PR 
 
 4974 
 
 M3428h 
 
 B
 
 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 THE 
 
 HANDBOOK AND GUIDE 
 
 TO 
 COMPKTSING 
 
 AX HISTORICAL, DESCRIPTIVE, AND IMAGINATIVE 
 
 poem: 
 
 IN SEVEN PAETS; 
 TO WHICH IS APPENDED A COMPENDIOUS 
 
 HISTORY OF THE ABBEY; 
 
 A 
 
 DESCEIPTION OF THE RUINS; 
 
 AND 
 
 A GLOSSARY OF ECCLESIASTICAL TERMS. 
 
 BY 
 
 H. MAELES, L.E.C.P., 
 
 AUTHOR OF ENGLISH GRAJIMAE, &C., &C. 
 
 LEEDS: 
 
 Printed at the ''Express" Office, 17, Swinegate. 
 1863. 
 
 SOLD BY ALL BOOKSELLEBS.
 
 tuXB. XO txKKSTAXX ^,^^^^ 
 
 ^' t. ^AKL.S, ^•^■^•^■^
 
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 j^}% apology can be required from an Author who 
 ^y endeavours to make the favorite holiday resort of a 
 community more enchanting by encircling it with poetic 
 thought. The only visits paid to the ruins by the writer 
 were by night until the Poem had grown to the finishing 
 stanza of the Sixth Part, when a minute inspection by day 
 became necessary, both for the purpose of consistently 
 bringing the Poem to its conclusion, and to ensure an 
 accurate description of the ruins in prose, which, it is hoped, 
 will be found sufficiently extended to prove interesting, 
 instructive, and satisfactory to visitors. 
 
 In the Imaginative parts of the Poem nothing is introduced 
 to wound the most sensitive ; the Historical parts being vre'l 
 attested facts, take their tints and proportions from necessity ; 
 the Descriptive parts must speak for themselves. 
 

 
 KIEKSTALL ABBEY. 
 
 Every ayailaWe source of information has been had recourse 
 to for the pui-pose of supplying a condensed, hut, as far as 
 possible, complete History of the Abbey ; and it is antici- 
 pated that the Glossai^ will be found acceptable. The 
 terms here introduced are arranged in alphabetical order for 
 the convenience of the reader, and are intended to supply 
 information of an interesting character which could better 
 appear in this fonn than be incoi-porated with the Histoiy. 
 
 Altogether, this little Book is committed to the candoui' of 
 a discerning public in the confident expectation of extensive 
 patronage, as the Author intended well, whatever may be 
 thought of the pei-formance. 
 
 H. M. 
 
 5, Cakdigan Place, Kirkstall Koad, 
 Leeds, April, 1863.
 
 V.ivMBU m^f^. 
 
 PART I. 
 
 Time — Near Midnight. 
 
 Thou solemn relic of a dark past age, 
 How gi'and in hoaiy majesty art thou — 
 
 Fain would I sketch thine image on my page, 
 With all the magic falling on thee now. 
 
 Thou standest like a giant, whom Old Time 
 Hath battled with, while ages swept away — 
 
 Slowly disjointed — with a march sublime 
 CiTimble thy mins, going to decay. 
 
 This is the hour for contemplating thee, 
 Tor darkness hovers over all around ; 
 
 As in the age that gave thee birth, we see 
 But dimly, though we tread on holy ground.
 
 KIRKSTALL ABBEY. 
 
 How silent, and how awful is the hour, 
 As midnight stealthily the zenith gains ; 
 
 How darkly seems to frown that ruin'd tow'r, 
 As it looks down upon these grim remains. 
 
 The spirit of past generations now 
 
 Comes like a phantom, borne on noiseless wings, 
 And hovering 'uith a sad and solemn brow. 
 
 Moans out a song of past and hidden things. 
 
 I pass into a cloud, most dark and dense. 
 And dreamy figures all around me fly ; 
 
 The past is present, and the feeble sense 
 Of vision brightens in my dubious eye. 
 
 If scenes of sad licentiousness, and guilt, 
 Such as to silence or to shame compel. 
 
 Since these grand columns and old walls were built, 
 Such as the trembling muse must fail to tell — 
 
 Yet tender grass grew here, and gloriously 
 Bright daisies mingled with the verdant green, 
 
 And Aire's old waters wandered to the sea. 
 
 When eye of man had never scann'd the scene.
 
 KIEKSTALL ABBEY. 
 
 There ancient trees in plenty rear'd their head, 
 Around them wintry winds had roar'd in vain, 
 
 They bore the mighty surges, laugh'd, and said — 
 When spring time comes we shall be green again. 
 
 Winter and spring, summer and autumn roU'd, 
 With ever-changing features, fast away; 
 
 And generations passed, although untold 
 
 Their joys and griefs, yet there the old trees stay. 
 
 Some of these oaks had from the acorn burst 
 When Mary's Son within the manger lay ; 
 
 When minstrels' strains in sweetest songs rehears'd 
 The Son of God of woman born that day. 
 
 And rapidly they grew, — for when He paid 
 Our debts, and wi-apt His glory in a shroud, 
 
 The sighing winds were hush'd, as if afi'aid 
 
 Of the dread weight beneath whose frown he bow'd. 
 
 And strange sad voices came in whispers low. 
 Frequent at midnight hour these trees among ; 
 
 While Aire's smooth waters now were stealing slow, 
 Or Bwoll'n with wintry rains swept fast along.
 
 KIRKSTAliL ABBEY. 
 
 All nature shows a sympathy sublime, 
 
 Each part with each — so ocean's waves accord 
 
 With the fierce winds, they fall and swell in time, 
 Thus forming nature's chorus, '* Peaise the Lord ! 
 
 So, ere the trembling earth upheaves in pain, 
 Trav'ling to bring a mountain to the birth — 
 
 The surging waves lie sighing on the main. 
 As though they felt the fires within the earth. 
 
 So spirit meets with spirit — angel forms 
 
 With angels hold sweet converse — man with man ; 
 
 And spirits mingle with the winds and storms, 
 Speaking prophetic language — Eead who can. 
 
 Sometimes the mystic whispers louder grew. 
 
 And moaning, murmuring voices might be heard, 
 
 And silent wings about the darkness flew, 
 
 Though not a leaf was by theii' motion stirr'd. 
 
 Sometimes the moon would veil her silvery face 
 With sombre clouds, and fill with columns strange 
 
 The canopy that overhung the place, — 
 A temple meet for spirit wings to range. 
 
 10
 
 KIRKSTALL ABBEY. 
 
 It was a solemn and a sacred spot, 
 
 Where dreamy superstition felt a spell ; 
 
 Which common places on the earth had not, 
 Therefore some xinchorites came here to dwell. 
 
 For far from hence the shepherd, Seleth, saw 
 Strange yisions at the silent midnight hour, 
 
 Which filled his simple heart with holy awe, 
 And arm'd him with a superhuman pow'r. 
 
 The air was still about him, yet the trees 
 
 Were strangely stirred, — the jielding branches start 
 
 Asunder — falling on his trembling knees, 
 
 He heard a small still voice, " Seleth, depart ! " 
 
 From off his feet his shoes the shepherd took. 
 In reverence bow'd his head, and said a pray'r ; 
 
 And then he firmly grasp 'd his simple crook, 
 To take his journey, but he knew not where. 
 
 The branches closed, 'twas darkness all around. 
 And still and solemn was that sylvan glade ; 
 
 His soul was stirred within him, for profound 
 Were the impressions the command had made. 
 
 11
 
 KIRKSTALL ABBEY. 
 
 Oft he essay'd to leave the lonely spot, 
 But by an unseen power he was enchain'd ; 
 
 His wishes wander'd, whither he knew not, 
 So there with deep emotion he remain'd ! 
 
 When presently, a most unnatural light 
 
 Encircled him — unearthly sounds he heard — 
 
 For then the solemn stillness of the night 
 Was suddenly with moaning voices stirr'd. 
 
 He saw no thing of earth, nor did his feet 
 Appear the mould to touch — as if upborne 
 
 Through the suiTounding air, he rose to greet 
 Some unknown region, or celestial mom. 
 
 And then sweet shadowy wings, with golden tips, 
 Approach' d him with a misty angel form ; 
 
 The word *' Depaet " was utter'd by those lips, 
 And then around him raged a fearful storm. 
 
 The heav'nly vision melted into aii'. 
 And Seleth found himself again below ; 
 
 But flying fiery balls were passing where 
 
 The pathway seemed marked out for him to go. 
 
 12
 
 KIRKSTALL ABBEY. 
 
 He foUow'd, and a streak of ruddy light, 
 With lurid glare, now ran across the sky ; 
 
 Hush'd were the winds, but mutt'ring to the night 
 The distant voice of thunder roll'd on high. 
 
 He stay'd his steps, he strain'd his eyes to see 
 
 Whither he stray'd, and loudly throbbed his heart : 
 
 " Santa Mai'ia ! " cried he, '* comfort me ! " 
 
 Again he thought he heard the word '* Depart ! " 
 
 On, on he walk'd, the eolitary way ; 
 
 Weary at length he sat him down to rest ; 
 His ey3!i^.a clos'd in sleep, but visions lay 
 
 Upcn his brain — so strange, so bright, so blest, — 
 
 That all his fear and trembling pass'd away ; 
 
 For such G glorious sunshine fell around 
 That roll'd the darkness back, and sweetest day 
 
 Was ushered in with spirit-stirring sound. 
 
 Sweet music fell upon his ravish'd ear. 
 
 And faces wond'rous bright, and happy mien. 
 
 Revived and faded — distant now, now near, — ^ 
 And love encircled the enchanted scene, 
 c 13
 
 KIEKSTALL ABBEY. 
 
 The light grew dim, as when a passing cloud 
 Ohscures the shining of the golden sun ; 
 
 The music nearer came in cadence loud, 
 Then sunk to silence, as the song was done. 
 
 And presently before his vision rose 
 A beauteous valley, near a river's side ; 
 
 Where Peace held sovereignty in sweet repose, 
 And nature revelled in her gayest pride. 
 
 Then dreamy shadows came across his sight, 
 Uncertain beings flitting here and there ; 
 
 His eyes he opened, but it still was night ; 
 He rose to travel, still he knew not where. 
 
 14
 
 PART II. 
 
 The rosy morning woke, and early smiles 
 Hung on her features with enchanting grace ; 
 
 With eager footsteps, miles on weary miles 
 
 The shepherd urged him with unslacken'd pace. 
 
 The mom that lighted up each fleecy cloud. 
 And kindly flung her splendour o'er the earth, 
 
 Dancing with gladness where the waters loud 
 
 Plunged headlong with a hrawling, giddy mirth ; — 
 
 That heard the foresters their matins pour ; 
 
 That looked on trembling leaves on bush and tree ; 
 That strew'd with early flowers the landscape o'er, 
 
 And bade all nature hold a jubilee — 
 
 That morning pass'd away, and noon grew high, 
 Then sunk the sun into the distant west ; 
 
 And then the melancholy wings flew by. 
 That veil the canopy while mortals rest. 
 
 15
 
 KIRKSTALL ABBEY. 
 
 Yet on tlio pilgrim pass'd, with weary feet, 
 But joy subdued was lighting up his face ; 
 
 His heart with strong and strange emotions beat ; 
 Ho lingered often, broken was his pace. 
 
 At length he came upon a lovely vale, 
 
 Where Aire's fair glistening stream was rolling by ; 
 The woods in whispers told a sweet, sad tale, 
 
 Of holy peace and blessed harmony. 
 
 The shepherd bent his footsteps to a plain, 
 With grasses green and pretty daisies bright ; 
 
 He sat him down to rest, and soon a train 
 Of vagi-ant forms came gently o'er his sight : 
 
 For sleep had set her fingers on his eyes, 
 
 As dimly night was creeping up aloft ; 
 And hanging in festoons the curtain'd skies, 
 
 Holding the moonlight back in thraldom soft. 
 
 *' Seleth I " — ^the shepherd thought he heard the name, 
 'Twas the same voice that erst had said, " Depart ! " 
 And sudden awe ran through his weary frame. 
 And on his feet he stood with quailing heart. 
 16
 
 KIRKSTALL ABBEY. 
 
 He thought this was the place that met his view 
 
 Revealed in vision, beautiful and gay ; 
 But envious clouds hung heavy, and he knew 
 
 Not what to do, until the voice said — " Stay I " 
 
 He thought 'twas holy ground, and on his knees 
 That night he spent in penitence and pray'r. 
 
 And when the leaves moved with the gentle breeze, 
 He thought some angel or some spirit there. 
 
 With his own hands a simple house he rear'd, 
 And roots and berries him supplied with food ; 
 
 No cares invaded him, and nought he fear'd — 
 Holding converse with heaven alone he stood. 
 
 But others join'd him soon, yet whether brought 
 By some kind angel hither, no one knows ; 
 
 But certainly companionship they sought. 
 
 And spent their time just where the Aire still flows. 
 
 "Withdrawn from worldly men, with careful minds 
 
 They worship here uninterrupted — free 
 From those encroachments which one always finds 
 
 Surround the busy paths of industry. 
 
 17
 
 18 
 
 KIRKSTALL ABBEY, 
 
 While we admire, we blame the stem recluse, 
 
 For many evils follow in his track ; 
 'Tis not religion but its sad abuse, 
 
 That makes us glad those days come never back. 
 
 Yet from the grand old darkness light has come ; 
 
 'Twas the dim pathway to a height sublime ; 
 If some were ignorant and gross, yet some 
 
 Pour'd blessings forth upon the tide of time. 
 
 The way at fii'st was dreamy — then a zeal. 
 Where knowledge had small influence, arose ; 
 
 And though strange facts the Chronicles reveal, 
 To rev'rend thoughts the times may well dispose. 
 
 These were the days of tumult and of war, 
 
 When Briton's sons against their brothers stood, 
 
 Stirr'd by internal strife and morial jar. 
 To slake theii' vengeance in each other's blood ; 
 
 When Bishops took the field in fierce array. 
 And led their flocks in troops to deeds of death ; 
 
 Pronouncing absolution by the way, 
 
 Disarmed of fear that they may yield their breath,
 
 KIRKSTALL ABBEY. 
 
 Should chance of battle snmmons them away, 
 
 Nor think Salvation difficult to gain ; 
 'Twas easy passage to a glorious day, 
 
 Just as though heaven were glad to get the slain ! 
 
 We shudder as we look upon the deeds — 
 
 Foul deeds — performed by men who stand as guides ; 
 And moum that man, in holy office needs 
 
 A golden veil, iniquity that hides. 
 
 Yet onward move the wheels of Providence ; 
 
 If man is blind, these wheels are fall of eyes ; 
 These make no motions false — they cannot — since 
 
 Omniscient energy within them lies. 
 
 19
 
 PART m. 
 
 De Lacy now is sick, and nigh to death — 
 
 A load of guilt lies heavy on his soul ; 
 He pants and writhes in agony — his breath 
 
 Is short, and life is hasting to the goal. 
 
 Oh, call a priest ! before the fatal blow 
 Shall sever from the clay the parting life ; 
 
 The feeble pulse grows fainter — sad and slow 
 Is the approach that threatens mortal strife. 
 
 He makes a vow — 'tis made in view of death ; 
 
 And he has wealth, and can the means command : 
 •' Santa Maria ! — now preserve my breath, 
 
 I'll build an Abbey I " — and he rais'd his hand 
 
 In supplication, and his heart felt ease ; 
 
 Back through his veins came health, and when he saw 
 How flew the shadow that oppress'd his days ; 
 
 His heart was overwhelm'd with holy awe.
 
 KIRKSTALL ABBEY. 
 
 The VOW was made — with it he pnrchas'd life ! 
 
 So said the priest, and so the people thought ; 
 Awe -struck stood ignorance ; though war and strife 
 
 Were rampant, men at this decision caught — 
 
 What if war raged, what tho' the warriors fell. 
 And bloody death with devastation reign' d ? 
 
 The ghostly fathers shut the gates of hell ; 
 
 The faithful dead had heavenly comfort gain'd ! 
 
 Ye kings and mighty ones, why tremble ye 
 
 Before these men, or wherefore fear their frown ? 
 
 Ye know the priesthood wield the sovereignty — 
 They raise you, and at will they cast you down ! 
 
 They give the law its force, withstand its pow'r. 
 Make and unmake as to them seemeth good ; 
 
 In chains of iron they hold the prime and llow'r 
 Of human kind — a prostrate brotherhood ! 
 
 Hence at their bidding fabrics gi^and are rear'd, 
 With gothic arches, battlements, and towers ; 
 
 They spare no labour — no expense is spared, 
 For treasure comes profuse in golden showers. 
 
 21
 
 KTRKSTALL ABBEY. 
 
 And now De Lacy's wealth was at their feet, 
 
 For the Cistercian Order — Dedicate 
 Unto the blessed Virgin — Incense sweet 
 
 Shall rise to Heav'n and reach her Queenly state. 
 
 At Bernoldswic Saint Mary's mount is still, 
 Which then to Alexander was assigned ; 
 
 Who brought from Fountains to attend his will, 
 Both monks and converts with a willing mind. 
 
 There holy Abbot and attendants felt 
 
 The wintry blast — their hearts were filled with oare ; 
 No pray'rs of theirs the ice and snow could melt, 
 
 And bloody war was raging round them there. 
 
 Long time they battled with stem nature's laws, 
 And months of cold and hunger brought despair ; 
 
 Into his cell each tremblingly withdraws, 
 Each casts himself upon the Virgin's care. 
 
 They pray'd and fasted long (as fast they will 
 Who have no food) ; at length deliverance came, 
 
 As darkness brooding over dale and hill, 
 
 Disperses when the sun sends foi-th his flame. 
 22
 
 KIRKSTALL ABBEY. 
 
 The monkg, in guise of piu'e and holy men, 
 Had frailty still — 'tis common mortals' lot I 
 
 They lighted not the darkness brooding then, 
 O'er noble halls and labour's lowly cot. 
 
 Nor mov'd with pity for the wand'ring sheep, 
 
 Nor having heav'nly charity at heart, 
 Bade Ignorance their sanctity to keep. 
 
 While foul injustice wrought a tyrant part. 
 
 The gloomy Abbot wander'd from the scene. 
 
 His thoughts were deep, and solemn was his face ; 
 
 And now what troubles on his heart had been. 
 Found vent in sighs — he said a pray'r for grace I 
 
 At length he reach'd the waters of the Aire, 
 Musing he wandered by the crystal stream ; 
 
 Felt deep devotion well might harbour there, 
 And ecstacy indulge her fever' d dream. 
 
 Soft evening zephyrs fann'd the leafy trees, 
 
 As rising from the bosom of the flood ; 
 Vigour and health accompanied the breeze. 
 
 And mystic whispers said, ** The House of God ! " 
 
 23
 
 KIRKSTALL ABBEY. 
 
 A littlo onward, and the lowly hut 
 
 Of some recluse, some Anchorite was built ; 
 
 Some devotee from whose drear heart was shut 
 The world, its fascinations, and its guilt. 
 
 *' Sancta Maria I " cried the Abbot then, 
 
 " Can this fair place belong to common earth ? 
 
 No habitation this for worldly men, 
 
 Here saintly thoughts and sanctity have birth I " 
 
 Forth came the hermit from his lonely cell. 
 His hoary locks and reverend form of speech, 
 
 And sackcloth garment, all combin'd to tell 
 What height sublime humility can reach. 
 
 *' Now tell me," said the Abbot, '' tell me true, 
 
 In holy Mary's name I thee conjure, 
 And all the saints who hold this place in view, 
 
 What deadly sins, what evils would'st thou cure ? " 
 
 *' Nay," said the hermit, " I have long been here, 
 
 Directed by the visions of the night ; 
 I left the world, and all its show and care, 
 
 And far I wander'd, still I wander'd right. 
 
 24
 
 KIKKSTALL ABBEY. 
 
 " My pilgrimage was many weary days, 
 But heaven directed, and I wandered on 
 
 Across tlie bleak untrodden moorland ways — 
 No other feet have been where these have gone. 
 
 I was a shepherd, as in time of old, 
 
 "WTien sweetest music floated o'er the plain 
 
 Kear Bethlehem — 'tis truth that I have told — 
 
 These strains so strange came back to earth again. 
 
 " And since my weary feet this spot have found, 
 A band of holy brethren with me rest ; 
 
 Now Father, bless us — this is holy ground — 
 No priest have we, and we would be confess'd." 
 
 *' Sancta Maria ! let the brethren come, 
 'Tis certain God has led me to this place ; 
 
 This is your sin, you long have made a home 
 Without a priest, to bring your spirits grace." 
 
 Long time the hermit and the priest convers'd, 
 And all the Anchorites di'ew near to hear ; 
 
 And each with reverence then his tale rehears'd, 
 And often to the ground there fell a tear ! 
 D 25
 
 KIEKSTALL ABBEY. 
 
 (And where eacli tear-drop fell there sprung a flow'r, 
 Which nightly flung its fragrance on the breeze ; 
 
 And softest music at the midnight hour, 
 
 Breath'd strains that waken'd heay'nly ecstacies.) 
 
 For each had something solemn to relate, 
 One soul was tainted deep with deadly sin ; 
 
 And one the holy saints would emulate — 
 
 Thus sat they till the night had shut them in. 
 
 **Here," said the priest, **you live like ening sheep, 
 No shepherd's Yoice is heard within the fold ; 
 
 No watchers here your souls from sin to keep, 
 Or keep the holy fires from growing cold. 
 
 ** Know that the holy Virgin's pity wakes. 
 And your devotion truly she receives ; 
 
 But while she at your hands your homage takes, 
 Your care to holy Mother Church she leaves ! " 
 
 He ceas'd — the canopy of heav'n appear'd 
 
 As suddenly lit up with holy light : 
 Dimly a cross hefore them was uprear'd. 
 
 Then faded in the darkness of the night. 
 26
 
 KIEKSTALL ABBEY. 
 
 The softly mnrnmring waters of the Aire, 
 
 Seem'd holding converse with the gentle breeze ; 
 
 The trembling leaves seem'd whispering of care, 
 And now and then a moan came fi'om the trees. 
 
 Held were they in a deep and solemn spell, 
 As though th' imisible pass'd o'er the place ; 
 
 Together then on bended knees they fell. 
 
 And said a pray'r, and ask'd for heav'nly grace. 
 
 And when the morning flew across the east. 
 And shook its wings o'er crystal drops of dew ; 
 
 And tremulous the matin music ceas'd. 
 
 And words of blessing said, the priest withdrew. 
 
 The peacefal place hung on his fancy, dress'd 
 With nature's bounties, and a heav'nly light 
 
 Upon the favor'd landscape seem'd to rest — 
 His memory bum'd with musings of that night. 
 
 27
 
 PART IV. 
 
 Straight to De Lacy Alexander flew, — 
 
 Told of the cares he and his monks endured, 
 
 And that by revelations now, he knew 
 
 Where Mary's honor could he well secured. 
 
 To William Pictavensis Lacy then, 
 
 With eager haste, and full of burning zeal, 
 
 Applied ; for there were earnest spirits, when 
 The Church declared 'twas for the common weal. 
 
 The grant was made in perpetuity — 
 
 The groimdf the crystal water's flowing flood 
 
 That rippled onward, flowing to the sea, 
 And all the trees of the adjoining wood. 
 
 The means of building being all at hand, 
 
 Some clear'd the ground, some shap'd the goodly trees. 
 Some opening to the bowels of the land 
 
 Rifted the solid rocks with wond'rous ease. 
 28
 
 KIBKSTAIiL ABBEY. 
 
 Some planed the wood, some cut the gritty stone, 
 And some did polish for the colnmns tall — 
 
 Some made cement, for industry alone 
 
 Prepared the work, and built the pond'rous wall. 
 
 Thus were the church and dormitories rais'd, 
 Thus cloisters, chapter-house, refectory, 
 
 And office after office. All were prais'd 
 This to achieve, who plied their industry. 
 
 And now with solemn pomp, far other sounds 
 
 Within this new built edifice arise ; 
 The priestly pageant moves, the hymn resounds — 
 
 The spell of consecration o'er it lies. 
 
 The weird-like resonance of evening bells 
 Hie from that tower in music most sublime ; 
 
 And echo, over streams, and hills, and dells. 
 Plays sweetly with the fleeting sands of time. 
 
 The sands of time still run — they will not stay, 
 Not for entreaty, not for ghtteiing gold ; 
 
 And Alexander nature's debt must pay, 
 And soon De Lacy's days of life are told. 
 
 29
 
 KIRKSTALL ABBEY. 
 
 De Lacy's tomb in Kirkstall Abbey was, 
 He rested in tbe place liis zeal had built ; 
 
 For none can set aside old nature's laws, 
 
 The pure in heart, nor heart oppress'd with guilt. 
 
 But day and night a lamp is kept alive 
 
 Before the altar of this holy place ; 
 And prayers are said that he may soon arrive 
 
 From nether fires, to peace in heavenly grace. 
 
 Old Seleth, too, had found a i)lace to rest 
 His bones in peace upon that sacred spot ; 
 
 And those who from his holy lips were blest. 
 Came to the house of pray'r, but found him not. 
 
 For many were the miracles he wrought. 
 
 And flocks on flocks had bless'd him for his care ; 
 
 They moum'd that up to heav'n his soul was caught. 
 And nothing but his dust remaining there. 
 
 The hand of time hath smooth' d his humble grave, 
 And long his resting place has been unknown ; 
 
 But still he sleepeth when the wild winds rave, 
 And when the flowers adorn the vernal throne. 
 
 30
 
 KIEKSTALL ABBEY. 
 
 But when the silent moon peeps through the screen 
 Of heavy clouds that oft conceals her face, 
 
 'Tis said that misty forms of light are seen 
 Ling'ring around the pilgrim's resting place. 
 
 More darkly gather now the folds of night, 
 That curtain o'er the mental canopy ; 
 
 The dismal mists of ignorance affright 
 
 With filthy forms, not hid, but hard to see. 
 
 And as we travel down the valley deep, 
 
 Where darkness gross and superstitions dwell ; 
 
 Where conscience is extinguished or asleep. 
 We enter the domains of death and hell. 
 
 Quiet at first, no objects meet the view, 
 Then dulcet music falls upon the ear ; 
 
 Ecstatic, melting — wak'ning pleasures new — 
 Intoxicates the senses, di'owning care. 
 
 Onwards we go as in a pleasant dream, 
 
 Here beauty sparkles, charming sights arise ; 
 
 Voluptuous female forms fair angels seem — 
 Such witchery falls on the bewilder'd eyes. 
 
 31
 
 KIRKSTALL ABBEY. 
 
 Goblets of sparkling wine succeed to these — 
 Succeed and mingle in the magic scene, 
 
 And couches draped with luxury to please 
 The charm'd, excited senses, now are seen. 
 
 And as the heart becomes surcharg'd at length, 
 And fears the spell-bo and spirit will affright ; 
 
 As wild enjoyment saps his waning strength, 
 The priest appears to set such matters right. 
 
 Indulgences are granted by the church, 
 Confess — the priest can absolution give ; 
 
 Bring gold — the world for pleasures ye may search, 
 And safe in luxury and riot live. 
 
 But worship Saints, and fast on holy days, 
 And never dare dispute our priestly power : 
 
 It is not good the world should scan our ways, 
 For we are holy — holy every hour. 
 
 Sometimes the soul requires another course 
 To free itself from deep and deadly sin ; 
 
 And penance comes, which, linked with deep remorse, 
 Will quiet keep the voice — the heart within. 
 32
 
 KIRKSTALL ABBEY. 
 
 Such tlie belief inculcated ; and such 
 
 The darkness whose dense wings spread o'er the land : 
 Men trembled priestly arrogance to touch, 
 
 For withering curses well they knew at hand. 
 
 Denunciations from the Vatican, 
 
 Against all sinners who should dare molest 
 
 The Monks of Kirkstall, thro' the kingdom ran ; 
 They were condemned — unrighteous and unbless'd. 
 
 The Abbots lived in almost royal state 
 
 When fortune smil'd — but now a cloud arose — 
 
 Mowbray, a feudal lord, had nurtur'd hate 
 Against the Monarch, and the two were foes. 
 
 And in the strife the Monks, expell'd from lands 
 They were enjoying, on their Abbot tum'd — 
 
 *' Upon the brink of ruin," cried they, ^' stands 
 Our house ! " and vengeance in their spirits bum'd. 
 
 Disorderly — refractory — distress'd — 
 
 To other monast'ries they flew for aid ; 
 But no compunction wrought they in the breast 
 
 Of the stern king, although ihej feign d and j^raffd. 
 
 33
 
 84 
 
 KIEKSTALL ABBEY. 
 
 Back came they to the Abbey, in the pride 
 And arrogance of priestly power — unbow'd — 
 
 The foul pretences calmly threw aside, 
 And all the claims of holy church ayow'd. 
 
 With cruel hearts they banished from their lands, 
 The tenants of estates within their pow'r ; 
 
 And any daring question their commands. 
 Found their account, alas, in eyil hour. 
 
 I
 
 PART V. 
 
 Alas, when ministers from tmtli withdi-aw, 
 And set themselves upon the throne of God, 
 
 Put superstitious rites in place of law ; 
 They lead the people in a dubious road. 
 
 So now the Monks were ignorant, and sin 
 Unblushing flaunted in the face of day — 
 
 For errors that within the Church begin, 
 
 Grow to proportions monstrous. Hear them say — 
 
 It was the devil who oppos'd their will, 
 
 And those who acted were the devil's friends ; 
 
 Hence, 'tis a virtue }nously to kill 
 
 Siich miscreants, and rid the world of fiends, 
 
 They wore the garb of sanctity, the show 
 
 Of holiness obtruded on the sight ; 
 Proclaimed that each was to the Church a foe. 
 
 Who should suggest the Priest might not be right. 
 
 85
 
 KIRKSTALL ABBEY. 
 
 They bound the soul with fetters strong as brass — 
 Where they forbade no help the people dared ; 
 
 Hell and desti-uctlon, fearful bolts, alas ! 
 
 Were theirs to -^ield, and not a foe was spared. 
 
 They fasted much within the Abbey walls, 
 
 "Whole days and nights upon their knees they spent ; 
 
 Pretended to be deaf to nature's calls, 
 Ascetics, under chosen banishment. 
 
 Some were confined to cells for weary years, 
 To gain a passage to a world of peace ; 
 
 A heav'n to purchase with their briny tears, 
 And make the pangs of purgatory cease. 
 
 One man arose of holy memory, 
 
 W^ith many stripes upon his body laid ; 
 
 With miserable sackcloth cloth'd was he, 
 To check the motions of the flesh 'tis said. 
 
 He yields not to the burning summer heat, 
 He shrinks not from the fearful winti-y cold ; 
 
 The ardour of his inner- man so gi-eat. 
 That he became of an ethereal mould. 
 
 3G
 
 KIKKSTALL ABBEY. 
 
 And yet he weeps, compunction at his heart, 
 Wide opens up the flood-gates of his tears ; 
 
 And in devotion when he takes his part, 
 Before the altar weeping he appears. 
 
 His tears fall on his vestments, dropping fast. 
 Such wond'rous power is given him to weep ; 
 
 So lacrymose he grows, that he at last 
 
 Xursing his tears neglects his monks and sheep. 
 
 Disorder soon ensued, for government 
 
 Within the sacred precints there was none, 
 
 Disorder generated discontent, 
 
 And much they wish'd the weeping Abbot gone. 
 
 Then rose a spirit of superior skill, 
 Prosperity upon whose rule was seen. 
 
 He moulded savage natures to his will, 
 And order dwelt were its reverse had been. 
 
 Yet o'er the world time works out many a change. 
 
 Slowly sometimes but surely changes come ; 
 Events occur, and circumstances strange, 
 
 Which wordly power cannot deliver from. 
 
 E 
 
 37
 
 KIRKSTALL ABBEY. 
 
 And here foul blots of sin with folly dwelt, 
 As darkness gather'd on the hoaiy tower ; 
 
 A moral pestilential night was felt, 
 
 And guilt stood blameless in that sickening hour. 
 
 It was not fi-ailty common to our race, 
 Not simply error from the way of life. 
 
 Nor impudence with its unblushing face, 
 Nor open violence engendering strife. 
 
 But those who should be guardians of our sons. 
 Instructors of our daughters and our mves ; 
 
 Holy in word and deed — these priestly ones, 
 Led most immoral and injurious lives. 
 
 [ Oh, if these stones had tongues, how would they speak 
 
 I Of incest and adulterous intercourse, 
 
 I By men who took advantage of the weak. 
 
 And broke God's holy law without remorse. 
 
 [ In the habiliments prescribed and worn 
 
 I As badges of the holy and the good, 
 
 Deeds only worthy of eternal scora. 
 
 Disgrace the annals of the brotherhood. 
 38
 
 KIRKSTALL ABBEY. 
 
 The days of darkest ignorance were then ; 
 
 The Priest was thought to hold the key of heaven ; 
 He shut it as he listed, and again, 
 
 He open'd and declared their sins forgiven. 
 
 Moreover, men were held as by a charm. 
 
 These holy, awful beings had recourse 
 To whatso'er could generate alarm. 
 
 And nature from her channels they could force. 
 
 All foul diseases they could conjure up ; 
 
 All pains and mis'ries to the body bring ; 
 They might present to life a poison'd cup, 
 
 Aud plagues at their command came on the wing. 
 
 Within their hands they held the book of fate, 
 And if they would, might turn the folded leaves ; 
 
 The veiy dead their secrets would relate ; 
 
 What priestly aid requires, their art achieves. 
 
 They could call back the past, — the present scan ; 
 
 Nor could the future from their ken be hid ; 
 And " Do thou this ! " the stern commandment ran, 
 
 Not what the Bible but the priest has bid. 
 
 39
 
 KIRKSTALL ABBEY. 
 
 They held the spirit of the baby dead, 
 Not wash'd in sacramental water, lost ; 
 
 Men trembled as the ignis fatuus sped 
 
 Through the deep darkness, and their pathway cross'd 
 
 For these were infant spirits in um-est, 
 
 From grave yards rising as the night advanced — 
 
 Those whom no priestly holy hands had blest, 
 And heaven therefore never countenanced. 
 
 If other spirits through the night were seen. 
 Whatever their appearance or their form — 
 
 On whatsoever errand they had been. 
 In envious spite or admonition warm, — 
 
 They fled these ghostly men, as if afraid, 
 
 And baffled to their habitation went, 
 When pray'rful incantations had been said — 
 
 Nor left again the world to which they sent ; — 
 
 Devils themselves were subject to their word. 
 
 If devils dared to visit holy ground ; 
 And Satan has appeared before the Lord, 
 
 And oft in holy Abbeys he was found. 
 40
 
 KTRKSTALL ABBEY. 
 
 But these exorcists sent liim down to hell, 
 Such periods as their priestly wisdom chose ; 
 
 How he escaped again we need not tell, 
 But he did not regard them as his foes. 
 
 By them all ignorance did propagate, 
 
 And superstitions hard to be believ'd ; 
 And foul acts too indecent to relate — 
 
 Could angels weep, they o'er them would have griev'd. 
 
 Still there were some who mortified the flesh, 
 And spent much time in penitence and pray'r ; 
 
 And if their evil feelings rose afresh, 
 Did voluntaiy scourging often bear. 
 
 Some knelt so long, insensible they grew 
 
 To common feelings of humanity ; 
 From worldly fascinations they withdrew, 
 
 Regarding earthly things as vanity. 
 
 And some were bent on doing kindly deeds — 
 The weary traveller might here find rest : 
 
 One clothes the naked, one the hungiy feeds, 
 And many feel within these precincts blest. 
 
 41
 
 PART VI. 
 
 As Jacob's favour'd sons in days of old, 
 
 T' escape red vengeance at th' avenger's hand, 
 
 Like lightning ran with efforts manifold, 
 Till in the Refuge City safe they stand. 
 
 The man of blood who by the laws pursued, 
 Within these shelt'ring walls protection found ; 
 
 With cowl and cassock cloth'd, his sins subdued, 
 Might live in safety on this holy ground. 
 
 For each the oath of secrecy had sworn — 
 Invi'late the confessional was held : 
 
 And deadly sins that made the heart forlorn, 
 And every agonising fear, were quell'd. 
 
 There is a charm about these ruin'd cells, 
 What we regret we cannot but admire ; 
 
 Where such self-sacrifice and kindness dwells, 
 Would there had never been unholy fire ! 
 
 42
 
 KIEKSTALL ABBEY. 
 
 But all was '^Tong — for heav'n cannot be bought 
 
 With gold, nor pray'rs, nor tears, nor scourged backs ; 
 
 He who the Saviour's spirit has not caught, 
 Whate'er his zeal, he tnie religion lacks. 
 
 Besides, the priests the key of knowledge held, 
 The learning of the times was theirs alone ; 
 
 The mental darkness should have been dispell'd. 
 If the TRUE LIGHT had on their spirits shone. 
 
 They held the Bible — but the sacred book 
 
 They neither knew, nor wished to understand — 
 
 From it their counsel scarcely ever took, 
 The light itself was darkness in their hand, 
 
 Hence in theii' ministrations all was show, 
 Deep spii'it-truth could not a favor find ; 
 
 The shepherds could not lead their flocks to know 
 Where food abounded for th' immortal mind. 
 
 They held salvation easily obtained 
 
 By outward acts — a visit to the church 
 On certain holy days, they stated, gained 
 
 The grace for which the weary spirits search. 
 
 43
 
 KIRKSTALL ABBEY. 
 
 Licentiousness to superstition join'd, 
 
 Presided often over solemn rites 
 Of highest, holiest import ; and purloin' d 
 
 The living fires, yet burned the waxen lights. 
 
 But retribution sleepeth not ! — The Hand 
 That holds the universe is not unnerv'd : 
 
 A thousand instruments of vengeance stand 
 Ready in view by whom He will be seiT'd. 
 
 Such agents as He pleases He employs. 
 
 And none can say to Him, " What chest thou 1 " 
 
 Of kings and princes He the pow'r destroys. 
 
 And priestly pride falls trembling, forced to bow. 
 
 Their dread anathemas whose thunders made 
 The nations tremble once, are harmless now ; 
 
 For priestly power retires beneath the shade, 
 While clouds have gather' d round its aged brow. 
 
 The old monastic order is dissolved ; 
 
 The property stands forfeit to the Crown : 
 Such change is in the stem decree involved, 
 
 That this old Abbey's roof is taken down. 
 
 44
 
 KIEKSTALL ABBEY. 
 
 And those old bells that charm'd the evening hour, 
 And flung their music sweet across the Aire, 
 
 And sweeten' d lovers' tales with magic power, 
 And sooth'd full many a bosom doom'd to care — 
 
 Have ceas'd their murmui's, and the ruin'd place 
 Is lone and drear, disconsolate and dark ; 
 
 A widow of her children reft, whose face 
 Bears desolation's unmistaken mark. 
 
 The hand of Man hath done some mischief since 
 To these old walls — but more the hand of Time, 
 
 That tumbled headlong fi'om its eminence 
 
 Some of the loosen'd tow'r with crash sublime. 
 
 The Aire still rolls her waters to the sea, 
 
 The woods still flourish, tho' less numerous grown ; 
 
 And edifices raised for industry 
 
 Have o'er the landscape modem aspects thro^vn. 
 
 Such changes Time has wrought, that common gi-ound 
 Claims from the multitude as much regard — 
 
 Though generations past their rest have found. 
 And sleep in peace within the old grave yard. 
 
 45
 
 KIRKSTALL ABBEY. 
 
 Oh, look with reverence on this ancient pile — 
 Whatever sins were perpetrated here — 
 
 Remember, many have felt heaven's smile, 
 
 While here they worshipp'd in the house of pray'r. 
 
 And when the sun sinks in the distant west, 
 And golden tints upon the clouds are cast ; 
 
 Oh, think what souls have entered into rest, 
 And robed in glory we shall meet at last. 
 
 46
 
 PART YII. 
 
 Time — Early Morning. 
 
 The stars that through the live- long night have shoue 
 
 Are fading from the fascinated eve ; 
 Their twinkling lights grow dim, and one by one 
 
 They melt away into the azure sky. 
 
 And brilliant Yenus, like a splendid gem, 
 At length appears with undivided sway ; 
 
 The sapphire host is gone — the queen of them 
 Sits on her throne to usher in the day. 
 
 And now the vaulted roof above my head 
 As a void, fathomless profound appears ; 
 
 The starry dust that angels" feet did tread, 
 Is swept away as coming morning nears. 
 
 I look upon the earth, but all is dark — 
 Objects are indistinct, or dimly seen ; — 
 
 Or if the eye some vagrant features mark, 
 
 They mock the view with changeful, monstrous mien. 
 
 47
 
 KIRKSTALL ABBEY. 
 
 There seems to stand one of the brotherhood, 
 Anon another walks in yonder court ; 
 
 Their presence deeper makes the solitude, 
 In these their ancient places of resort. 
 
 The wakeful cock proclaims the morning hour, 
 His clarion shi-ill is sounding joyously ; 
 
 And murky darkness softly loses pow'r, 
 As orient rays are struggling to be free. 
 
 In solitary grandeui' these old walls 
 
 Peep through the gloom, emerging into light ; 
 
 And strangely on the vision, weird-like falls 
 The mighty image of the broken height. 
 
 It seems as if 'twere playing with the mist, 
 That densely hovers 'round its rev'rend head ; 
 
 As clouds the dim grey streaks of light resist, 
 A pall seems hanging o'er the ground I tread. 
 
 But golden gleams of glory now appear. 
 
 And softly creep along the eastern sky ; 
 The joyous king of day is drawing near. 
 These are his heralds coursing up on high. 
 48
 
 KIRKSTALL ABBEY. 
 
 Distant th' horizon lies in wavy line, 
 
 Bathing delicious in the orient light ; 
 Nymphs, naiads, gods, and goddesses divine, 
 
 Of Grecian poesy, come hack to sight. 
 
 Then streams of flashing light, a perfect hlaze 
 Fling out their splendours — like a furnace huge 
 
 Of gleaming, glowing, burning gold — with rays 
 Like heav'n — th' Almighty throne the centrifuge. 
 
 What wonder that the Persian how'd in prayer 
 At this glad hour, in days that long have pass'd — 
 
 As on his hills he quaff'd the bracing air, 
 Cool and refreshing in this temple vast ? 
 
 Aurora now ascends the steepy height 
 
 With fleecy vestments, broider'd rich with gold ; 
 
 On all she flings exhilirating light. 
 
 Through heav'n and earth, with blessings manifold. 
 
 The bumish'd glare falls on the silent flood. 
 That slowly moves between the banks of gi'een ; 
 
 The sky is all reversed, as if it stood 
 Making ablutions ere it would be seen. 
 F 49
 
 KIRKSTALL ABBEY. 
 
 Then bright, unveil'd, and clear, with laughing face. 
 In virgin beauty gay, the morn is dress'd ; 
 
 The twittering birds come from their hiding place, 
 Mountains, and floods, and hills, and dales are bless'd. 
 
 For teeming life is early on the wing. 
 
 And music warbles sweet from bush and tree ; 
 
 The larks mount up, and as they mount they sing — 
 Morning has fill'd the air with haimony. 
 
 Around the dew drops hang on leaf and flow'r — 
 These on the head of nature form a cro\Mi 
 
 Of sparkling gems — and on the morning hour 
 Throw light prismatic — nothing wears a frown. 
 
 The graceful trees receive the welcome light 
 With quiet gladness, nodding out content ; 
 
 And in the lovely streams so smooth and bright. 
 The very fishes to their joys give vent. 
 
 The frisking lambs upon the sward at play. 
 
 Are emblems fair of innocent delight ; 
 And humming bees that hie them on their way, 
 
 Help to roll oft' the heaviness of night. 
 
 oO
 
 KIRKSTALL ABBEY. 
 
 The sons of toil shake off their slumbers now, 
 And to their labour go with willing mind ; 
 
 Inebriation rubs its fever'd brow — 
 The wages of its yesterday to find ! 
 
 Now all is busy — in the bustling mill, 
 
 The clang of moving wheels, the hiss of steam ; 
 
 And thousand hands the task assign'd fulfil, 
 Incredible almost as fairy dream. 
 
 Along the roadways pass the heavy wains, 
 
 The steady teams trudge onward with their loads ; 
 
 While o'er their necks are flung the useless reins. 
 For they know well the usage of the roads. 
 
 Some in the fields are turning up the sods. 
 
 While others make the growing crops their care ; 
 
 For wicker work some peel the gather'd rods. 
 And boys are up, the pilfering birds to scare. 
 
 Thus all are working — as the hours run on 
 
 Each tries to seize his opportunity, 
 Nor be regretful when the day is gone. 
 
 That unimproved he let the moments flee. 
 
 51
 
 KIRKSTALL ABBEY. 
 
 Around me evidence lies everywhere 
 
 Of human triumphs over things inert ; 
 The bosom of the smooth canal is there, 
 
 Where boats glide on, nor storms their course divert. 
 
 On either hand the locomotives fly, 
 
 Those iron monsters fed with fiery food — 
 
 That mshing, whistling, screaming, hissing by, 
 Form chariot-horses for the neighbourhood. 
 
 These have infring'd upon the silent spot. 
 
 Where grand in ruins stands the Abbey wall ; 
 
 The ancient solemn music is forgot, 
 
 For here no chiming bells to worship call. 
 
 The mill stood here in which the com was ground. 
 That erst supplied the inmates of the place ; 
 
 And still the ancient watercourse is found, 
 
 Thi'ough which the sparkling Uquid ran apace, — 
 
 Dash'd o'er the water-wheel, mth noisy glee, 
 Foaming and boiling with a splashing sound — 
 
 Then pass'd to holier precincts solemnly, 
 Welcome and useful to the inmates found. 
 52
 
 KIEKSTALL ABBEY. 
 
 The glory is departed ! — Thougli the sun 
 Looks on this lovely spot right brilliantly — 
 
 Through its allotted time its course has run, 
 Its foi-mer grandeur none shall ever see ! 
 
 Within the roofless walls huge trees have grown, 
 And other walls are ras'd, e'en to the ground — 
 
 Alas, for Kirkstall Abbey overthrown ! 
 All desolate thy ruins lie around ! 
 
 Thy mould'ring rooms are damp and useless now, 
 
 Except to raise involuntary sighs ; 
 And where thy sons perform'd each solemn vow, 
 
 Feet tread unblest, and stare all vulgar eyes. 
 
 The ivy casts her arms around thy form. 
 
 As though she'd shelter from the rudest blast — 
 
 And spare thee from the angiy raging storm, 
 Which must destroy thy tottering age at last ! 
 
 Still thou art strong, and still sublime in age — 
 And as those columns meet the wond'ring eye, 
 
 We ask what cunning workers did engage 
 
 Those stones to shape, and rear thy head on high ? 
 
 53
 
 KIRKSTALL ABBEY. 
 
 Their tale is left untold — and yet on thee 
 
 They stamp'd their genius with such mighty skill : 
 
 Thou dost impress with immortality 
 
 Their memory — though theii* names are hidden still. 
 
 But where are now the feet that often trod 
 
 With rev'rence deep these consecrated shades — 
 
 That came with humble hearts to worship God, 
 
 O'er hills, through dales, and sweetest sylvan glades ? 
 
 These generations all have sunk to rest, 
 
 Their bones long since have fallen to decay — 
 
 A quiet place upon the mother's breast. 
 
 Has been assign'd them till the judgment day ! 
 
 And other generations came and went — 
 For ever moving is the changeful scene : 
 
 The blooming youth is soon with winter bent — 
 Earth closes o'er him, and again is green ! 
 
 Still grows the grass, and Aire still onward flows. 
 Though changes came to man as ages pass'd : 
 
 Still men will rise — as former men arose — 
 
 When we, our coui'se falfill'd, have breath'd our last ! 
 
 64t
 
 KIRKSTALL ABBEY. 
 
 But know ! there comes another glorious day^ 
 The angel's tramp shall summon us on high ! 
 
 The frighted grave shall vomit forth its prey — ■ 
 The sea yield up the dead that in her lie ! 
 
 Then, when all human works to ruin fall, 
 
 When blazing fii'es shall purge the reeking earth— 
 
 Henceforth shall Chiist in God be All in All, 
 
 And hell shall groan, and heaven be full of mirth ! 
 
 Give us, Eteenal,, entrance with the blest — 
 Give us a sweet inheritance in heaven : 
 
 Give us — oh, give us everlasting rest — 
 Give love undying — be our sins forgiven ! 
 
 55
 
 HISTOEY OF KIRKSTALL ABBEY. 
 
 '* A tiling of beauty is a joy for ever! " This is ti-ue, 
 whether we view some specimen of beauty bearing all the 
 marks of modern appliances and Iuxuit springing from the 
 perceptive genius of an individual, or the ancient monument 
 of a massive and laborious age — whether coming thi'ough 
 ages of accumulated experience, each age contributing to 
 make up the finished model, or presenting a ruined crown 
 on which the hoar of ages has gathered, contrasting in its 
 greatness with the saucy looks of some dwarf of a twelve- 
 month's old. ^Vhatever be the form it wears, what purposes 
 soever it has served or may still be serving, men love beauty — 
 they must love it, because it is beautiful. 
 
 The various fonns of the beautiful, however, cannot but 
 produce sensations as vaiying as the aspects which they 
 present to the mind ; hence a lovely parterre and a moorland 
 forest would call up a different train of ideas. The same 
 may be said of a fi'uitful valley and a bleak and snow capped 
 mountain, and equally so of a modem palace and the grim 
 remains of some ancient lordly retreat. Yet each of these 
 may be a thing of beauty. One thing may be beautiful in 
 simplicity, another in its coloring, another in its grandeur, 
 and another in decrepitude and decay. The fact of a want 
 of appreciation in us alters not the claim of the object, and 
 as the appreciative faculty is differently developed in different 
 individuals, and some form of beauty appears to each, the 
 ^vorld becomes full — studded over with ciuiet or sparkling 
 
 57
 
 glory, so that, Avlicrever we turn, the beautiful meets the eye, 
 and seems to ask our attention that it may make us better ! 
 We should, therefore, occasionally put on our holiday clothes 
 and sally forth to look on the face of nature ; to see her 
 modest smile, to mark how the flowers are glad for their day 
 of being, to hear not only the joyous song of the dappled 
 foresters, but the hum of the insect world ; to behold how 
 contentment rises into expressions of joy until the hills and 
 dales, the trees, shrubs, and murmuring waters clap their 
 hands in the general rejoicing ! And if we meet with any of 
 the works of man bespeaking either his greatness or his 
 littleness, we may indulge in grave reflections, and take a 
 leaf from the book of the past for our present instruction and 
 future guidance. Everything around us is capable, if msely 
 read, of aff'ording some important lesson ; but, in general, 
 our reading is too superficial to enable us to gather and store 
 the deep and varied teachings that present themselves, and, 
 with a supplicating aspect, ask our consideration. 
 
 It is to be regretted — not that we throw our hearts into 
 the engagements of every day life ; not that during business 
 hours we become absorbed in it, for what is worth doing is 
 worth doing well — but it is to be regretted that we too often 
 carry the spirit engendered during those hours of bustle and 
 excitement into our walks, our homes, and even our holidays, 
 and thus shut up our hearts against influences of the most 
 beneficent character, and teachings whose silent voices 
 appeal in vain to our understandings and our hearts. This 
 has become so universal and constant, that our very religion 
 is tinged with the prevailing hue, and takes its coloring 
 from our ideas, rather than doing as it should have done — 
 subduing us to its pervading spirit, and moulding us to the 
 model of its own glory. The religious feeling of the dark 
 
 58
 
 ages was sombre and superstitious, hut it was confidiug and 
 deep. Ours is utilitarian and uninspiring, altliougli expan- 
 sive and tolerant. That tliere are individuals to whom these 
 remarks do not apply is readily admitted, but they are true 
 of the masses of the people, and embrace even the majority 
 in the higher walks of life. It is thus that life has lost the 
 poetiy which naturally belongs to it : the bloom on the 
 peach and plum, if rudely touched, is brushed away, never 
 to be replaced ; so the joys which should bubble up, and 
 sparkle like dew-drops in sunshine from our hearts to the 
 surface of life, become suppressed by the cold calculating 
 spirit of the age, and life becomes a race for money rather 
 than for immortality — for wealth rather than its enjo;sTnent. 
 
 As these remarks may probably reach the eyes of holiday- 
 folk more frequently than others, it is hoped they may not 
 be without eflect — that, in fact, they may induce an effort to 
 roll back the tide of business thoughts, and leave the heart 
 fr'ee for rational and elevating pleasures ; and, at the same 
 time, assist the mind to gather the flowers and fruits which 
 cluster around the history of the past, whose shadows are 
 lengthened in the sunshine, and fall across the pathway of 
 the present. With this view, we visit the old Abbey at 
 Kirkstall ; and, as we gaze upon the ponderous rains, call 
 up memories of the past, and try to peer through the 
 darkness which ages have cast upon its features, leaving it 
 still " a thing of beauty ! " 
 
 Early in the eleventh century, Seleth, a shepherd living 
 in the South of England, is said to have had certain visions 
 and revelations, which called him to leave his home and 
 settle in Airedale. The Holy Virgin appearing to him in 
 the night, commanded him to " Arise, and go into the 
 province of York, and search diligently in the valley of
 
 Airedale for a place called Kirkstall, to prepare a future 
 habitation for brethren serving her son ! " That this is the 
 product of some monkish brain in after-times can scarcely 
 admit a doubt, apart from the consideration of the subject of 
 visions : KirJrstall, in all probability, w^as a name given to 
 the place after the building of the Abbey — the first name of 
 which is said to have been Headinleia, or Headingley. In 
 reference to the stoiy of Seleth and the visions he is said to 
 have had, it is sufficient to remark that in an age of mental 
 darkness, when the religious element was fostered into the 
 most monstrous development, and enthusiasm took the place 
 of light and knowledge, it is not impossible to conceive that 
 the fevered brain of a devotee should breed all sorts of 
 dreamy but unreal intercourse with the world of spirits ; 
 while the mind, emaciated and nerveless, became incapable 
 of detecting the fraud that it thus perpetrated upon itself. 
 In this way numbers first imposed upon themselves, and then 
 upon an ignorant world, which came to look for its infonna- 
 tion to visions and dreams of the night, while the truth of 
 God was ignored, or regarded too holy for common eyes to 
 look upon. This follows as a natural consequence from a 
 state of society in w^hicli the leaders of the people, finding it 
 to their advantage, have the vrAl and the power to cause 
 them to err — and, by a reflex action, these very leaders of 
 the people may have come to believe a lie ! 
 
 The founder of Kirkstall Abbey was Henry de Lacy, Earl 
 of Lincoln. It appears that during a severe illness, when 
 the approach of death was feared, he made a vow that if he 
 recovered he would build an Abbey for the Cistercian order 
 of Monks, in honor of the Virgin Mary. This is not only in 
 accordance with the times in which he lived, but it marks 
 tolerably distinctly the manner of life he had pre\-iously led — 
 
 GO
 
 the vow being a set-off against his sins. Having recovered , 
 he assigned to the Abbot of Fountains (or Fountaynes), by 
 charter, the village of Bernoldswick, as the fulfilment of his 
 vow. In 1149, Alexander, the Prior of Fountains, was made 
 Abbot of Bemolds"«dck, and, with twelve monks and ten lay 
 brothers, took possession, and commenced the ecclesiastical 
 establishment. One of the first acts of the Abbot was so 
 unjust and tyrannical, that it is not to be wondered that the 
 people regarded the community with disfavor : the rights of 
 the church were encroached upon, and the church itself 
 ordered to be pulled down. This being appealed against 
 was carried to Rome, and the decision obtained in favor of 
 the Monks, on the gi'ound that a monasteiT would be of 
 more service to the people than the Church. Having 
 conferred the name of St. Mary's Mount upon the place, 
 and settled a variety of preliminaries, they hoped for a quiet 
 holding of what they had obtained ; but in this they were 
 doomed to disappointment. The Scots made incursions on 
 their lands and earned off their provisions, and the seasons 
 proved unfavourable to their crops ; the soil was sterile and 
 unproductive, and the brotherhood were reduced to a condi- 
 tion bordeiing upon staiwation. In this state of things the 
 Abbot, either by accident or wandering in search of a more 
 favored spot, found his way to Airedale, where was settled a 
 band of Anchorites, of whom Seleth was the head. This 
 spot appeared to Alexander so desirable a site for the new 
 Abbey, that he lost no time in laying the troubles of his 
 fi^atemity before his patron, and entreated his assistance to 
 obtain a gi'ant from the owner of that part of Airedale 
 inhabited by the hemiits. This being complied ^ith, and 
 the application proving successful — William of Poitou grant- 
 ing the land in perpetuity to the Monks of St. Mary for five 
 G 61
 
 marks a year — the hermits were induced, some to incorporate 
 themselves with the new society, and others sold their title 
 for money. In the year 1153, Bernoldswick was abandoned 
 and turned into a farm for their use, and a magnificent Abbey 
 commenced at I^rkstall. The stone found in abundance in 
 the neighbourhood, was raised for the building. The patron, 
 De Lacy, laid the foundation stone, supplied corn for the 
 community, and money for the building ; and in the space of 
 thirty years, Alexander saw his desire fulfilled, and the Abbey 
 completed. He presided over the monastery thirty-five years. 
 
 Henry de Lacy is said to have died towards the close of 
 the reign of Henry XL, and his remains were buried in the 
 cemetery of Kirkstall. Pope Adeian, in 1156, ratified the 
 arrangements of the community, bestowed upon them privi- 
 leges and exemptions, and pronounced formal denunciations 
 upon all who might molest them in their professions. 
 
 The second Abbot, Ralph Hageth, commenced his rule 
 under a sunshine that soon became clouded with misfortune. 
 The grange of Micklethwaite, which belonged to the Abbey, 
 had been part of the fee of Roger de Mowbray, who, joining 
 a party hostile to the King, Henry II. seized his fee, and 
 expelled- the monks: these became incensed against Ralph, 
 on account of the loss which they accused him as having 
 caused, and whose extravagance had brought them to the 
 brink of ruin. In their distress the monks sought refuge in 
 other monasteries, hoping thereby to work upon the king's 
 compassion. The Abbot is said to have disposed of sacred 
 utensils and ornaments to propitiate him ; but the golden 
 chalic, a manuscript copy of the gospel, entreaties and cen- 
 sures, alike failed to produce compunction, so the scattered 
 Monks returned to their abbey to make the best of the disaster ; 
 and as Henry died without making restitution, it is said the 
 
 62
 
 Monks held the opinion that he had no chance of redeeming 
 his soul. Ralph was translated to Fountain's Abbey, where 
 he died. 
 
 Under Lambert, the next Abbot, a gleam of prosperity soon 
 became overcast, for the Grange of Clivacher was claimed 
 from the monastery by Richard de Eland ; this claim seems 
 to have been well-founded, but the Abbot avoided its recog- 
 nition, and finally secured compensation by resigning it into 
 the hands of Roger de Lacy, who had recently given it, and who 
 bestowed the village and park of Akarington upon the order, to 
 make good his former gift. Immediately upon obtaining this 
 property, Lambert removed the inhabitants, and converted 
 it into a farm for the use of the monastery, under the charge 
 of some lay-brothers ; but the people who had been expelled 
 from their habitations were aroused to revenge themselves — 
 they burnt the grange and its furniture, and murdered three 
 lay-brothers. The Abbot having commended the souls of 
 the departed to God, applied to Robert de Lacy, who waxed 
 wroth, and determined to banish the pei-petrators and their 
 families ; but having appeased the Abbot by the most abject 
 subjection, and the payment of a sum of money for the 
 damage, a pardon was obtained from the irate nobleman. 
 The Grange was rebuilt about 1192, and the Abbot died. 
 Turgesius succeeded — an ascetic — he abstained from wine 
 and animal food, chastised his body, clothed himself in sack- 
 cloth, to subdue unlawful motions of the flesh. In summer 
 and winter he wore one cowl and one tunic ; was almost contin- 
 ually weeping. He is said to have rained tears upon the holy 
 vestments, so that after he had used them they could scarcely 
 be used by any other. After presiding over the Abbey nine 
 years, he removed to Fountains, and soon after died. 
 
 Helias, the next Abbot, was a man of business, who, 
 
 63
 
 although many obstacles impeded him, brought the affairs of 
 the society into order. After his death nothing is recorded of 
 the condition of the Abbey for about one hundred years. The 
 Abbots were Ralph de Newcastle, Walter, Maurice, Adam, 
 Hugh Mikelay, Simon, William de Leedes, Gilbert de Cartles, 
 who appears to have been deposed, or else to have resigned 
 his abbacy after three years, one month, and four days. He 
 was again created Abbot, and was succeeded by Henry Carr, 
 after whom comes Hugh Grimstone. 
 
 When Hugh Grimstone came to the abbacy, the affairs of 
 the society had sunk into a state of terrible embarrassment : 
 the revenues Vv^ere exhausted to pay interest upon debts which 
 had been contracted, the foundation was in a state of in- 
 solvency, and the live stock upon the estates had been nearly 
 consumed to meet the every day wants of the community ; 
 the creditors became impatient, and they were compelled lo 
 seek the king's aid (Edward I.) in their difficulty. By some 
 deep intriguing and priestly expedients, however, these diffi- 
 culties were got over.. Enough information remains to show 
 us that craft and cunning, under guise of religion, formed the 
 principal links in the transaction, and some matters, the wily 
 Abbot says, it would not be prudent to put upon paper ; but 
 well pleased with the success of the deception, he seems to 
 laugh at his dupes, and requests that his letter be shown to 
 no one, but that they should keep their own counsel secret 
 from every one out of the bosom of the chapter. 
 
 After the death of Hugh Grimstone, the abbacy was con- 
 ferred upon John do Bridesal, but we possess no information 
 beyond this point except the names of the several Abbots. 
 It seems that John had occasion to \dsit Canterbury, from 
 which he wrote a letter " with many tears ; " from this letter 
 we learn there were many inconsistencies among the eccle- 
 
 64
 
 siastics. The following is clearly to this point — *' We wrote 
 unto certain persons ' abstain from eveiy appearance of oyII, 
 and avoid it beforehand ; whatever is or can be pretended in 
 its behalf, God shall give you the knowledge of these things.' " 
 Abbot Walker, Abbot William (1341), Roger de Leedes, 
 John Thornberg, John de Bardsey, and William Grayson 
 followed. Among the charters of the Cottonian Library the 
 folloTs-ing has been discovered, which coiTesponds with the time 
 of the last mentioned Abbot : — 
 
 " To all whom these presents may come, brother Robert, 
 
 Abbot of the Monastery of the Blessed Marj^ at Kirkstall, 
 
 health and faith in the following. Though by the institutes of 
 
 our order the admission of women is prohibited under heavy 
 
 penalties ^"ithin the precincts of Cistercian Abbeys ; we, 
 
 nevertheless, being desirous of the salvation of souls, which 
 
 undoubtedly will be obtained as well by women as by men, 
 
 who in certain days in the year happen to visit the church of 
 
 the said rnonastei-y of I\jrkstall, and which visits, moreover, 
 
 are clearly allowed in some indulgences granted by Pope 
 
 Boniface the Ninth, we hereby tolerate, pro tempore, on the 
 
 above mentioned days, the admission of women to the said 
 
 church solely ; provided, notwithstanding, that such females 
 
 be not introduced into any other apartment within the confines 
 
 of the said monaster}', neither by the Abbots nor by any of 
 
 the Monks, under the penalties awarded by the aforesaid 
 
 ordfeance, which penalties we by these presents decree, and 
 
 without remission enforce, as well against the Abbot as the 
 
 Monks of the aforesaid monasteiT, if they shall be found to 
 
 transgress what is permitted them. Given at our monasteiy 
 
 at Fountains, A.D. 1461." Dr. Whitaker conjectures from 
 
 this letter that the Abbots of Fountains exercised a jui'isdic- 
 
 tion over those of Ivirkstall. At any rate, we have proof 
 
 65
 
 in this letter of two tilings — -first, the immoral lives of the 
 Monks, and secondly, the abominable superstition which 
 taught that attendance on certain days at the church at 
 Kii'kstall ensured salvation. Language cannot too strongly 
 express detestation of such modes of life, and such teachings. 
 The Abbots that make up the list are the following : — 
 Thomas Wymbersley, 1468 ; Kobert Kelynbeck. 1-499 ; 
 AVilUam Stockdale, 1501 ; William Marshall, 1506 ; and 
 John Ripley, who surrendered the convent to the Crown 
 November 22nd, 1540, in the 31st year of the reign of Henry 
 VIII. The revenue at the time of dissolution is said to have 
 been worth £10,000 of our money per annum. In addition 
 to this, the cattle, com, and other valuables, including plate 
 and other kinds of property, must have amounted to a very 
 large sum. This property, after passing through many hands, 
 came into the possession of theEarls of Cardigan, who still hold 
 it. Immediately after the dissolution, the work of destruction 
 commenced. The tower, which contained a chime of bells, 
 appears to have been built at a much later period than the 
 other portions of the Abbey, and the roof appears to have 
 been lowered at the same time. No evidence exists, that has 
 come to our knowledge, as to the time when the hells tcere 
 placed in the Abbey, but from the letters "W. M." on portions 
 of the walls still standing, it has been supposed that the tower 
 was an addition made during the abbacy of William Marshall, 
 who was elected in 1509, for the purpose of recei\dng a peal 
 of bells ; but, supposing this to be so, there may have been, 
 probably there were, bells previously there, and in that case, 
 the peal may have been increased in number for the new tower. 
 Be that as it may, they were taken down and sold ; the roof 
 was removed, and the lead and timber, from the church and 
 other buildings, were disposed of for the benefit of the Crown. 
 
 66
 
 Nor was tnis the only indignity that awaited the venerable 
 pile, for according to an entiy in the book of the Chui'ch- 
 wardens of Leeds, in 1583, we find labourers were employed at 
 sixpence a day, removing materials from "Christall Abbaye" 
 for building purposes. 
 
 In 1741, an old granary was removed, the slate of which 
 almost resembled steel, after being on the roof five hundred 
 years. The dormitory fell during the ^vinter of 1746 ; and 
 two sides of the tovv^er and a part of the third came down 
 with a crash January 27th, 1779, Several smoking pipes 
 were found in the mortar, which must have been used at a 
 date anterior to tobacco being introduced into this country. 
 
 DESGEIPTION OF THE RUINS. 
 
 Parts of the wall, which enclosed the Abbey and about 
 thirty acres of land, are still standing ; and the ruins are 
 sufficiently perfect to allow of our determining, with almost 
 positive exactness, the positions of the various parts of the 
 building. The centre is the usual quadrangular court into 
 which the various apartments opened ; this formed the ceme- 
 tery of the brotherhood and of the wealthy inhabitants in the 
 neighbourhood; here grow apple trees and pear trees, whose 
 blossoms and fi^uits wave diuing spring, summer, and autumn 
 over the beautiful and well-kept grass, and in whose branches 
 the ^^intry winds sigh ■with a melancholy dirge-like sound. 
 This coui-t. was entii-ely surrounded by an ambulatory or pent- 
 house cloister ; here the Monks met for conversation and 
 exercise. The nave of the church formed its north side; 
 the eastern side was formed by the vestry, joined to the 
 extremity of the south transept of the church, and continued 
 
 07
 
 by the chapter-house and two or three smaller apartments or 
 cells; above these was the dormitory for the Monks. On the 
 south was the refectoiy, and adjoining it probably the com- 
 mon room, with possibly the library over it ; and on the west 
 side was a dormitory for lay-brothers on arches supported by 
 columns, forming a covered way or ambulatory for the Monks. 
 The building which stood at the southern end of this, and 
 was carried westward, is apparently of uncertain character; 
 some think it was the infirmary. Behind the refectoiy, 
 southwards, were the kitchens, whose flues and ovens are 
 still evident ; in a direct line, east of these, is probably the 
 Abbot's residence, and other conveniences connected there- 
 with ; and, north from the extremity of these, are remains 
 lately uncovered, forming in all probability the hospitium or 
 place for entertaining Priests and strangers. The hall foimed 
 a spacious apartment, measuring eighty-three feet in length, 
 and forty-eight feet nine inches in breadth. Here are 
 remaining four fire-places, hearths and stone fenders being 
 attached to two of them. There is no difficulty in perc eiving 
 that some parts of the ruins belong to a difierent date, and 
 are built of a diff'erent material from the original. In what 
 we have mentioned as the apartments of the Abbot is the 
 remains of a remarkable chimney, the back of the fire-place 
 being built of flat stones, resembling tiles, placed in alternate 
 rows diagonally, so as to form a pattern known as herring- 
 hime. The watercourse was brought through the southern 
 part of the building, so that every convenience for cleanliness 
 was afforded. 
 
 The church, with its broken tower, is beautiful in ruins — 
 the masses of matted ivy which cling to some parts of the 
 old walls give it a sombre but impressive nppearance, and 
 the vast elm trees growing within its ivaUs make it picturesque 
 
 68
 
 in the extreme. The workmanship displayed in the building 
 is of a high character. The great eastern window, with the 
 high altar, must have been peculiarly imposing, and while yet 
 the lamp burnt, for which De Lacy had provided, would 
 exercise a mighty influence on the minds of the ignorant 
 who went thither to worship. On either side of this were 
 three chapels, with altars, but to what oaints they were 
 dedicated we have no means of knowing. 
 
 A short distance to the north-west of the Abbey may be 
 seen the remains of the corn mill, which ground the grain for 
 the fraternity. This was driven by water brought frum a 
 considerable distance, and having served this purpose, the 
 stream was carried on to the kitchens, etc., for purposes 
 already referred to. 
 
 In the walls of the chapter-house several stone coffins have 
 been discovered, one of which was probably De Lacy's, but 
 no inscription has been found sufficient to determine anything 
 with certainty. All, in fact, is changed, and much of the past 
 is ii-retrievably lost. The Abbey is no longer in a retired and 
 solitary spot ; ever}-thing has yielded to public utility, upon 
 which these grim remains solemnly look, while they afford 
 important lessons and warnings to all who pass by, and which 
 it would be wise to learn. Beyond this, the discoveries of 
 antiquities have been few and unimportant — a few tiles, some 
 keys, one or two seals, partial inscriptions on a sepulchral 
 slab, and a coffin of beaten ii'on, are the principal. But 
 these ruins may stand for ages yet, and silently teach future 
 generations lessons of high importance. The crumbling 
 ruin is thus a present monitor. 
 
 The church does not stand due east and west. It is to be 
 regi-etted that more regard has not been paid in the modern 
 masoniy, by which some parts of the building is supported, 
 
 69
 
 to the style of the original ; instead of this, the rough man- 
 ner of execution seems almost to profane the venerable place, 
 whose massive and beautiful columns stand like old giants 
 peering upon us through the darkness and mystery of past 
 generations. Here they stood, while the inmates passed 
 through cold asceticism ; here still, when voluptuousness and 
 luxury were rampant ; still here, now the dismantled tower 
 is shorn of its glory. 
 
 Altogether, Kirkstall Abbey is a place to be remembered. 
 The lessons it teaches are many and sublime, and few eyes 
 can gaze upon the grandeur of decay exhibited in the sombre 
 features and hoary dignity of these old ruins, without feeling 
 the most solemn reflections taking possession of the breast, 
 and shedding their influence over the heart. 
 
 70
 
 GLOSSARY OF ECCLESIASTICAL TERMS. 
 
 Abbot, the governor of an abbey; in wealthy monasteries they claimed 
 
 exemption from the Bishop. 
 Ajnbrie, a place where ahns are placed for distribution to the poor. In 
 
 ancient chm-ches and cathedrals it was often in the form of a niche, 
 
 or hollow space in the wall, with a door to it, and placed near the 
 
 altar to contain the utensils belonging thereto. In some chm-ches 
 
 they were veiy numerous, and placed in various parts of the chm-ch 
 
 and even in the cloisters. 
 Bishoj), a spiritual superintendent or overseer. 
 Camerarius, or chamberlain, had the management of the dormitory, and 
 
 foi'nished clothing to the society. 
 Cassock, a robe or gown worn over the other garments by the clergy. 
 Cells, rehgious houses, small close apartments. They sers'ed for the 
 
 devotion of the recluse, as places of confinement for transgi-essors ; 
 
 and possibly, at times, after entombing the unhappy victim of 
 
 priestly vengeance, they seiwed him for a gi'ave. 
 Cellerarius, a butler, one who obtained provisions for the convent, and 
 
 had charge of the wine vault. 
 Chapter, a community of clergymen. A place where delinquents receive 
 
 discipline and correction. 
 Chapter House, a house where a chapter meets. 
 Cloister, a close, a square between the church, chapter house, and 
 
 refectory, and over which is the dormitory. The place where the 
 
 monks met for conversation. 
 Coicl, a monk's hood, or habit, worn by the Bernardines or Benedictines ; 
 
 it was either black or white. 
 Dormitory, a gaUery dirided into small cells, where the religievx sleep. 
 Eleemosijnarius, the ahnoner, who distributed alms to the poor at the 
 
 gate of the monasteiy ; sometimes he had the care of the main- 
 tenance and education of the choristers. 
 Historiographer, one whose duty it was to commit to writing the prin- 
 
 cinal events that occurred, and at the end of the year made a 
 
 digest of all the entries. 
 
 71
 
 Iloxpitimn, a house for entertaining the priests and distinguished 
 visitors and strangers. 
 
 Infirmarius, one who attended the sick and provided medicine for the 
 nse of the establishment. 
 
 Mapister Operis, the master of the works, who had the care of the 
 buildings, and attended to their repairs. 
 
 Matins, morning worship, or service ; morning prayers or songs. 
 
 Monk, a man who retires fi-om the ordinary concerns of the world, and 
 devotes himself to religion. 
 
 Piscina, a niche on the south side of the altar in Roman Catholic 
 churches, containing a small basin and water drain, through which 
 the priest emptied the water in which he had washed his hands, 
 and also that in which the chalice had been rinsed. 
 
 Precentor, he who had the direction of the choir. He had the custody 
 of the seal, kept the chapter book, and pro\'ided wiiting materials 
 for the scribes, and colors for the limners, who illuminated the 
 books in the library. 
 
 Prior, the office next below an Abbot. 
 
 Refectory, a room for refreshments. 
 
 Sacristan, a sexton, who had the care of the utensils or moveables of 
 the church. 
 
 Sac7'isty, the apartment wliorc the utensils and vestments are kept. 
 
 ScapnJary, a vestment worn over the shoulders. 
 
 Scriptorium, a room where wi-iters transcribed manuscripts. 
 
 Sedilia, stone seats used by the priests during high mass : they were 
 in the south wall of the chancel, usually three in numbe?, for the 
 priest, deacon, and sub-deacon. 
 
 Tliesanrarius, the treasm*er who received all rents and revenues, and 
 paid current expenses. 
 
 Vesica Piscis, a name given to a symbolical representation of Christ, 
 made by the intersection of two equal circles, cutting each other in 
 their centres, and consequently of an egg shape, or pointed oval 
 form. The figure of a fish found on the sarcophagi of the early 
 Christians, gave way to this ornament in the middle ages. 
 
 Vespers, the evening song, or evening service of the Komish church. 
 
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