear's still ever-varj-ing stage. 
 
 The name remains ; and Wo-to-Bank is seen, 
 
 From ev'r}" mountain bleak, and valley green — 
 
 Dim Skiddaw views it from his monstrous height, 
 
 And eagles mark it in their dizzy flight; 
 
 'i'he Bassenthwaite's soft murmurs sorrow round, 
 
 And rocks of Buttermere protect the ground, 
 
 ivills of Helvellyn raging in their fall, 
 
 Seem on Lod ore's rough sj^mpathy to call — 
 
 From peak to peak they wildly burst away, 
 
 And form, with rushing tone, a hollow, dirge-like lay. 
 
 Not rocks, and cataracts and alps alone, 
 
 Paint out the spot, and make its horrors known.
 
 LADY EVA AND THE GIANT. 151 
 
 For faithful Jads ne'er pass, nor tender maid, 
 
 But the soft rite of tears is duly paid ; 
 
 Each can the story to the traveller tell, 
 
 And on the sad disaster, pitying dwell — 
 
 Thus Wo-to-Bank, thou'rt known thy swains among,, 
 
 And now thou liv'st within an humble stranger's soul^ '. 
 
 LADY EVA AND THE GIANT. 
 
 A LEGEND OF YEWDALE. 
 
 S you enter the romantic vale of Yewdale, about a 
 quarter of a mile above the saw-mills, by looking 
 over the hedge to your right, you may perceive, 
 near to the verge of the precipitous bank of Yewdale 
 Beck, and a few yards from the roadside, a long narrow 
 mound which seems to be formed of solid stone covered 
 with moss, but which a nearer inspection would show to be 
 composed of several blocks fitted so closely together as to 
 prove the mound to have had an artificial, and not a 
 natural origin. You observe it is somewhere between three 
 and four yards long. That singular accumulation of lichen- 
 clad rock has been known for centuries amongst the 
 natives of Yewdale and the adjacent valleys, by the romance- 
 suofgesting desi^fnation of Girt Will's Grave. How it came 
 by that name, and how Cauldron Dub and Yewdale Bridge 
 came to be haunted, my task is now to tell. 
 
 Some few hundred years ago, the inhabitants of these 
 contiguous dales were startled from their propriety, if they 
 had any, by a report that one of the Troutbeck giants had 
 built himself a hut, and taken up his abode in the lonely 
 dell of the Tarns, above Yewdale Head. Of course 3'ou 
 have read the history and exploits of the famous Tom Hick- 
 athrift, and remembering that he was raised at Troutbeck,
 
 152 TALES OF THE ENGLISH LAKES. 
 
 you will not be much surprised when I 'tell you that it was 
 always famous for a race of extraordinary size and strength; 
 for even in these our own puny days, the biggest man in 
 Westmoreland is to be found in that beautiful vale. 
 
 The excitement consequent upon the settlement of one of 
 that gigantic race in this vicinity soon died away, and the 
 object of it, who stood somewhere about nine feet six out of 
 his clogs, if they were in fashion then, and was broad in fair 
 proportion, became known to the neighbours as a capital 
 labourer, ready for any such work as was required in the 
 rude and limited agricultural operations of the period and 
 locality — answered to the cognomen of " Girt (great) Will 
 o' t' Tarns," and, once or twice, did good service as a billman 
 under the Knight of Conistone, when he was called upon to 
 muster his powers to assist in repelling certain roving bands 
 of Scots or Irish, who were wont, now and again, to invade 
 the wealthy plains of low Furness. 
 
 The particular Knight who was chief of the Flemings of 
 Conistone, at the period of the giant's location at the Tarns, 
 was far advanced in years, and, in addition to some six or 
 eight gallant and stately sous, had 
 
 " One fair daughter, and no more, 
 The which he loved passing well." 
 
 And Eva le Fleming, called by the country people " the 
 Lady Eva," was famed throughout the broad north for her 
 beauty and gentleness, her high-bred dignity and her humble 
 virtues ; but it is not with her that my story has to do. 
 She, like the mother of " the gentle lady married to the 
 Moor," had a maid called Barbara, an especial favourite 
 with her mistress, and, in her own sphere, deemed quite as 
 beautiful. In fact, it was hinted that, when she happened 
 to be in attendance upon her lady on festive or devotional 
 occasions, the eyes of even knights and well-born squires 
 were as often directed to the maid as to the mistress, and
 
 LADY EVA AND THE GIANT. 155 
 
 seemed to express as much admiration in one direction as 
 the other. 
 
 And when mounted on the Lady Eva's own palfrey, 
 bedecked in its gayest trappings, she rode, as she oftentimes 
 did, to visit her parents at Skelwith, old and young were 
 struck with her beauty, and would turn, as she ambled past, 
 to gaze after her, and to wonder at the elegance of her figure, 
 the ease of her deportment, and the all-surpassing loveliness 
 of her features. Her lady, notwithstanding the disparity of 
 their rank, loved her as a sister, and it was whispered 
 amongst her envious fellow-servants, that her mistress's 
 fondness made her assume airs unbecoming her station. 
 True enough it was that she seemed sufficiently haughty 
 and scornful in her reception of the homage paid to her 
 charms by the young men of her own rank, and by many 
 above it. The only one to whom she showed the slightest 
 courtesy on these occasions was wild Dick Hawksley, the 
 Knight's falconer, and he was also the only one who appeared 
 to care no more for her favours than for her frowns. 
 
 The Lady Eva, as well befits high-born dames, was some- 
 what romantic in her tastes, and would often row for hours 
 upon the lake, and wander for miles through the woods, or 
 even upon the mountains, unattended, save by her favourite 
 bower-maiden. And one evening in autumn, after having 
 been confined for two whole days to the hall, by heavy and 
 incessant rain, tired of playing chess with her father, and 
 battledore with her younger brothers, or superintending the 
 needlework of her maids, and tempted by the brilliant 
 moonlight and now unobscured skies, she summoned 
 Barbara, and set out upon a stroll by the lake side. 
 
 The pair were sauntering along a path cut through the 
 dense coppice, the lady leaning in condescending affection 
 upon the shoulder of her maiden, and listening to a recital 
 of how, on her return from some of her visits to her parents, 
 she had been waylaid by Great Will of the Tarns, and how
 
 154 TALES OF THE ENGLISH LAKES. 
 
 on a recent evening he had attempted to seize her rein, and 
 would have stopped her, had she not whipped the palfrey 
 and bounded past him. The lady was expressing her indig- 
 nation at this insolence, when a gigantic figure sprang upon 
 the pathway, and, snatching up the screaming Bai-bara with 
 the same ease with which she herself would have lifted an 
 infant, vanished on the instant amongst the thick hazels. 
 
 The Lady Eva stood for a minute struck powerless with 
 terror and astonishment at this audacious outrage ; but the 
 sound of the monster crashing his headlong course through 
 the coppice, and the half-stified screams o^ his captive, soon 
 recalled her suspended faculties, and then 
 
 " Fair " Eva " through the hazel-grove 
 Flew, like a startled cushat dove," 
 back to the hall, where, breathless with terror and exertion, 
 she gave the alarm that Barbara had been carried off by 
 the giant. There was noisy and instantaneous commotion 
 amongst the carousing gentles at the upper, and the loitering 
 lacqueys at the lower end of the hall. Dick Hawksley, and 
 a few more, darted off in immediate pursuit on foot, while 
 several rushed to the stables, in obedience to the call of 
 their young masters, who were, one and all, loudly vociferat- 
 ing for their horses. Scarce a minute passed, ere half a dozen 
 Flemings, attended by as many mounted followers, were 
 spurring like lightning through the wood in the direction 
 of Yewdale. They came in sight of the giant and his 
 burthen as he neared Cauldron Dub, with the light-heeled 
 falconer close behind, calling loudly upon him to stay his 
 flight; but he held on with tremendous strides, till he 
 reached the brow over the pool, when, finding that the 
 horsemen were close upon him, and that it was hopeless to 
 try to carry his prii'e farther, he stopped — uttered one 
 terrible shout of rage and disappointment — and whirled his 
 shrieking victim into the flooded beck, resuming his now 
 unencumbered flight with increased speed.
 
 LADY EVA AND THE GIANT. 155 
 
 Dick Hawksley rushed over the bank a little lower down, 
 and the horsemen, abamJoning the chase, galloped to the 
 brink of the stream, which was high with the recent rains. 
 They saw the falconer plunge into the torrent, as the bovver 
 maiden, yet buoyant with her light garments, was borne 
 rapidly down. They saw him seize her with one hand, and 
 strike out gallantly for the bank with the other, but the 
 current was too strong for him, encumbered as he was with 
 the girl in his grasp. The devoted pair were swept down 
 the stream, at a rate that made the spectators put their 
 horses to a gallop to keep them in sight, even while the 
 exertions of the brave falconer sufficed to sustain their heads 
 above water, which was only till they came under the 
 bridge, where the water, pent in by the narrow arch, acquired 
 four-fold force, and there they heard him utter a hoarse cry 
 of despair, and the gallant Hawksley and the Lady Eva's 
 beauteous favourite were seen no more, till their bodies 
 were found, days after, on the shore far down the lake. 
 
 One or two of the horsemen continued to gallop down the 
 side of the beck, in the bootless hope of being able even yet 
 to render them some aid, but the most of them turned their 
 horses' heads, and went off once more at their utmost speed 
 in pursuit of the murderous giant. He, considering the 
 chase at an end, had slackened his pace, and they were not 
 long in overtaking him. Great Will struck out manfully 
 with his club (time out of mind the giant's favourite weapon) 
 as they rushed upon him, but thej'^ speedily surrounded 
 him, and, amid a storm of vengeful yells and bitter execra- 
 tions, the Giant of the Tarns was stretched upon the sward, 
 " with the blood running like a little brook " from a hundred 
 wounds ; for he was so frightfully slashed and mangled by 
 their swords, that, as my informant naively averred, there 
 was not so much whole skin left upon his huge body as 
 would have made a tobacco-pouch. 
 
 It will be apparent enough to the most obtuse intellect,
 
 156 TALES OF THE ENGLISH LAKES. 
 
 that, after such events as these, the localities wlieie they 
 occurred must, of necessity, be haunted; and, as the ghosts 
 of murderers, as well as of murderees, if they be right 
 orthodox apparitions, always appear to be re-enacting the 
 closing scene of their earthly career, it is scarcely required 
 of me to dilate farther upon the manner of their appearance. 
 Of course I do not expect, and certainly do not wish to be 
 called upon to prove the even-down truth of every particular 
 of the stoiy, with which I have been doing my little best to 
 amuse you ; but the assured fact of the Dub and the bridge 
 being haunted, and that by sundry most pertinacious spirits, 
 I am ready to maintain against all comers. 
 
 KIRKBY LONSDALE BRIDGE. 
 
 A LEGEND. 
 
 'EAR to the bridge which crosses the Lune, not far 
 from Kirkby Lonsdale, the scenery is truly romantic. 
 The river, which is here of considerable width, winds 
 through the bottom of the valley, and is over- 
 shadowed by the trees that grow upon its banks. Its 
 current is roughened by the rocks Avhich form its bed, some 
 of which stand up in huge moss-grown blocks in the midst 
 of the stream. The water is clear to a great depth, and the 
 steep grassy banks, and abundance of trees which close in 
 the prospect, give it an air of seclusion. This stream is 
 plentifully stocked with trout and salmon, and here the 
 angler may sit and watch the gilded fly with a devotion 
 worthy of a Davy or a Walton. 
 
 The singular construction of the bridge renders it an 
 object of curiosity; and when viewed in connection with 
 the river and valley of the Lune, it forms one of the most 
 romantic prospects on which the eye can dwell. It is
 
 KIRKBY LONSDALE BRIDGE. 157 
 
 composed of three beautifully ribbed arches, the centre one 
 rising to the height of thirty-six feet above the stream. 
 It is a lofty, firm and handsome structure, but so narrow- 
 as almost to deserve the taunt cast u]jon the "auld brig of 
 Ayr : "'— 
 
 " Where twa wheelbarrows trembled when they met : " 
 at least no two carriages of a larger size can pass each 
 other ; but, for the security of the foot passengers, there are 
 angular recesses in the battlements, corresponding with the 
 projecting piers. 
 
 Antiquity has cast her veil over this erection, and a 
 consequent obscurity envelopes its history. If, however, 
 we may rely on popular tradition, the building is to be 
 ascribed to an unmentionable personage ; of whom it is 
 said, " that he built the bridge one windy night, and that in 
 fetching the* stones from a distance, he let fall the last apron- 
 full as he flew over a fell hard by." This gentleman has 
 been "a bridge-builder," "time out of mind," notwithstand- 
 ing the improbability of his employing " himself in works 
 of so much real utility to men." Such an historical fact 
 may, however, account for the huge blocks of stone found 
 in various parts of the neighbouring moors. 
 
 " Still grand, and beautiful, and good. 
 Has Lonsdale bridge unshaken stood. 
 And scorned the swollen, raging flood, 
 
 For many ages ; 
 Though antiquaries, who have tried 
 Some date to find, in vain have pryed 
 
 In ancient pages. 
 
 Then hear what old tradition saj's : — 
 Close by the Lune in former days 
 Lived an old maid, queer all her ways, 
 
 In Yorkshire bred ; 
 Though now foi'got what she was named, 
 
 L
 
 158 TALES OF THE ENGLISH LAKES. 
 
 For cheating she was always famed, 
 'Tis truly said. 
 
 She had a cow, a pony too ; 
 
 When o'er the Lurie, upon the brow. 
 
 Had passed one night these fav'rites two, 
 
 'Twas dark and rainy ; 
 Her cow was o'er, she knew her bellow, 
 Her pony too, poor little fellow, 
 
 She heard him whinny. 
 
 Alack, alack a day ! she cries. 
 As overflowed her streaming eyes. 
 When lo ! with her to sympathise, 
 
 Old Nick appears ; 
 ' Pray, now, good woman, don't despair, 
 But lay aside all anxious care. 
 
 And wipe your tears. 
 
 ' To raise a bridi:^e I will agree, 
 That in the morning you shall see. 
 But mine for e'er the first must be 
 
 That passes over ; 
 So by these means you'll soon be able 
 To bring the pony to his stable, 
 
 The cow her clover.' 
 
 In vain were sighs and wailings vented. 
 So she at last appeared contented, 
 It was a bargain, she consented, 
 
 For she was Yorkshire ; 
 Now home she goes in mighty glee. 
 Old Satan, too, well pleased he. 
 
 Went to his work. Sir. 
 
 When Ilus' son surrounded Troy 
 With walls that nothing might destroy, 
 Two gods some time he did employ,
 
 KIRKBY LONSDALE BRIDGE. 159 
 
 But never paid 'em ; 
 Here Satan, certain of his prize, 
 With building made a desp'rate noise, 
 
 So fast he laid on. 
 
 In short, the morning streaks appear, 
 The bridge is built and Satan there. 
 When this old lady now drew near, 
 
 Her lap-dog with her ; 
 ' Behold the bridge,' the tempter cries, 
 * Your cattle, too, before your eyes, 
 
 So hie you thither.' 
 
 But mark ! she well the bargain knew, 
 A bun then from her pocket drew. 
 And showed it first to little Cue, 
 
 Then overthrew it; 
 Now flew the bun, now ran the dosf, 
 For eager was the mangy rogue. 
 
 Nor stood to view it. 
 
 ' Now, crafty Sir, the bargain was, 
 That you should have what first did pass 
 Across the bridge, so now, alas ! 
 
 The dog's your right.' 
 The cheater cheated, struck with shame. 
 Squinted and grinned, then in a flame 
 
 He vanished quite."
 
 i6o TALES OF THE ENGLISH LAKES. 
 THE SPECTRE ARMY. 
 
 A WEIRD TALK OF SOUTH A FELL. 
 
 Router fell, or Soutra Fell as it is sometimes called, 
 ^P is a considerable mountain situated to the eastward 
 (^ of Skiddaw and Blencathara. The west and north 
 sides are barricaded with steep rocks, apparently 900 
 yards in height, and everywhere difficult of access. 
 
 A very remarkable phenomenon has exhibited itself on 
 this mountain, which, though difficult to account for satis- 
 factorily, is too well authenticated by numerous spectators 
 to be discredited. We allude to the appearance of troops 
 of visionary horsemen, crossing the mountains, advancing, 
 retreating, and performing different military evolutions — 
 an optical delusion which has been observed in this vicinity, 
 to the great astonishment of the rustics of the vale. 
 
 " As when a shepherd of the Hebrid isles 
 Placed far amid the melancholy main 
 (Whether it be lone fancy him beguiles, 
 Or that aerial beings sometimes deign 
 To stand, embodied, to our senses plain), 
 Sees on the naked hill or valley low. 
 The whilst in ocean Phoebus dips his wain, 
 A vast assembly moving to and fro ; 
 Then all at once in air dissolves the wondrous show." 
 
 Thomson. 
 
 The following account of this singular appearance, which 
 is scarcely paralleled in history, is contained in Hutchison's 
 History of Cumberland, the particulars being collected by 
 Mr. Smith, who observes that he went himself to examine 
 the' spectators, who asserted the facts very positively. " On 
 midsummer eve, 1735, a servant in the employ of William
 
 THE SPECTRE ARMY. i6i 
 
 Lancaster, of Blakehills, about half a mile from Souterfell, 
 related that he saw the east side of the mountain, towards 
 the summit, covered with a regular marching army f ^ )r above 
 an hour together. They consisted of distinct bodies of 
 troops, which appeared to proceed from an eminence in the 
 north end, and marched over a niche in the top, marked A 
 and B in the sketch given in the above work; but as no 
 other person in the neighbourhood had seen a similar 
 appearance, he was discredited and laughed at. 
 
 " Two years after, on midsummer eve also, between the 
 hours of eight and nine, William Lancaster himself imagined 
 that several gentlemen were followinof 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 towards 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 ranks, 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 the}^ quitted their 
 lines, and the figure that did so was generally 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 there 
 was light to see them." 
 
 This phenomenon was no more observed till the remark- 
 ably serene midsummer evening which preceded the last 
 Scotch rebellion. The parties who had witnessed it on the 
 previous occasion, having been much ridiculed for their
 
 i62 TALES OF THE ENGLISH LAKES. 
 
 report, were determined to call a greater nuraVjer of 
 witnesses of this strange phenomenon ; and having first 
 observed it rigidlj, and with great caution themselves, and 
 .being fully assured they were not deceived as to the actual 
 ap])earances, they convened about twenty-six persons from 
 different places in the neighbourhood to bear testimony to 
 the existei of the fact. These all affirmed, and attested 
 before a magistrate, that they saw a similar appearance to 
 that just described, but not conducted with the same 
 regularity, having also the appearance of carriages inter- 
 spersed. The numbers of the troops were incredible, for 
 they filled lengtliways nearly half a mile, and continued so 
 in a brisk march for above an hour, and would probably 
 have done so much lunger had not the darkness of approach- 
 ing night intervened. 
 
 " Anon appears a brave, a gorgeous show 
 
 Of horsemen shadows, moving to and fro. 
 
 * * * * * 
 
 Silent the visionary warriors go. 
 
 Wending in ordered pomp their upward wa}^ 
 
 Till the last banner of the long array 
 
 Had disappeared, and every trace is fled 
 
 Of splendour — save the beacon's spiry head, 
 
 Tipt with eve's latest gleam of burning red." 
 
 WOKDSWOliTH. 
 
 The horse and man, upon strict looking at, appeared to 
 be but one being, rather than two distinct ones, but they 
 did not at all resemble clouds or vapours of auy kind. 
 
 William Lancaster observed that he never considered 
 these aerial images to be real beings, because of the 
 impracticability of a march over the precipices they seemed 
 to traverse, where horses' hoofs had never trod before. 
 They did not, however, appear to be any less real than on 
 the former occasion ; for so convinced were the spectators
 
 THE SPECTRE ARMY. 163 
 
 of the reality of what they had seen, that, as soon as the 
 sun had dawned next morning, several of them climbed the 
 mountain, through an idle expectation of finding the marks 
 of horses' feet, after so numerous an army ; but when they 
 arrived at the supposed scene of action, not the mark of a 
 single hoof was discernible, nor have any tidings been 
 received of troops being in the neighbourh ^ up to this 
 time.* 
 
 Though this part of the country, like every other, where 
 cultivation has been lately introduced, abounds in all the 
 aniles fabelloe of fairies, ghosts, and apparitions, 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. But in this case the twenty-six 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 
 observed by these individuals only ; it was seen by every 
 person, at every cottage, for a mile round ; neither was it 
 confined to a momentary view ; for, from the time it was 
 first observed, the appearance must have lasted at least two 
 hours and a half, viz., from half-past seven, till the night 
 coming on prevented the further view ; nor yet was the 
 distance such as could impose rude resemblances on the 
 eyes of credulity. The whole story has certainly much of 
 the air of a romance, and it may appear to some fittest for 
 Amadis de Gaul, or Glenville's System of Witches, than 
 for insertion here as a fact. But although it may be 
 diflicult to reconcile its probability, and beyond even 
 philosophy to explain, yet such is the evidence we have of 
 its occurrence, that I do not myself entertain the slightest 
 doubt of its having actually taken place as here related. 
 The whole, however, was unquestionably an optical delusion. 
 
 * From Hutchinson's History of Cumberland, aud Eev. C. C. Clarke's 
 One Hundred Wo7ulers of the World.
 
 i64 TALES OF THE ENGLISH LAKES. 
 
 As instances have frequently occurred in wliicli the forms 
 and a ;tion of human Leings have been pictured in the clouds, 
 or in vapour, it seems highly probable, on a consideration 
 of .'ill the circumstances of the case, that certain vapours 
 mi;ijt have hovered round the mountain when these appear- 
 ances were observed. It is also possible that these vapours 
 may have been impressed with the shadowy forms which 
 seemed to "imitate humanity," by a particular operation of 
 the sun's rays, united with some singular, but unknown, 
 refractive combination then taking place in the atmosphere. 
 
 It has been remarked that these appearances were 
 observed most particularly on the eve of the last Scotch 
 Rebellion, when troops of horsemen might be privately 
 exercising at no great distance. Indeed, the Editor of the 
 Lonsdale Magazine, without giving his authority, observes, 
 that it was afterwards actually discovered " to have been 
 the rebels exercising on the western coast of Scotland, 
 whose movements had been reflected by some fine trans- 
 parent vapour similar to the Fata Morgana." * 
 
 Instances are recorded of the phenomena of spectral armies 
 having been occasionally witnessed in other localities. It 
 has been stated that a troop of phantom horsemen was seen 
 coursing over the heights of Helvellyn the day before the 
 battle of Marston Moor, -f Hutchinson, in his History of 
 Cumberland, relates the following as a parallel instance 
 with that of Soutra Fell. In the spring of 1707, early in a 
 serene morning, was observed by two persons in Leicester- 
 shire an appearance of an army marching along, till going 
 behind a gi'eat hill it disappeared. The forms of pikes, and 
 carbines were distinguishable; the march was not entirely 
 in one direction, but was at the first like the junction of 
 two armies, and the meeting of generals. I There is also a 
 
 * Lonsdale Magazine, vol. ii. p. 313. 
 tConWoJi HaH, by Rev. W, Grtsle)-, M.A., p. 135. 
 + Hutchinson's Uiitoy of Cumberland, p. 420, vol. i.
 
 THE SPECTRE ARMY. 165 
 
 well-authenticated statement of a similar phenomenon, 
 witnessed not long ago, on the Mendip Hills, in Somerset- 
 shire;* and Speed tells us of something of a like nature as 
 preceding a dreadful intestine war.f Something of this 
 kind may have given rise to Ossian's grand and awful 
 mythology. 
 
 These optical illusions, occurring on Soutra Fell, form a 
 subject peculiarly adapted for "the poet's pen," and are 
 finely illustrated in the following poem, written in confor- 
 mity with the popular belief of the lake villagers, that it 
 really was a presentiment of the Scotch Rebellion, and that 
 the horrors of the final battle were depicted in a prophetic 
 manner. There can be no 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 may have 
 ceased, these visionary beings might be diiected to warn 
 mankind of approaching tumults. 
 
 " Look how the world's poor people are amazed 
 At apparitions, signs, and prodigies, 
 Whereon with fearful eyes they long have gazed. 
 Infusing them with dreadful prophecies." 
 
 Shakespeake's Venus and Adonis. 
 
 A VISIONARY TALE OF THE SCOTCH REBELLION. 
 
 While yet I gazed on Soutra's fell, 
 A sight appeared (I live and tell !), 
 Strange, ominous, and yet obscure. 
 But fate has wrought the vision sure ; 
 Too soon explained, it bodes no good. 
 But desolation marks, and blood, 
 I saw at once in full career 
 Equestrian troops dire-armed ap})ear, 
 
 * Westmoreland and Ciimberland Illustrated, p. 217. 
 t Lonsdale Magazine, vol. ii. p. 425.
 
 i66 TALES OF THE ENGLISH LAKES. 
 
 Descending swift the mountain's steep 
 No earthly steed could footstep keep ; 
 Yet many hundreds were their might. 
 The glitt'ring stars revealed the sight — 
 Lightnings, forbidding to conceal, 
 Burst, 'midst drawn swords and helmets' steel. 
 On me when burst their dreadful gleam 
 Faint my sunk soul emits a scream ; 
 And Walter Selby thus began — 
 (Walter still less, or more than man) 
 Shouting till every echo round 
 The mountain nymphs appalled resound ; 
 " Saw ever man such gallant sio-ht ? 
 A thousand steeds on Soutra's height, 
 Its tierce descent — in martial pride 
 A thousand riders stem its side, 
 With managed pride and daring front ! 
 What mortal force shall bide their brunt ? 
 See how they gallop down yon rock ! — 
 What mortal eye can bear the shock ? 
 The roe of Soutra's lightest bound 
 Shrinks from the delvy deep profound, 
 Where not the falcon strains her flight 
 Above the eagled eyrey's height. 
 O, for a steed so sure and swift 
 That might me with these horsemen lift — 
 These airy knights ! My wanton brown, 
 Famed far and wide for fleet renown, 
 That darts o'er Derwent like a bird, 
 Matched with such palfrey and its lord 
 With wonder froze, its progress slow, 
 Would think the Derwent ceased to flow. 
 Ne'er gossamer in summer race 
 So swift, so sylphy held the chace. 
 .* hu m in every village dwells,
 
 THE SPECTRE ARMY. 167 
 
 For we all know what this foretells — 
 
 A battle lost, a ruined cause. 
 
 I heard my father say there was 
 
 Then seen on dread Helvellyn's side 
 
 An armed host like this to ride : 
 
 Yet difference marked — beneath a crown 
 
 The eye of royalty there frowns ; 
 
 A regal glaive, like mailed Mars, 
 
 That streams a meteor thro' the wars, 
 
 Points at their head to Marston Moor, 
 
 Soon to be drenched with British gore. 
 
 On those whose standard new unfurls, 
 
 Menace the coronets of earls; 
 
 The wode weird sisters waft each count, 
 
 And thanes ride wild at their surmount. 
 
 " Now Heav'u's right hand protect us ! " cried 
 
 The dame that shares stern Wilton's pride ; 
 
 (Once bride of Grey, for beauty famed, 
 
 And oft for boast of lineage named ; 
 
 But now her blood, by age grown cold, 
 
 Yet tumult's in her mortal mould ) ; 
 
 " What evils shall I yet sustain ! 
 
 Portentous scene — terrific train ! 
 
 What follows these ? " with instant breath 
 
 The pedlar cries ; " misfortune — death : 
 
 To many, misery — death, to some — 
 
 Some who are present, sure will come 
 
 Death sudden, early — " 
 
 " Cease thy croak, 
 Thou northern raven," Walter spoke ; 
 " If they are phantoms, let them pass — 
 For men of mist what care e'er was 
 In constant souls ; if flesh and bone, 
 (Such by their bearing are alone 
 This gallant band) as I believe.
 
 i68 TALES OF THE ENGLISH LAKES. 
 
 As such I greet them iuid receive, 
 
 Good, gallant soldiers for our King — 
 
 For them shall then the welkin ring." 
 
 No sooner said, but seized his horn ; 
 
 Around the mountain echoes borne 
 
 Resounds the bugle far and wide. 
 
 The spectred steedmen then descried 
 
 A mile's full quarter, seem'd to halt ; 
 
 The youth again, with lips at fault. 
 
 Seized mad the ill-directed horn ; 
 
 His hand the pedlar seized with scorn; 
 
 " Unhallowed, dare not thus deride 
 
 What heaven's all pregnant powers confide, 
 
 For man's instruction is this vision sent;" 
 
 (With that the bugle from his hand he rent) ; 
 
 " Young gentleman, be wise, be ruled : " 
 
 The lost musician stood in silence school'd. 
 
 The shadowy troops with sword and lance, 
 
 And martial pride elate, advance ; 
 
 Within a hundred yards they seem ; 
 
 Terrific now their hauberks gleam — 
 
 As dazzling more than mortal sight. 
 
 Yet 'midst my trance of wild affright, 
 
 I marked them, as along they went, 
 
 And living torms as such they meant, 
 
 I then imagined that I knew 
 
 Of many men in dreadful hue — 
 
 Death's pale discolour — doomed the ghost to 3'ield, 
 
 Instance exact to perish in the field, 
 
 Or in cold blood to wait their doom — 
 
 The scaffold's fate — without a tomb ; 
 
 Pride of the Stuart's strength, nor unallied, 
 
 In blood, that Brunswick's happier host defied ; 
 
 The Maxwells, Boyds, Drummouds, and Gordons famed, 
 
 Scots, Ogilvies, Camerous, Foresters, high named .'
 
 THE SPECTRE ARMY. 169 
 
 One youth there was — for now the battle raged, 
 
 A band more powerful, vengeance nigh presaged, 
 
 A fierce assault proclaims the adverse power — 
 
 One yovith there was, amidst destruction's lour, 
 
 Turned still the stream and every foe defied, 
 
 Oft raised his arm, and oft in blood 'twas dyed ; 
 
 And, as his faint companions fell, he stood 
 
 Erect in arms, and drenched in hostile blood ; 
 
 At last his prowess sunk — a falchion keen 
 
 Light' on his helmet, and burst the warrior's screen ; 
 
 Then, as he fell, a visage too well known 
 
 Burst on my view^, with death's stern front though prone, 
 
 'Twas Selby's self — his dread eidolon's form, 
 
 Like Brutus threatened in Philippi's storm, 
 
 Selby looked thunderstruck with wild amaze, 
 
 But mortal eye could not abide the gaze. 
 
 He sunk, forestalled the agonies of death, 
 
 And on the ground suspended was his breath ; 
 
 His horn then sounds the melody of woe, 
 
 Some few sad notes that reach the issue's flow, 
 
 E're the seer's hand had checked his purpose bold ; 
 
 Such notes the furies whilsom did unfold. 
 
 When Plato gave to Proserpine his hand. 
 
 And love stood awed, nor dared his force withstand 
 
 The tyrant's force — we wait all frenzied o'er. 
 
 And Selby yet alive, as dead, deplore. 
 
 All this was horror, but how faint the view 
 To what too soon all real must ensue. 
 Shall I relate how sunk each noble name ? 
 Too well 'tis known in blasts of hideous fame ; 
 In prose 'tis written, and in verse 'tis strung, 
 And songs funereal the dire dirge have sung. 
 The ruined castle, and the prostrate hall, 
 The exile's wand'ring, and the hero's fall ;
 
 170 TALES OF THE ENGLISH LAKES. 
 
 Sons unattainted, sires suspicion haunts, 
 
 And childless sires their offsprinrr's exit taunts; 
 
 Where such is heard in lamentation's air, 
 
 And more sunk deep in silence of despair; 
 
 Feelings of family perpetual burn, 
 
 And tears incessant fill the nation's urn. 
 
 Such was the scene ere dire Culloden's plain 
 
 The northern ravens glutted with the slain ; 
 
 Nor rested then, for in the ebon car 
 
 The dire Erynnis of fell civil war 
 
 Held yoked her dark steeds from the fatal field, 
 
 A part succeeded reckless yet to yield, 
 
 "With colours flying, and the pibroch's sound, 
 
 As if they scorned the violated ground, 
 
 As venfjeance filled their bosoms fraught with ire, 
 
 As if they sought a respite to retire, 
 
 On adverse fortune scorned to waste their strength, 
 
 But thought calamity would reach its length ; 
 
 Then, to return — but nobler thoughts evince, 
 
 Convinced by reason they salute their Prince, 
 
 Convinced, revere the majesty of laws, 
 
 Nor wreck their fortunes in a desperate cause ; 
 
 'Tvvas thus each fought with still undaunted heart, 
 
 And each 'twas thought maintained the better part. 
 
 Now civil war has spent its savage rage. 
 
 Say, shall we now for anarchy engage '? 
 
 Exhaust all purpose of heaven-granted life, 
 
 For no one purpose but the love of strife. 
 
 Rather than that, let's seek the pristine Cain, 
 
 Or rather seek with Lamech's force to reign, 
 
 Lamech, than Cain, the seven times told more curs'd, 
 
 For even Cain was not j^et found the worst. 
 
 Then check this brutal rage, while yet there's power, 
 
 While yet the monster's something to devour ;
 
 THE SPECTRE ARMY. 171 
 
 While not by treason borne, to ruin hurled, 
 Stands in its frame the firm majestic world. 
 
 Another curious and interesting phenomenon was once 
 observed on Souter Fell, somewhat differing from that 
 already described, though probably resulting from the same 
 combined causes. " One summer evening, in the year 1743, 
 the servant of Mr. Wren, of Wilton Hall, was sitting at the 
 door with his master, when they both saw the figure of a 
 man with a dog, pursuing some horses along the mountain 
 side, a place so steep that a horse could scarcely keep his 
 footing upon it. These visionary forms appeared to run at 
 an amazing pace, till they got out of sight at the lower end 
 of the Fell. Mr. Wren and his servant next morning 
 ascended the steep mountain, expecting to find the man 
 dead, being persuaded he must be killed in galloping at so 
 furious a rate ; but to their surprise, they found not a shoe, 
 nor even any vestige whatever of man, dog, or horse."* 
 This story they sometime concealed ; at length, however, 
 they ventured to relate it, and were (as might be expected), 
 heartily laughed at. 
 
 Nearly allied to this is another atmospheric phenomenon, 
 occasionally seen among the mountains, though of rare 
 occurrence. It consists of an aerial figure, depicted on a 
 dense or misty atmosphere, not unfrequenth' assuming a 
 grotesque or highly magnified appearance. The same 
 phenomonen has been observed amongst the Scotch moun- 
 tains. Mr. Smith, M.P. for Norwich, witnessed it in ascend- 
 ing Ben Nevis. On the crown of that mountain there is a 
 crater-like hollow, in which was a misty vapour. In the 
 midst of this appeared a human figure in motion, Mr. 
 Smith held up his hands, and the figure did the same.f 
 
 This appearance is most rationally explained on the 
 principles of refraction and reflection, the shadowy form 
 
 * Clarke's Wonders of tlit World. 
 t Wilkinson's Tours to the, British Mountains, pp. 64, 65.
 
 172 TALES OF THE ENGLISH LAKES. 
 
 being no other than the image of a reality, favourably 
 posited with relation to the refracting medium and the 
 observer's eye. This man-in-the-mist was doubtless the 
 shadow of the real man, created by his coming between the 
 vapour and the sun ; yet perhaps the aerial beings that have 
 been said to people the Highland mountains, may be traced 
 to some such origin. 
 
 The appearance of the Spectre of the Broken, an aerial 
 figure which is sometimes seen amongst the Hartz mountains 
 of Hanover, may be accounted for in the same manner. The 
 following is an interesting account of this ])henomenon by 
 il. Hane : — " Having ascended the Broken Mountain," says 
 he, " for the thirtieth time, I was at length so fortunate as 
 to have the pleasure of seeing this phenomenon. The sun 
 rose about four o'clock, and the atmosphere being quite 
 serene towards the east, its rays could pass without any 
 obstruction over the Heinrichshohe mountain. In the south- 
 west, however, towards the mountain Achtermannshcihe, a 
 brisk west wind carried before it thin transparent vapours. 
 About a quarter-past four I looked round, to see whether 
 the atmosphere would permit me to have a free prospect to 
 the south-west, when I observed, at a very great distance 
 towards the Achtermannshohe, a human figure of a monstrous 
 size ! A violent gust of wind havinjj almost carried away 
 my hat, I clapped my hand to it: and in moving my arm 
 towards my head, the colossal figure did the same. 
 
 " The pleasure which I felt at this discovery can hardly 
 be described ; for I had already walked many a weary step 
 in the hope of seeing this shadowy image, without being 
 able to gratify my curiosity. I immediately made another 
 movement, by bending my body, and the colossal figure 
 before me repeated it. I was desirous of doing the same 
 thing once more, but my colossus had vanished. I remained 
 in the same position, waiting to see whether it would return ; 
 and in a few minutes it again made its appearance on the
 
 JOHN OLDLAND AND JAMES MUCKELT. 173 
 
 Achtermannshohe. I then called the landlord of the neigh- 
 bouring inn, and having both taken the position which I 
 had taken alone, we looked towards the Achtermannshohe, 
 but did not perceive anything. We had not, however, stood 
 lono-, when two such colossal figjures were formed over the 
 above eminence, which repeated their compliments, by bend- 
 ing their bodies as we did, after which they vanished. We 
 retained our position, kept our eyes fixed on the spot, and 
 in a little time the two figures again stood before us, and 
 were joined by a third," that of a traveller who then came 
 up and joined the party. " Every movement made by us 
 these figures imitated ; but with this difference, that the 
 phenomenon was sometimes weak and faint, sometimes 
 strong and well defined."* 
 
 HUSTIC POETS OF THE LAKE DISTRICT. 
 
 JOHN OLDLAND AND JAMIE MUCKELT. 
 
 fMONG the various traits of local character in the 
 English Lake district, there is not perhaps, one more 
 amusing than that propensity to rhyming which a 
 number of individuals has exhibited, in ail the 
 rustic orace of native icrnorance. A few instances of this 
 nature can only be admitted within the limited compass of 
 these pages , but they will not be without their interest to 
 those who feel a pleasure in tracing the unassisted efforts of 
 natural genius. 
 
 John Oldland was an inhabitant of Crosthwaite, existing 
 about the beginning of the last century. His propensity to 
 rhyming was such, that many of his rhymes, as they are 
 provincially called, are still repeated by the older inhabitants 
 
 * Clarke's Wo7ide7~s of the Worlil, pp. 434, 435. 
 M
 
 174 TALES OF THE ENGLISH LAKES. 
 
 of the neighbourhood. A few, and but a few of these 
 rhymes, we shall here insert. 
 
 When he attended Uiverston market, as he generally did, 
 he put up at the Dog, in Dalton Gate, then kept by Betty 
 Woodburn and her husband, though now gone and forgotten. 
 Audland, as he was called, was so much addicted to rhyming, 
 that he did it on all occasions with various success; the 
 following, though still remembered, is one of his clumsy 
 attempts : — Calling one Thursday at the public-house door 
 with some other farmers, the landlord replied in his politest 
 manner, " Coming, Sir." On which Audland, looking up at 
 the sign, observed : — 
 
 " This dog he runs wi' his tail to the south, 
 But co' on the landlord, an' he'll gi' mouth." 
 
 Once when his landlady, at the Dog, had urged him to 
 clear off a long score, which he had run up at the house, 
 he gave her the following promissory note, which was 
 accepted : — 
 
 " I, John Oldland, 
 
 Befoar I gang hence, 
 Owe Betty Woodburn 
 
 Just six and two pence. 
 An', Thursday come sennet, 
 
 I'll pay off the auld scoar, 
 An' wha knas but I may 
 
 Spend twice as mich moar," 
 
 The smartest of John's rhymes was made on the occasion 
 of his being put to trouble (as it is properly termed in the 
 provincial dialect) by a lawj'-er, for some debt which he had 
 incuri'ed at Uiverston ; a proof that not only poets, but all 
 who meddle with rhyme, are poor. John repeated with 
 emphasis —
 
 JOHN OLDLAND AND JAMES MUCKELT. 175 
 
 " God mead men, 
 
 An' men mead money ; 
 God mead bees. 
 
 An' bees mead honey ; 
 But the D — 1 mead lawyers an' tornies, 
 An' pleac'd 'em at U'ston and Daltan i' Forness." 
 
 We shall only have room to notice another of these 
 "rustic bards." He too was a Crosthwaite man, but of a 
 more recent date. We do not intend to insinuate that there 
 is any predisposing cause about Crosthwaites, that inclines 
 the inhabitants to rhyme, but it happens that we remember 
 these two at the present moment ; by an associa tion of 
 ideas, the one has probably conjured up the other. 
 
 Jamie Muckelt was undoubtedly the best rhymer in that 
 part of the country ; and, consequently his rhymes have 
 been more carefully preserved than those of any other. We 
 have room, however, for only a few specimens. 
 
 Jamie was a farmer; and once, returning from the 
 market he had overset, or, as he called it, capsized the cart. 
 His wife was angry, and eagerly inquired the cause of such 
 an accident. Jamie, with that sang froid for which he was 
 so remarkable, only replied, 
 
 " Caerlessly, thou may depend — 
 Pooin' away at t' helter end." 
 
 A common footpath led through a field in which Jamie 
 had a crop of pease one year. These held out a temptation, 
 Jamie considered, to passengers to be taking tithe in kind. 
 To prevent these depredations he fixed up a board, on 
 which he painted or chalked the following lines : — 
 
 " Pray ye, nebbers, dunnet pull ; 
 I'll gi' ye a pey-scode when they're full. 
 If ye it 'em when they're swash. 
 They'll fill yer belly full o' trash."
 
 176 TALES OF THE ENGLISH LAKES. 
 
 Muckelt happened once to be at the Punch Bowl in 
 Crostliwaite, in company with Dr. Bell. Jamie's rhj^ming 
 abilities were pretty well known, and perhaps sometimes a 
 little envied. Be that as it may, the Doctor challenged 
 Jamie to rhyme him for a wager. Jamie, without a 
 moment's study, produced the following stanza: — 
 
 " At your request, 
 I'll du me best ; 
 But ya' thing I implore — 
 If Dr. Bell 
 Can du as well, 
 To trouble me no more." 
 
 The Doctor acknowledged himself outdone, and paid his 
 forfeit. 
 
 Oa another occasion Jamie had staid at the Punch Bowl 
 till he was rather top-heavy, and fell into the fire and burnt 
 himself. The next day he went to the house to discharge 
 his bill, and gave them, in addition to their regular charge, 
 the following verse : — 
 
 " Tliear is some men, for want o' sense, 
 Will run ther sels to vast expense ; 
 An' I mesel, for want o' greace, 
 Fell into t' fire an' burnt me feace." 
 
 Meeting with a friend one day, in the shambles at 
 Kendal, he said, 
 
 " Come, nebber, let us join, 
 If thou'll buy t' leg I'll buy t' loin ; 
 If thou'll buy t' head I'll buy t' pluck ; 
 An' we'll hev a quart at t' Dog an' Duck." 
 
 Many other instances of this rhyming propensity, through 
 all the country, might be produced, would our limits 
 permit.
 
 THE HART'S-HORN TREE. 177 
 
 THE HART'S-HOEN TEEE. 
 
 A TKADITION OF PENRITH, 
 
 ^OUR miles from Penrith, near the road to Appleby, - 
 and in the district which, to tliis day, bears the name 
 of Whinfell Forest, there formerly stood a fine oak, 
 which bore the name of Hart's-Horn Tree, a name it 
 acquired from a tradition to this effect. In the time of the 
 first Robert de Clifford, about the year 1333, Edward Baliol, 
 King of Scotland, came into Westmorland, and staved some 
 time with that Lord, at his castles of Appleby, Brougham, 
 and Pendragon. During his visit they ran a stag by a 
 single greyhound, out of Whinfell Forest to Redkirke in 
 Scotland, and back again to the same place. Being both 
 spent, the stag leaped over the pales, and died there ; but the 
 greyhound attempting to leap, fell, and died on the opposite 
 side. As a memorial of this incident, the stag's horns were 
 nailed upon a tree just by; and the dog being named 
 Hercules, this couplet obtained currency amongst the 
 people — 
 
 '• Hercules kill'd Hart-a-grease,* 
 And Hart-a-grease killed Hercules." 
 
 " Then went they down into a lavmd. 
 These noble archers three ; 
 Eche of them slew a hart of greece, 
 The best that they could see." 
 
 Song of Adam Bell. 
 
 In course of time, it is stated, the horns became grafted, as 
 it were, upon the tree, by reason of its bark growing over 
 
 * Dr. Percy, in a note to the poem, a stanza of which is given below, 
 explains "heart o' grease," or "greece," to mean a fat animal, from the 
 French word graisse.
 
 178 TALES OF THE ENGLISH LAKES. 
 
 their root, and there they remained more than three cent- 
 uries, till, in the year 1G48, 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 Ann Clifford, in 
 her Diary, "there is no part thereof remaining, the tree 
 itself being so decayed, and the bark of it 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." 
 
 In another part of the same forest, which, like many other 
 forests in this country, as Skiddaw forest, Inglewood forest, 
 &c., has no trace of what it has been but the name, there 
 stood, a few yeai's ago, three enormous oak trees, known by 
 the name of the " Three Brothers." One of them measured 
 thirteen yards in girth. 
 
 THE QUAKEEESS BRIDE. 
 
 A TALE OF THE MOUNTAINS. 
 
 [HE moon shone full upon the dial of Saint Paul's, 
 and showed the hour-pointer far advanced towards 
 ^ midnight, as Edward Fletcher paused for a moment 
 to inquire the time, and then pursued his way 
 in deep and silent meditation. At an early age, by 
 the death of both his parents, he had been left to 
 the care of an unmarried uncle, who, after giving him 
 a good education, had placed him in a merchant's ofl&ce, 
 and had since enabled hira to become the principal of a 
 mercantile establishment. He had now been for two years 
 the master of a lucrativt^ and increasing business, and 
 being naturally of a social disposition, he began to court the
 
 THE QUAKERESS BRIDE. 179 
 
 company of those of his own rank. In this way he had 
 spent the evening, and, having accompanied some of his 
 fair companions to their homes, he was returning to his 
 own lodgings in a distant part of the metropolis. The 
 warm and genial influence of Society had called into action 
 the softer emotions of his heart, freed them from the icy 
 fetters which long and arduous attention to business had 
 thrown over them, and caused them again to burst forth 
 and to roll onward in an unbroken current, bearing his 
 thoughts to that far distant period, when, in the twilight of 
 memory, the forms of past events are dim and indistinctly 
 visible. 
 
 And he lingered on the recollection with a melancholy 
 pleasure, for it was the happiest period of his existence. 
 He was then the loved and caressed of parents who were 
 now no more. Those joyous days were passed among the 
 pleasant hills and valleys of Westmorland, and now he was 
 confined among the din and bustle of the city. He remem- 
 bered one fair girl, who was more than his playmate, with 
 whom " he roamed about the braes," pulling the cowslips or 
 the early violets ; or at evening sat under the shadow of a 
 spreading elm, telling her the stories which he had read 
 during the day, and listening to the little hymns which her 
 mother had taught her ; but of her he knew nothing — she 
 too, probably, was with the dead. 
 
 Then he thought of his school-days, with their mischievous 
 tricks and their active sports, and their hard lessons, and 
 the noble boys who were his comrades. Some of them, the 
 gentlest and the most beloved, were also gone to their rest ; 
 and the hardy, the active, and enterprising, were pursuing 
 their separate courses of adversity or success ; many, like 
 himself, were still bachelors, whilst others enjoyed the 
 delights of domestic felicity in the bosoms of their families. 
 This last subject was one on which he had often deeply 
 pondered. Arrived at that time of life, when the enthusiasm
 
 i8o TALES OF THE ENGLISH LAKES. 
 
 or youtli lias suUsided, before the indifference of age has 
 commenced, he had long felt the solitude of his orphan state; 
 he had been convinced that he did not move in the sphere 
 for which Providence had designed him. 
 
 He was alone, among strangers; he was exposed to the 
 thousand little discomforts which are inseparable from the 
 lot of him who has no place which he can feel to be a home. 
 He engaged in the duties of life without spirit or energy, 
 more in imitation of the example of others, than from any 
 heartfelt incitement to action. If prosperity smiled on him, 
 he viewed it with indifference, but the frowns of adversity 
 chilled and depressed him. He wished for some one to share 
 with him in the former, and, by participation, to render the 
 latter less irksome, instead of being compelled to feel the 
 whole weight of its gloom on his own mind, and to brood over 
 his misfortunes in cheerless solitude. His observation had 
 convinced him that man-iage alone would give full zest to joy, 
 and soften the stings of sorrow ; and now, his heart, softened 
 by the society which he had just left, and by his recollections 
 of former days, nourished and gradually matured the convic- 
 tion, till at length he firmly resolved to abjure the state, to 
 him miscalled, of " single-blessedness," 
 
 By this time he had reached his own door. He had 
 passed through one moon-lit street after another, occupied 
 with his own reflections, unheeding alike the artless laugh 
 of voice, the shout of the drunken reveller, and the noise 
 and tumult of the thronging crowd which poured from one 
 of the theatres. 
 
 " Yes," said he, " I'll marry." The rapper was in his 
 hand, and it fell with a heavy knock, as if sounding an 
 " Amen " to his recently-formed resolution. 
 
 He retired to his couch, but not to repose. His thoughts 
 continued to oppress and agitate him, and he tossed about 
 restless and sleepless. The hour of midnight, tolled from 
 the neighbouring belfry, had been succeeded by "the vree
 
 THE QUAKERESS BRIDE. i8i 
 
 short hours ayont the twal," gradually lengthening and 
 announcing the dawn of day, before he fell into a short and 
 broken slumber. When he arose he sought his counting- 
 house, but the time passed slowly and heavily on. He 
 spent the day in a state of abstraction, relieved only by a 
 conviction that it was his duty to exert himself more than 
 ever. He would relapse for a while into indolence, and 
 then, suddenly rousing from his stupor, recommence his 
 employment with renewed but short-lived energy ; and he 
 rejoiced when the approach of evening allowed him to 
 escape, and to accept the invitation of his friend, Charles 
 Manson, to walk with him in the Regent's Park. 
 
 Charles, who was some, years his junior, and was studying 
 for the medical profession, was a youth of sanguine temper- 
 ament — one of those who love to view thino;s on their brig-ht 
 side ; who sincerely enjoy the delights of life ; and who, if 
 they are visited by affliction, feel it deeply for a time, but 
 soon forget it. He was in high spirits. The fineness of 
 the weather, the number and gay appearance of the company 
 in the Park, and his relaxation from the labours of the day, 
 all tended to enliven him, and animated his converse. 
 Scarcely an equipage rolled by, or a horseman passed them, 
 without furnishing him with occasion for an approving or 
 satirical remark. Edward, however, seemed not to heed his 
 observations, or, if he noticed them at all, it was b}' a cold 
 nod, or a single syllable of assent. 
 
 He passed in silence the various natural and architectural 
 beauties of the place, on which he was accustomed to dilate. 
 The fine Doric portico, and massive grandeur of the 
 Colosseum, the splendid facade of Cumberland Place, the 
 innumerable curiosities of the Zoological Gardens, and the 
 rural loveliness of the wooded lake, were alike unheeded. 
 
 At length Charles stopped, and, looking his com])anion 
 attentively in the face, said to him, "Edward, thou art in 
 love."
 
 i82 TALES OF THE ENGLISH LAKES. 
 
 " In love," he replied, with a feeble laugh, " not I indeed, 
 what can have given thee such an idea ? " 
 
 " Thy remarkably grave deportment, moping abstraction, 
 and disregard for all that's worth seeing. Thou hast passed 
 unnoticed many of thy favourite subjects of remark; thou 
 hast allowed the most magnificent carriages, and some of 
 our greatest public characters, to pass thee unobserved, 
 coldly assenting to my words, or ' nodding thy head like a 
 mandarin ina tea-shop' — I am persuaded that thouart inlove." 
 
 "Well, Charles, 1 own that, though not yet in love, I 
 trust I soon shall be, and that my love will be consummated 
 by lasting union, I have long compared the delights of 
 marriage with the discomforts of the bachelor, and last 
 night, bringing my notions to a point, I came to the resolu- 
 tion to marry." 
 
 "Make no such rash resolve," said Charles, "but consider 
 the inconveniences as well as the comforts of matrimony. 
 For my own part, having given myself up to the pursuit of 
 study, 1 am satisfied that a wife would retard my progress. 
 It would be impossible for me to pay that undivided atten- 
 tion to my profession, w^hich my duty, not more than my 
 inclination demands. Few eminent men have been married. 
 The rule which prevents Roman Catholic clergymen from 
 being so, was doubtless the result of great experience and 
 deep conviction on the part of its framers, that it tended to 
 draw the thoughts from the functions of the sacerdotal 
 office. So study and celibacy for me ; or if I be married, 
 let my library be my bride." 
 
 " And a wife and happiness for me ! " replied Edward. 
 " What benefit is there in amassing a large store of know- 
 ledge, which may never be required, and at the same time 
 neglecting the enjoyment of female society, and despising 
 its aid as the minister of virtue. The reasons which induce 
 thee to continue single do not affect me, and, in fact, I 
 should rather seek a wife to incite me to great exertion.
 
 THE QUAKERESS BRIDE. 185 
 
 than merely continue in the spiritless pursuit of wealth or 
 knowledge." 
 
 " And what," asked Charles, " are the requisite qualities 
 of such a wife ? " ' 
 
 " She must," said Edward, " be a woman whose virtues 
 are the fruit of religious conviction; she must be modest 
 without affectation, and cheerful without boldness ; lovely 
 in person, and accomplished in mind." 
 
 " Let me try to guess who she is," said Charles ; and he 
 named some of their female acquaintance who, he thought, 
 best answered the description. 
 
 But no ! Edward's ideas of female excellence were so 
 refined, that none of these came up to the standard. Each 
 had some fault which might have passed unobserved by 
 others, but could not escape the discriminating eye of our 
 philosophic bachelor. 
 
 Lucy was " a blue stocking." She spent her time in the 
 study of foreign languages and abstruse sciences ; and her 
 mind, occupied in such recondite pursuits, could not be 
 expected to bend to the homely and unpretending duties of 
 a household. 
 
 Elizabeth was "a butterfly :" — a giddy, thoughtless child 
 of nature, content with the powers which nature had 
 bestowed, and regardless of cultivating and improving them ; 
 enjoj'ing the present, as though it comprised the whole 
 period of her existence, and as if there would be no future 
 which called for preparation. An imprudent woman was 
 unsuitable for a wife. 
 
 Emma was "an egotist." All her regard seemed to be 
 spent upon her own person. She was constantly admiring 
 herself in the mirror, arranging some irregularity in the fold 
 of her kerchief, or some un evenness in her sleeves, or trj'ing 
 some new posture to show her form to advantage : and she 
 who was filled with self-love would care little for the 
 happiness of her husband.
 
 i84 TALES OF THE ENGLISH LAKES. 
 
 Mary ran into the opposite extreme. He admired 
 simplicity, but he disliked negligence. Some part of her 
 dress was often in disorder ; a string was wantin^f in her 
 cap, or a lock of hair hung loosely over her forehead ; and 
 neatness was an indispensable requisite for the partner of 
 his life. 
 
 Jane was " a chatter-box ; " gay and volatile, her tongue 
 ran on in ceaseless prattle, without giving utterance to one 
 idea, the result either of observation or reflection. Her 
 words sounded prettily enough to the ear, but they left no 
 imjiression on the mind ; and thought and foresight ought 
 to belong to every one who might become the head of a 
 famil3^ 
 
 Judith was " a mere negation." She was, perhaps, blameless 
 in regard to the actual commission of offence, but she was 
 supine and indolent in virtuous exertion. If she did no 
 evil, she did little good. The course of her life was one 
 dead level, without rise and without depression. She acted 
 so as to save appearances with the world ; but her heart 
 was a stranger to every generous impulse, her hand was 
 seldom stretched out in active benevolence, and her mind 
 was ignorant of the practical operation of religion and piety. 
 He looked to marriage for a stimulus to renewed exertion, 
 but he could expect no aid from one so listless and 
 apathetic. 
 
 " Most exact of men ! " exclaimed Charles, " thy conduct 
 is a perfect anomaly. Attempting to reason on the most 
 illogical of all passions — laying down a proposition that 
 thou wilt marry, before falling in love, and finding fault 
 with those of the fair sex, who are admired and followed, 
 even by those who never wish to be lovers. Throw off 
 this fastidiousness ; or, depend upon it, that it will be long 
 before thou art a husband, and before I am left alone in the 
 ranks of celibacy." 
 
 They parted — but the feeling daily increased and became
 
 THE QUAKERESS BRIDE. 185 
 
 stronger in the mind of Edward. He sought societ}^ more 
 ea.gerly than ever ; but though he felt a transient gratifica- 
 tion in its variety, he found, in the retrospect, nothing but 
 disappointment. He met with none on whom he could 
 centre his affections. Each had some fault which rendered 
 her unfit for a wife. He met with many whom he admired, 
 many whom he could respect as friends, but none 
 whom he could love with that fervour and singleness of 
 heart which he considered due to her whom he should make 
 his own. And yet he saw his companions select their 
 partners, and live apparently in married felicity. Even the 
 fair ones whom he had so severely criticised and censured, 
 were respectively united to admiring and joyous husbands. 
 Yet in vain did he seek for some pure, spotless being, who 
 might realize his opinion of the feminine character ; love 
 seemed to be a tempting fruit hung beyond his reach. He 
 began to doubt whether he was not differently constituted 
 from the generality of his species, and incapable of their 
 susceptibilities ; yet when he thought of his early aflfections 
 to his parents and the fair companion of his youth, and 
 when he referred to the feelings that even now burned in 
 his bosom, he was convinced that he only wanted the 
 opportunity to prove himself possessed of the finest sym- 
 pathies of humanity. 
 
 It was midsummer: the fashionable part of the com- 
 munity had lift London for their seats in the country, 
 and Edward, tired of its suffocating heat, its forsaken 
 squares, and desolate streets, resolved also to leave it, and 
 revisit, for the first time since his boyhood, the beautiful 
 scenery of his native Westmorland. 
 
 He took the coach to Kendal, and there left it ; preferring 
 to proceed on foot, as allowing him greater liberty in choos- 
 ing his route, and in diverging from the high roads when 
 interest or curiosity might prompt him to wander. For a 
 week he rambled through the most picturesque districts of
 
 i86 TALES OF THE ENGLISH LAKES. 
 
 the country, climbing its hills, while the exercise and the 
 bracing air improved his health ; rowing on its lakes, and 
 treading its flowery meads, which spoke of peace and com- 
 fort to his mind ; or gazing on its waterfalls till his sorrow 
 and disquiet were forgotten in the contemplation. But 
 what were his feelings as he approached the place of his 
 nativity? He stole up the narrow lane that led to it from 
 the main road, and cautiously drew near. He thought that 
 the little croft behind was strangely diminished in size, and 
 that the house had an altered and more homely appearance 
 than he expected ; yet over the arch-way were the initials 
 of his parents' names, '"R. & S. F., 1795." 
 
 He looked through the garden-gate, and at the well- 
 known door sat the mistress of the house, employed with 
 needlework, whilst a young child gambolled along the 
 walks. How often had his mother sat there, occupied in 
 the same manner, and smiled on his infant frolics ! He 
 found that his parents were forgotten, and the names of the 
 neighbours were strange to him ; even the heavy-clogged 
 hind, of whom he made the inquiry, who was homeward 
 " dragging his weary way," eyed him, as if half-suspicious 
 of some sinister intention. Amid all his distress, he had 
 been accustomed to reflect on that place, and on the early 
 days he had spent there, with feelings of pleasure : when 
 the clouds gathered blackest around him, he remembered 
 them as a gleam of sunshine in his existence, which, overcast 
 as it had been, might yet dispel the shades, and shed its 
 bright glory over the evening of his days. And thus to be 
 awakened to the sad reality, to find himself unknown on 
 the threshold of his father's house, an alien in the place of 
 his birth ; to seek in vain for the friends of his youth ; to 
 feel that he was alone in the world, and must buffet with it 
 single-handed ; to find his last remaining solace depart, and 
 thus to become fully aware of the solitariness of his situation 
 — convinced him alike that he had drawn an overcharcred
 
 THE QUAKERESS BRIDE. 187 
 
 picture of the past, and that doubt and uncertainty apper- 
 tained to the future — 
 
 " He turned and left the spot ; 
 
 Ah, do not deem him weak, 
 For dauntless was that youthful heart, 
 
 Though a tear was on his cheek." 
 He pursued his journey; and, on the morrow, after a long 
 ramble across the hills, reached a small and secluded villao-e, 
 where he thought to remain for a day or two. After he had 
 dined, he went out to enjoy the fine views which its vicinity 
 afforded. The road lay along the side of a hill which, on 
 the one hand, was covered with heather, interspersed witii 
 large stones, whose grey and wrinkled fronts looked out 
 from the purple blossoms dancing in the breeze, like age 
 surveying the pastimes of youth ; and, on the other, was 
 bordered by trees, whose light waving branches gave an 
 occasional glimpse of the lake beyond them. A small 
 avenue opening it to the view, and offering a smooth baiik 
 for his seat, he lay down to repose. The green boughs 
 overhead shaded him from the rays of the sun ; before him , 
 in the distance, were some of Westmorland's loftiest hills, 
 standing boldly out in the clear blue sky, heathery-clad at 
 their tops, but, at their base, j^ellow with waving corn, green 
 with luxuriant pastures, or dark with extensive woods ; 
 whence rose the smoke of the peasant's cot, the spire of a 
 village church, or the bold front of some magnificent mansion; 
 while, immediately before him, the lake spread its expanse 
 of beauty, its waters calm as a mirror, or curled by the 
 breeze into mimic and noiseless wavelets. A boat moved 
 slowly from behind one of the islands, rowed by one whose 
 dress showed him to be no professed sailor, and in the pause 
 between the grating of the oars on its side, and their splash- 
 ing in the water, the sound of a soft voice came in song 
 from a lady sitting at the stern. This " touched the string 
 on which huno; all his sorrows."
 
 i8S TALES OF THE ENGLISH LAKES. 
 
 " And is there not," said he — " is there not some being 
 like that for me ; is there none on earth to whom I may 
 speak of love ? Am I, alone, of all my race doomed to drag 
 on a long nnd weary life, a solitary, friendless creature ? I 
 have formed my notions of excellence at an elevation to 
 which human nature does not attain ; I will banish these 
 vnin ideas; lower my scale of excellence, as to the external 
 and less important parts of personal character, and return 
 into the world, determined to be pleased, to imitate the 
 example of my fellowmen, and, like them, to be happy." 
 
 He was roused by a voice near him, and, on turning, he 
 perceived a mendicant asking alms of a young plainly- 
 dressed lady. He arose from his recumbent posture, and, 
 for the first time, attracted her attention. She gave but 
 one enquiring glance, blushed deeply, slipped the money 
 hurriedly into the extended palm, and went on her way, 
 followed by the benedictions of the grateful sufferer. 
 
 By that mysterious principle, that sort of mental magnet- 
 ism, existing in every bosom, by which we are instantly 
 and unaccounably attracted to one whom we have never 
 seen before, but whom we feel an irresistible desire often to 
 meet — a feeling which time or distance may perhaps 
 diminish, but which nothing but death can extinguish — 
 Edward felt, as he returned to his inn, determined, if it 
 were possible, to have an interview with the fair stranger. 
 Often did she pass before him in the visions of the night ^ 
 often was his sleep broken by his dreams, but they were 
 dreams of happiness and joy. 
 
 The Sabbath morn called him to seek the meeting-house 
 of his sect, which was situate at a short distance from the 
 village. There it stood, with its gray walls and flagged 
 roof — its bright small-paned windows, and weather-beaten 
 door and shutters ; its shade of arching lime-trees, and its 
 green grave-j'ard, surrounded by a low wall and an humble 
 wicket, on which the peasant might lean and moralise; for
 
 THE QUAKERESS BRIDE. 189 
 
 the dread of desecration which encircles the burial places in 
 cities with palisadoes and chevaux-de-frise had not reached 
 the inhabitants of that peaceful land. Its interior corres- 
 ponded with the neatness and simplicity of its outward 
 appearances. The walls seemed to have been recently 
 white-washed, and the sand on the floor cracked beneath 
 his tread, as he sought a seat on one of the old oaken forms. 
 
 Few were the assembled worshippers. An aged man, 
 dressed in the good old-fashioned drab coat, and three-decked 
 hat, from beneath which hung a few locks of reverend gray, 
 sat under the gallery, resting upon his staff; beneath him 
 was a stout, hale man, of the middle age, whose features 
 bespoke him to be his son, and whose wife was sitting on 
 the adjoining form. The seat parallel to that on which 
 Edward sat, contained some young women, whose features 
 he could not discern ; and several, whose dress showed them 
 to be servants, or not connected with the body, were scat- 
 tered about on the back benches. But though small was the 
 assembly, and humble the place of gathering, whether it 
 arose from the quiet that reigned around, the eifect of the 
 past week's journey, or the events connected with it, never 
 did Edward feel more of the pure spirit of devotion, never 
 did he retire from a house of worship more strengthened and 
 refreshed in spirit. 
 
 At the close of the meeting, the old friend kindly shook 
 him by the hand, and invited him to his house. Pleased 
 with his venerable appearance, and wishing to become 
 further acquainted with him, Edward accepted the invitation. 
 
 "Come," said the ancient, "thou's stronger nor me, let 
 me lean on thy airm ; " and, thus supported on the one hand, 
 and with his stick in the other, they walked at a slow pace 
 through two or three fields, and then found them.-^elves at 
 his door. His house was of brick, overgrown in the front 
 with large pear-trees, whose dark foliage strongly contrasted 
 with the clean white windows, A small plot before it,
 
 I90 TALES OF THE ENGLISH LAKES. 
 
 defended by a green paling, was filled with pinks, roses, 
 campanidas, and other summer flowers ; at the one end 
 a large, well-stocked orchard extended down the hill-side 
 beyond which, in the distance, were seen the blue waters of 
 the lake; and, at the other, was the farm-yard, with its 
 various out-buildings, its herds of lowing cattle, and troops 
 of poultry. The old man introduced his son, who had 
 arrived before them, by the name of James Summers, and 
 then turning to E'lward, said, "but as I don't knaw tha 
 name, I can only half perform my duty." 
 
 " My name," he said " is Edward Fletcher." 
 
 " From thy dialect," said the son, " I suppose thou art 
 from London." 
 
 " Yes, I live there at present, but I was born at Rockgill, 
 about twelve miles to the west of this place." 
 
 "What!" inquired the son, "was thy father's name 
 Richard Fletcher ? " 
 
 " It was," Edward replied, " but he has been long dead." 
 
 "I know he has; he was an intimate friend of ours; in 
 fact we were his next neighbours, till the advanced age and 
 increasing infirmities of my father, rendered it necessary for 
 me to assist in the management of his farm. I am heartily 
 glad to see thee ; thou must protract thy stay with us, for 
 we have been too long separated to part soon." 
 
 " Ay," added his wife, " many a time have I dandled thee 
 on my knee when a child, and Eliza and thou used to 
 wander about together from morning till night." 
 
 " What's getten them ? " asked the old man, " they are 
 langer nor common in comin' in." 
 
 As he spoke the door opened, and the sisters entered the 
 room. 
 
 " Why," said the old u\an, " 3"e ran ofi" to-day, and didn't 
 come an' help me hame as ye used to do ! " 
 
 " O ! grandfather," said Eliza, " we saw thou wast too 
 well assisted to need our aid."
 
 THE QUAKERESS BRIDE. 191 
 
 ''Ay, andwha think ye my helper was? — naebody else 
 but Edward Fletcher, that used to play wi' thee when ye 
 were bairns, and that thou sae often talks aboot." 
 
 Edward observed her blush deeply at this remark. He 
 had at once recognized her as the lady who had yesterday 
 crossed his path, and as he now accosted her, he felt all his 
 prepossessions in her favour incalculably increased. Her 
 personal appearance was very pleasing. She was rather 
 tall. Her form was slender and graceful, and her complexion 
 exceedingly fair. Her chestnut hair was parted on her 
 forehead, a few stray tresses escaped from the border of her 
 cap, and her light blue eyes sparkled with innocent cheerful- 
 ness and unobtrusive benevolence. Her sister, a few years 
 younger, was also a lovely girl, but her form and features 
 were less fully developed. 
 
 Placed on this footing, Edward soon felt himself at home, 
 and was delighted with the family into whose society he 
 had fallen; but his observation was chiefly directed to the 
 elder daughter. The more he saw, and the more he conversed 
 with her, the more strongly did she rivet his affections. 
 He found her possessed of a naturally strong, and highly- 
 cultivated mind, stored with knowledge of the most useful 
 kind ; with a sweet and gentle disposition, and with a heart 
 in which religion and virtue held supreme place. As ho 
 conversed with her, and found that her language breathed 
 of an intellectual and religious spirit, he thought that in 
 her were gathered all the qualities which he had so long 
 sought for in vain. But it was not till the cool of the day, 
 when they walked together by the lake, that he became 
 fully aware of the change which the events of the last 
 twenty-four hours had wrought upon him. 
 
 He was with her, whose mere glance had spoken to his 
 inmost heart; her who was the playmate of his infancy — 
 the only human being, except his parents, to whom he had 
 ever looked with a hififher feelino; than that of esteem : he
 
 192 TALES OF THE ENGLISH LAKES. 
 
 found that his first impression was increased by future 
 acquaintance ; that her features feebly shadowed forth her 
 mental excellence, her modesty, good sense, and religious 
 feeling; — he was with her in his native land at the clope of 
 that day, when, if the mind may be allowed to dwell upon 
 any earthly feeling, it is upon that of honourable youthful 
 love, the most purified of mortal passions. They talked of 
 the joj's of former days, of the many little incidents which 
 formed the chain of remembrance of their past pleasure, of 
 the mutual thouo-hts of each other which had lingered in 
 their bosoms ; and before the expiration of Edward's sojourn 
 the foundation was laid of a Lonnection which might only 
 terminate with life. 
 
 He returned to the metropolis an altered man. His 
 gloom and abstraction had vanished, and he pursued his 
 vocation with redoubled assiduity. But still his heart was 
 absent in "the north countrie," and many a journey did he 
 take thither, no longer to admire the beauty of its scenery, 
 but to indulge himself with the company of her, whose lot 
 in after life was to be bound up with his own. She accepted 
 the offer of his hand ; the consent of her parents was asked 
 and received, the requisite formalities gone through, and 
 the necessary arrangements completed, when he asked his 
 friend Charles to accompany him to his marriage. After 
 some demur, on account of the pressing nature of his 
 studies, and the difference of opinion between them as to 
 the propriety of the step, Charles consented to go with him. 
 
 When they arrived at the house, they were of course 
 warmly welcomed. The morrow was appointed for the 
 wedding, and, as many relatives had been invited from 
 distant parts, great preparations were making for their 
 accommodation. Eliza seized the opportunity of stealing 
 away, unobserved, once more to visit her chosen walks 
 and favourite seats, and to bid adieu to the scenes where 
 she had spent the blissful days of youth. When she
 
 THE QUAKERESS BRIDE. 193 
 
 returned, she retired to her room, and having thrown off 
 her bonnet and gloves, she pondered on the circumstances 
 of her present situation. She was about to leave a peaceful 
 home, tender parents, and affectionate friends; but to- 
 morrow she would be a bride : she would gain one who 
 was more to her than all these, who would cherish and 
 protect her; and the tear that trickled adown her cheek, 
 was gilded by the beam of a pure and subdued love. Then, 
 turning her thoughts to Him who made, and had preserved 
 her, she uttered a sincere and fervent prayer for his con- 
 tinued mercy and protection. 
 
 Never, perhaps, was the old meeting-house so filled as on 
 the morning of the marriage. Besides the procession of 
 friends and relatives from the house, the neighbours had 
 gathered from far and near to witness the nuptial ceremony 
 of one who was universally respected and beloved: and though 
 there were none of those signs of outward show by which 
 vsach occasions are commonly distinguished, though there 
 was no firing of cannon, no ringing of bells, no flying of 
 flags, yet it was not less a union of two faithful hearts, nor 
 did their vow of " affection until death " sound less solemnly 
 and impressively on the ears of the hushed assembly. 
 
 O not in the halls of the noble and proud, « 
 
 Where fashion assembles her glittering crowd. 
 
 Where all is in beauty and splendour array'd. 
 
 Were the nuptials perform 'd of the meek Quaker maid. 
 
 Nor yet in the temple those rites which she took, 
 By the altar, the mitre-crown'd bishop, and book : 
 Where oft in bright jewels doth stand the fair bride, 
 To whisper those vows which through life shall abide. 
 
 The building was humble yet sacred to Him, 
 Before whom the pomp of religion is dim ; 
 Whose presence is not to the temple confin'd, 
 But dwells with the contrite and lowly of mind.
 
 194 TALES OF THE ENGLISH LAKES. 
 
 'Twas tliere, all unveil'd, save by modesty stood 
 'J'he Quakeress Bride, in her pure satin hood, 
 Her charms unadorn'd by the garland or gem, 
 Yet fair as the lily just plucked from the stem. 
 
 A tear glisten'd bright in her dark shaded eye, 
 And her bosom half utter'd a tremulous sigh, 
 As the hand she had pledged was confidingly given. 
 And the low murmured accents recorded in heaven. 
 
 I've been at the bridal where wealth spread the board. 
 Where the sparkling red wine in rich goblets was pour'd : 
 Where the priest in his surplice from ritual read, 
 And the solemn response was impressively said. 
 
 I've seen the fond sire, in his thin locks of gray, 
 Uive the pride of his heart to the bridegroom away ; 
 While he brush'd the big tear from his deep-furrowed cheek. 
 And bow'd the assent which his lips might not speak. 
 
 But in all the array, of the costlier scene, 
 
 Nought seem'd in my eye so sincere in its mien ; 
 
 No language so fully the heart to resign, 
 
 As the Quakeress Bride's, " Until death I am thine ! " 
 
 Edward found in wedlock all the happiness of which he 
 was in quest ; nay, in his relation of a husband and a 
 parent, he partook of manj^ a heartfelt joy, and many a dear 
 and tender feeling, which, in his days of speculative 
 bachelorhood, he was not able to anticipate. No longer a 
 dweller among strangers, living in the cold and cheerless 
 atmosphere of a hired lodging, and meeting only from the 
 other inmates of the house with that common-place regard 
 which exists between those who have little community of 
 feeling, he was happy in the delights of his home, in the 
 smiles of his child, in the warm affection of his loved and 
 lovely wife. He no longer sought the company of others as 
 a relief from his cares ; he found an enchaining attraction to
 
 THE QUAKERESS BRIDE. 195 
 
 his own fireside. No longer neglectful, or indifferent to the 
 result of his mercantile engagements, he entered upon them 
 with increased ardour, not with the base and grovelling 
 view of amassing unprofitable wealth, but as an honourable 
 employment, affording him the means of suppoi'ting those 
 who are dependent upon him, and of relieving the distresses 
 of his fellow-creatures. 
 
 In difficulty, his wife was a constant, judicious adviser. 
 She endeavoured to mitigate his afflictions, she attended 
 him with unremitting care in sickness, she heightened his 
 joys, and alleviated his sorrows. Her intellectual endow- 
 ments qualified her to be his companion in study, and she 
 trod with him the humbler walks of literature and science. 
 Her mild and amiable disposition softened every harsh and 
 unkind feeling of his heart, while her piety assisted him in 
 endeavouring to perform those high and holy duties which 
 man owes to his Maker. No longer ill at ease with himself 
 or the world, he became a useful member of the great human 
 family, desirous of fulfilling his allotted part, by engaging 
 actively in schemes of philanthropy, and in the exercise of 
 a pure, unostentatious benevolence. 
 
 So apparent, indeed, was his happiness, that it was soon 
 rumoured even of Charles Mauson, that, having become a 
 convert to his opinions, and being convinced that domestic 
 life is the surest source of present happiness, and a genial 
 nursery of those qualities which fit us for future felicity, 
 had taken more than one trip among the green hills of 
 Westmorland, in quest of a companion for life. 
 
 My tale is simple, but so are truth, and virtue, and 
 happiness ; and to enforce this moral is the purpose of my 
 story. I might have filled my canvas with the brilliant 
 colours and iris tints of romance and fiction ; but the eye of 
 the spectator would have been dazzled, and he would have 
 found nothing on which to rest his gaze : the chaste and 
 sober hues of truth alone are healthful to the mental sight.
 
 196 TALES OF THE ENGLISH LAKES. 
 
 If in this humble colouring I have so traced the picture cf 
 Edward and Eliza, as to show that marriage is one of the 
 first of blessings, and that its joys, though removed from 
 the superficial and fastidious, may yet be attained by the 
 simple and sincere; if I have at all shown what are the 
 qualities to be sought for in a virtuous wife, and how, and 
 where they may be found ; if thus my humble page shall 
 have shed a beam of hope over the desponding and the 
 solitary, its object will be attained. 
 
 "Domestic happiness! thou only bliss 
 Of paradise, that has survived the fall ! 
 Though few now taste thee unimpaired and pure. 
 Or tasting, long enjoy thee; too infirm, 
 Or too incautious, to preserve thy sweets 
 Unmixed with drops of bitter, which neglect 
 Or temper sheds into thy crystal cup ; 
 Thou art the nurse of virtue ; in thine arms 
 She smiles appearing as in truth she is, 
 Heaven-born, and destined to the skies again. 
 Thou art not known where pleasure is adored, 
 That reeling goddess with the zoneless waist. 
 And wandering eyes, still leaning on the arm 
 Of novelty, her fickle, frail support. 
 For thou art meek and constant, hating change, 
 And finding, in the calm of truth-tried love, 
 Joys that her stormy raptures never yield."
 
 THE BEAUTY OF BUTTERMERE. 197 
 THE BEAUTY OF BUTTERMERE; 
 
 OR, TRAGEDY IN REAL LIFE. 
 
 fOHN HATFIELD, who acquired the appellation of the 
 Keswick Impostor, and whose extraordinary villany 
 excited universal hatred, was born in 1759, at Mortrain, 
 in Cheshire, of low parentage, but possessing great 
 natural abilities. His face was handsome, his person 
 genteel, his ej^es blue, and his complexion fair. 
 
 After some domestic depredations — for in his early days 
 he betrayed an iniquitous disposition — he quitted his family, 
 and was employed as traveller to a linen-draper in the north 
 of England. In the course of this service, he became 
 acquainted with a young woman, who was nursed, and 
 resided at a farmer's house in the neighbourhood of his 
 employer. She had been, in her earlier life, taught to 
 consider the people with whom she lived as her parents. 
 Remote from the gaieties and follies of polished life, she 
 was unacquainted with the allurements of fashion, and 
 considered her domestic duties as the only object of her 
 consideration. When this deserving girl had arrived at a 
 certain age, the honest farmer explained to her the secret of 
 her birth; he told her, that, notwithstanding she had always 
 considered him as her parent, he was, in fact, only her poor 
 guardian ; and that she was the natural daughter of Lord 
 Robert Manners, who intended to give her £1000, provided 
 she married with his approbation. 
 
 This discovery soon reached the ears of Hatfield ; ho 
 immediately paid his respects at the farmer's, and having 
 represented himself as a young man of considerable expecta- 
 tions in the wholesale linen business, his visits were not 
 discountenanced. The farmer, however, thought it incum- 
 bent on him to acquaint his lordship with a proposal made
 
 198 TALES OF THE ENGLISH LAKES. 
 
 to him by Hatfield, that he would marry the young woman, 
 if her relations were satisfied with their union, but on no 
 other terms. This had so much the appearance of an 
 honourable and prudent intention, that his lordship, on 
 being made acquainted with the circumstances, desired to 
 see the lover. He accordingly paid his respects to the 
 noble and unsuspecting parent, who, conceiving the young 
 man to be what he represented himself, gave his consent at 
 the first interview ; and, the day after the marriage took 
 place, presented the bridegroom with a draft on his banker 
 for £1,500. This took place about 1771 or 1772. 
 
 Shortly after the receipt of his lordship's bounty, Hatfield 
 set off for London ; hired a small phfeton ; was perpetually 
 at the coflfee-houses in Covent Garden ; described himself to 
 whatever company he chanced to meet, as a near relation 
 of the Rutland family ; vaunted of his parks and hounds ; 
 but as great liars have seldom good memories, he so varied 
 in his descriptive figures, that he acquired the appellation 
 of Lying Hatfield. 
 
 The marriage portion now exhausted, he retreated from 
 London, and was scarcely heard of for about ten years, when 
 he again visited the metropolis, having left his wife, with 
 three daughters, to depend on the precarious charity of her 
 relations. Happily she did not long survive ; and the 
 author of her calamities, during his stay in London, soon 
 experienced calamity himself, having been arrested, and 
 committed to King's Bench prison, for a debt amounting to 
 the sum of £160. Several unfortunate gentlemen, then 
 confined in the same place, had been of his parties when he 
 flourished in Covent Garden, and perceiving him in great 
 poverty, frequently invited him to dinner ; yet such was 
 his unaccountable disposition, that notwithstanding he knew 
 there were people present who were thoroughly acquainted 
 with his character, still he would continue to describe his 
 Yorkshire park, his estate in Rutlandshire, settled upon
 
 THE BEAUTY OF BUTTERMERE. 199 
 
 his wife, and generally wind up the whole with observing 
 how vexatious it was to be confined at the suit of a paltry 
 tradesman for so insignificant a sum, at the very moment 
 when he had thirty men employed in cutting a piece of 
 water near the family mansion in Yorkshire. 
 
 At the time Hatfield became a prisoner in the King's 
 Bench, the unfortunate Yalentine Morris, formerly governor 
 of St. Vincent's, was confined in the same place. This 
 gentleman was frequently visited by a clergyman of the 
 most benevolent and humane disposition. Hatfield soon 
 directed his attention to this good man, and one day , 
 earnestly invited to attend him to his chamber ; after some 
 preliminary apologies, he implored the worthy pastor never 
 to disclose what he was Ejoino- to communicate. The divine 
 assured him the whole should remain in his bosom. "Then," 
 said Hatfield, " j^ou see before you a man nearly allied to 
 the house of Rutland, and possessed of estates (here followed 
 the old story of the Yorkshire park, the Rutlandshire 
 property, &c., &c.,) ; yet notwithstanding all this wealth, 
 continued he, I am detained in this wretched place for the 
 insignificant sum of £160. But the truth is, Sir, I would 
 not have my situation known to any man in the world but 
 my worthy relative, his Grace of Rutland. Indeed, I would 
 rather remain a captive for ever. If you would have the 
 goodness to pay your respects to this worthy nobleman, and 
 franklv describe how matters are, he will at once send me 
 the money by you ; and this mighty business will not only 
 be instantly settled, but I shall have the satisfaction of 
 introducing you to a connection which may be attended 
 with happy consequences." 
 
 The honest clergyman readily undertook the commis- 
 sion; paid his respects to the Duke, and pathetically 
 described the unfortunate situation of his amiable relative. 
 His Grace of Rutland, not recollecting at the moment such 
 a name as Hatfield, expressed his astonishment at the
 
 200 TALES OF THE ENGLISH LAKES. 
 
 application. This reduced the worthy divine to a very 
 awkward situation, and he faltered in his speech, when he 
 began making an apology ; which the Duke perceiving, he 
 very kindly observed, that he believed the whole was some 
 idle tale of an impostor, for that he never knew any person 
 of the name mentioned, although he had some faint re- 
 collection of hearing Lord Robert Manners, his relation, say 
 that he had married a natural daughter of his to a trades- 
 man in the north of England, and whose name he believed 
 was Hatfield. 
 
 The Reverend was so confounded that he immediately 
 retired and proceeded to the prison, where he gave the 
 impostor, in the presence of Mr. Morris, a most severe 
 lecture. But the appearance of this venerable man, as his 
 friend, had the efiect which Hatfield expected ; for the 
 Duke sent to inquire if he was the man that married the 
 natural daughter of Lord Robert Manners, and, being 
 satisfied as to the fact, despatched a messenger with £200, 
 and had him released. 
 
 In I78i, his Grace of Rutland was appointed Lord 
 Lieutenant of Ireland; and shortly after his arrival in 
 Dublin, Hatfield made his appearance in that city. He 
 immediately, on his landing, engaged a suite of rooms 
 at a hotel in College Green, and represented himself 
 as nearly allied to the Viceroy, but that he could not 
 appear at the castle until his horses, servants, and carriages 
 were arrived, which he ordered, before leaviug England, 
 to be shipped at Liverpool. The easy and familiar 
 manner in which he addressed the master of the hotel, 
 perfectly satisfied him that he had a man of consequence 
 in his house, and matters were arranged accordingly. This 
 being adjusted, Hatfield soon found his way to Lucas's 
 cofiee-house, a place which people of a certain rank 
 generally frequent; and, it being a new scene, the Yorkshire 
 park, the Rutlandshire estate, and the connection with
 
 THE BEAUTY OF BUTTERMERE. 201 
 
 the Rutland family, stood then' ground very well for about 
 a month. 
 
 At the exph'ation of this time, the hill at the hotel 
 amounted to £60 and upwards. The landlord became 
 importunate, and after expressing his astonishment at the 
 non-arrival of Mr. Hatfield's domestics, etc , requested he 
 might be permitted to send in his bill. This did not in the 
 least confuse Hatfield ; he immediately told the master of 
 the hotel, that very unfortunately his agent, who received 
 the rents of his estates in the north of England, was then 
 in Ireland, and held a public employment ; he lamented 
 that his agent was not then in Dublin, but he had the 
 pleasure to know his stay in the country would not 
 exceed three days. This satisfied the landlord ; and at the 
 expiration of the three days, he called upon the gentleman 
 whose name Hatfield had given him, and presented the 
 account. Here followed another scene of confusion and 
 surprise. The supposed agent of the Yorkshire estate very 
 frankly told the man who delivered the bill, that he had 
 no other knowledge of the person who sent him than what 
 common report furnished him with, that his general 
 character in London was that of a romantic simpleton whose 
 plausibilities had imposed on several people, and plunged 
 himself into repeated difliculties. 
 
 The landlord retired, highly thankful for the information, 
 and immediately arrested his guest who was lodged in 
 the prison of the Marshalsea. Hatfield had scarcely 
 seated himself in his new lodgings, when he visited the 
 jailor's wife in her apartment, and in a whisper, requested 
 of her not to tell any person that she had in her custody a 
 near relation of the then Yiceroy. The woman, astonished 
 at the discovery, immediately showed him into the best 
 apartment in the prison, had a table provided, and she, her 
 husband, and Hatfield, constantly dined together, for nearly 
 three weeks, in the utmost harmony and good humour.
 
 202 TALES OF THE ENGLISH LAKES. 
 
 Dining this time he had petitioned the Duke for another 
 supply, who, apprehensive that the fellow might continue 
 his impositions in Dublin, released him, on condition of his 
 immediately quitting Ireland ; and his grace sent a servant, 
 who conducted him on board the packet that sailed the next 
 tide for Holyhead. 
 
 In 1792, he came to Scarbro', introduced himself to the 
 acquaintance of several persons of distinction in that neigh- 
 bourhood, and insinuated that he was, by the interest of the 
 Duke of Rutland, soon to be one of the representatives in 
 parliament for the town of Scarbro'. After several weeks' 
 stay at the principal inn, his imposture was detected by his 
 inability to pay the bill. Soon after his arrival in London, 
 he was arrested for this debt, and thrown into prison. He 
 had been eight years and a half in confinement, when a 
 Miss Nation, of Devonshire, to whom he had become known, 
 paid his debts, took him from prison, and gave him her hand 
 in mai'riage. 
 
 Suon after he was liberated, he had the good fortune to 
 prevail with some highly respectable merchants in Devon- 
 shire to take him into partnership with them ; and, with a 
 clero-yman to accept his drafts to a large amount. He made 
 upon this foundation a splendid appearance in London ; 
 and, before the general election, even proceeded to canvass 
 the rotten burgh of Queenborough. Suspicions in the 
 meantime arose, in regard to his character, and the state of 
 his fortune. He retired from the indignation of his 
 creditors, and was declared a bankrupt, in order to bring 
 his villanies to light. Thus, having left behind his 
 second wife and two infant children at Tiverton, he visited 
 other places ; and, at length, in July, 1802, arrived at the 
 Queen's Head in Keswick, in a handsome travelling carriage, 
 but without any servant, where he assumed the name of the 
 Hon, Alexander Augustus Hope, brother of the Earl of 
 Hopetoun, M.P., for Linlithgow.
 
 THE BEAUTY OF BUTTERMERE. 203 
 
 From Keswick, as his head-quarters, he made excursions 
 in every direction amongst the neighbouring valleys ; meet- 
 ing, generally, a good deal of respect and attention, partly 
 on account of his handsome equipage, and still more from 
 his visiting cards, which designated him as " the Honourable 
 Alexander Augustus Hope." Some persons had discern- 
 ment enough to doubt of this ; for his breeding and 
 deportment, though showy, had a tinge of vulgarity about it; 
 he was grossly ungrammatical in his ordinary conversation. 
 He received letters under this assumed name — which might 
 be through collusion with accomplices — but he himself 
 continually franked letters by that name. That being a 
 capital offence, not only a forgery, but (as a forgery on the 
 post-office) sure to be prosecuted, nobody presumed to 
 question his pretensions any longer ; and henceforward, he 
 went to all places with the consideration attached to an 
 earl's brother. All doors flew open at his approach ; boats, 
 boatmen, nets, and the most unlimited sporting privileges, 
 were placed at the disposal of the " Honourable " gentleman ; 
 and the hospitality of the whole country taxed itself to offer 
 a suitable reception to the patrician Scotchman. 
 
 Nine miles from Keswick, by the nearest route, lies the 
 lake of Buttermere. Its margin, which is overhung by 
 some of the loftiest and steepest of Cumbrian mountains, 
 exhibits on either side few traces of human neighbourhood ; 
 the level area, where the hills recede enough to allow of any, 
 is of a wild, pastoral character, or almost savage ; the waters 
 of the lake are deep and sullen ; and the barrier mountains, 
 by excluding the sun for much of its daily course, strengthen 
 the gloomy impressions. At the foot of this lake (that is, 
 at the end where its waters issue), lie a few unornamented 
 fields, through which rolls a little brook-like river, connecting 
 it with the larger lake of Crummock ; and at the edge of 
 this little domain, upon the roadside, stands a cluster of 
 cottages, so small and few, that, in the richer tracts of the
 
 204 TALES OF THE ENGLISH LAKES. 
 
 islands, they would scarcely be complimented with the name 
 of hamlet. One of these, the principal, belonged to an 
 independent proprietor, called, in the local dialect, a 
 " Statesman ; " and more, perhaps, for the sake of gathering 
 any little local news, than with much view to pecuniary 
 profit at that era, this cottage oflfered the accommodations 
 of an inn to traveller and his horse. 
 
 Rare, however, must have been the mounted traveller in 
 •those da3'S, unless visiting Buttermere for itself, for the 
 road led to no further habitations of man, with the exception 
 of some four or five pastoral cabins, equally humble, in 
 Gatesgarth dale. Hither, however, in an evil hour for the 
 peace of this little brotherhood of shepherds, came the cruel 
 spoiler from Keswick, and directed his steps to the once 
 happy cottage of poor Marj'-, the daughter of Mr. and Mrs. 
 Robinson, an old couple, who kept the inn, and had, by 
 ■their industry, gained a little property. She was the only 
 daughter, and probably her name had never been known to 
 the public, but for the account given of her by the author 
 of A Fortnight's Ramble to the Lakes in Westmorlandy 
 Lancashire, and Cumberland. His errand was to witness 
 or share in char-fishing ; for in Derwentwater (the lake of 
 Keswick) no char is found, which breeds only in the deeper 
 waters, such as Windermere, Crummock, Buttermere, &;c. 
 
 Hatfield now became acquainted with an Irish gentleman, 
 an M.P., who had been resident with his family some months 
 at Keswick. With this gentleman, and under his immediate 
 protection, there was likewise a young lady of family and 
 fortune, and of great personal attractions. One of the 
 means which Hatfield used to introduce himself to this 
 respectable family was the following: — Understanding that 
 the gentleman had been a military man, he took an army 
 list from his pocket, and pointed to his assumed name, the 
 Honourable Alexander Augustus Hope, lieutenant-colonel of 
 the 14th regiment of foot. This new acquaintiuice daily
 
 THE BEAUTY OF BUTTERMERE. 205 
 
 gained strength ; and he shortly paid his addresses to the 
 daughter of the above gentleman, and obtained her consent. 
 The wedding clothes were bought; but previously to the 
 wedding-day being fixed, she insisted that the pretended 
 Colonel Hope should introduce the subject formally to her 
 friends. He now pretended to write letters ; and, while 
 waiting for the answers, proposed to employ that time in a 
 trip to Lord Hopetoun's seat, &c. 
 
 From this time he played a double game ; his visits to* 
 Keswick became frequent, and his suit to the young lady 
 assiduous and fervent. Still, however, both at Keswick and 
 Buttermere, he was somewhat shy of appearing in public. 
 He was sure to be engaged in a fishing expedition on the 
 day on which any company was expected at the public house 
 at Buttermere; and he never attended the church at 
 Keswick but once. 
 
 Finding his schemes bafiled to obtain this young lady and 
 lier fortune, he now applied himself wholly to gain possession 
 of Mary Robinson, who was a fine young woman of eighteen, 
 and acted as waiter. In a situation so solitary, the stranger 
 had unlimited facilities for enjoying her company, and 
 recommending himself to her favour. Among the neigh- 
 bours he made the most minute inquiries into every circum- 
 stance relating to her and her family. Doubts about his 
 pretensions never arose in so simple a place as this ; they 
 were over-ruled before they could well have arisen, by the 
 opinion now general in Keswick, that he really was what 
 he pretended to be ; and thus, with little demur, except in 
 the shape of a few natural words of parting anger from a 
 defeated or rejected rustic admirer, the young woman gave 
 her hand in marriage to the showy and unprincipled stranger. 
 He procured a licence, and they were married in the church 
 of Lorton, on the 2nd of October, 1802. A romantic account 
 of the circumstance found its way almost immediately into 
 the newspapers. It thus fell under the notice of various
 
 2o6 TALES OF THE ENGLISH LAKES. 
 
 individuals in Scotland, who knew that Colonel Hope, who 
 was said to have married the flower of Buttermere, had been 
 abroad the whole summer, and was now residing in Vienna. 
 Mr, Charles Hope, then Lord Justice Clerk, afterwards 
 President of the Court of Session (a son-in-law of the Earl 
 of Hopetoun), made the fact known, and prompted inquiries 
 which led to the detection of the imposture. 
 
 On the day previous to his marriage, Hatfield wrote to 
 *Mr. Mansfield, informing him, that he was under the neces- 
 sity of being absent for ten days on a journey into Scotland, 
 and sent him a draft for thirty pounds, drawn on Mr. 
 Crumpt, of Liverpool, desired him to cash it, and pay some 
 small debts in Keswick with it, and send him over the 
 balance, as he feared he might be short of cash on the road. 
 This Mr. Mansfield immediately did, and sent him ten 
 guineas in addition to the balance. On the Saturday, Wood, 
 the landlord of the Queen's Head, returned from Lorton with 
 the public intelligence, that Colonel Hope had married the 
 Beauty of Buttermere. As it was clear, whoever he was, 
 that he had acted unworthily and dishonourably, Mr. 
 Mansfield's suspicions were of course awakened. He 
 instantly remitted the draft to Mr. Crumpt, who immed- 
 iately accepted it. Mr. Mansfield wrote to the Earl of 
 Hopetoun. Before the answer arrived, the pretended 
 honourable returned with his wife to Buttermere. He 
 went only as far as Longtown, when he received two letters, 
 seemed much troubled that some friends whom he had 
 expected had not arrived there, stayed three days, and then 
 told his wife that he would again go back to Buttermere. 
 
 From this she was seized with fears and suspicions. They 
 returned, however, and their return was made known at 
 Keswick. The late Mr. Harding, the barrister, and a Welsh 
 judge, passing through Keswick, heard of this impostor, and 
 sent his servant over to Buttermere with a note to the 
 supposed Colonel Hope, who observed, " that it was a
 
 THE BEAUTY OF BUTTERMERE. 207 
 
 mistake, and that it was for a brother of his." However, 
 he sent for four horses, and came over to Keswick ; drew 
 another draft on Mr. Crumpt for twenty pounds, which the 
 landlord at the Queen's Head had the courage to cash. Of 
 this sum he immediately sent the ten guineas to Mr. 
 Mansfield, who came and introduced him to the judge, as 
 his old friend Colonel Hope. But he made a blank denial 
 that he had ever assumed the name. He had said his name 
 was Hope, but not that he was the honourable member for 
 Linlithgow, &c., &;c. ; and one who had been his frequent, 
 intimate at Buttermere gave evidence to the same purpose. 
 In spite, however, of his impudent assertions, and those 
 of his associate, the evidence against him was decisive. A 
 warrant was given by Sir Frederick Vane on the clear proof 
 of his having forged and received several franks as the 
 member for Linlithgow ; and he was committed to the care 
 of a constable, but allowed to fish on the lake. Having, 
 however, found means to escape, he took refuge for a few 
 da3's on board a sloop off Ravenglass, and then went in the 
 coach to Ulverston, and was afterwards seen at a hotel in 
 Chester. In the meantime the following' advertisement, 
 setting forth his person and manners, was in the public 
 prints : — 
 
 " Notorious Impostor, Swindler, and Felon ! 
 
 "John Hatfield, who lately married a young woman, 
 commonly called the Beauty of Buttermere, under an 
 assumed name; height about five feet ten inches, aged about 
 forty-four, full face, bright eyes, thick eyebrows, strong, but 
 light beard, good complexion, with some colour, thick, but 
 not very prominent nose, smiling countenance, fine teeth, a 
 scar on one of his cheeks near his chin, very long thick 
 light hair, and a great deal of it gray, done up in a 
 club ; stiff, square-shouldered, full breast and chest, rather 
 corpulent, and strong limbed, but very active ; and has
 
 2o8 TALES OF THE ENGLISH LAKES. 
 
 rather a spring in his gait, with ap[)arently a little hitch in 
 bringing up one leg; the two middle fingers of his left hand 
 are stiff' from an old wound ; he has something of the Irish 
 brogue in his speech ; fluent and elegant in his language, 
 great command of words, frequently puts his hand to his 
 heart ; very fond of compliments, and generally addressing 
 himself to persons most distinguished by rank or situation; 
 attentive in the extreme to females, and likely to insinuate 
 himself where there are young ladies. He was in America 
 during the war ; is fond of talking of his wounds and 
 exploits there, and of military subjects, as well as of 
 Hatfield Hall, and his estates in Derbyshire and Cheshire y 
 and of the antiquity of his family, whom he pretends to 
 trace to the Plantagenets. He makes a boast of having 
 often been engaged in duels ; he has been a great traveller 
 also, by his own account, and talks of Egypt, Turkey, and 
 Italy ; and, in short, has a general knowledge of subjects, 
 which, together with his enofasfincr manners, is well calcu- 
 lated to impose on the credulous. He had art enough to 
 connect himself with some ver3^ respectable merchants in 
 Devonshire, as a partner in business, but having swindled 
 them out of large sums, he was made, a separate bankrupt 
 in June, 1802. He cloaks his deception under the mask of 
 religion, appears fond of religious conversation, and makes 
 a point of attending divine service and popular preachers." 
 
 Besides blighting the prospects of the poor girl, he had 
 nearly ruined her father by running up a debt of eighteen 
 pounds. His dressing-case, a very elegant piece of furniture, 
 was left behind, and on being opened at Keswick by warrant 
 of a magistrate, was found to contain every article that the 
 most luxurious gentleman could desire, but no papers tending 
 to discover his real name. Afterwards, Mary herself, search- 
 ing more narrowly, discovered that the box had a double 
 bottom, and in the intermediate recess, found a number of 
 letters addressed to him by his wife and children, under the
 
 THE BEAUTY OF BUTTERMERE. 2C9 
 
 name of Hatfield. The story of the detection immediately 
 became as notorious as the marriage had been. 
 
 Though he was personally known in Cheshire to many 01 
 the inhabitants, yet this specious hypocrite had so artfull}' 
 disguised himself, that he quitted the town without anj^ 
 suspicions before the Bow Street officers reached that place 
 in quest of him. He was then traced to Brielth, in Breck- 
 nockshire, and was at length apprehended about sixteen 
 miles from Swansea, and committed to Brecon jail. He had 
 a cravat on, with his initials, J. H., which he attempted to 
 account for by calling himself John Henry. 
 
 Before the magistrates he declared himself to be Ludor 
 Henry ; and in order to prepossess the honest Cambrians in 
 his favour, boasted that he was descended from an ancient 
 family in Wales, for the inhabitants of which country he 
 had ever entertained a sincere regard. He was, however, 
 conveyed up to town by the Bow Street ofiicers, where he 
 was examined on his arrival before the magistrates. The 
 solicitor for his bankruptcy attended to identify his person, 
 and stated, that the commission of bankruptcy was issued 
 against Hatfield in June, 1802 ; that he attended the last 
 meeting of the commissioners, but the prisoner did not 
 appear, although due notice had been given in the Gazette, 
 and he himself had given notice to the prisoner's wife, at 
 Wakefield near Tiverton, Devon. Mr. Parkyn, the solicitor 
 to the Post-office, produced a warrant from Sir Frederick 
 Vane, Bart., a magistrate for the county of Cumberland, 
 against the prisoner, by the name of the Hon. Alexander 
 Augustus Hope, charging him with felony, by pretending to 
 be a member of parliament of the United Kingdom, and 
 franking several letters by the name of A. Hope, to several 
 persons, which were put into the Post-office at Keswick, in 
 Cumberland, in order to evade the duties of postage. 
 Another charge for forgerj^, and the charge for bigamy, were 
 explained to him, but not entered into, as he was committed
 
 210 TALES OF THE ENGLISH LAKES 
 
 for trial for these charges at the next assizes at Carlisle. 
 He conducted himself with the greatest propriety during his 
 journey to town, and on his examination ; but said nothing 
 more than answering a few questions put to him by Sir 
 Richard Ford and the solicitors, affecting to consider himself 
 a persecuted individual, and representing, in particular, that, 
 in the alliance with Mary Robinson, he hud been rather 
 sinned against than sinning. Mary, on the other hand, who 
 was now announced to be likely to bear a child to her 
 pretended husband, refused to become accessory to his 
 prosecution. The utmost she could be prevailed on to do 
 against Hatfield was to address the following letter to Sir 
 Richard Ford : — 
 
 " The man whom I had the misfortune to marry, and who 
 has ruined me and my aged parents, always told me he 
 was the Hon. Colonel Hope, the next brother of the Earl 
 of Hopetoun. Your grateful and unfortunate servant, 
 
 Mary Robinson." 
 
 At the fourth examination of the impostor, on the 27th 
 of December, this letter was read aloud by the clerk, in the 
 open court. To quote from a chronicle of the time : — " The 
 simplicity of this letter, which, though it breathes the soft 
 murmur of complaint, is free from all virulence, excited in 
 the breast of every person present an emotion of pity and 
 respect for the unmerited sorrows of a female, who has in 
 this whole matter manifested a delicacy of sentiment, and 
 nobleness of mind, infinitely beyond her sphere of education. 
 The feelings of Hatfield could not be enviable ; yet he 
 exhibited no symptom of contrition ; and when remanded 
 for further examination, retired with the most impenetrable 
 composure." 
 
 He was then dressed in a black coat and waistcoat, fustian 
 breeches, and boots, and wore his hair tied behind. His 
 appearance was respectable, though quite in dishabille.
 
 THE BEAUTY OF BUTTERMERE. 211 
 
 The Duke of Cumberland, and several other gentlemen, 
 were present at his examination; in the course of which 
 the following letter was produced : — 
 
 "BUTTERMERE, Oct. 1, 1802. 
 
 "Dear Sir, — I have this day received Mr. Firkman's 
 kind letter from Manchester, promising me the happiness of 
 seeing you both in about ten days, which will indeed give 
 me great pleasure ; and you can, too, be of very valuable 
 service to me at this place, particulars of which, when we 
 meet, though I shall probably write to you again in a few 
 days. The chief purpose for which I write this, is to desire 
 you will be so good as to accept a bill for me, dated Butter- 
 mere, the 1st of October, at ten days, and I will either give 
 you cash for it here, or remit to you in time, whichever way 
 you please to say. It is drawn in favour of Nathaniel 
 Montgomery More, Esq. Be pleased to present my best 
 respects to your lady ; and say, I hope, ere the winter 
 elapses, to pay her my personal respects ; for if you will 
 manage so as to pass a little time with me in Scotland, I 
 will promise to make Liverpool in mj^ way to London. 
 With the truest esteem, I am. Dear Sir, yours ever, 
 
 A. Hope." 
 "Keswick, October the 1st, 1802. 
 John Crumpt, Esq., Liverpool. 
 Free, A. Hope." 
 
 This letter, it was proved, passed free of postage. Another 
 letter was also produced from his wife at Tiverton, and a 
 certificate of his marriage with Mary of Buttermere. His 
 trial came on August loth, 1803, at the Assizes for Cumber- 
 land, before the Honourable Alexander Thompson, Knt. 
 He stood charged upon the three following indictments :— 
 
 1. With havinof assumed the name and title of the Hon- 
 ourable Alexander Augustus Hope, and pretending to be a 
 member of parliament of the United Kingdom of Great
 
 212 TALES OF THE ENGLISH LAKES. 
 
 Britain and Ireland; and with having, about the montli of 
 October hist, under such false and fictitious name and 
 character, drawn a draft or bill of exchange, in the name of 
 Alexander Hope, upon John Crumpt, Esq., for the sum of 
 £20, payable to George Wood, of Keswick, Cumberland, inn- 
 l<<ieper, or order, at the end of fourteen days from the date 
 of the said draft or bill of exchange. 
 
 2. With making, uttering, and publishing as true, a 
 certain false, forged, and counterfeit bill of exchange, with 
 the name of Alexander Augustus Hope thereunto falsely 
 set and subscribed, drawn upon John Crumpt, Esq., dated 
 the 1st of October, 1802, and payable to Nathaniel 
 Montgomery More, or order, ten days after date, for £30 
 sterling. 
 
 3. With having assumed the name of Alexander Hope, 
 and pretending to be a member of parliament of the United 
 Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland, the brother of the 
 ri'^ht Hon. Lord Hopetoun, and a colonel in the army; and 
 under such false and fictitious name and character, at various 
 times in the month of October, 1802, having forged and 
 counterfeited the hand-writing of the said Alexander Hope, 
 iii the superscription of certain letters or packets, in order 
 to avoid the payment of the duty on postage. 
 
 The prisoner pleaded not guilty to the charge. 
 
 The three several indictments having been read, Mr- 
 Scarlett opened the case in an address to the jury ; and gave 
 an ample detail of the prisoner's guilt. 
 
 In support of what he had advanced, he called Mr. Quick, 
 who was clerk in the house at Tiverton, where Hatfield was 
 partner, who swore to his hand-writing. The Rev. Mr. 
 Nicholson swore that when the prisoner was asked his 
 name, he said it was a comfortable one — Hope. 
 
 The evidence for the prosecution having closed, the 
 prisoner addressed himself to the jury. He said he felt 
 some degree of satisfaction in being able to have his
 
 THE BEAUTY OF BUTTERMERE. 213 
 
 sufferings terminated, as tiiey must of course be by their 
 verdict. For the space of nine months he had been dragged 
 from prison to prison, and torn from place to place, subject 
 to all the misrepresentations of calumny. 
 
 " Whatever will be my fate," said he, " I am content ; it 
 is the award of justice, impartially and virtuously adminis- 
 tered. But I will solemnly declare that in all my transactions, 
 I never intended to defraud or injure the persons whose 
 names have appeared in the prosecution. This I will 
 maintain to the last of my life." 
 
 After the evidence was gone through, his lordship, Sir A. 
 Thompson, summed up the whole of the evidence and com- 
 mented upon such parts as peculiarly affected the fate of 
 the prisoner. "Nothing," said his lordship, "could be more 
 clearly proved, than that the prisoner did make the bill or 
 bills in question under the assumed name of Alexander 
 Augustus Hope, with an intention to defraud. That the 
 prisoner used the additional name of Augustus was of no 
 consequence in this question. The evidence proved clearly 
 that the prisoner meant to represent himself to be another 
 character; aod under that assumed character, he drew the 
 bills in question. If anything should appear in mitigation 
 of the offences with which the prisoner was charged, they 
 must give them a full consideration ; and though his 
 character had been long shaded with obloquy, yet they 
 must not let this in the least injEluence the verdict they 
 were sworn to give." 
 
 The jury consulted about ten minutes, and then returned 
 a verdict — Guilty of Forgery. 
 
 During the whole of the trial the court was excess! veh'' 
 crowded. The prisoner's behaviour was proper and dignified ; 
 and he supported his situation from first to last with 
 unshaken fortitude. He employed himself, during the 
 greatest part of his trial, in writing notes on the evidence 
 given, and in conversing with his couasel.
 
 214 TALES OF THE ENGLISH LAKES. 
 
 When the verdict of the jury was given, he manife.ste<l no 
 lelaxation of his accustomed demeanour. After the court 
 adjourned, he retired from the bar, and was ordered to attend 
 the next morning to receive the sentence of the law. The 
 crowd was immense ; and he was allowed a post-chaise from 
 the town-hall to the jail.* 
 
 At eight o'clock the next morning, the court met again, 
 when the prisoner appeared at the bar to receive his sentence. 
 Numbers of people gathered together to witness this painful 
 duty of the law passed upon one whose appearance, manners, 
 and actions, had excited a most uncommon degree of interest. 
 After proceeding in the usual form, the judge addres-ed the 
 prisoner in the following impressive terms : — 
 
 " John Hatfield, after the long and serious investigation 
 of the charges which have been preferred against you, you 
 have been found guilty by a jury of your country. 
 
 " You have been distinguished for crimes of such magni- 
 tude, as have seldom, if ever, received any mitigation of 
 capital punishment ; and in your case, it is impossible it can 
 be limited. Assuming the person, name, and character, of a 
 worthy and respectable officer of a noble family in this 
 country', you have perpetrated and committed the most 
 enormous crimes. The long imprisonment you have under- 
 gone has afforded time for your serious reflection, and an 
 opportunity for your being deeply impressed with a sense of 
 the enormity of your crimes, and the justness of that sentence 
 which must be inflicted upon 3'ou ; and I wish j'ou to be 
 seriously impressed with the awfulness of your situation. I 
 conjure you to reflect with anxious care and deep concern 
 on your approaching end, concerning which much remains 
 to be done. Lay aside now your delusions and impositions, 
 and employ properly the short space you have to live. I 
 
 * The jail and court-house were at that period divided by the street. 
 The jail, etc., has been rebuilt, snd tl.eie is uow a passage from one to the 
 other.
 
 THE BEAUTY OF BUTTERMERE. 215 
 
 beseech you to employ the remaining part of your time in 
 preparing for eternity, so that you may find mercy at the 
 hour of death, and in the day of judgment. Hear, now, the 
 sentence of the law : — That you be carried from hence to 
 the place from w'nence you came, and from thence to the 
 place of execution, and there to be hung by the neck till you 
 are dead ; and may the Lord have mercy on j'our soul ! " 
 
 A notion very generally prevailed that he would not be 
 brought to justice; and the arrival of the mail was daily 
 expected with the greatest impatience. No pardon arriving, 
 Saturday, September 3, 1803, was at last fixed upon for the 
 execution. 
 
 The gallows was erected the preceding night, between 
 twelve and three, on an island formed by the river Eden, 
 on the north side of the town, between the two bridges. 
 From the hour when the jury found him guilty, he behaved 
 with the utmost serenity and cheerfulness. He talked upon 
 the topics of the day with the greatest interest or indifier- 
 ence. He could scarcely ever, be brought to speak of his 
 own case. He neither blamed the verdict, nor made any 
 confession of his guilt. He said he had no intention to 
 defraud those whose names he forged ; but was never heard 
 to say that he was to die unjustly. None of his relations 
 ever visited him during his confinement. 
 
 The alarming nature of the crime of forgery, in a com- 
 mercial country, had taught him, from the beginning, to 
 entertain no hope of mercy. By ten in the morning of 
 September 3, his irons were struck off*; he appeared as 
 usual, and no one observed any alteration or increased 
 agitation whatever. 
 
 Soon after ten o'clock he sent for the Carlisle Journal, 
 and perused it for some time. A little after he had laid 
 aside the paper, two clergymen (Mr. Pattison of Carlisle and 
 Mr. Mark of Burgh-on-Sancls), attended and prayed with 
 him for about two hours, and drank coffee with him. After
 
 2i6 TALES OF THE ENGLISH LAKES. 
 
 they left hiin, about twelve, he wrote some letters, a' id in 
 one he enclosed his penknife ; it was addressed to London. 
 About this time he also shaved himself ; though intrusted 
 with a razor, he never seems to have meditated an attempt 
 upon his life; but it was generally reported on Friday night 
 that he had poisoned himself, though without foundation. 
 To all who spoke with him, he pretended that what he had 
 to suffer was a matter of little consequence. He prefeiTed 
 talking on indifferent subjects. At three, he dined with 
 the jailer, and ate heartily. Having taken a glass or two 
 of wine, he ordered coffee. He took a cup a few minutes 
 before he set out for the place of execution. The last thing 
 he did was to read a chapter from the 2d Corinthians. He 
 had previously marked out this passage for his lesson before 
 he was to mount the scaffold. 
 
 The sheriffs, the bailiffs, and the Carlisle volunteer cavalry, 
 attended at the jail door about half-past three, together 
 with a post-chaise and hearse. He was then ordered into 
 the turnkey's lodge, for the purpose of being pinioned, 
 where he inquired of the jailer, who were going in the 
 chaise with him ? He was told the executioner and the 
 jailer. He immediately said, "Pray, where is the executioner ? 
 I should wish much to see him." The executioner was sent 
 for. Hatfield asked him how he was, and made him a 
 present of some silver in a paper. During the time of his 
 being pinioned, he stood with resolution, and requested he 
 might not be pinioned tight, as he wished to use his hand- 
 kerchief on the platform; which was complied with. A 
 prodigious crowd had assembled ; this was the market day, 
 and people had come from the distance of many miles out 
 of mere curiosity. Hatfield, when he left the prison, wished 
 all his fellow-prisoners might be happy; he then took 
 farewell of the clergyman, who attended him to the door <>f 
 the chaise, and mounted the steps with much steadiness and 
 composure. The jailer and executioner went in along with
 
 THE BEAUTY OF BUTTERMERE. 217 
 
 him. The latter had been brought from Dumfries upon a 
 retainino- fee of ten guineas. 
 
 It was exactly four o'clock when the procession moved 
 from the jail. Passing through the Scotch gate, in about 
 twelve minutes it arrived at the Sands. Half the yeomanry 
 went before the carriage, and the other half behind. Upon 
 arriving on the ground, they formed a ring round the 
 scaffold. It is said that he wished to have the blinds drawn 
 up, but that such an indulgence was held inconsistent with 
 the interest of public justice. When he came in sight of the 
 tree, he said to the jailer, he imagined that was the tree 
 (pointing at it) that he was to die on. On being told yes, 
 he exclaimed, " O ! a happy sight — I see it with pleasure ! " 
 
 As soon as the carriage-door had been opened by the 
 under-sheriff, he alighted with his two companions. A 
 small-cart, boarded over, had been placed under the gibbet, 
 and a ladder was placed against it, which he instantly- 
 ascended. He was dressed in a black jacket, black silk 
 waiscoat, fustian pantaloons, shoes, and white cotton stock- 
 ings. He was perfectly cool and collected. At the same 
 time, his conduct displayed nothing of levity, of insensi- 
 bility, or of hardihood. He was more anxious to give proof 
 of resignation than of heroism. His countenance was 
 extremely pale, but his hand never trembled. He immed- 
 iately untied his neckerchief, and placed a bandage over his 
 eyes. Then he desired the hangman, who was extremely 
 awkward, to be as expert as possible about it, and that he 
 would wave a handkerchief when he was ready. The 
 hangman, not having fixed the rope in its proper place, he 
 put up his hand and turned it himself. He also tied his 
 cap, took his handkerchief from his own neck, and tied it 
 about his head also. Then he requested the jailer would 
 step on the platform and pinion his arms a little harder, 
 saying, that when he had lost his senses he might attempt 
 to lift them to his neck. The rope was completely fixed
 
 2i8 TALES OF THE ENGLISH LAKES. 
 
 about five minutes before five o'clock ; it v^as slack, and he 
 merely said, " May the Almighty bless you all." Nor did 
 he falter in the least, when he tied the cap, shifted the rope, 
 and took his handkerchief from his neck. 
 
 He several times put on a languid and piteous smile. 
 He at last seemed rather exhausted and faint. Having 
 been near three weeks under sentence of death, he must 
 have suffered much, notwithstanding his external bearing ; 
 and a reflection of the misery he had occasioned must have 
 given him many an agonizing throb. 
 
 Having taken leave of the jailer and sheriff, he prepared 
 himself for his fate. He was at this time heard to exclaim, 
 " My spirit is strong, though my body is weak." 
 
 Great apprehensions were entertained that it would be 
 necessary to tie him up a second time. The noose slipped 
 twice, and he fell down about eighteen inches. His feet at 
 last were almost touching the ground ; but his excessive 
 weight, which occasioned this accident, speedily relieved 
 him from pain. He expired in a moment, and without any 
 struggle. The ceremony of his hands being tied behind his 
 back, was satisfied by a piece of white tape passed loosely 
 from one to the other ; but he never made the smallest 
 effort to relieve himself. He had calculated so well, that 
 his money lasted exactly to the scaffold. As they were 
 setting out, the hangman was going to search him. He 
 threw him half-a-crown, saying, 
 
 " This is all my pockets contain." 
 
 He had been in considerable distress before he received a 
 supply from his father. He afterwards lived in great style, 
 frequently making presents to his fellow felons. He was 
 considered in the jail as a kind of emperor ; he was allowed 
 to do whatever he pleased, and no one took offence at the 
 air of superiority which he assumed. 
 
 He was cut down after he had hung about an hour. On 
 the preceding Wednesday he had applied to one of the
 
 THE BEAUTY OF BUTTERMERE. 219 
 
 clergymen who attended him, to recommend him a trades- 
 man to make his coffin. Mr. Bnshb}^, of Carlisle, took 
 measure of him. He did not appear at all agitated while 
 Mr. Bushby was so employed ; but told him that he wished 
 the coffin to be a strong oak one, plain and neat. 
 
 " I request. Sir," he added, " that after I am taken down, 
 I may be put into the coffin immediately, with the apparel 
 I may have on, and afterwards closely screwed down, put 
 into the hearse which will be in waiting, carried to the 
 churchyard, and be interred in the evening." 
 
 A sjDot was fixed upon in a distant corner of the church- 
 yard, far from the other tombs. No priest attended, and 
 the coffin was lowered without any religious service. 
 Notwithstanding Hatfield's various and complicated 
 enormities, his untimely end excited considerable com- 
 miseration. His manners were extremely polished and 
 insinuating, and he was possessed of qualities which might 
 have rendered him an ornament to society. 
 
 The unfortunate Mary of Buttermere went from home 
 to avoid the impertinent visits of unfeeling curiosity. She 
 was much affected ; and, indeed, without supposing that 
 any part of her former attachment remained, it is impossible 
 that she could view his tragical fate with indifference. 
 When her father and mother heard that Hatfield had 
 certainly been hanged, they both exclaimed, " God be 
 thanked !" 
 
 On the day of his condemnation, Wordsworth and 
 Coleridge passed through Carlisle, and endeavoured to 
 obtain an interview with him. Wordsworth succeeded ; 
 but, for some unknown reason, the prisoner steadily refused 
 to see Coleridge ; a caprice which could not be penetrated. 
 It was true that he had, during his whole residence at. 
 Keswick, avoided Coleridge with a solicitude which had 
 revived the original suspicions against him in some quarters, 
 after they had generally subsided. However, if not him,
 
 220 TALES OF THE ENGLISH LAKES. 
 
 Coleridge saw and examined his very interesting papers. 
 These were chiefly letters from women whom he had 
 injured, pretty much in the same way, and by the same 
 impostures, as he had recently practised in Cumberland. 
 Great was the emotion of Coleridge when he afterwards 
 recurred to these letters, and bitter — almost vindictive — 
 was the indignation with which he spoke of Hatfield. One 
 set of letters appeared to have been written under too certain 
 a knowledge of his villany towards the individual to whom 
 they were addressed ; though still relying on some possible 
 remains of humanity, or perhaps (the poor writer might 
 think) on some lingering relics of afl^ection for herself. 
 
 The other set was even more distressing; they were 
 written under the first conflicts of suspicions, alternately 
 repelling with warmth the gloomy doubts which were fast 
 arising, and then yielding to their afiiicting evidence; raving 
 in one page under the misery of alarm, in another courting 
 the delusions of hope, and luring back the perfidious 
 deserter — here resigning herself to despair, and there again 
 labouring to show that all might yet be well. Coleridge 
 said often, in looking back upon that frightful exposure of 
 human guilt and misery, that the man who, when pursued 
 by these heart-rending apostrophes, and with this litany of 
 anguish sounding in his ears, from despairing women, and 
 from famishing children, could yet find it possible to enjoy 
 the calm pleasures of a lake tourist, and deliberately to 
 hunt for the picturesque, must have been a fiend of that 
 order which, fortunately, does not often emerge amongst 
 men. 
 
 It is painful to remember that, in those da,js, amongst 
 the multitudes who ended their career in the same 
 ignominious way, and the majority for ofiences connected 
 with the forgery of bank notes, there must have been a 
 considerable number who perished from the very opposite 
 cause ; namely, because they felt, too passionately and pro-
 
 THE BEAUTY OF BUTTERMERE. 221 
 
 foundly for prudence, the claims of those who looked up to 
 them for support. One common scaffold confounds the 
 most flinty hearts and the tenderest. However, in this 
 instance, it was in some measure the heartless part of 
 Hatfield's conduct which drew upon him his ruin ; for the 
 Cumberland jury, it has been asserted, declared their 
 unwillingness to hang him for having forged a frank; and 
 both they, and those who refused to aid his escape, when 
 first apprehended, were reconciled to this harshness entirely 
 by what tht-y had heard of his conduct to their injured 
 young fellow-countrywoman. 
 
 She, meantime, under the name of the Beauty of Butter- 
 more, became an object of interest to all England. Dramas 
 and melo-dramas were produced in the London theatres 
 upon her stoi-y ; and for many a year afterwards, shoals of 
 tourists crowded to the secluded lake and the little homely 
 cabaret, which had been the scene of her brief romance. It 
 was fortunate for a person in her distressing situation, that 
 her home was not in a town; the few and simple who had 
 witnessed her imaginary elevation, having little knowledge 
 of worldly feelings, never for an instant connected with her 
 disappointment any sense of the ludicrous, or spoke of it as 
 a calamity to which her vanity might have co-operated. 
 They treated it as vmmixed injury, reflecting shame upon 
 nobody but the wicked perpetrator. Hence, without much 
 trial to her womanly sensibilities, she found herself able to 
 resume her situation in the little inn ; and this she con- 
 tinued to hold for many years. In that place, and in that 
 capacity, she was seen repeatedly. She was greatly admired, 
 and became the subject of the poet's song ; but " sorrow," to 
 use the beautiful language of Ossian, " sorrow, like a cloud 
 on the sun, shaded her soul."
 
 222 TALES OF THE ENGLISH LAKES. 
 
 THE BORDER FREEBOOTERS; 
 
 OR, A FIGHT IN BORROWDALE. 
 
 "N olden time, when the contiguous countries of England 
 and Scotland held no amicable relation to each other, 
 it way well be supposed that the mountain ridges 
 forming the line of demarcation between the two territories 
 would frequently be the scene of fierce contention between 
 a rival people. The proximity of the English and Scots in 
 the neighbourhood of the border line, and the inoperative 
 character of the laws, arising from the disorders of the 
 feudal system, which filled both countries with chiefs and 
 petty governors, eager, and sufBciently powerful, to make 
 aggressions and reprisals on each other, are of themselves 
 a sufficient explanation of the causes which led to those 
 continued strifes called the Border warfare. The deep 
 enmity of the hostile parties towards each other overthrew, 
 in a good measure, all moral obligation and honourable 
 feeling. 
 
 Incursions were frequently made from the north, less for 
 the purpose of contention in arms, than for committing 
 depredations on cattle and property. Hence the name of 
 freebooters came to be applied to the Border clans, and 
 ultimately with much justice ; for in course of time it was 
 deemed matter of indifference by either party whether they 
 preyed on their rival neighbours, or on their own country- 
 men. Instances are, however, on record in which the Border 
 feuds were distinguished by a romantic and chivalrous 
 feeling, that may well be supposed to have animated great 
 and noble minds, in an age when the most powerful sceptre
 
 THE BORDER FREEBOOTERS. 223 
 
 ^vas the sword, and martial prowess the most estimable 
 (juality of mankind : — 
 
 " Those were the days, the olden days 
 When Border feuds ran high, 
 And the men of the North ofttimes sallied forth 
 On deeds of chivalry. 
 
 O ! heaven gie rest to the souls of a' 
 
 Wha lived in those times o' disorder ; 
 There were gude men and brave in the olden day, 
 
 On baith sides 0' the Border." 
 
 Summoning forth " far forgotten things," we will refer to 
 a desperate struggle between two rival clans of Border 
 freebooters, under the stupendous rocks of Honister Crag 
 and Yew Crag. 
 
 Late in the evening, at the autumnal season of a year 
 over which passing centuries have thrown a darkening veil, 
 the weary and harassed Borderers of Borrowdale were 
 summoned together by the sound of the slogan, or war-cry 
 of their band. The scouts, who had been sent forth in 
 different directions, to give timely notice of any hostile 
 approaches, returned to their chief, who sat ruminating by 
 his watch-fire, on a neighbouring mountain, and reported 
 the sudden irruption of the Scottish clan, that had swept 
 before them a rich booty of cattle, lying at the foot of 
 Borrowdale hawse. By passing in small companies through 
 well-reconnoitred passes of the mountains, the Scots had 
 contrived to elude the observation of the night guard, till 
 their whole force had again united. They then divided into 
 two companies, one of which drove their booty towards the 
 frontier, and the other remained to protect the rear, and 
 baffle their opponents, if they attempted pursuit. The 
 war-shout of the despoiled clan rung through the mountains, 
 and the Cumberland men repaired one and all to their chief, 
 each one mounted on his pricker — a name applied to their
 
 224 TALES OF THE ENGLISH LAKES. 
 
 small horses — which were both fleet and sufficiently spirited 
 to overcome a laborious ascent into the hills. 
 
 Among the Scottish freebooters none were found possessed 
 of greater skill ;ind daring, in the management of their 
 predatory excursions, than the Graemes. This clan it was 
 who had undertaken and accomplished the capture of 
 Borrowdale, which even in those days of enterprise, was 
 looked upon as an astonishing instance of successful temerity. 
 These troopers were commanded by the younger Grseme, a 
 bold, hardy chieftain ; and his aged father, the Ossian of the 
 clan, followed in all their expeditions to infuse warlike 
 feeling into their hearts, by reciting "the tale of other 
 times," and the bold enterprises of his past days, when the 
 feebleness of age had not arrived. 
 
 All the Border clans cherished feelings of deadl}^ animosity 
 against each other; and this hereditary hate was even 
 greater than their desire for plunder. When the division 
 of the Highland band, under the direction of the two 
 GrR3mes, had succeeded in diverting the enemy from the 
 track which their comrades had taken, they separated 
 among the hills, there to wait the signal, when a favourable 
 opportunity should present for rushing down in all their 
 strength upon the Cumberland men, and working out the 
 measure of their hatred against them. 
 
 After fruitless attempts to recover the spoils which had 
 been wrested from them, the English Borderers resolved to 
 retaliate on the Scottish frontier; and, accordingly, collect- 
 ing all their power, commenced their march through the 
 desolate region of Borrowdale. Information was speedily 
 conve3'ed to the younger Grreme, that the enemy were 
 approaching. The appointed signal was then given, and 
 the Hiofhlanders once more crowded round their leader. 
 The Scottish chief determined to suspend his attack till the 
 enemy should arrive in the defile between Honister Crag 
 and Yew Crag, when his followers would have the advan-
 
 TPIE BORDER FREEBOOTERS. 225 
 
 tage of assailing their foe from the overhanging precipices. 
 They marched along in single rank, through the passes of 
 the mountains, towards the appointed spot, singing their 
 favourite war-song : — 
 
 " Sons of the mountain chief, on to the battle-field ! 
 Clansmen and Highlanders, grasp ye the sword and shield ; 
 On the rock or in defile, we'll not be ensnared. 
 When the foe is awaiting, are we not prepared ? 
 
 On, let us meet them, our bucklers shall cover us ; 
 Our refuge the hills, and heaven's vault over us : 
 O'er the steep of the crag, down the side of the scar, 
 Let us rush on the foe, in the thunder of war. 
 
 Their bugles sound cheerly : Behold them advancing ! 
 With waving of plumes, and their chargers all prancing ; 
 Yet the mountains that ring to their proud horses' tread, 
 They shall echo ere long to the fall of the dead ! " 
 
 The Highlanders concealed themselves behind the rocky 
 fragments strewn on the side of Yew Crag, till the English, 
 advancing at a rapid rate, had reached the point in 
 Gatesgarthdale, which lay directly opposite to their ambus- 
 cade. Young Graeme sprung on his feet, and waved his 
 claymore towards the enemy. The signal was answered by 
 a volley of musketry from the hill; and instantly several 
 horses, without riders, flew through the defile. The elder 
 Graeme singled forth the English leader. Sinking on one 
 knee, he raised his musket with deadly certainty, and ere 
 the sound of the death-shot could reach his victim, the 
 white steed that bore him was left unfettered b}^ the rein. 
 
 Furious at the loss of their leader, the troopers wheeled 
 their horses round the precipice on which the Gra?mes and 
 a few of their followers were stationed ; and before the 
 remainder of the Highland band could afford succour, the 
 younger Grgeme, together with several of his clan, had met
 
 226 TALES OF THE ENGLISH LAKES. 
 
 the death of heroes. The English then dashed forward ou 
 their expedition, not caring to continue the battle under 
 the disadvantages of their position. 
 
 The Highlanders gathered round their fallen leader, and 
 raised loud lament for the warrior, whose blood was stream- 
 ing in their view. The old chieftain gazed wildly on his 
 son ; and his frame, which seventy winters had not palsied, 
 shook with tremor. The body was laid iu an opening on 
 the hill-side, and every clansman brought a fragment of 
 rock, to raise a rude memorial to his chief. On the summit 
 of the pile they placed his bonnet, shield, and claymore, 
 that neither friend nor foe should thereafter pass it with 
 irreverence. 
 
 JOSSY WITH WHIPS. 
 
 A PAKISH CHARACTER. 
 
 'OSEPH ROBINSON, better known by the name of 
 "Jossy with Whips," was a Avell-known character in 
 the parish of Orton in Westmorland. He had his 
 regular rounds, which he constantly travelled ; and his 
 accustomed houses, where his never-failing alms was duly 
 received by this self-instituted collector. 
 
 Some are still living who can recollect the harmless idiot 
 and all his singular accoutrements. He never appeared 
 without sis or eight whips in his hands : a little stick, with 
 a piece of string attached to the end of it, would any time 
 supply honest Joseph with an excellent whip, A piece of 
 an old coat, tied to his body with a hayband, was his usual 
 upper garment; his legs were usually covered with hay- 
 bands, tier above tier ; and a profusion of hemp strings, in 
 his opinion, adorned his person. These simple ornaments 
 were to Joseph as dear and as honourable as the red and
 
 JOSSY WITH WHIPS. 227 
 
 blue ribbons which are so anxiously struggled for by his 
 fellows in the higher walks of life. In his hat he wore 
 a fox's brush and peacock feathers, thus aping the fancied 
 splendour of eastern magnificence. 
 
 Jossy was a quiet, inoffensive being ; and the farmers 
 through all the south of Westmorland would as soon have 
 thought of neglecting any of their just debts, as of refusing the 
 accustomed donation made to him. An out-house was his 
 usual place of lodging; and habit had rendered this so 
 natural to him, that a bed never entered his circumscribed 
 ideas. 
 
 After Joseph, like his intelligent fellow-mortals, had been 
 consigned to his " narrow house," a young man, in the 
 parish of Orton, composed the following elegy to his 
 memory : — 
 
 "Beneath this lowly, grass-encircled spot, 
 Lie the remains of Joseph of the Knot. 
 Death, grisly tyrant, no distinction shows 
 'Twixt him who all, and hira who nothing knows. 
 Yes, ye ! ye mighty sons of boasted wit ! 
 All — all, like Joseph, must to death submit. 
 Though on his fingers many a ring he bore. 
 And round his brow the gaudy honours wore, 
 For him his plumes although the peacock shed. 
 And reynard's brush graced Joseph's hoary head ; 
 Though armed with whips he constantly appeared. 
 Death mocked his honours, nor his armour feared. 
 But ah ! despise not Joseph's humble lot — 
 His life so mean — his death so soon forgot : 
 In the last day — that great decisive da}^ 
 When death shall yield his temporary prey — 
 By lords, by kings, his fate may be desired — 
 Where nothing's given, nothing is required."
 
 228 TALES OF THE ENGLISH LAKES. 
 
 EMMA AND SIR EGLAMORE. 
 
 A LEGEND OF ULLSWATER. 
 
 BOUT a quarter of a mile from Lyulph's Tower, a 
 huntino- seat of the late Duke of Norfolk, on the 
 banks of Ullswater, is a lonely brook, the Airey or 
 Aira, which, at Aira Force, falls over the rocks a 
 height of 80 feet, into a beautiful and deep glen, covered 
 with luxuriant foliage of fern and sweet-scented hawthorns. 
 A picturesque bridge unites the precipitous rocks down 
 which the foaming torrent pursues its ceaseless course. 
 
 This beautiful waterfall is the scene of the touching 
 legend of the "Somnambulist," which has been versified by 
 Wordsworth. The tale is, that Emma, a beautiful lady, 
 betrothed to one Sir Eglamore, was walking in her sleep 
 on the banks of the fall ; and that her lover, who had un- 
 expectedly returned after a long absence — so long as to 
 have affected her health — was struck with the apparition 
 of the maid, who had become subject to night wanderings. 
 He watched her for some time plucking the twigs from the 
 trees, and casting them into the stream, uncertain whether 
 she were a real object, or a mere phantom of his imagination. 
 He touched her, and, suddenly breaking her slumber, the 
 affrighted maid shrieked, and, starting back, fell down the 
 rocks into the stream below. The knight plunged in after 
 her, and rescued her ; but, though consciousness returned 
 for a short period, and she recognised him, she expired 
 within a few minutes upon the bank. The heart-broken 
 knight built a cell upon the edge of the fall, and lived there 
 in solitude for several years, shunning all intercourse with 
 the world.
 
 EMMA AND SIR EGLAMORE. 229 
 
 List, ye who pass by Lyulph's Tower 
 
 At eve, how softly then 
 Doth Aira Force, that torrent hoarsi-, 
 
 Speak from the woody glen ! 
 Fit music for a solemn vale ! 
 
 And holier seems the ground 
 To him who catches on the gale 
 The spirit of a mournful tale, 
 
 Embodied in the sound. 
 
 Not far from that fair si^ht whereon 
 
 The pleasure- house is reared, 
 As story says, in antique days, 
 
 A stern-brow'd house appeared ; 
 Foil to a jewel rich in light 
 
 There set, and guarded well ; 
 Cage for a bird of plumage bright, 
 Sweet voiced, nor wishing for a flight 
 
 Beyond her native dell. 
 
 T(i win this bright bird from her cage, 
 
 To make this gem their own, 
 Came barons bold, with store of gold, 
 
 And knights of high renown ; 
 But one she prized, and only one ; 
 
 Sir Eglamore was he ; 
 Full happy season, when was known, 
 Ye dales and hills ! to you alone 
 
 Their mutual loyalty. 
 
 Known chiefly, Aira ! to thy glen, 
 
 The brook, and bowers of holly ; 
 Where passion caught, what nature taught, 
 
 That all but love is folly ;
 
 230 TALES OF THE ENGLISH LAKES. 
 
 Where fact and fancy stooped to play, 
 
 Doubt came not, nor regret, 
 To trouble hours that wing their way. 
 As if through an immortal day. 
 
 Whose sun could never set. 
 
 But in old times love dwelt not long 
 
 Sequester'd with repose ; 
 Best throve the fire of chaste desire, 
 
 Fanned by the breath of foes. 
 " A conquering lance is beauty's test, 
 
 And proves the lover true ; " 
 So spake Sir Eglamore, and pressed 
 The drooping Emma to his breast. 
 
 And looked a blind adieu. 
 
 They parted, — Well with him it fared 
 
 Through wide-spread regions errant ; 
 A knight of proof in love's behoof, 
 
 The thirst of fame his warrant : 
 And she her happiness can build 
 
 On woman's quiet hours ; 
 Though faint, compared with spear and shield. 
 The solace beads and masses yield, 
 
 And needlework and flowers. 
 
 Yet blest was Emma when she heard 
 
 Her champion's praise recounted ; 
 Though brain would swim, and eyes grow dim, 
 
 And high her blushes mounted ; 
 Or when a bold heroic lay 
 
 She warbled from full heart ; 
 Delightful blossoms for the May 
 Of absence ! but they will not stay, 
 
 Born only to depart.
 
 EMMA AND SIR EGLAMORE. 231 
 
 Hope wanes with her, while lustre fills 
 
 Whatever path he chooses ; 
 As if his orb, that owns no curb, 
 
 Received the light hers loses. 
 He comes not back ; an ampler space 
 
 Requires for nobler deeds ; 
 He ranges on from place to place, 
 Till of his doings is no trace, 
 
 But what her fancy breeds. 
 
 His fame may spread, but in the past 
 
 Her spirit finds its centre ; 
 Clear sight she has of what he was. 
 
 And that would now content her. 
 " Still is he my devoted knight 1 " 
 
 The tear in answer flows ; 
 Month falls on month with heavier weight ; 
 Day sickens round her, and the night 
 
 Is empty of repose. 
 
 In sleep she sometimes walked abroad. 
 
 Deep sighs with quick words blending, 
 Like that pale queen, whose hands are seen 
 
 With fancied spots contending ; 
 But she is innocent of blood : 
 
 The moon is not more pure 
 That shines aloft, while through the wood 
 She threads her way, the sounding flood 
 
 Her melancholy lure. 
 
 While 'mid the fern-brake sleeps the doe, 
 
 And owls alone are waking, 
 In white arrayed glides on the maid, 
 
 The downward pathway taking,
 
 232 TALES OF THE ENGLISH LAKES. 
 
 That leads her to the torrent's side, 
 
 And to a holly bower ; 
 By whom on this still night descried ? 
 By whom in that lone place espied ? 
 
 By thee, Sir Eglamore ! 
 
 A wandering ghost, so thinks the knight. 
 
 His coming step has thwarted. 
 Beneath the boughs that heard their vows, 
 
 Within whose shade they parted. 
 Hush, hush, the busy sleeper see ! 
 
 Perplexed her fingers seem, 
 As if they from the holly tree 
 Green twigs would pluck, as rapidly 
 
 Flung from her to the stream. 
 
 What means the spectre ? Why intent 
 
 To violate the tree, 
 Thought Eglamore, by w^iich I swore 
 
 Unfading constancy ? 
 Here am I, and to-morrow's sun, 
 
 To her I left, shall prove 
 That bliss is ne'er so surely won 
 As when a circuit has been run 
 
 Of valour, truth, and love. 
 
 So from the spot whereon he stood 
 
 He moved with stealthy pace ; 
 And, drawing nigh with his living eye. 
 
 He recognised the face : 
 And whispers caught, and speeches small, 
 
 Some to the green-leaved tree. 
 Some mutter'd to the torrent-fall : — 
 " Roar on, and bring him with thy call ; 
 
 I heard, and so may he ! "
 
 EMMA AND SIR EGLAMORE. 233 
 
 Soul-shattered was the knight, nor knew 
 
 If Emma's ghost it were, 
 Or bodying shade, or if the maid 
 
 Her very self stood there. 
 He touched ; what followed who shall tell ? 
 
 The soft touch snapped the thread 
 Of slumber — shrieking back she fell, 
 The stream it whirled her down the dell 
 
 Along its foaming bed. 
 
 Ill plunged the knight ! — when on firm ground 
 
 The rescued maiden lay ; 
 Her eyes grew bright with blissful light, 
 
 Confusion passed away ; 
 She heard, ere to the throne of grace 
 
 Her faithful spirit flew, 
 His voice — beheld his speaking face ; 
 And, dying, from his own embrace, 
 
 She felt that he was true. 
 
 So was he reconciled to life : 
 
 Brief words may speak the rest ; 
 Within the dell he built a cell. 
 
 And there was sorrow's guest ; 
 In hermit's weeds repose he found, 
 
 From vain temptations free. 
 Beside the torrent dwelling, bound 
 By one deep heart-controlling sound, 
 
 And awed to piety. 
 
 Wild stream of Aira, hold thy course. 
 
 Nor fear memorial lays. 
 Where clouds that spread in solemn shade, 
 
 Are edged with golden rays !
 
 234 TALES OF THE ENGLISH LAKES. 
 
 Dear art thou to the light of heaven, 
 
 Though minister of sorrow ; 
 Sweet is thy voice at pensive even ; 
 And thou, iu lovers' hearts forgiven, 
 
 Shalt take thy place with Yarrow. 
 
 THE BEIDAL OF TPvIERMAIN. 
 
 A LEGEND OF THE VALE OF ST, JOHN. 
 
 ["N travelling from Ambleside to Keswick, after passing 
 Wythburn Chapel, the high road winds by the base of 
 Helvellyn and the margin of the Lake of Thirlmere, 
 or Leatheswater, which latter it afterwards leaves by 
 a very steep ascent, exhibiting, in all their grandeur, the 
 Fells of Borrowdale. Arrived at the top of this ascent, a 
 very exquisite landscape presents itself below, extending 
 over the Vale of Legberthwaite ; or, more euphoniously and 
 modernly, the Vale of St. John's. 
 
 In the midst of this valley is a fantastic pile of rocks, 
 which, from their resemblance to the walls and towers of 
 a dilapidated and time-worn fortress, are known as the 
 Castle Rock. Hutchinson, in his Excursion to the Lakes, 
 describes this singular scene with much poetic feeling. 
 " We now gained the Vale of St. John's," he says, " 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 rising 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 shows a front of various towers, and makes an 
 awful, rude, and Gothic appearance, with its lofty turrets
 
 THE BRIDAL OF TRIERMAN. 235 
 
 and rairsred battlements ; we traced the sjalleries, the bendino- 
 arches, the buttresses. The greatest antiquity stands 
 characterised in its architecture ; the inhabitants near it 
 assert it is an antediluvian 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 
 art 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 haunts of evil spirits. 
 There was no delusion in the report ; we were soon con- 
 vinced 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." 
 
 " The inhabitants to this day," says Mackay, '' believe 
 these rocks to be an antediluvian structure, and assert that 
 the traveller, whose curiosity is aroused, will find it 
 impossible to approach them, as the guardian genii of the 
 place transform the walls and battlements into naked rocks 
 when any one draws near." Nothing, in the whole range 
 of mythological fable, could be more beautiful than this 
 popular superstition, which ascribes the disappearance of 
 " the castle," on a near approach, to supernatural agency. 
 Frigid philosophy would say, these fragments of rock, when 
 viewed from afar, bear strong resemblance to an old 
 fortress ; but on approaching nearer the illusion vanishes, 
 and they are found to be a shapeless mass of stone. Poetry 
 clothes this fact in beautiful imagery ; she warns the 
 intruder to survey the structure at a distance ; for should
 
 236 TALES OF THE ENGLISH LAKES. 
 
 he have the temerity to advance upon it, the incensed genii 
 of the place will, by spells "of power to cheat the eye with 
 blear illusion," transform its fiiir proportions into a mis- 
 shapen pile of rocks. This pleasing fiction emanated from 
 the same poetical spirit that wrought, in the elder days of 
 Greece, the splendid fable of Aurora, in her saffron -coloured 
 robe, opening the gates of the morning to the chariot of 
 the sun. 
 
 The genius of Sir Walter Scott has rendered the beautiful 
 Vale of St. John classic ground, by having selected it for 
 the principal scene of his "Bridal of Triermain." This is 
 purely a tale of chivalry of Arthur's days, when midnight 
 fairies danced the maze ; and it is at the fantastic Castle 
 Rock that Sir Walter represents King Arthur's amorous 
 dalliance with its fairy inhabitants in their halls of enchant- 
 ment, when he was on his way to Carlisle. Our limits will 
 not admit the whole of "The Bridal of Triermain." We give, 
 however, such portions as will sufficiently connect the 
 thread of the narrative, in which it will be observed that 
 Sir Roland de Vaux, the Baron of Tremain, is introduced. 
 This branch of Vaux, with its collateral alliances, is now 
 represented by the fcimily of Braddyl, of Conishead Priory, 
 near Furness Abbey. 
 
 THE BRIDAL OF TRIERMAIN. 
 
 Where is the Maiden of mortal strain, 
 That may match with the Baron of Trierman ? 
 She must be lovel}', and constant, and kind. 
 Holy and pure, and humble of mind. 
 Blithe of cheer and gentle of mood. 
 Courteous, and generous, and noble of blood — 
 Lovely as the sun's first ray 
 When it breaks the clouds of an April day ; 
 Constant and true as the widow'd dove. 
 Kind as a minstrel that sings of love ;
 
 THE BRIDAL OF TRIERMAIN. 237 
 
 Pure as the fountain in rocky cave, 
 
 Where never sunbeam kissed the wave ; 
 
 Humble as maiden that loves in vain, 
 
 Holy as hermit's vesper strain ; 
 
 Gentle as breeze that but whispers and dies, 
 
 Yet blithe as the light leaves that dance in its sighs ; 
 
 Courteous as monarch the morn he is crowned. 
 
 Generous as spring-dews that bless the glad ground; 
 
 Noble her blood as the currents that met 
 
 lu the veins of the noblest Plantagenet ; 
 
 Such must her form be, her mood, and her strain, 
 
 That shall match with Sir Roland of Triermain. 
 
 Sir Roland de Yaux he hath laid him to sleep, 
 His blood it was fevered, his breathing was deep. 
 He had been pricking against the Scot, 
 The foray was long and the skirmish hot ; 
 His dinted helm and his buckler's plight 
 Bore token of a stubborn fight. 
 
 All in the castle must hold them still, 
 Harpers must lull him to his rest, 
 With the slow soft tunes he loves the best, 
 Till sleep sink down upon his breast. 
 
 Like the dew on a summer hill. 
 
 It was the dawn of an autumn day. 
 The sun was struggling with frost-fog gray. 
 That like a silvery crape was spread 
 Round Skiddaw's dim and distant head, 
 And faintly gleamed each painted pane 
 Of the lordly halls of Triermain, 
 
 When that Baron bold awoke. 
 Starting he woke, and loudly did call. 
 Rousing his menials in bower and hall, 
 
 While hastily he spoke. 
 Q
 
 238 TALES OF THE ENGLISH LAKES. 
 
 " Hearken, my minstrels ! Which of ye all 
 Touched his harp with that dying fall, 
 
 So sweet, so soft, so faint, 
 It seem'd an angel's whisper'd call 
 
 To an expiring saint ? 
 And hearken, my merry-men ! What time or where 
 
 Did she pass, that maid with her heavenly brow, 
 With her look so sweet and her eyes so fair, 
 And her graceful step and her angel air. 
 And the eagle-plume in her dark-brown hair, 
 
 That pass'd from my bower e'en now ! " 
 
 Answer'd him Richard de Bretville ; he 
 Was chief of the Baron's minstrelsy — 
 " Silent, noble chieftain, we 
 
 Have sat since midnight close. 
 When such lulling sounds as the brooklet sings, 
 Murmur'd from our melting strings, 
 
 And hush'd you to repose, 
 
 Had a harp-note sounded here, 
 
 It had caught my watchful ear. 
 Although it fell as faint and shy 
 As bashful maiden's half -formed sigh, 
 
 When she thinks her lover near." 
 Answer'd Philip of Fasthwaite tall, 
 He kept guard in the outer-hall — 
 " Since at eve our Avatch took post. 
 Not a foot has thy portal cross'd ; 
 
 Else had I heard the steps, though low, 
 And light they fell, as when earth receives, 
 In morn of frost, the wither'd leaves 
 
 That drop when no wands blow." — 
 
 " Then come thou thither, Henry, my page. 
 Whom I saved from the sack of Hermitage, 
 When that dark castle, tower, and spire,
 
 THE BRIDAL OF TRIERMAIN. 239 
 
 Rose to the skies a pile of fire, 
 
 And redclen'd all the Nine-stane Hill, 
 And the shrieks of death, that wildly broke 
 Through devouring flame and smothering smoke, 
 
 Made the warrior's heart-blood chill. 
 The trustiest thou of all my train, 
 My fleetest courser thou must rein, 
 
 And ride to Lj^ulph's tower, 
 And from the Baron of Trierman 
 
 Greet well that Sage of power. 
 He is sprung from Druid sires, 
 And British bards that tuned their lyres 
 To Arthur's and Pendragon's praise. 
 And his who sleeps at Dunmailraise.* 
 
 Gifted like his gifted race, 
 
 He the characters can trace. 
 
 Graven deep in elder time 
 
 Upon Helvellyn's clifls sublime : 
 
 Sign and sigil well doth he know, 
 
 And can bode of weal and woe, 
 
 Of kingdoms' fall, and fate of wars, 
 
 From mystic dreams and course of stars. 
 
 He shall tell if middle earth 
 
 To that enchanting shape gave birth, 
 
 Or if 'twas but an airy thing. 
 
 Such as fantastic slumbers bring, 
 
 Fram'd from the rainbow's varying dyes, 
 
 Or fading tints of western skies. 
 
 For, by the blessed rood I swear. 
 
 If that fair form breathe vital air, 
 
 *Dunmailraise is one of the grand passes from Cumberland into West- 
 morland. It takes its name from a cairn, or pile of stones, erected it is 
 said, to the memory of Dunmail, the last king of Cumberland, who was 
 slain and buried there.
 
 240 TALES OF THE ENGLISH LAKES. 
 
 No other maiden by ray side 
 Shall ever rest De Vaux's bride ! " 
 
 The faithful Page he mounts his steed, 
 
 And soon he cross'd green Irthing's mead, 
 
 Dash'd o'er Kirkoswald's verdant plain. 
 
 And Eden barr'd his course in vain. 
 
 He pass'd red Penrith's Table round,* 
 
 For feats of chivalry renown'd, 
 
 Left Mayburgh's mound*}- and stones of power, 
 
 By Druids raised in magic hour, 
 
 And traced the Eamont's winding way. 
 
 Till Ulfo's lake J beneath him lay. 
 
 Onward he rode, the pathway still 
 Winding betwixt the lake and hill ; 
 Till, on the fragment of a rock. 
 Struck from its base by lightning shock, 
 
 He saw the hoary sage : 
 The silver moss and lichen twined. 
 With fern and deer-hair check'd and lined, 
 
 A cushion fit for age ; 
 And o'er him shook the aspin-tree, 
 A restless rustling canopy. 
 
 * A circular entrenchment, about half a mile from Penrith, is thus 
 popularly termed. The circle within the ditch is about one hundred and 
 sixty paces in circumference, with openings, or approaches, directly opposite 
 to each other. As the ditch is on the inner side, it could not be intended 
 for the purpose of defence, and it has been reasonably conjectured, that the 
 enclosure was designed for the solemn exercise of feats of chivalry ; and 
 the embankment around for the convenience of the spectators. 
 
 i Higher up the river Eamont than Arthur's Round Table, is a prodigious 
 enclosure of great antiquity, formed by a collection of stones upon the top 
 of a gently sloping hill, called May burgh. In the plain which it encloses 
 there stands erect an unhewn stone of twelve feet in height. Two similar 
 masses are said to have been destroyed during the memory of man. The 
 whole appeal's to be a monument of Druidical times. 
 
 t UUswater.
 
 THE BRIDAL OF TRIERMAIN. 241 
 
 Then sprung young Henry from his selle, 
 
 And greeted Lyulph grave, 
 And then his master's tale did tell, 
 
 And then for counsel crave. 
 The Man of Years mused long and deep, 
 Of time's lost treasures taking keep, 
 And then, as rousing from a sleep, 
 
 His solemn answer gave. 
 " That maid is born of middle earth, 
 
 And may of man be won, 
 Though there have glided since her birth 
 
 Five hundred years and one. 
 But Where's the kuight in all the north, 
 That dare the adventure follow forth, 
 So perilous to knightly worth. 
 
 In the valley of St. John ? 
 Listen, youth, to what I tell. 
 And bind it on thy memory well ; 
 Nor muse that I commence the rhj^me 
 Far distant 'mid the wrecks of time. 
 The mystic tale, by bard and sage. 
 Is handed down from Merlin's age. 
 
 lyulph's tale. 
 
 " King Arthur has ridden from merry Carlisle, 
 
 When Pentecost was o'er : 
 He journey'd like errant-knight the while, 
 And sweetly the summer sun did smile 
 
 On mountain, moss, and moor. 
 Above his solitary track 
 Rose huge Blencathara's ridgy back, 
 Amid whose yawning gulfs the sun 
 Cast umber'd radiance red and dun. 
 Though never sunbeam could discern
 
 242 TALES OF THE ENGLISH LAKES. 
 
 The surface of that sable tarn,* 
 In whose black mirror you may spy 
 The stars, while noontide lights the sky. 
 The gallant King he skirted still 
 The margin of that mighty hill ; 
 Rock upon rocks incumbent hung, 
 And torrents, down the gullies flung, 
 Join'd the rude river that brawl'd on. 
 Recoiling now from crag and stone, 
 Now diving deep from human ken. 
 And raving down its darksome glen. 
 The Monarch judged this desert wild, 
 With such romantic ruin piled, 
 Was theatre by nature's hand 
 For feat of high achievement plann'd. 
 
 " He rode, till over down and dell 
 
 The shade more broad and deeper fell ; 
 
 And though around the mountain's head 
 
 Flow'd streams of purple, and gold, and red, 
 
 Dark at the base, unblest by beam, 
 
 Frown'd the black rocks, and roar'd the stream. 
 
 With toil the King his way pursued 
 
 By lonely Threlkeld's waste and wood, 
 
 Till on his course obliquely shone 
 
 The narrow valley of Saint John, 
 
 Down sloping to the western sky. 
 
 Where lingering sunbeams love to lie. 
 
 Right glad to feel those beams again, 
 
 The King drew up his charger's rein ; 
 
 With gauntlet raised he screen'd his sight, 
 
 * The small lake called Scales-tarn, which lies so deeply embosomed in 
 the recesses of the huge mountain called Saddleback, more poetically 
 Blencathara, is of such great depth, and so completely hidden from the sun, 
 that it is said its beams never reach it, and that the reflection of the stars 
 may be seen on its surface at mid-day.
 
 THE BRIDAL OF TRIERMAIN. 243 
 
 As dazzled with the level light, 
 And, from beneath his glove of mail, 
 Scann'd at his ease the lovely vale, 
 While 'gainst the sun his armour bright 
 Gleam'd ruddv like the beacon's li^ht. 
 
 " Paled in by many a lofty hill, 
 The narrow dale lay smooth and still, 
 And, down its verdant bosom led, 
 A winding brooklet found its bed. 
 But, midmost of the vale, a mound 
 Arose with airy turrets crown'd. 
 Buttress, and rampire's circling bound. 
 
 And mighty keep and tower ; 
 Seem'd some primeval giant's hand. 
 The castle's massive walls had plann'd, 
 A ponderous bulwark to withstand 
 
 Ambitious Nimrod's power. 
 Above the moated entrance slung, 
 The balanced drawbridge trembling hung. 
 
 As jealous of a foe ; 
 Wicket of oak, as iron hard. 
 With iron studded, clench'd, and barr'd, 
 And prong'd portcullis, join'd to guard 
 
 The gloomy pass below. 
 But the gray walls no banners crown'd, 
 Upon the watch-tower's airy round. 
 No warder stood his horn to sound. 
 No guard beside the bridge was found. 
 And, where the Gothic gateway frown'd, 
 
 Glanced neither bill nor bow. 
 
 " Beneath the castle's gloomy pride, 
 In ample round did Arthur ride 
 Three times ; nor living thing he spied, 
 Nor heard a living sound,
 
 244 TALES OF THE ENGLISH LAKES. 
 
 Save that, awakening from her dream, 
 
 The owlet now began to scream, 
 
 In concert with the rushing stream, 
 
 That wash'd the battled mound. 
 
 He lighted from his goodly steed, 
 
 And he left him to graze on bank and mead; 
 
 And slowly he climb'd the narrow way 
 
 That reached the entrance grim and gray, 
 
 And he stood the outward arch below, 
 
 And his bugle-horn prepared to blow, 
 
 In summons blithe and bold. 
 
 Deeming to rouse from iron sleep 
 
 The guardian of this dismal Keep, 
 
 Which well he guess'd the hold 
 Of wizard stern, or goblin grim. 
 Or pagan of gigantic limb. 
 
 The tyrant of the wold. 
 
 " The ivory bugle's golden tip 
 
 Twice touch'd the IMonarch's manly lip. 
 
 And twice his hand withdrew, 
 — Think not but Arthur's heart was good ! 
 His shield was cross'd by the blessed rood. 
 Had a pagan host before him stood, 
 
 He had charged them through and through ; 
 Yet the silence of that ancient place 
 Sunk on his heart, and he paused a space 
 
 Ere yet his horn he blew. 
 But, instant as its 'larum rung. 
 The castle gate was open flung. 
 Portcullis rose with crashing groan 
 Full harshly up its groove of stone ; 
 The balance-beams obey'd the blast, 
 And down the trembling drawbridge cast; 
 The vaulted arch before him lay.
 
 THE BRIDAL OF TRIERMAIN. 245 
 
 With nought to bar the gloomy wa}', 
 And onward Arthur paced, with haud 
 On Caliburn's* resistless brand. 
 
 " A hundred torches, flashing bright, 
 Dispelled at once the gloomy night 
 
 That lour'd along the walls. 
 And show'd the King's astonish'd sight 
 
 The inmates of the halls. 
 Nor wizard stern nor goblin grim. 
 Nor giant huge of form and limb, 
 
 Nor heathen knight, was there ; 
 But the cressets, which odours flung aloft, 
 Show'd by their yellow light and soft, 
 
 A band of damsels fair. 
 Onward they came, like summer wave 
 
 That dances to the shore; 
 An hundred voices welcome gave. 
 
 And welcome o'er and o'er ! 
 An hundred lovely hands assail 
 The bucklers of the monarch's mail. 
 And busy labour'd to unliusp 
 Rivet of steel and iron clasp. • 
 One wrapp'd him in a mantle fair, 
 And one flung odours on his hair ; 
 His short curl'd ringlets one smooth'd down, 
 One wreathed them with a myrtle-crown. 
 A bride upon her wedding day, 
 Was tended ne'er by troop so gay. 
 
 " Loud laugh 'd they all, — the King, in vain, 
 With questions task'd the giddy train ; 
 Let him entreat, or crave, or call, 
 'Twas one reply — loud laugh'd they all. 
 
 * This -was the name of King Arthur's well known sword, sometimes also 
 called Excalibar.
 
 246 TALES OF THE ENGLISH LAKES. 
 
 Then o'er him mimic chains they fling, 
 Framed of the fairest flowers of spring. 
 While some their gentle force unite, 
 Onward to drag the wondering knight, 
 Some, bolder, urge his pace with blows, 
 Dealt with the lily or the rose. 
 Behind him were in triumph borne 
 The warlike arms he late had worn. 
 Four of the train combined to rear 
 The terrors of Tintadgel's spear ;* 
 Two, laughing at their lack of strength, 
 Dragg'd Caliburn in cumbrous length ; 
 One, while she aped a martial stride, 
 Placed on her brows the helmet's pride ; 
 Then scream'd, 'twixt laughter and surprise, 
 To feel its depth o'erwhelm her eyes. 
 With revel-shout, and triumph-song, 
 Thus gaily march'd the giddy throng. 
 
 " Through many a gallery and hall 
 They led, I ween, their royal thrall ; 
 At length, beneath a fair arcade 
 Their march and song at once they staid. 
 The eldest maiden of the band, 
 
 (The lovely maid was scarce eighteen,) 
 Raised, with imposing air, her hand, 
 And reverent silence did command. 
 
 On entrance of their Queen, 
 And they were mute — But as a glance 
 They steal on Arthur's countenance 
 
 Bewilder'd with surprise. 
 Their smother'd mirth again 'gan speak, 
 
 * Tintadgel Castle, in Cornwall, is reported to have been the birthplace 
 of King Arthur.
 
 THE BRIDAL OF TRIERMAIN. 247 
 
 In archly dimpled chin and cheek, 
 And laughter-lighted eyes. 
 
 " The attributes of those high days 
 Now only live in minstrel-lays ;. 
 Nor Nature, now exhausted, still 
 Was then profuse of good and ill. 
 Strength was gigantic, valour high, 
 And wisdom soar'd beyond the sky. 
 And beauty had such matchless beam 
 As lights not now a lover's dream. 
 Yet e'en in that romantic age, 
 
 Ne'er were such charms by mortal seen, 
 As Arthur's dazzled eyes engage. 
 When forth on that enchanted stage. 
 With glittering train of maid and page. 
 
 Advanced the castle's Queen ! 
 While up the hall she slowly pass'd, 
 Her dark eye on the King she cast, 
 
 That flash'd expression strong ; 
 The longer dwelt that lingering look. 
 Her cheek the livelier colour took, 
 And scarce the shame-faced King could brook 
 
 The gaze that lasted long. 
 A sage, who had that look espied. 
 Where kindling passion strove with pride. 
 Had whisper'd, ' Prince, beware ! 
 From the chafed tiger rend the prey, 
 Rush on the lion when at bay, 
 Bar the fell dragon's blighted way, 
 
 But shun that lovely snare !' — 
 
 " At once, that inward strife suppress'd. 
 The dame approach'd her warlike guest. 
 With greeting in that fair degree,
 
 248 TALES OF THE ENGLISH LAKES. 
 
 .Where female pride and courtesy 
 Are blended with such passing art 
 As awes at once and charms the heart. 
 A courtly welcome first she gave, 
 Then of his goodness 'gan to crave 
 
 Construction fair and true 
 Of herlight maidens' idle mirth, 
 Who drew from lonely glens their birth, 
 Nor knew to pay to stranger worth 
 
 And dignity their due; 
 And then she pray'd that he would rest 
 That night her castle's honour'd guest. 
 The Monarch meetly thanks express'd ; 
 The banquet rose at her behest, 
 With lay and tale, and laugh and jest, 
 
 Apace the evening flew. 
 
 " The lady sate the Monarch by, 
 Now in her turn abash'd and shy, 
 And with indifference seem'd to hear 
 The toys he whisper'd in her ear. 
 Her bearing modest was and fair, 
 Yet shadows of constraint were there. 
 That show'd an over-cautious care 
 
 Some inward thought to hide ; 
 Oft did she pause in full reply. 
 And oft cast down her large dark eye, 
 Oft check'd the soft voluptuous sigh, 
 
 That heav'd her bosom's pride. 
 
 " Another day, another da}^ 
 And yet another, glides away ! 
 The Saxon stern, the pagan Dane, 
 Maraud on Britain's shores again. 
 Arthur, of Christendom the flower, 
 Lies loitering in a lady's bower ;
 
 THE BRIDAL OF TRIERMAIN. 249 
 
 The horn, that foeraen wont to fear, 
 Sounds but to wake the Cumbrian deer, 
 And Caliburn, the British pride, 
 Hangs useless by a i over's side. 
 
 " Another day, another day, 
 
 And yet another, glides away ! 
 
 Heroic plans in pleasure drowned, 
 
 He thinks not of the Table Round ; 
 
 In lawless love dissolved his life, 
 
 He thinks not of his beauteous wife : 
 
 Better he loves to snatch a flower 
 
 From bosom of his paramour. 
 
 Than from a Saxon knight to wrest 
 
 The honours of his heathen crest; 
 
 Better to wreathe, 'mid tresses brown. 
 
 The heron's plume her hawk struck down, 
 
 Than o'er the altar give to flow 
 
 The banners of a Paynim foe. 
 
 Thus, week by week, and day by day. 
 
 His life inglorious glides away ; 
 
 But she, that soothes his dream, with fear 
 
 Beholds his hour of waking near. 
 
 " Three summer months had scantly flown. 
 When Arthur, in embarrass'd tone. 
 Spoke of his liegemen and his throne ; 
 Said, all too long had been his stay, 
 And duties, which a monarch sway. 
 Duties, unknown to humbler men. 
 Must tear her knight from Guendolen. 
 She listened silently the while, 
 Her mood expressed in bitter smile ; 
 Beneath her eye must Arthur quail, 
 And oft resume the unfinished tale.
 
 250 TALES OF THE ENGLISH LAKES. 
 
 Confessing, by his downcast eye, 
 The wrong he sought to justify. 
 He ceased. A moment mute she gazed. 
 And then her looks to heaven she, raised ; 
 One palm her temples veiled, to hide 
 The tear that sprung in spite of pride ; 
 The other for an instant pressed 
 The foldings of her silken vest ! 
 
 " At her reproachful sign and look 
 
 The hint the monarch's conscience took. 
 
 Eager he spoke — ' No, Lady, no ! 
 
 Deem not of British Arthur so. 
 
 Nor think he can deserter prove 
 
 To the dear pledge of mutual love. 
 
 I swear by sceptre and by sword. 
 
 As belted knight and Britain's lord, 
 
 That if a boy shall claim my care, 
 
 That boy is born a kingdom's heir ; 
 
 But, if a maiden Fate allows, 
 
 To choose that maid a fitting spouse, 
 
 A summer-day in lists shall strive 
 
 My knights — the bravest knights alive, — 
 
 And he, the best and bravest tried, 
 
 Shall Arthur's daughter claim for bride.' — 
 
 He spoke, with voice resolved and high — 
 
 The lady deigned him not reply. 
 
 " At dawn of morn, ere on the brake 
 His matins did a warbler make. 
 Or stirred his wing to brush away 
 A single dewdrop from the spray. 
 Ere yet a sunbeam through the mist. 
 The castle-battlements had kissed. 
 The gates revolve, the drawbridge falls, 
 And Arthur sallies from the walls.
 
 THE BRIDAL OF TRIERMAIN. 251 
 
 Doff'd his soft garb of Persia's loom, 
 And steel from spur to helmet-plume, 
 His Lybian steed full proudly trode, 
 And joyful neighed beneath his load, 
 Tlie Monarch gave a passing sigh 
 To penitence and pleasures by, 
 When, lo ! to his astonished ken, 
 Appeared the form of Guendolen. 
 
 " Beyond the utmost wall she stood, 
 
 Attired like huntress of the wood : 
 
 Sandalled her feet, her ankles bare, 
 
 And eagle-plumage decked her hair ; 
 
 Firm was her look, her bearing bold, 
 
 And in her hand a cup of gold. 
 
 ' Thou goest ! ' she said, ' and ne'er again 
 
 Must we two meet; in joy or pain. 
 
 Full fain would I this hour delay. 
 
 Though weak the wish — yet wilt thou stay ? 
 
 — No ! thou look'st forward. Still attend, — 
 
 Part we like lover and like friend.' 
 
 She raised the cup — ' Not this the juice 
 
 The sluggish vines of earth produce ; 
 
 Pledge we, at parting, in the draught 
 
 Which Genii love ! ' — she said and quafied ; 
 
 And strange unwonted lustres fly 
 
 From her flushed cheek and sparkling eye. 
 
 " The courteous monarch bent him low, 
 And, stooping down from saddlebow. 
 Lifted the cup, in act to drink, 
 A^drop escaped the goblet's brink — 
 Intense as liquid fire from hell, 
 Upon^the charger's neck it fell. 
 Screaming with agony and fright, 
 He bolted twenty feet upright —
 
 252 TALES OF THE ENGLISH LAKES. 
 
 — The peasant still can show the (iint 
 Where his hoofs lighted on the flint — 
 From Arthur's hand the goblet flew, 
 Scattering a shower of fiery dew, 
 That burned and blighted where it fell !* 
 The frantic steed rushed up the dell, 
 As whistles from the bow the reed ; 
 Nor bit nor rein could check his speed, 
 
 Until he gained the hill ; 
 Then breath and sinew failed apace, 
 And, reeling from the desperate race. 
 
 He stood, exhausted, still. 
 The Monarch, breathless and amazed, 
 
 Back on the fatal castle gazed 
 
 Nor tower nor donjon could he sp}', 
 Darkening against the morning skj'^ ; 
 But, on the spot where once they frowned, 
 The lonely streamlet brawled around 
 A tufted knoll, where dimly shone 
 Fragments of rock and rifted .-^tone. 
 Musing on this strange hap the while. 
 The Kingf wends back to fair Carlisle : 
 And cares, that cumber royal sway. 
 Wore memory of the past away. 
 
 " Full fifteen years, and more, were sped, 
 Each brought new wreaths to Arthur's head. 
 Twelve bloody fields, with glory fought. 
 The Saxons to subjection brought: 
 Bython, the mighty giant, slain 
 By his good brand, relieved Bretagne : 
 
 * The author has an indistinct recollection of an adventure somewhat 
 similar to that which is here ascribed to Kiug Arthur, having befallen one 
 of the ancient Kiugs of Denmark. The horn in which the burning liquor 
 was presented to that Monarch is said still to be preserved in the Koyal 
 Museum at Copenhagen.
 
 THE BRIDAL OF TRIERMAIN. 253 
 
 The Pictish Gillamore, in fight, 
 
 And Roman Lucius, owned his might ; 
 
 And wide were through the world renowned 
 
 The glories of his Table Round. 
 
 Each knight, who sought adventurous fame, 
 
 To the bold court of Britain came. 
 
 And all who suffered causeless wrong, 
 
 From tyrant proud or faitour strong, 
 
 Sought Arthur's presence to complain. 
 
 Nor there for aid implored in vain, 
 
 " For this the King, with pomp and pride, 
 Held solemn court at Whitsuntide, 
 
 Aod summoned Prince and Peer — 
 All who owed homage for their land, 
 Or who craved knighthood from his hand. 
 Or who had succour to demand — 
 
 To come from far and near, 
 
 " The heralds named the appointed spot, 
 As Caerleon or Camelot, 
 
 Or Carlisle fair and free. 
 At Penrith, now, the feast was set, 
 And in fair Eamont's vale were met 
 
 The flower of chivalry. 
 
 " When wine and mirth did most abound, 
 And harpers played their blithest round, 
 A shrilly trumpet shook the ground, 
 
 And marshals cleared the ring ; 
 A maiden, on a palfrey white, 
 Heading a band of damsels bright, 
 Paced through the circle, to alight 
 
 And kneel before the King, 
 Arthur, with strong emotion, saw 
 Her graceful boldness checked by awe,
 
 254 TALES OF THE ENGLISH LAKES. 
 
 Her dress like huntress of the wold, 
 Her bow and baldric trapped with gold, 
 Her sandalled feet, her ankles bare. 
 And the eagle-plume that decked her hair. 
 Graceful her veil she backward flung — 
 The King, as from his seat he sprung. 
 
 Almost cried, ' Guendolen ! ' 
 But 'twas a face more frank and wild. 
 Betwixt the woman and the child, 
 Where less of magic beauty smiled 
 
 Than of the race of men ; 
 And in the forehead's haughty grace, 
 The lines of Britain's royal race, 
 
 Pendragon's you might ken. 
 
 " Faltering, yet gracefully she said — 
 ' Great Prince ! behold an orphan maid, 
 In her departed mother's name, 
 A father's vowed protection claim ! 
 The vow was sworn in desert lone. 
 In the deep valley of St. John.' 
 At once the King the suppliant raised, 
 And kissed her brow, her beauty praised ; 
 His vow, he said, should well be kept, 
 Ere in the sea, the sun was dipped, — 
 Then conscious glanced upon his queen : 
 But she, unruffled at the scene, 
 Of human frailty construed mild. 
 Looked upon Lancelot and smiled. 
 
 " ' Up ! up ! each knight of gallant crest 
 
 Take buckler, spear, and brand ! 
 He that to-day shall bear him best. 
 
 Shall win my Gyneth's hand. 
 And Arthur's daughter, when a bride, 
 
 Shall bring a noble dower ;
 
 THE BRIDAL OF TRIERMAIN. 255 
 
 Both fair Strath-Clyde and Reged wide, 
 
 And Carlisle town and tower,' 
 Then might you hear each valiant knight, 
 
 To page and squire that cried, 
 ' Bring my armour bright, and my courser wight ! 
 ' Tis not each day that a warrior's might 
 
 May win a royal bride.' 
 Then cloaks and caps of maintenance 
 
 In haste aside they fling ; 
 The helmets glance, and gleams the lance, 
 
 And the steel-weaved hauberks ring. 
 Small care had they of their peaceful array, 
 
 They might gather it that wolde ; 
 For brake and bramble glitter'd gay, 
 
 "With pearls and cloth of gold. 
 
 " Within trumpet sound of the Table Round 
 
 Were fifty champions free, 
 And they all arise to fight that prize, — 
 
 They all arise but three. 
 The knights they busied them so fast. 
 
 With buckling spur and belt, 
 That sigh and look, by ladies cast, 
 
 Were neither seen nor felt. 
 
 From pleading, or upbraiding glance, 
 
 Each gallant turns aside. 
 And only thought, ' If speeds my lance, 
 
 A queen becomes my bride ! 
 She has fair Strath-Clyde, and Reged wide, 
 
 And Carlisle tower and town ; 
 She is the loveliest maid, beside. 
 
 That ever heired a crown.' 
 So in haste their coursers they bestride. 
 
 And strike their visors down.
 
 256 TALES OF THE ENGLISH LAKES. 
 
 " The champions, arm'd in martial sort, 
 
 Have throng'd into the list, 
 And but three knights of Arthur's court 
 
 Are from the tourney miss'd. 
 
 " Now caraeol'd the steeds in air, 
 Now plumes and pennons wanton'd fair, 
 As all around the lists so wide 
 In panoply the champions ride. 
 King Arthur saw, with startled eye, 
 The flower of chivalry march by, 
 The kingdom's shield in hour of need, 
 Too late he thought him of the woe 
 Might from their civil conflict flow ; 
 For well he knew they would not part 
 Till cold was many a gallant heart. 
 His hasty vow he 'gan to rue, 
 And Gyneth then apart he drew ; 
 To her his leading-staff resign'd. 
 But added caution grave and kind. 
 
 " ' Thou see'st my child, as promise-bound, 
 
 I bid the trump for tourney sound. 
 
 Take thou ray warder, as the queen 
 
 And umpire of the martial scene ; 
 
 But mark thou this : — as Beauty bright 
 
 Is polar star to valiant knight, 
 
 As at her word his sword he draws, 
 
 His fairest guerdon her applause. 
 
 So gentle maid should never ask 
 
 Of knighthood vain and dangerous task ; 
 
 And Beauty's eyes should ever be 
 
 Like the twin stars that soothe the sea, 
 
 And Beauty's breath should whisper peace, 
 
 And bid the storm of battle cease.
 
 THE BRIDAL OF TRIERMAIN. 257 
 
 I tell thee this, lest all too far 
 These knights urge tourney into war. 
 Blithe at the trumpet let them go, 
 And fairly counter blow for blow : — 
 No striplings these, who succour need, 
 For a raised helm or fallen steed. 
 But, Gyneth, when the strife grows warm, 
 And threatens death or deadly harm, 
 Thy sire entreats, thy king commands, 
 Thou drop the warder from thy hands. 
 Trust thou thy father with thy fate. 
 Doubt not he choose thee fitting mate ; 
 Nor be it said, through Gyneth's pride 
 A rose of Arthur's chaplet died.' 
 
 " A proud and discontented glow 
 O'ershadowed Gyneth's brow of snow ; 
 
 She put the warder by : — 
 * Reserve thy boon, my liege,' she said, 
 ' Thus chaffer'd down and limited. 
 Debased and narrow'd, for a maid. 
 
 Of less degree than I. 
 No petty chief, but holds his heir 
 At a more honour'd price and rare 
 
 Than Britain's King holds me ! 
 Although the sun-burii'd maid, for dower. 
 Has but her father's rugged tower. 
 
 His barren hill and lee.' 
 King Arthur swore, ' B}'- crown and sword, 
 As belted Knight, and Britain's lord, 
 That a whole summer's day should strive 
 His knights, the bravest knights alive ! ' — 
 ' Recal thine oath ! and to her glen 
 Poor Gyneth can return agen ;
 
 258 TALES OF THE ENGLISH LAKES. 
 
 Not on thy daughter will the stain. 
 That soils thy sword and crown, remain. 
 But think not she will e'er be bride 
 Save to the bravest, proved and tried ; 
 Pendragon's daughter will not fear 
 For clashing sword or splinter'd spear, 
 
 Nor shrink though blood should flow. 
 
 " He frown'd and sigh'd, the Monarch bold : — 
 
 ' I give — what I may not withhold ; 
 
 For not for danger, dread, or death, 
 
 Must British Arthur break his faith. 
 
 Too late I mark thy mother's art 
 
 Hath taught thee this relentless part. 
 
 Use, then, the warder, as thou wilt ; 
 
 But, trust me, that, if life be spilt. 
 
 In Arthur's love, in Arthur's grace, 
 
 Gyneth shall lose a daughter's place.' 
 
 With that he turn'd his head aside, 
 
 Nor brook'd to gaze upon her pride. 
 
 As, with the truncheon raised, she sate 
 
 The arbitress of mortal fate ; 
 
 Nor brook'd to mark, in ranks disposed, 
 
 How the bold champions stood opposed. 
 
 For shrill the trumpet-flourish fell 
 
 Upon his ear like passing bell ! 
 
 Then first from sight of martial fray 
 
 Did Britain's hero turn away. 
 
 "But Gyneth heard the clangour high, 
 As hears the hawk the partridge cry. 
 So well accomplish'd was each knight, 
 To strike and to defend in fight, 
 Their meeting was a goodly sight, 
 While plate and mail held true.
 
 THE BRIDAL OF TRIERMAIN. 259 
 
 The lists with painted phimes were strown, 
 Upon the wind at random thrown, 
 But helm and breastplate bloodless shone, 
 It seem'd their feather'd crests alone 
 Should this encounter rue. 
 
 " But soon too earnest grew their game, 
 
 The spears drew blood, the swords struck flame, 
 
 And, horse and man, to ground there came 
 
 Knights, who shall rise no more ! 
 Gone was the pride the war that graced. 
 Gay shields were cleft, and crests defaced, 
 And steel coats riven, and helms unbraced, 
 
 And pennons stream'd with gore. 
 Gone, too, were fence and fair array. 
 And desperate strength made deadly way 
 At random through the bloody fray, 
 And blows were dealt with headlong sway, 
 
 Unheeding where they fell ; 
 And now the trumpet's clamour seem 
 Like the shrill sea-bird's w^ailing scream, 
 Heard o'er the whirlpool's gulfing stream, 
 
 The sinking seaman's knell ! 
 
 Already gasping on the ground 
 Lie twenty of the Table Round, 
 
 Of chivalry the prime. 
 Arthur, in anguish, tore away 
 From head and beard his tresses gray, 
 And she, proud Gyneth, felt dismay. 
 
 And quaked with ruth and fear ; 
 But still she deem'd her mother's shade 
 Huns: o'er the tumult, and forbade 
 The sign that had the slaughter staid. 
 
 And chid the rising tear.
 
 26o TALES OF THE ENGLISH LAKES. 
 
 Then Bruuor, Taulas, Mador, fell, 
 Helias the White, and Lionel, 
 
 And many a champion more ; 
 Rochemont and Dinadam are down, 
 And Ferrand of the Forest Brown 
 Lies gasping in his gore. 
 Vanoc, by mighty Morolt press'd 
 Even to the confines of the list, 
 Youno- Vanoc of the beardless face 
 (Fame spoke the youth of Merlin's race), 
 O'erpower'd at Gyneth's footstool bled. 
 His heart's-blood died her sandals red. 
 But then the sky was overcast. 
 Then howl'd at once a whirlwind's blast, 
 
 And, rent by sudden throes, 
 Yawn'd in mid lists the quaking earth. 
 And from the gulf, — tremendous birth ! — 
 
 The form of Merlin rose. 
 
 " Sternly the Wizard Prophet eyed 
 The dreary lists with slaughter dyed, 
 
 And sternly raised his hand ; — 
 ' Madmen,' he said, ' your strife forbear ! 
 And thou, fair cause of mischief, hear 
 The doom thy fates demand ! 
 
 Long shall close in stony sleep 
 
 Eyes for ruth that would not weep ; 
 
 Iron lethargy shall seal 
 
 Heart that pity scorn'd to feel. 
 
 Yet, because thy mother's art 
 
 Warp'd thine unsuspicious heart. 
 
 And for love of Arthur's race. 
 
 Punishment is blent with grace, 
 
 Thou shalt bear thy penance lone 
 
 In the valley of Saint John,
 
 THE BRIDAL OF TRIERMAIN. 261 
 
 And this doom shall overtake tbee; 
 Sleep, until a knight shall wake thee, 
 For feats of arms as far renown'd 
 As warrior of the Table Round. 
 Long endurance of tlw slumber 
 Well may teach the world to number 
 All their woes from Gyneth's pride, 
 When the Red Cross champions died.' 
 
 " As Merlin speaks, on Gyneth's eye 
 Slumber's load begins to lie ; 
 Fear and auger vainly strive 
 Still to keep its light alive. 
 Twice, with effort and Avith pause, 
 O'er her brow her hand she draws ; 
 Twice her strength in vain she tries, 
 From the fatal chair to rise ; 
 Merlin's magic doom is spoken, 
 Vanoc's death must now be wrokeu. 
 Slow the dark-fringed eyelids fall, 
 Curtaining each azure ball, 
 Slowly as on summer eves 
 Violets fold their dusky leaves. 
 The weighty baton of command 
 Now bears down her sinking hand, 
 On her shoulder droops her head : 
 Net of pearl and golden thread. 
 Bursting, o^ave her locks to flow 
 O'er her arm and breast of snow. 
 And so lovely seem'd she there, 
 Spell-bound in her ivory chair, 
 That her angry sire, repenting. 
 Craved stern Merlin for relenting. 
 And the champions, for her sake, 
 Would again the contest wake ;
 
 262 TALES OF THE ENGLISH LAKES. 
 
 Till, in necromantic night, 
 Gyneth vanish'd from their sight. 
 
 "Still she bears her weird alone, 
 In the Valley of Saint John ; 
 And her semblance oft will seem, 
 Mingling in a champion's dream, 
 Of her weary lot to plain, 
 And crave his aid to burst her chain. 
 While her wondrous tale was new. 
 Warriors to her rescue drew, 
 East and west, and south and north, 
 From the LifFy, Thames, and Forth. 
 Most have sought in vain the glen, 
 Tower nor castle could they ken ; 
 Not at every time or tide, 
 Nor by every eye descried, 
 Fast and vigil must be borne, 
 Many a night in watching worn, 
 Ere an eye of mortal powers 
 Can discern those magic towers. 
 Of the persevering few, 
 Some from hopeless task withdrew. 
 When they read the dismal threat 
 Graved upon the gloomy gate. 
 Few have braved the yawning door. 
 And those few return'd no more. 
 In the lapse of time forgot, 
 Wellnigh lost is Gyneth's lot ; 
 Sound she sleeps as in the tomb, 
 Till waken'd by the trump of doom." 
 
 THIS IS THE END OF LYULPH'S TALE. 
 
 We must now 
 Resume the legendary strain 
 Of the bold Knight of Triermain.
 
 THE BRIDAL OF TRIERMAIN. 263 
 
 That lord, on high adventure bound, 
 
 Hath wandered forth alone, 
 And day and night keeps watchful round 
 
 In the valley of Saint John. 
 
 When first began his vigil bold, 
 
 The moon twelve summer nights was old, 
 
 And shone both fair and full ; 
 High in the vault of cloudless blue, 
 O'er streamlet, dale, and rock, she threw 
 
 Her light composed and cool. 
 Stretched on the brown hill's heathy breast, 
 
 Sir Roland eyed the vale ; 
 Chief where, distinguished from the rest, 
 Those clustering rocks upreared their crest. 
 The dwelling of the fair distressed. 
 
 As told grey Lyulph's tale. 
 Thus as he lay, the lamp of night 
 Was quivering on his armour bright, 
 
 In beams that rose and fell, 
 And danced upon his buckler's boss, 
 That lay beside him on the moss. 
 
 As on a crystal well. 
 
 Ever he watch'd, and oft he deemed, 
 
 While on the mound the moonlight streamed. 
 
 It altered to his eyes ; 
 Fain would he hope the rocks 'gan change 
 To buttress'd walls their shapeless range, 
 Fain think, by transmutation strange. 
 
 He saw grey turrets rise. 
 But scarce his heart with hope throbb'd high, 
 Before the wild illusions fly. 
 
 Which fancy had conceived. 
 For, seen by moon of middle night,
 
 264 TALES OF THE ENGLISH LAKES. 
 
 Or by the blaze of noontide briglit, 
 Or by the dawn of morning light, 
 
 Or evening's western flame, 
 In every tide, at every hour, 
 In mist, in sunshine, and in shower, 
 
 The rocks remain'd the same. 
 
 Oft has he traced the charmed mound, 
 Oft elimb'd its crest, or paced it round, 
 
 Yet nothing might explore, 
 Save that the crags so rudely piled, 
 At distance seen, resemblance wild 
 
 To a rough fortress bore. 
 Yet still his watch the Warrior keeps, 
 Feeds hard and spare, and seldom sleeps, 
 
 And drinks but of the well ; 
 Ever by day he walks the hill, 
 And when the evening gale is chill, 
 
 He seeks a rocky cell, 
 Like hermit poor to bid his bead, 
 And tell his Ave and his Creed, 
 Invoking every saint at need, 
 
 For aid to burst his spell. 
 
 And now the moon her orb has hid. 
 And dwindled to a silver thread. 
 
 Dim seen in middle heaven. 
 While o'er its curve careering fast. 
 Before the fury of the blast 
 
 The midnight clouds are driven. 
 The brooklet raved, for on the hills 
 The upland showers had swoln the rills. 
 
 And down the torrents came ; 
 Mutter'd the distant thunder dread, 
 And frequent o'er the vale was spread 
 
 A sheet of lightning flame.
 
 THE BRIDAL OF TRIERMAIN. 265 
 
 De Vaux, within his mountain cave 
 (No human step the storm durst brave), 
 To moody meditation gave 
 
 Each faculty of soul, 
 Till, lull'd by distant torrent sound, 
 And the sad winds that whistled round, 
 Upon his thoughts, in musing drown'd, 
 
 A broken slumber stole. 
 
 'Twas then was heard a heavy sound 
 
 (Sound, strange and fearful there to hear, 
 'Mongst desert hills, where, leagues around, 
 
 Dwelt but the gorcock and the deer) : 
 As, starting from his couch of fern. 
 Again he heard, in clangor stern. 
 
 That deep and solemn swell, — 
 Twelve times, in measured tone, it spoke. 
 Like some proud minster's pealing clock, 
 
 Or city's larum bell. 
 What thought w^as Roland's first when fell. 
 In that deep wilderness, the knell 
 
 Upon his startled ear ? 
 To slander, warrior, were I loth, 
 Yet must I hold my minstrel troth, — 
 
 It was a thought of fear. 
 
 But lively was the mingled thrill 
 That chased that momentary chill. 
 
 For Love's keen wish was there. 
 And eager Hope, and Valour high, 
 And the proud glow of Chivalry, 
 
 That burn'd to do and dare. 
 Forth from the cave the Warrior rush'd. 
 Long ere the mountain-voice M^as hush'd, 
 
 That answer'd to the knell ;
 
 266 TALES OF THE ENGLISH LAKES. 
 
 For long and far the unwonted sound, 
 Eddying in echoes round and round, 
 
 Was toss'd from fell to fell ; 
 And Glaramara answer flung, 
 And Grisdale-pike responsive rung, 
 And Legbert heights their echoes swung, 
 
 As far as Derwent's dell. 
 
 Forth upon trackless darkness gazed 
 The Knight, bedeafen'd and amazed, 
 
 Till all was hush'd and still, 
 Save the swoln torrent's sullen roar. 
 And the night-blast that wildly bore 
 
 Its course along the hill. 
 Then on the northern sky there came 
 A light, as of reflected flame, 
 
 And over Legbert-head, 
 As if by magic art controll'd, 
 A mighty meteor slowly roll'd 
 
 Its orb of fiery red ; 
 Thou wouldst have thought some demon dire 
 Came mounted on that car of fire. 
 
 To do his errand dread. 
 Far on the sloping valley's course, 
 On thicket, rock, and torrent hoarse. 
 Shingle and Scree, and Fell and Force, 
 
 A dusky light arose : 
 Display'd, yet alter'd was the scene ; 
 Dark rock, and brook of silver sheen, 
 Even the gay thicket's summer green. 
 
 In bloody tincture glows. 
 
 De Vaux had mark'd the sunbeams set, 
 At eve, upon the coronet 
 
 Of that enchanted mound,
 
 THE BRIDAL OF TRIERMAIN. 267 
 
 And seen but crags at random flung, 
 That, o'er the brawling torrent hung, 
 
 In desolation frown'd. 
 What sees he by that meteor's lour ? — 
 A banner'd castle, keep, and tower. 
 
 Return the lurid gleam. 
 With battled walls and buttress fast. 
 And barbican and ballium vast, 
 And airy flanking towers, that cast 
 
 Their shadows on the stream. 
 'Tis no deceit ! distinctly clear 
 Crenell and parapet appear. 
 While o'er the pile that meteor drear 
 
 Makes momentary pause ; 
 Then forth its solemn path it drew, 
 And fainter yet and fainter grew 
 Those gloomy towers upon the view, 
 
 As its wild light withdraws. 
 
 Forth from the cave did Roland rush, 
 
 O'er crag and stream, through brier and bush ; 
 
 Yet far he had not sped, 
 Ere sunk was that portentous light 
 Behind the hills, and utter night 
 
 Was on the valley spread. 
 He paused perforce, and blew his horn, 
 And, on the mountain echoes borne. 
 
 Was heard an answering sound, 
 A wild and lonely trumpet-note, — 
 In middle air it seemed to float 
 
 High o'er the battled mound ; 
 And sounds were heard, as when a guard 
 Of some proud castle, holding ward, 
 
 Pace forth their nightly round. 
 The valiant Knight of Triermain
 
 268 TALES OF THE ENGLISH LAKES. 
 
 Rung forth his challenge-blast again, 
 
 But answer came there none ; 
 And 'mid the mingled wind and rain, 
 Darkling he sought the vale in vain, 
 
 Until the dawning shone; 
 And when it dawn'd, that wondrous sight, 
 Distinctly seen by meteor-light, 
 
 It all had passed away ! 
 And that enchanted mount once more 
 A pile of granite fragments bore, 
 
 As at the close of day. 
 
 Steel'd for the deed, De Vaux's heart 
 Scorn'd from his venturous quest to part. 
 
 He walks the vale once more ; 
 But only sees, by night or day, 
 That shatter'd pile of rocks so gray. 
 
 Hears but the torrent's roar. 
 Till when, through hills of azure borne, 
 The moon renew'd her silver horn, 
 Just at the time her waning ray, 
 Had faded in the dawning day, 
 
 A summer mist arose ; 
 Adown the vale the vapours float. 
 And cloudy undulations moat 
 That tufted mound of mystic note, 
 
 As round its base they close. 
 And higher now the fleecy tide 
 Ascends its stern and shaggy side, 
 Until the airy billows hide 
 
 The rock's majestic isle ; 
 It seem'd a veil of filmy lawn. 
 By some fa.ntastic fairy drawn 
 
 Around enchanted pile.
 
 THE BRIDAL OF TRIERMAIN. 269 
 
 The breeze came softly down the brook, 
 
 And sighing as it blew. 
 The veil of silver mist it shook, 
 And to De Yaux's eager look 
 
 Renew'd that wondrous view, 
 For, though the loitering vapour braved 
 The gentle breeze, yet oft it waved 
 
 It's mantle's dewy fold : 
 And still, when shook that filmy screen, 
 Were towers and bastions dimly seen. 
 And Gothic battlements between 
 
 Their gloomy length unroil'd, 
 Speed, speed, De Vaux, ere on thine eye 
 Once more the fleeting vision die ! 
 
 — The gallant knight can speed 
 As prompt and light as when the hound 
 Is opening, and the horn is wound, 
 
 Careers the hunter's steed. 
 Down the steep dell his course amain 
 
 Hath rivall'd archer's shaft ; 
 But ere the mound he could attain, 
 The rocks their shapeless form regain. 
 And, mocking loud his labour vain. 
 
 The mountain spirits laugh'd. 
 Far up the echoing dell was borne 
 Their wild unearthly shout of scorn. 
 
 Wroth wax'd the Warrior, — " Am I then 
 
 Fool'd by the enemies of men. 
 
 Like a poor hind, whose homeward way 
 
 Is haunted by malicious fay ? 
 
 Is Triermaiu become your taunt, 
 
 De Vaux your scorn ? False fiends, avaunt ! " 
 
 A weighty curtal-axe he bare ; 
 
 The baleful blade so bright and square, 
 
 s
 
 270 TALES OF THE ENGLISH LAKES. 
 
 And the tough shaft of heben wood, 
 Were oft in Scottish gore imbrued. 
 Backward his stately form he drew, 
 And at the rocks the weapon threw, 
 Just where one crag's projected crest 
 Hung proudly balanced o'er the rest, 
 Hurl'd with main force, the weapon's shock 
 Rent a huge fragment of the rock, 
 If by mere strength, 'twere hard to tell. 
 Or if the blow dissolved some spell, 
 But down the headlong ruin came. 
 With cloud of dust and flash of flame. 
 Down bank, o'er bush, its course was borne, 
 Crush'd lay the copse, the earth was torn. 
 Till staid at length, the ruin dread 
 Cumber'd the torrent's rocky bed. 
 And bade the waters' high-swoln tide 
 Seek other passage for its pride. 
 
 When ceased that thunder, Triermain 
 Survey'd the mound's rude front again ; 
 And lo ! the ruin had laid bare. 
 Hewn in the stone, a winding stair. 
 Whose moss'd and fractured steps might lend 
 The means the summit to ascend ; 
 And by whose aid the brave De Vaux 
 Began to scale these magic rocks, 
 
 And soon a platform won. 
 Where, the wild witchery to close. 
 Within three lances' length arose 
 
 The Castle of Saint John ! 
 No misty phantom of the air, 
 No meteor-blazon'd show was there : 
 In morning splendour, full and fair. 
 
 The massive fortress shone.
 
 THE BRIDAL OF TRIERMAIN. 271 
 
 Embattled high and proudly tower'd, 
 Shaded by pond'rous flankers, lower'd 
 
 The portal's gloomy way. 
 Though for six hundred years and more, 
 Its strength had brook'd the tempest's roar. 
 The scutcheon'd emblems which it bore 
 
 Had suffer'd no decay : 
 But from the eastern battlement 
 A turret had made sheer descent, 
 And, down in recent ruin rent. 
 
 In the mid torrent lay. 
 Else, o'er the castle's brow sublime, 
 Insults of violence or of time 
 
 Unfelt had pass'd away. 
 In shapeless characters of yore. 
 The gate this stern inscription bore : — 
 
 INSCKIPTION. 
 
 "Patience waits the destined day, 
 Strength can clear the cumber'd way. 
 Warrior, who hast waited long. 
 Firm of soul, of sinew strong. 
 It is given to thee to gaze 
 On the pile of ancient days. 
 Never mortal builder's hand 
 This enduring fabric plann'd ; 
 Sign and sigil, word of power, 
 From the earth raised keep and tower. 
 View it o'er, and pace it round. 
 Rampart, turret, battled mound. 
 Dare no more ! To cross the gate 
 Were to tamper with thy fate ; 
 Strenoth and fortitude were vain. 
 View it o'er — and turn ao^ain." —
 
 2/2 TALES OF THE ENGLISH LAKES. 
 
 " That would I," said the warrior bold, 
 " If that my frame were bent and old, 
 And my thin blood dropp'd slow and cold 
 
 As icicle in thaw ; 
 But while my heart can feel it dance, 
 Blithe as the sparkling wine of France, 
 And this good arm wields sword or lance, 
 
 I mock these words of awe ! " 
 He said ; the wicket felt the sway 
 Of his strong hand, and straight gave way, 
 And, with rude crash and jarring bray, 
 
 The rusty bolts withdraw ; 
 But o'er the threshold as he strode. 
 And forward took the vaulted road, 
 An unseen arm, with force amain, 
 The ponderous gate flung close again, 
 
 And rusted bolt and bar 
 Spontaneous took their place once more, 
 While the deep arch with sullen roar 
 
 Return'd their surly jar. 
 *' Now closed is the gin and the prey within 
 
 By the Rood of Lanercost ! 
 But he that would win the war- wolf's skin, 
 
 May rue him of his boast." 
 Thus muttering, on the Warrior went. 
 By dubious light down steep descent. 
 
 XJnbarr'd, unlock'd, unwatch'd, a port 
 Led to the Castle's outer court : 
 There the main fortress, broad and tall. 
 Spread its long range of bower and hall. 
 
 And towers of varied size. 
 Wrought with each ornament extreme, 
 That Gothic art, in wildest dream 
 
 Of fancy, could devise ;
 
 THE BRIDAL OF TRIERMAIN. 273 
 
 But full between the Warrior's way 
 And the main portal arch, there lay 
 
 An inner moat ; 
 
 Nor bridge nor boat 
 Affords De Vaux the means to cross 
 The clear, profound, and silent fosse. 
 His arms aside in haste he flings, 
 Cuirass of steel and hauberk rings 
 And down falls helm, and down the shield, 
 Rough with the dints of many a field. 
 Fair was his manly form, and fixir 
 His keen dark eye, and close curl'd hair, 
 When, all unarm'd, save that the brand 
 Of well-proved metal graced his hand, 
 With nought to fence his dauntless breast 
 But the close gipon's under- vest. 
 Whose sullied buff the sable stains 
 Of hauberk and of mail retains, — 
 Roland De Vaux upon the brim 
 Of the broad moat stood prompt to swim. 
 
 Accoutred thus he dared the tide, 
 And soon he reached the farther side, 
 
 And enter'd soon the Hold, 
 And paced a hall, whose walls so wide 
 Were blazon'd all with feats of pride, 
 
 By warriors done of old. 
 In middle lists they counter'd here, 
 
 While trumpets seem'd to blow ; 
 And there, in den or desert drear, 
 
 They quell'd gigantic foe, 
 Braved the fierce griffon in his ire, 
 Or faced the dragon's breath of fire. 
 Strange in their arms, and strange in face, 
 Heroes they seem'd of ancient race,
 
 274 TALES OF THE ENGLISH LAKES. 
 
 Whose deeds of arms, and race, and name, 
 Forgotten long by later fame, 
 
 Were here depicted, to appal 
 Those of an age degenerate. 
 Whose bold intrusion braved their fate 
 
 In this enchanted hall. 
 For some short space, the venturous Knight 
 With these high marvels fed his sight, 
 Then sought the chamber's upper end, 
 Where three broad easy steps ascend 
 To an arch'd portal door, 
 In whose broad folding leaves of state 
 Was framed a wicket window-grate, 
 
 And ere he ventured more. 
 The gallant Knight took earnest view 
 The grated wicket- window through. 
 
 O, for his arms ! Of martial weed 
 Had never mortal Knight such need ! — 
 He spied a stately gallery ; all 
 Of snow-white marble was the wall. 
 
 The vaulting, and the floor ; 
 And, contrast strange ! on either hand 
 There stood array'd in sable band 
 Four maids whom Afric bore ; 
 And each a Lybian tiger led, 
 Held by as bright and frail a thread 
 
 As Lucy's golden hair, 
 For the leash that bound these monsters dread 
 
 Was but of gossamer. 
 Each Maiden's short barbaric vest, 
 Left all unclosed the knee and breast, 
 
 And limbs of shapely jet ; 
 White was their vest and turban's fold, 
 On arms and ankles rings of gold
 
 THE BRIDAL OF TRIERMAIN. 275 
 
 In savage pomp were set ; 
 A quiver on their shoulders lay, 
 And in their hand an assagay. 
 Such and so silent stood they there, 
 
 That Roland wellnigh hoped 
 He saw a band of statues rare, 
 Station'd the gazer's soul to scare ; 
 
 But, when the wicket oped. 
 Each grisly beast 'gan upward draw, 
 Roll'd his grim eye, and spread his claw. 
 Scented the air, and lick'd his jaw ; 
 While these weird Maids, in Moorish tongue, 
 A wild and dismal warning sung. 
 
 " Rash adventurer, bear thee back ! 
 
 Dread the spell of Dahomay ! 
 Fear the race of Zaharak,* 
 
 Daughters of the burning day ! 
 
 " When the whirlwind's gusts are wheeling. 
 
 Ours it is the dance to braid ; 
 Zarah's sands in pillars reeling, 
 
 Join the measure that we tread. 
 When the Moon has donn'd her cloak. 
 
 And the stars are red to see, 
 Shrill when pipes the sad Siroc, 
 
 Music meet for such as we. 
 
 " Where the shatter'd columns lie, 
 
 Showing Carthage once had been. 
 If the wandering Santon's eye 
 
 Our mysterious rites hath seen, — 
 Oft he cons the prayer of death, 
 
 To the nations preaches doom, 
 ' Asrael's brand hath left the sheath ! 
 
 Moslems, think upon the tomb !' 
 
 * Zaharak, or Zaharah, is the Arab name of the Great Desert.
 
 2^6 TALES OF THE ENGLISH LAKES. 
 
 " Ours the scorpion, ours the snake, 
 
 Ours the hydra of the fen, 
 Ours the tiger of the brake, 
 
 All that plagues the sons of men. 
 Ours the tempest's midnight wrack. 
 
 Pestilence that wastes by day — 
 Dread the race of Zaharak ! 
 
 Fear the spell of Dahomay ! " 
 
 Uncouth and strange the accents shrill 
 
 Rung those vaulted roofs among, 
 Long it was ere, faint and still, 
 
 Died the far-resounding songf. 
 While yet the distant echoes roll, 
 The Warrior communed with his soul. 
 " When first I took this venturous quest, 
 
 I swore upon the rood, 
 Neither to stop, nor turn, nor rest. 
 
 For evil or for good. 
 My forward path too well I ween, 
 Lies yonder fearful ranks between ; 
 For man unarm'd, 'tis bootless hope 
 With tigers and with fiends to cope — 
 Yet, if I turn, what waits me there, 
 Save famine dire and fell despair ? — 
 Other conclusion let me try, 
 Since, choose howe'er I list, I die. 
 Forward, lies faith and knightly fame ; 
 Behind, are perjury and shame. 
 In life or death I hold my word ! " 
 With that he drew his trusty sword, 
 Caught down a banner from the wall. 
 And enter'd thus the fearful hall. 
 
 On high each wayward Maiden threw 
 Her swarthy arm, with wild haloo !
 
 THE BRIDAL OF TRIERMAIN. 277 
 
 On either side a tiger sprung — 
 
 Against the leftward foe he fluncr 
 
 The ready banner, to engage 
 
 With tangling folds the brutal rage ; 
 
 The right-hand monster in mid air 
 
 He struck so fiercely and so fair, 
 
 Through gullet and through spinal bone 
 
 The trenchant blade hath sheerly gone. 
 
 His grisly brethren ramp'd and yell'd, 
 
 But the slight leash their rage withheld, 
 
 Whilst, 'twixt their ranks, the dangerous road 
 
 Firmly, though swift, the champion strode. 
 
 Safe to the gallery's bound he drew, 
 
 Safe pass'd an open portal through ; 
 
 And when against pursuit he flung 
 
 The gate, judge if the echoes rung! 
 
 Onward his daring course he bore, 
 
 While, mix'd with dying growl and roar. 
 
 Wild jubilee and loud hurra 
 
 Pursued him on his venturous way. 
 
 " Hurra, hurra ! Our watch is done ! 
 We hail once more the tropic sun. 
 Pallid beams of northern day, 
 Farewell, farewell ! Hurra, hurra ! 
 
 " Five hundred years o'er this cold glen 
 Hath the pale sun come round again ; 
 Foot of man, till now, hath ne'er 
 Dared to cross the Hall of Fear. 
 
 " Warrior ! thou, whose dauntless heart 
 Gives us from our ward to part. 
 Be as strong in future trial, 
 Where resistance is denial.
 
 278 TALES OF THE ENGLISH LAKES. 
 
 " Now for Afric's glowing sky, 
 Zwenga wide and Atlas high, 
 
 Zaharak and Dahomay ! 
 
 Mount the winds ! Hurra, huvra ! " 
 
 The wizard song at distance died, 
 
 As if in ether borne astray, 
 While through waste halls and chambers wide 
 
 The Knight pursued his steady way. 
 Till to a lofty dome he came. 
 That flash'd with such a brilliant flame. 
 As if the wealth of all the world 
 Were there in rich confusion hurl'd. 
 For here the gold, in sandy heaps, 
 With duller earth incorporate, sleeps ; 
 Was there in ingots piled, and there 
 Coin'd badge of empery it bare ; 
 Yonder, huge bars of silver lay, 
 Dimm'd by the diamond's neighbouring ray, 
 Like the pale moon in morning day ; 
 And in the midst four maidens stand. 
 The daughters of some distant land. 
 Their hue was of the dark-red dye, 
 That fringes oft a thunder sky ; 
 Their hands palmetto baskets bare, 
 And cotton fillets bound their hair ; 
 Slim was their form, their mien was shy, 
 To earth they bent the humbled eye, 
 Folded their arm?, and suppliant kneel'd. 
 And thus their profFer'd gifts reveal'd. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 " See the treasures Merlin pile-l. 
 Portion meet for Arthur's child. 
 Bathe in Wealth's unbounded stream, 
 Wealth that avarice ne'er could dream ! "
 
 THE BRIDAL OF TRIERMAIN. 279 
 
 FIRST MAIDEN. 
 
 " See these clots of virgin gold ! 
 Sever'd from the sparry mould, 
 Nature's mystic alchemy 
 In the mine thus bade them lie ; 
 And their orient smile can win 
 Kings to stoop, and saints to sin." — 
 
 SECOND MAIDEN. 
 
 " See these pearls that long have slept ; 
 These were tears by Naiads wept 
 For the loss of Marinel. 
 Tritons in the silver shell 
 Treasured them, till hard and white 
 As the teeth of Amphitrite," — 
 
 THIRD MAIDEN. 
 
 " Does a livelier hue delight 1 
 Here are rubies blazing bright. 
 Here the emerald's fairy green, 
 And the topaz glows between ; 
 Here their varied hues unite, 
 In the changeful chrysolite." — 
 
 FOURTH MAIDEN. 
 
 ' Leave these gems of poorer shine, 
 Leave them all, and look on mine ! 
 While their glories I expand. 
 Shade thine eyebrows with thy hand. 
 Mid-day sun and diamond's blaze ^ 
 
 Blind the rash beholder's gaze." — 
 
 CHORUS. 
 " Warrior, seize the splendid store ; 
 Would 'twere all our mountains bore ! ^ 
 
 We should ne'er in future story, 
 Read, Peru, thy perish'd glory ! "
 
 28o TALES OF THE ENGLISH LAKKS. 
 
 Calmly and unconcerned, the Knight 
 Waved aside the treasures bright : 
 " Gentle Maidens, rise, I pray ! 
 Bar not thus ray destined way. 
 Let these boasted brilliant toys 
 Braid the hair of girls and boys ! 
 Bid your streams of gold expand 
 O'er proud London's thirsty land. 
 De Vaux of wealth saw never need. 
 Save to purvey him arms and steed, 
 And all the ore he deign'd to hoard 
 Inlays his helm and hilts his sword," 
 Thus gently parting from their hold, 
 He left, unmoved, the dome of gold. 
 
 And now the morning sun was high, 
 De Vaux was weary, faint, and dry ; 
 When lo ! a plashing sound he hears, 
 A gladsome signal that he nears 
 
 Some frolic water-run ; 
 And soon he reach'd a court-yard square, 
 Where, dancing in the sultry air, 
 Toss'd high aloft, a fountain fair 
 
 Was sparkling in the sun. 
 On right and left, a fair arcade. 
 In long perspective view displayed 
 Alleys and bowers, for sun or shade : 
 
 But, full in front, a door, 
 Low-brow'd and dark, seem'd as it led 
 To the lone dwelling of the dead, 
 
 Whose memory was no more. 
 
 Here stopp'd De Vaux an instant's space. 
 To bathe his parched lips and face, 
 
 And mark'd with well-pleased eye.
 
 THE BRIDAL OF TRIERMAIN. 281 
 
 Refracted on the fouutain stream, 
 In rainbow hues, the dazzling beam 
 
 Of that gay summer sky. 
 His senses felt a mild control, 
 Like that which lulls the weary soul, 
 
 From contemplation high 
 Relaxing, when the ear receives 
 The music that the greenwood leaves 
 
 Make to the breezes' sigh. 
 
 And oft in such a dreamy mood, 
 
 The half-shut eye can frame 
 Fair apparitions in the wood, 
 As if the nymphs of field and flood 
 
 In gay procession came. 
 Are these of such fantastic mould, 
 
 Seen distant down the fair arcade, 
 These maids enlink'd in sister-fold, 
 
 Who, late at bashful distance staid, 
 
 Now tripping from the greenwood shade, 
 Nearer the musing champion draw. 
 And, in a pause of seeming awe, 
 
 Again stand doubtful now ? — 
 Ah, that sly pause of witching powers ! 
 That seems to say, " To please be ours, 
 
 Be yours to tell us how." 
 Their hue was of the golden glow 
 That suns of Candahar bestow. 
 O'er which in slight suffusion, flows 
 A frequent tinge of paly rose ; 
 Their limbs were fashion'd fair and free. 
 In nature's justest symmetry ; 
 And, wreathed with flowers, with odours graced, 
 Their raven ringlets reached the waist : 
 In eastern pomp, its gilding pale
 
 282 TALES OF THE ENGLISH LAKES. 
 
 The hennah lent each shapely nail, 
 And the dark sumah gave the eye 
 More liquid and more lustrous dye. 
 The spotless veil of misty lawn, 
 In studied disarrangement, drawn 
 
 The form and bosom o'er, 
 To win the eye, or tempt the touch, 
 For modesty show'd all too much — 
 
 Too much, yet promised more. 
 
 " Gentle Knight, a while delay," 
 
 Thus they sung, " thy toilsome way. 
 
 While we pay the duty due 
 
 To our Master and to you. 
 
 Over Avarice, over Fear, 
 
 Love triumphant led thee here; 
 
 Warrior, list to us, for we 
 
 Are slaves to Love, are friends to thee. 
 
 Though no treasured gems have we. 
 
 To proffer on the bended knee. 
 
 Though we boast nor arm nor heart 
 
 For the assagay or dart. 
 
 Swains allow each simple girl 
 
 Rub}'^ lip and teeth of pearl ! 
 
 Or, if dangers more you prize. 
 
 Flatterers find them in our eyes. 
 
 " Stay, then, gentle Warrior, stay. 
 Rest till evening steal on day ; 
 Stay, O, stay ! — in yonder bowers 
 We will bi'aid thj^- locks with flowers, 
 Spread the feast and fill the wine. 
 Charm thy ear with sounds divine. 
 Weave our dances till delight 
 Yield to languor, day to night.
 
 THE BRIDAL OF TRIERMAIN. 283 
 
 " Then shall she you most approve, 
 Sing the \siys that best you love, 
 Soft thy mossy couch shall spread, 
 Watch thy pillow, prop thy head. 
 Till the weary night be o'er — 
 Gentle Warrior, wouldst thou more ? 
 Wouldst thou more, fair Warrior, — she 
 Is slave to Love and slave to thee." 
 
 O, do not hold it for a crime 
 In the bold hero of my rhyme. 
 
 For Stoic look. 
 
 And meet rebuke. 
 He lack'd the heart or time ; 
 And round the band of sirens trip. 
 He kiss'd one damsel's laughing lip, 
 And press'd another's proffer'd hand, 
 Spoke to them all in accents bland. 
 But broke their magic circle through ; 
 "Kind Maids," he said, "adieu, adieu ! 
 My fate, my fortune, forward lies." 
 He said, and vanish'd from their eyes ; 
 But, as he dared that darksome way, 
 Still heard behind their lovely lay : 
 " Fair Flower of Courtesy, depart ! 
 Go, where the feelings of the heart 
 With the warm pulse in concord move ; 
 Go, where Virtue sanctions Love ! " 
 
 Downward De Vaux through darksome ways 
 
 And ruin'd vaults has gone, 
 Till issue from their wilder'd maze, 
 
 Or safe retreat, seem'd none, 
 And e'en the dismal path he strays 
 
 Grew worse as he went on.
 
 284 TALES OF THE ENGLISH LAKES. 
 
 For cheerful sun, for living air, 
 
 Foul vapours rise and mine-fires glare, 
 
 Whose fearful light the dangers show'd 
 
 That doofg'd him on that dreadful road. 
 
 Deep pits, and lakes of waters dun, 
 
 They show'd, but show'd not how to shun, 
 
 These scenes of desolate despair, 
 
 These smothering clouds of poison'd air. 
 
 How gladly had De Vaux exchanged, 
 
 Though 'twere to face yon tigers ranged ! 
 
 Nay, soothful bards have said, 
 So perilous his state seem'd now, 
 He wish'd him under arbour bough 
 
 With Asia's willing maid. 
 When, joyful sound! at distance near 
 A trumpet flourish'd loud and clear, 
 And as it ceased, a lofty lay 
 Seem'd thus to chide his lagging way : — 
 
 " Son of Honour, theme of story, 
 Think on the reward before ye ! 
 Danger, darkness, toil despise ; 
 'Tis ambition bids thee rise. 
 
 " He that would her heights ascend. 
 Many a weary step must wend ; 
 Hand and foot and knee he tries. 
 Thus ambition's minions rise. 
 
 " Lag not now, though rough the way, 
 Fortune's mood brooks no delay ; 
 Grasp the boon that's spread before _ye. 
 Monarch's power, and Conqueror's glory ! " 
 
 It ceased. Advancing on the sound, 
 A steep ascent the Wanderer found. 
 And then a turret stair :
 
 THE BRIDAL OF TRIERMAIN. 285 
 
 Nor climb'd he far its steepy round 
 
 Till fresher blew the air, 
 And next a welcome glimpse was given, 
 That cheer'd him with the light of heaven. 
 
 At length his toil had won 
 A lofty hall with trophies dress'd, 
 Where, as to greet imperial guest, 
 Four maidens stood, whose crimson vest 
 
 Was bound with golden zone. 
 
 Of Europe seem'd the damsels all ; 
 The first a nymph of lively Gaul, 
 Whose easy step and laughing eye 
 Her borrow'd air of awe belie ; 
 
 The next a maid of Spain, 
 Dark-eyed, dark-hair'd, sedate, yet bold ; 
 White ivory skin and tress of gold, 
 Her shy and bashful comrade told 
 
 For daughter of Almaine, 
 These maidens bore a royal robe, 
 With crown, with sceptre, and with globe, 
 
 Emblems of empery ; 
 The fourth a space behind them stood, 
 And leant upon a harp, in mood 
 
 Of minstrel ecstacy. 
 Of merry England she, in dress 
 Like ancient British Druidess : 
 Her hair an azure fillet bound. 
 Her graceful vesture swept the ground, 
 
 And, in her hand displayed, 
 A crown did that fourth Maiden hold, 
 Eut unadorned with gems and gold. 
 
 Of glossy laurel made. 
 
 At once to brave De Vaux knelt down 
 These foremost maidens three,
 
 286 TALES OF THE ENGLISH LAKES. 
 
 And proffer'd sceptre, robe, and crown, 
 
 Liegedom and seignorie, 
 O'er many a region wide and fair, 
 Destined, they said, for Arthur's heir; 
 
 But homage would he none : — 
 " Rather," he said, " De Vaux would ride, 
 A Warden of the Border-side, 
 In plate and mail, than, robed in pride, 
 
 A monarch's empire own ; 
 Bather, far rather, would he be, 
 A free-born knight of England free, 
 
 Than sit on Despot's throne." 
 So pass'd he on, when that fourth Maid, 
 
 As starting from a trance, 
 Upon the harp her finger laid ; 
 Her magic touch the chords obey'd, 
 
 Their soul awaked at once ! 
 
 SONG OF THE FOURTH IVIAIDEN. 
 
 " Quake to your foundations deep, 
 Stately towers and banner'd keep, 
 Bid your vaulted echoes moan, 
 As the dreaded step they own. 
 
 " Fiends, that wait on Merlin's spell. 
 Hear the footfall ! mark it well ! 
 Spread your dusky wings abroad, 
 Bound ye for your homeward road ! 
 
 " It is His, the first who e'er 
 Dared the dismal Hall of Fear ; 
 His, who hath the snares defied 
 Spread by Pleasure, Wealth, and Pride. 
 
 " Quake to your foundations deep, 
 Bastion huge, and turret steep !
 
 THE BRIDAL OF TRIERMAIN. 287 
 
 Tremble, keep ! and totter, tower ! 
 This is Gyneth's waking hour." 
 
 Thus while she sung, the venturous Knight 
 Has reach'd a bower, where milder light 
 
 Through crimson curtains fell ; 
 Such softened shade the hill receives. 
 Her purple veil when twilight leaves 
 
 Upon its western swell. 
 That bower, the gazer to bewitch, 
 Had wondrous store of rare and rich 
 
 As e'er was seen with eye ; 
 For there, by magic skill, I wis, 
 Form of each thing that living is 
 
 Was limn'd in proper dye. 
 All seemed to sleep — the timid hare 
 On form, the stag upon his lair, 
 The eagle in her eyrie fair 
 
 Between the earth and sky. 
 But what of pictured rich and rare 
 Could win De Vaux's eye-glance, where, 
 Deep slumbering in the fatal chair. 
 
 He saw King Arthur's child ! 
 Doubt, and anger, and dismay 
 From her brow had passed away. 
 Forgot was that fell tourney-day. 
 
 For, as she slept, she smiled : 
 It seem'd that the repentant Seer 
 Her sleep of many a hundred year 
 
 With gentle dreams beguiled. 
 
 That form of maiden loveliness, 
 
 'Twixt childhood and 'twixt youth, 
 That ivory chair, that sylvan dress, 
 The arms and ankles bare, express 
 
 Of Lyulph's tale the truth.
 
 288 TALES OF THE ENGLISH LAKES. 
 
 Still upon her garment's hem 
 Vanoc's blood made purple gem, 
 And the warder of command 
 Cumber'd still her sleeping hand ; 
 Still her dark locks dishevelled low 
 From net of pearl o'er breast of snow ; 
 And so fair the slumberer seems, 
 That De Vaux impeached his dreams, 
 Vapid all and void of might, 
 Hiding half her charms from sight. 
 Motionless a while he stands, 
 Folds his arm and clasps his hands, 
 Trembling in his fitful jo}'-. 
 Doubtful how he should destroy 
 
 The long-enduring spell ; 
 Doubtful, too, when slowly rise 
 Dark-fringed lids of Gyneth's eyes. 
 
 What these eyes shall tell, — 
 " St. George ! St. Mary ! can it be, 
 That they will kindly look on me ! " 
 
 Gently, lo ! the Warrior kneels, 
 Soft that lovely hand he steals. 
 Soft to kiss, and soft to clasp — 
 But the warder leaves her grasp ; 
 
 Lightning flashes, rolls the thunder 
 Gyneth startles from her sleep. 
 Totters tower, and trembles keep. 
 
 Burst the castle-walls asunder ! 
 Fierce and frequent were the shocks, — 
 
 Melt the magic halls away ; 
 
 But beneath their mystic rocks, 
 
 In the arms of bold De Vaux 
 
 Safe the princess lay ; 
 Safe and free from magic power.
 
 THE BRIDAL OF TRIERMAIN. 289 
 
 Blushing like the rose's flower 
 
 Opening to the day ; 
 And round the Champion's brows were bound 
 The crown that Druidess had wound, 
 
 Of the green laurel-bay. 
 And this was what remain'd of all 
 The wealth of each enchanted hall, 
 
 The Garland and the Dame : 
 But where should Warrior seek the meed, 
 Due to high worth for daring deed, 
 
 Except from Love and Fame. 
 
 Our lovers, briefly be it said, 
 Wedded as lovers wont to wed, 
 
 When tale or play is o'er; 
 Lived long and blest, loved fond and true, 
 And saw a numerous race renew 
 
 The honours that they bore. 
 Know, too, that when a pilgrim strays, 
 In morning mist or evening maze, 
 
 Along the mountain lone, 
 That fairy fortress often mocks 
 His gaze upon the castled rocks 
 
 Of the Valley of St. John : 
 But never man since brave De Vaux 
 
 The charmed portal won. 
 'Tis now a vain illusive show, 
 That melts whene'er the sunbeams glow, 
 
 Or the fresh breeze hath blown. 
 
 The End.
 
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