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PREFACE. 
 
 -No part of the world possesses so many charms for 
 tlie contemplative mind as the admirable scenery of 
 our English Lake district. None can fm-nish so wide 
 a field for the excursions of a playful imagination^ as 
 those peaceful glens which are formed by the fantastic 
 sweeps of our northern mountains. 
 
 The lover of nature^ whose dehght it is to traverse 
 this romantic region^ beholds here scenes the most 
 lovely opening out on every hand. Mountains and 
 dales wild enough, in aU conscience^ amidst which are 
 hidden placid, silver lakes, embosomed in the most 
 delicious, fairyland vaUeys, diversified with beautiful 
 mansions, and snow-white cottages, nestling in aU the 
 luxuriance of their native woods and coppices. 
 
 It has been justly said that the district from Lan- 
 caster, and the Bay of Morecombe, to the borders of 
 
i PREFACE. 
 
 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 vil- 
 lages, 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 love- 
 liest heaths that ever grew wild, high hills, deep 
 mines, noble famiKes, 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 
 
PREFACE. 6 
 
 stranger, endeared as it is by living and departed 
 genius ; and liave exalted the enthusiasm with wliich 
 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 sub- 
 limity 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 last twenty years have witnessed a perfectly 
 new era, as regards access to the Lakes. Eailways — 
 the foremost wonder of this teeming age — have now 
 brought nearly every great city and town of our island 
 within a few hours'* reach of their Alpine loveliness. 
 Windermere, 
 
 " The silver lake of emerald isles," 
 
 has become linked to the metropolis by equidistant 
 lines of iron; and this beautiful isolation of romantic 
 subHmity, formerly shut out from all but the wealthy 
 and the noble, is now visited by admiring and increas- 
 ing thousands. 
 
4 PREFACE. 
 
 The increased and increasing 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 inte- 
 resting 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 tliis romantic region. 
 
 To supply this deficiency, in part, is the object of 
 the present Work. The interest of a country abound- 
 ing 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 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 romantic stories the country affords. The district^ it 
 is truC;, is not particularly rich in historical incidents ; 
 nor has it been the scene of many great events ; yet, 
 it has been justly said by a popular writer, what it 
 wants in history it more than makes up in poetry. 
 
 True, it may appear to be richer in scenery 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 for beauty and for song, inde- 
 pendent 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 nearly every stream — some of the strong- 
 holds yet remain, wherein the mosstroopers, clad in 
 steel from head to foot, issued forth in the morning 
 light — the liills are there, with the heath, across which 
 they sped on gallant steeds, with lances outstretched, 
 and gleaming helmets — ^the paths are yet green amid 
 
b PREFACE. 
 
 the dun moor along which they drove then* 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 sohtary monu- 
 ments 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.^^ 
 
 Respecting all these, volumes of interest might be 
 devoted to what has already been recorded by able 
 pens. The present are offered as specimens of what 
 has been written on some of the spots of interest by 
 a Wordsworth, Charles Mackay, and others, and last, 
 not least, by Sir Walter Scott, who has not entirely 
 overlooked this locality ; and I have felt compelled, 
 from its excellence, to give his poem, the Bridal 
 of Triermam, comprising a Legend of the Vale of St. 
 John, the precedence in the following pages. 
 
 It has been truly said the spirit of romance is 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 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 heathy where the deer roved, 
 are enclosed, and ploughed and harrowed over perio- 
 dically — 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 ringing, and their hunting gear glittering 
 in the glorious sunlight of the olden time — all these 
 are gone ; and as we wander over the land, we find 
 mostly drains and furrows, stone dykes, and straight 
 fences, where tJie 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 round the breath- 
 ing flowers, and, humming within their tiny cells, 
 sought out the sweet treasures which natm'c had 
 hidden there. Our castles and abbeys are in ruins — 
 our Border-keeps are mouldering 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 — we are a changed 
 people — and the olden time is truly gone. 
 
 Let it never be thought that we rejoice not in the 
 present because we regret the past. We feel, and are 
 thankful for the blessings and comforts wliich the 
 
b PREFACE. 
 
 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 haw- 
 thorn, beneath which we breathed our vows of eternal 
 fidelity to her who now lies nightly in our bosom, has 
 been rooted up to prepare a path for it. 
 
 We see all this, and we tliink of it without regret. 
 Our reason approving, consents to it ; yet our imagina- 
 tion answers, "The spirit of romance is departing 
 from us, and we sigh for the olden tiuje.'" 
 
 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 will only add that, should the pleasure of the 
 tourist be enhanced by a perusal of any of the follow- 
 ing tales connected with the Lake district, it will 
 confer a still greater pleasure on the writer, even than 
 
PREFACE, y 
 
 that of culling them, from time to time, during his 
 visits to those nooks hallowed by poetry, or conse- 
 crated by history, which a frequent residence in this 
 locaHty has afforded him the opportunity of exploring. 
 They are offered 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 ori- 
 ginal, he may not pass by unheeded some of the 
 remarkable spots of history or romance without feeling 
 interested in their associations. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 Preface, ....... 
 
 The Bridal of Triermain, a Legend of the Vale of St. 
 
 John, ....... 
 
 St. Herbert, the Hermit of Derwentwater, . 
 
 The Abbey Vows, 
 
 The Shepherd Boys of Dungeon-Ghyll, 
 
 Charles Williams, the Poet of Kentmere, . 
 
 The Skulls of Calgarth, 
 
 The Luck of Eden Hall, 
 
 The Maid of Habdra Scar, 
 
 The Ennerdale Brothers, 
 
 Emma; or, the Murdered Maid, 
 
 Associations of Carlisle, Historical, Poetical, and 
 
 Romantic, ... 
 
 The Druid's Temple, .... 
 
 The Unfortunate Tourist of Helvellyn, and his 
 
 EaithfulDog, 
 
 Derwentwater Regatta, 
 
 PAGE 
 1 
 
 13 
 
 69 
 
 76 
 
 79 
 
 82 
 
 96 
 
 9S 
 
 103 
 
 106 
 
 121 
 
 126 
 159 
 
 169 
 176 
 
12 
 
 CONTENTS, 
 
 The Shepherd of Green-head Ghyll, . . 
 
 The Inscribed Rocks, .... 
 
 Edgar, the Lord of Ennerdale. A Tradition of 
 Wotobank, near Egremont, 
 
 Lady Eva and the Giant of Yewdale, 
 
 Legend of Kireby Lonsdale Bridge, 
 
 The Spectre Army of Sotjtra Eell, 
 
 Rustic Poets of the Lake District, 
 
 JEart's-horn Tree, neas Penrith, 
 
 The Quakeress Bride, a Tale of the Mountains, 
 
 The Beauty of Buttermere ; with an account of the 
 Trial and Execution of Hatfield the Lnpostor, who 
 married her, ...... 
 
 Affray of the Border Ereebooters, in Borrowdale, 
 JossY WITH Whips, ...... 
 
 Helwise ; OR, THE Ill-fated Lovers : a Tale of Mun- 
 caster Hall, ...... 
 
 Emma and Sir Eglamore. A Legend of Aira Eorce, 
 
 PAGE 
 
 183 
 197 
 
 199 
 210 
 216 
 220 
 235 
 239 
 240 
 
 261 
 290 
 295 
 
 297 
 306 
 
TALES AND LEGENDS 
 
 ENGLISH LAKES AND MOUNTAINS, 
 
 THE BRIDAL OF TEIERMAIN. 
 
 A LEGEND OF THE VALE OF ST. JOHN, 
 
 In travelling from Ambleside to Keswick, after passing 
 Wytliburn Chapel, the high road winds by the base of 
 Helvellyn and the margin of the Lake of Thirlmere, or 
 Leatheswater, Avhich 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 
 
14 TALES AND LEGENDS OF THE 
 
 little enclosures of grass-ground, wliicli streteli 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 and ragged battlements ; we traced the 
 galleries, the bending arches, the buttresses. The greatest 
 antiquity stands characterized in its architecture ; the in 
 habitants 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 
 Avails. 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 Avere soon convinced of its truth ; for 
 this piece of antiquity, so venerable and noble in its 
 aspect, as we drew near changed its figure, and proved 
 no other than a shaken massive pile of rocks, Avhich 
 stand in the midst of this little vale, disunited fi-om 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, Avhose curiosity is aroused, will find it 
 impossible to approach them, as the guardian genii 
 
ENGLISH LAKES AND MOUNTAINS. lo 
 
 of the place transform the Avails 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, Avhen viewed from afar, bear 
 strong resemblance to an old fortress ; but on approach- 
 ing nearer the illusion vanishes, and they are found 
 to be shapeless masses of stone. Poetry clothes this 
 fact in beautiful imager^' ; she warns the intruder to 
 survey the structure at a distance ; for should he have 
 the temerity to advance upon it, the incensed genii of the 
 place will, by spells " of power to cheat the eye Avith 
 blear illusion," transform its fair proportions into a mis- 
 shapen pile of rocks. This pleasing fiction emanated 
 from the same poetical spirit that Avrought, in the elder 
 days of Greece, the splendid fable of Aurora, in her 
 saifron-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 Trier- 
 main. 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 inhabi- 
 tants in their halls of enchantment, Avhen he Avas on his 
 Avay to Carlisle. Our limits will not admit the whole of 
 The Bridal of Triermain. We give, hoAvever, such por- 
 tions as will sufiiciently connect the thread of the narra- 
 tive, in which it will be observed that Sir Roland de 
 
16 TALES AND LEGENDS QF THE 
 
 Vaux, tlie Baron of Triemiain, is introduced. This 
 branch of Vaux, with its collateral alliances, is now 
 represented by the family 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 Triermain? 
 
 She must be lovely, 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 ; 
 
 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 
 
 In 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 Vaux 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 fie;ht. 
 
ENGLISH LAKES AND MOUNTAINS. 17 
 
 All in the castle must hold them still, 
 Harpers must lull him to his rest, 
 With the slow soft tunes he loves the hest, 
 Till sleep sink down upon his breast, 
 
 Like the dew on a summer hill. r 
 
 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. 
 
 " 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 Avith 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, 
 
18 TALES AND LEGENDS OF THE 
 
 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 Phihp of Fastliwaite tall, 
 He kept guard in the outer-hall, — 
 " Since at eve our watch took post, 
 Not a foot has thy portal cross 'd ; 
 
 Else had I heard the steps, though low, 
 And light they fell, as Avhen earth receives, 
 In morn of frost, the wither'd leaves, 
 That drop when no winds blow." — 
 
 " Then come thou thither, Henrj^ my page, 
 "Whom I saved from the sack of Hermitage, 
 When that dark castle, tower, and spire, 
 Rose to the skies a pile of fire, 
 
 And redden'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 Lyulph's tower. 
 And from the Baron of Triermain 
 
 Greet well that Sage of power. 
 He is sprung from Druid sires, 
 And British bards that tuned their lyres 
 To Arthur's and Pen dragon's praise, 
 And his who sleeps at Dunmailraise.* 
 
 * Dunmailraise is oue of the grand passes from Cumberland 
 into Westmorland. 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. 
 
ENGLISH LAKES AND MOUNTAINS. 19 
 
 Grifted like his gifted race, 
 
 He the characters cau trace, 
 
 Graven deep in elder time 
 
 Upon Hellvellyn's cliffs 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, 
 
 No other maiden by my 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 moundf and stones of power, 
 By Druids raised in magic hour, 
 
 * A circular eutrencbment, 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 couJd Dot be intended for the purpose 
 of defence, and it has been reasonably conjectured, that the en- 
 closure was designed for the solemn exercise of feats of chivalry; 
 andtheembankmentaroundforthe convenience of the spectators. 
 
 f Higher up the river Eamont than Arthur's Round Table, 
 is a prodigious enclosure of great antiquity, formed bv a col- 
 
20 TALES AND LEGENDS OF THE 
 
 And traced the Eamont's winding way, 
 Till Ulfo's lake* benea.th him lay. 
 
 Onward he rode, the pathway still 
 Winding betwixt the lake and hiU ; 
 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. 
 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 Knight in all the north, 
 That dare the adventure follow forth, 
 So perilous to knightly worth. 
 
 In the valley of St. John ? 
 
 lection of stones upon the top of a gently sloping hill, called 
 Mayburgh. In the plain which it encloses there stands erect 
 an unhewn stone of twelve feet in height. Two similar masses 
 are said to have teen destroyed during the memory of man. 
 The whole appears to be a monument of Druidical times. 
 * [Ullswater.] 
 
ENGLISH LAKES AND MOUNTAINS. 21 
 
 Listen, youth, to what I tell, 
 And hind it on thy memory well ; 
 Nor muse that I commence the rhyme 
 Far distant 'mid the wrecks of time. 
 The mystic tale, hy bard and sage. 
 Is handed down from Merlin's affe. 
 
 Hgulpfi's Cale. 
 
 " 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 
 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 small lake called Scales-tarn, which lies so deeply embo- 
 somed in the recesses of the huge mountain caUed Saddleback, 
 more poetically Blencathara, is of such great depth, and so 
 completely hidden from the sun, tliat it is said its beams never 
 reach it, and that the reflection of the stars may be seen on 
 its surface at mid-day. 
 
 b2 
 
22 TALES AND LEGENDS OF THE 
 
 The Monarch judged this desert wikl, 
 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. 
 
 Ptight glad to feel those beams again. 
 
 The King drew up his charger's rein ; 
 
 With gauntlet raised he screen'd his sight, 
 
 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 ruddy like the beacon's light. 
 
 " 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,j 
 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, 
 
ENGLISH LAKES AND MOUNTAINS, 
 
 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, 
 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 anft 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 gobhn grim. 
 Or pagan of gigantic limb. 
 
 The tyrant of the wold. • 
 
24 TALES AND LEGENDS OF THE 
 
 " The ivory bugle's golden tip 
 
 Twice touch'd the Monarch'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 ojfen 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. 
 With nought to bar the gloomy way, 
 And onward Arthur paced, with hand 
 On Caliburn's* resistless brand. 
 
 " A hundred torches, flashing bright, 
 Dispell'd 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 hug^f 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 Avave 
 
 That dances to the shore ; 
 
 * This was the name of King Arthur's weU known sword, 
 sometimes also called Exc^libar. 
 
ENGLISH LAKES AND MOUNTAINS. 25 
 
 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 unhasp 
 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. 
 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 screani'd, 'twixt laughter and surprise. 
 To feel its depth o'erwhelm her eyes. 
 
 * Tiutadgel Castle, in Cornwall, is reported to have been 
 the birthplace of King Arthur. 
 
?6 TALES AND LEGENDS OF THE 
 
 With revel-sliout, and triumph-song, 
 Thus gaily niarch'd the giddy throng. 
 
 " Through many a gallery and hall 
 They led, I ween, their royal thrall; 
 At length, heneath a fair arcade 
 Their march and song at once they staid. 
 The eldest maiden of the hand, 
 
 (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 
 The}' steal on Arthur's countenance 
 
 Bewilder 'd with surprise, 
 Their smother'd mirth again 'gan speak, 
 In archly dimpled chin and cheek. 
 
 And laughter-lighted eyes. 
 
 " The attributes of those high days 
 Now only live in minstrel-lays ; 
 For Nature, now exhausted, still 
 Was then profuse of good and ill. 
 Strength was gigantic, valour high, 
 And wisdom soar'd heyond the sky, 
 And heauty 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, 
 
 Tbat flash'd expression strong ; 
 
ENGLISH LAKES AND MOUNTAINS. 27 
 
 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, 
 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 her light 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. 
 
28 TALES AND LE&BNDS OF THE 
 
 Her bearing modest was and fair, 
 Yet shadows of constraint were there, 
 That show'd an over-cautious care 
 
 Some inward thoiight 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 day, 
 And yet another, glides away ! 
 The Saxon stem, the pagan Dane, 
 Maraud on Britain's shores again. 
 Arthur, of Christendom the flower. 
 Lies loitering in a lady's bower ; 
 The horn, that foemen wont to fear, 
 Sounds but to wake the Cumbrian deer. 
 And Caliburn, the British pride. 
 Hangs useless by a lover'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, Aveek by week, and day by day, 
 
 His life inglorious glides away ; 
 
ENGLISH LAKES AND MOUNTAINS. 29 
 
 But she, that soothes his dream, with fear 
 Beholds his hour of waking near. 
 
 " Three summer months had scantly flown, 
 Wh6n Arthur, in embarrass 'd tone. 
 Spoke of his liegemen and his throne ; 
 Said, all too long bad 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. 
 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, — 
 
30 TALES AND LEGENDS OF THE 
 
 And he, tlie best aud 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 simbeam, through the mist, 
 The castle-battlements had kissed. 
 The gates revolve, the drawbridge falls, 
 And Arthur sallies from the walls. 
 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. 
 The 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 ; 
 
ENGLISH LAKES AND MOUNTAINS. 
 
 Pledge we, at parting, in the draught 
 Which Genii love ! '^ — she said and quaffed ; 
 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, 
 
 lie bolted twenty feet upright — 
 
 — The peasant still can show the dint 
 
 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 spy. 
 Darkening against the morning sky ; 
 
 * Tiie author has an indistinct recollection of an adventure 
 somewhat similar to that which is here ascribed to King 
 Arthur, having befaUeu one of the ancient Kings of Denmark. 
 The horn in which the burning liquor was presented to that 
 Monarch is said still to be preserved in the Ptoyal Museum at 
 Copenliagen, 
 
32 TALES AND LEGENDS OF THE 
 
 But, on tlie spot where once they frowned, 
 The lonely streamlet brawled around 
 A tufted knoll, where dimly shone 
 Fragments of rock and rifted stone. 
 Musing on this strange hap the while. 
 The King 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 : 
 
 Rython, the mighty giant, slain 
 
 By his good brand, relieved Bretagne : 
 
 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 sufi"ered 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, 
 
 And smumoned 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 Caerleou or Camelot, 
 
 Or Carlisle fair and free. 
 
ENGLISH LAKES AND MOUNTAINS. 33 
 
 At Penrith, now, the feast was set, 
 And in fair Eamont's vale were met 
 The flower of chivahy, 
 
 " When wine and mirth did most abomid, 
 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, 
 Faced through the circle, to alight 
 
 And kneel before the King. 
 Arthur, with strong emotion, saw 
 Her graceful boldness checked by awe, 
 Her dress like huntress of the wold. 
 Her bow and baldric trapped with gold, 
 Her sandalled feet, her ankles b'are, 
 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 ; 
 
34 TALES AND LEGENDS OF THE 
 
 His VOW, he said, should well be kept, 
 Ere m 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 ; 
 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 
 
 Li 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 
 
 Wei'e 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. 
 
ENGLISH LAKES AND MOUNTAINS. 
 
 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 Pteged 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. 
 
 " The champions, arm'd in martial sort, 
 
 Have throng'd into the list, 
 And but three knights of Artliur's court 
 
 Are from the tovurney miss'd. 
 
 " Now caracol'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 thoii my warder, as the queen 
 And umpire of the martial scene ; 
 
36 TALES AND LEGENDS OF THE 
 
 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 he 
 
 Like the twin stars that soothe the sea, 
 
 And Beauty's breath should whisper peace, 
 
 And bid the storm of battle cease. 
 
 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'ershadow'd 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 I 
 Although the sun-burn 'd maid, for dower, 
 
ENGLISH LAKES AND MOUNTAINS. 
 
 Has but her father's rugged tower, 
 
 Ilis barj'en hill and lee. ' 
 King Arthur swore, ' By crown and sword, 
 As belted knight, and Britain's lord, 
 That a whole summer's day should strive 
 His knights, the bravest knights alive!' — 
 ' Reeal thine oath ! and to her glen 
 Poor Gyneth can return agen ; 
 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. 
 
3€ TALES AND LEGENDS OF THB 
 
 " But Gynetli 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 lists Avith painted plumes were strown, 
 Upon the wind at random thrown, 
 But helm and hreastplate bloodless shone. 
 It seem'd their feather 'd crests alone 
 
 Should this encounter rue, 
 
 " But soon to 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 I 
 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 clamours seem 
 Like the shrill sea-bird's wailing 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, 
 
ENGLISH LAKES AND MOUNTAINS. 39 
 
 And quaked with ruth and fear ; 
 But still she deem'd her mother's shade 
 Hung o'er the tumult, and forbade 
 The sign that had the slaughter staid, 
 
 And chid the rising tear. 
 Then Brunor, 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. 
 Young 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, 
 
40 TALES AND LEGENDS OF THE 
 
 And for love of Artlim*'s race, 
 Punishment is blent with grace, 
 Thou shalt bear thy penance lone 
 In the valley of Saint John, 
 And this doom shall overtake thee ; 
 Sleep, until a knight shall wake thee, 
 For feats of arms as far reuown'd 
 As warrior of the Table Round. 
 Long endurance of thy 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 anger vainly strive 
 Still to keep its light alive. 
 Twice, with effort and with 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, 
 Vanoe's death must now be wroken. 
 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, gave her locks to flow 
 '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, 
 
ENGLISH LAKES AND MOUNTAINS. 41 
 
 Craved stern Merlin for relenting, 
 And the champions, for her sake, 
 Would again the contest wake ; 
 Till, in necromantic night, 
 Gjneth vanish'd from their sight. 
 
 " Still she hears 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 Liify, 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. 
 
42 TALES AND LEGENDS OF THE 
 
 We must now 
 Resume the legendary strain 
 Of the hold Knights of Triermain. 
 
 That lord, on high adventure hound. 
 
 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 thi-ew 
 
 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 v?ould he hope the rocks 'gan change 
 To buttress'd walls their shapeless range, 
 Fain think, by transmutation strange, 
 
 He saw gray turrets rise. 
 But scarce his heart with hope throbb'd high, 
 
ENGLISH LAKES AND MOUNTAINS. 43 
 
 Before the wild illusions fly, 
 
 Which fancy had conceived. 
 For, seen by moon of middle night, 
 Or by the blaze of noontide bright, 
 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 climb'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 hiUs 
 The upland showers had swoln the rills. 
 
 And down the torrents came ; 
 
i4 TALES AND LEGENDS OF THE 
 
 Mutter 'd the distant thunder dread, 
 And frequent o'er the vale was spread 
 
 A sheet of lightning flame. 
 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 was Roland's first when fell, 
 In that deep wilderness, the knell 
 
 Upon his startled ear ? 
 To slander wanior 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. 
 
ENGLISH LAKES AND MOUNTAINS. 45 
 
 Long ere the mountain-voice was liush'd, 
 
 That answer 'd to the knell ; 
 For long and far the unwonted sound, 
 Eddyhig 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, 
 
 c2 
 
46 TALES AND LEGENDS OF THE 
 
 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 
 Creuell 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 Avhen a guard 
 Of some proud castle, holding ward. 
 
 Pace forth their nightly round. 
 The valiant Knight of Triermain 
 Rung forth his challenge-blast again. 
 
ENGLISH LAKTSS AND MOHNTAINS. 47 
 
 But answer came there none ; 
 And 'mid tlie 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 vmdulations 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 fantastic fairy drawn 
 
 Around enchanted pile. 
 
 The breeze came softly down the brook, 
 And, sighing as it blew. 
 
48 TALES AND LEGENDS OF THE 
 
 The veil of silver mist it shook, 
 And to De Vaux's eager look 
 
 Renew 'd that wondrous view. 
 For, though the loitering vapour braved 
 The gentle breeze, yet oft it waved 
 
 Its mantle's dewy fold ; 
 And still, when shook that filmy screen, 
 Were towers and bastions dimly seen, 
 And Gothic battlements between 
 
 Their gloomy length unroll'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 Triermain become your taunt, 
 
 De Vaux your scorn ? False fiends, avaunt!' 
 
 A Aveighty curtal-axe he bare ; 
 
 The baleful blade so bright and square, 
 
 And the tough shaft of heben wood. 
 
 Were oft in Scottish gore imbrued. 
 
 Backward his stately form he drew. 
 
ENGLISH LAKES AND MOUNTAINS. 49" 
 
 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. 
 
 Embattled high and proudly tower'd. 
 Shaded by pond'rous flankers, lower'd 
 The portal's gloomy way. 
 
5.0 TALES AND LEGENDS OF THE 
 
 Thougli 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 fi'om the eastern battlement 
 A turret bad 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 : — 
 
 inscrtptiott. 
 
 " 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 ; 
 Strength and fortitude were vain, 
 View it o'er — and turn again." — 
 
 "That would I," said the warrior bold, 
 " If that my frame were bent and old. 
 And my thin blood dropp'd slow and cold 
 
feNULlSH LAKES AND MOUNTAIN'S. 51 
 
 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 har 
 Spontaneous took their place once more, 
 While the de6p arch with sullen roar 
 
 R.eturn'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 hoast." 
 Thus muttering, on the Warrior went, 
 By dubious light down steep descent. 
 
 Unbarr'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 ; 
 But full between the Warrior's way 
 And the main portal arch, there lay 
 
 An inner moat ; 
 
 Nor bridge nor boat 
 
52 TALES AND LEGENDS OF THE 
 
 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 fair 
 
 His keen dark eye, and close curFd 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 sulHed 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 reach'd 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, 
 Whose deeds of arms, and race, and name, 
 Forgotten long by later fame, 
 
 Were here depicted, to appal 
 
 * A sort of doublet, worn beneath the armour. 
 
ENGLISH LAKES AND MOUNTAINS. 53 
 
 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. 
 
 0, 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 
 
 In savage pomp were set ; 
 A quiver on their shoulders lay. 
 And in their hand an assagay. 
 Such and so silent stood they there. 
 
54 TALES AND LEGENDS OF THE 
 
 That Roland wellnigh hoped 
 He saw a band of statues rare, 
 Station'd the gazer's soul to scare ; 
 
 But, Avhen 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 I 
 
 " 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 t^e 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, 
 ' Azrael's brand hath left the sheath ! 
 
 Moslems, think upon the tomb ! ' 
 
 * [Zaharak, or Zaharah, is the Arab name of the Great 
 Desert.] 
 
ENGLISH LAKES AND MOUNTAINS. 55 
 
 " 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 song. 
 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 ine 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 haUoo ! 
 
.^6 TALES AND LEGENDS OF THE 
 
 On either side a tiger sprung — 
 
 Against the leftward foe he flung 
 
 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 jubUee 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 I thou, whose dauntless heart 
 Gives us from our ward to part. 
 Be as strong in future trial. 
 Where i-esistance is denial. 
 
ENGLISH LAKES AND MOUNTAINS. 57 
 
 " Now for Afric's glowing sky, 
 Zwenga wide and Atlas high, 
 
 Zaharak and Dahomay! 
 
 Mount the winds! Hurra, hurra!" 
 
 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 arms, and suppliant kneel'd, 
 And t'hus their proffer'd gifts reveal'd. 
 
 CHOKUS. 
 
 " See the treasures Merlin piled. 
 Portion meet for Arthur's child. 
 Bathe in Wealth's unbounded stream, 
 Wealth that Avarice ne'er could dream ! ' ' 
 
58 TALES AND LEGENDS OF THE 
 
 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 saint? 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 ? 
 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." — 
 
ENGLISH LAKES AND MOUNTAINS. 50 
 
 CHORUS, 
 
 "Warrior, seize tlie splendid store,; 
 Would 'twere all our mountains bore ! 
 We should ne'er in future story, 
 Read, Peru, tliy perish'd glory !" 
 
 Calmly and unconcerned, the Knight 
 Waved aside the treasures bright : 
 " Gentle Maidens, rise, I pray ! 
 Bar not thus my 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 Vans 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 j)arting 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 dai'k, seem'd as it led 
 
60 TALES AND LEGENDS OF THE 
 
 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. 
 Refracted on the fomitain 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 tlie 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, i 
 
 Again stand doubtful noAV ? — 
 Ah, that sly pause of witching poAvers ! 
 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 sufi"usion, flows 
 A frequent tinge of paly rose ; 
 
ENGLISH LAKES AND MOUNTAINS. 61 
 
 Tlieir limbs were fasliion'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 
 
 The hennah lent each shapely nail. 
 
 And the dark sumah gave the eye 
 
 More liquid and ruore 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 
 
 Ruby 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, 0, stay ! — in yonder bowers 
 We will braid thy locks with flowers, 
 
G2 TALES AND LEGENDS OF THE 
 
 Spread the feast and fill the wine, 
 Charm thy ear with sounds divine, 
 Weave our dances till delight 
 Yield to langour, day to night. 
 
 [i " Then shall she you most approve, 
 Sing tlie lays 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." 
 
 0, do not hold it for a crime 
 In the bold hero of my rhvmo 
 
 For Stoic look, 
 
 And meet rebuke, 
 He lack'd the heart or time ; 
 As round the band of sirens trip, 
 He kiss'd one damsel's laughing l\-p, 
 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 cjes ; 
 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. 
 
ENGLISH LAKES AND MOUNTAINS. G3 
 
 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. 
 For cheerful sun, for living air, 
 Foul vapours rise and mine-fires glare, 
 Whose fearful light the dangers show'd 
 That dogg'd liim 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, 
 ITow 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 tlie reward before ye I 
 Danger, darkness, toil despise ; 
 'Tis ambition bids thee rise. 
 
 " He that would her heights ascend, 
 Many a Aveary step must wend ; 
 Hand and foot and knee he tries, 
 Thus Ambition's minion's 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!" 
 
64 TALES AXD LEGENDS OF THE 
 
 It ceased. Advancing on the sound, 
 A steep ascent the Wanderer found, 
 
 And then a turret stair : 
 Nor climb'd he far its steepy round 
 
 Till fresher blew the air, 
 And next a welcome glimpse was given. 
 That cheer'cl 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 scem'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 Bz'itish 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. 
 But unadorned with gems and gold. 
 
 Of glossy laurel made. 
 
ENGLISH LAKES AND MOUNTAINS. 65 
 
 At once to brave De Vaux knelt down 
 
 These foremost Maidens three, 
 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 Avouhl 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 ; 
 Rather, far rather, would he be, 
 A free-born kniffht 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 MAIDEN. 
 
 *' Quake to 3'our 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 ; 
 Ills, who hath the snares defied 
 Spread by Pleasure, Wealth, and Pride. 
 
66 TALES AND LEGENDS OF THE 
 
 •* Quake to your foundations deep, 
 Bastion Imge, and turret steep ! 
 Tremble, keep ! and totter, tower ! 
 This is Gynetli'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 ! 
 J)oubt, 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, 
 
ENGLISH LAKES AND MOUNTAINS. 67 
 
 The arms and ankles bare, express 
 
 Of Lyulpli's tale the truth, 
 Still upon her garment's hem 
 Vanoc's blood made purple gem, 
 And the warder of command 
 Cumber'd still lier sleeping hand ; 
 Still her dark locks dishevelled flow 
 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 arms and clasps his hands, 
 Trembling in his fitful joy, 
 Doubtful liow 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 tliey 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 1 
 Gyneth startles from her sleep, 
 Totter's 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 ; 
 
68 TALES AND LEGENDS OF THE 
 
 Safe and free from magic power, 
 Blushing like the rose's flower 
 
 Opening to the day ; 
 And round the Champion's hrows were bound 
 The crown that Druidess had wound, 
 
 Of the green laurel-baj. 
 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, brieflj'' he 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. 
 
ENGLISH L>- KS AND MOUNTAINS. G9 
 
 ST. HERBERT, 
 
 THE HERMIT OP DERWENTWATER. 
 
 Amongst the beautiful isles of Derwentwater, that named 
 St. Herbert's Island deserves a more than ordinary notice, 
 as Avell for its beauty, as its historical associations. 
 Tliis 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 afi'ections of the world, 
 He dwelt in solitude." 
 
 The locality was well adapted to the severity of his 
 religious life ; he was surrounded by the lake, from 
 whence 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 
 
 d2 
 
70 TALES AND LEGENDS OF THE 
 
 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 bis orisons 
 to heaven. 
 
 St. Herbert was particularly distinguished for his 
 friendship 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 on the same day, and in the same hour and 
 minute, which according to Bede, was in 678 or 687. 
 
 At Lindisfarne, expecting death, 
 
 The good St. Cuthbert lay, 
 With wasted frame and feeble breath ; 
 . And monks were there to pra3^ 
 
 The brotherhood had gather'd round. 
 
 His parting words to hear, 
 To see his saintly labours crown'd. 
 
 And stretch him on the bier. 
 
 His eyes grew dim ; his voice sunk low ; 
 
 The choral song arose ; 
 And ere its sounds had ccas'd to flow. 
 
 His spirit found repose. 
 
 At that same hour, a holy man, 
 
 St. Herbert, well renowu'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. 
 
ENGLISH LAKES AND MOUNTAINS. 71 
 
 The monks of Lindisfarne meauvvliile 
 
 Were gazing on their dead ; 
 At that same hour, in Dervvent isle, 
 
 A kindred soul had fled. 
 
 There is hut 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 die "unknown. Though one in spirit, St. 
 Cuthbert and the Hermit of Derwentwater were entirely 
 dissimilar in character. St. Cuthbert was bishop of 
 Lindisfarne, an eminent preacher in his day, whose elo- 
 quence 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 re- 
 tired 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 
 Derwentwater : — " There was a certain priest, revered for 
 his uprightness and perfect life and manners, named 
 Hereberte, 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 sohtary 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. 
 
72 TALES AND LEGENDS OF THE 
 
 Cuthbert's coming to Lugubalia, lie came after his usual 
 manner, desiring to be comforted more and more, with 
 the hope of everlasting bliase, 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 laying aside of this earthly tabernacle draweth 
 on apace.' When Herberte heard this, he fell down at 
 his feet, and with many sighs and tears beseeched him, 
 for the love of the Lord, that he would not forsake him, 
 but to remember his faithful brother and associate, and 
 make intercession with the gracious God, that they 
 might depart hence into heaven together, to behold his 
 grace and glory whom they had in unity of spirit served 
 on earth ; for you know I have ever studied and laboured 
 to live according to your pious and virtuous instructions ; 
 and in whatsoever I offended or omitted, through igno- 
 rance and frailty, I straightway 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 Avhich ensued ; for their separation was the last that 
 befel them on earth ; on the same day, Avhich was the 
 19th day of March, their souls departed from their bodies, 
 
ENGLISH LAKES AND MOUNTAINS. 73 
 
 and were straight in union in the heatific sight and 
 vision ; and were transported hence to the kingdom of 
 heaven, hy 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 cele- 
 brated in religious offices.* The remains of the her- 
 mitage 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 Wilfred Law- 
 son, to whose representative the island at present belongs. 
 The dwelling of the anchorite consisted of two apart- 
 ments, 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 Avhich 
 reigned in the days of this saint, and was cherished by 
 the monastic school, at first sight may appear to us un- 
 
 * In the register of Bishop Appleby, 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 being 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 pos- 
 sessed of minds irreverent towards heaven, and souls totally 
 absorbed in the darkness of ignorance, and given up to gross 
 licentiousness. 
 
^4 TALES AND LEGENDS OF THE 
 
 couth and eutliusiastic ; 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, w€(re 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 re- 
 tirement. We may suppose we hear the saint exclaiming 
 with the poet — 
 
 "Blest be that hand Divine, wliich gontly 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 tliat 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 chace I see ; 
 I see the circling hunt of noisy men 
 Burst law's enclosures, leap the mounds of ri'^lit, 
 Pursuing and pursued, each other's prey ; 
 As wolves for rapine, as the fox for wiles, 
 Till Death, that mighty hunter, earths them all." 
 
 Young'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, 
 
ENGLISH LAKES AND MOUNTAINS. 7i> 
 
 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, inteut to adore 
 
 The Deity with undisti'acted 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 Lodore 
 
 Pealed to his orison, and when he paced 
 
 Along the beach of this small isle, and thought 
 
 Of his companion, he would pray tliat both 
 
 (Now that their earthly duties were fulfilled) 
 
 Might die in the same moment. Nor in vain 
 
 So prayed he I 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." 
 
76 TALES AND LEGENDS OF THE 
 
 THE ABBEY VOWS. 
 
 I CAN just remember the circumstance ; it happened 
 when I was a boy and went to Urswick school. Matilda 
 — I will not mention her other name, because her parents 
 are still hving — 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 calcvdations 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 dis- 
 tinguished 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 blos- 
 soms, to place in her bonnet ; and would artlessly com- 
 pliment 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 
 
ENGLISH LAKES AND MOUNTAINS. 77 
 
 which he was employed had given his fine manly form an 
 appearance at once imposing and captivating. Matilda, 
 too, was improved in every eye, but particularly in James'. 
 Never had James seen so lovely a maid as his former 
 playmate. That friendship which had been so closely 
 cemented in infancy, required very little assistance from 
 the blind god to ripen it into love. Their youthful hearts 
 were disengaged ; they had neither of tliem 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 them- 
 selves 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 blue jacket, 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. 
 
78 TALES AND LEGENDS OF THE 
 
 I have been tlius particular, said the narrator in de- 
 scribing their dresses, because this is the picture I woukl 
 paint : — I would sketch an east view of the abbey, look- 
 ing 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 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 loveliness 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 vo^^age. He was killed by 
 the first broadside of a French privateer, which the cap- 
 tain foohshly 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, gazing 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 frag- 
 ments 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 Avithout a story to it. 
 
ENGLISH LAKES AXD MOUNTAINS. 79 
 
 THE S HEP HEED BOYS 
 
 OF DUNGEON-GHYLL. 
 
 The valley rings with mirtli and joy ; 
 
 Among tlie hills the echoes play 
 
 A never, never ending song, 
 
 To welcome in the May. 
 
 The magpie chatters with delight ; 
 
 The mountain raven's j^oungling hrood 
 
 Have left the mother and the nest ; 
 
 And they go rambling east and west 
 
 In search of their own food ; 
 
 Or through the glittering vapours dart 
 
 In very wantonness of heart. 
 
 Beneath a rock, upon the grass. 
 
 Two boys are sitting in the sun ; 
 
 Boys that have had no work to do 
 
 Or work tliat now is done. 
 
 On pipes of sycamore the}^ play 
 
 The fragments of a Christmas hymn ; 
 
 Or with that plant which, in our dale. 
 
 We call stag-horn, or fox's tail 
 
 Their rusty hats they trim ; 
 
 And thus, as happy as the da}^, 
 
 Those shepherds wear the time away. 
 
 Along the river's stony marge. 
 The sand-lark chants a joyous song ; 
 The thrush is busy in the wood. 
 And carols loud and strong. 
 
80 TALES AND LEGENDS OP THE 
 
 A thousand lambs are on the rocks, 
 All newly born ! Both earth and sky 
 Keep jubilee ; and, more than all. 
 Those boys with their green coronal ; 
 They never hear the cry, 
 That plaintive cry ! which up the hill 
 Conies from the depth of Dungeon-Ghyll. 
 
 Said Walter, leaping from the ground, 
 " Down to the stump of yon old yew 
 We'll for our whistles run a race." 
 
 Away the shepherds flew. 
 
 They leapt, they ran, and when they came 
 
 Right opposite to Dungeon-Ghyll, 
 
 Seeing that he should lose the prize, 
 
 " Stop," to his comrade Walter ciies ; 
 
 He stopped with no good will : 
 
 Said Walter then, " Your task is here, 
 
 'Twill baffle you for half a year. 
 
 " Cross, if you dare, where I shall cross — 
 
 Come on, and in my footsteps tread !" 
 
 The other took him at his word, 
 
 And followed as he led. 
 
 It was a spot which you may see, 
 
 If ever you to Langdale go ; 
 
 Into a chasm a mighty block 
 
 Hath fallen, and made a bridge of rock ; 
 
 The gulf is deep below ; 
 
 And in a basin black and small. 
 
 Receives a lofty waterfall. 
 
 With staff in hand, across the cleft 
 The challenger pursued his march : 
 And now all eyes and feet hath gained 
 The middle of the arch. 
 
ENGLISH LAKES AND MOUNTAIXS. 81 
 
 When list ! he hears a piteous moan — 
 
 Again ! — his heart within him dies — 
 
 His pulse is stopp'd, his hreath is lost, 
 
 He totters, pallid as a ghost, 
 
 And, looking down, espies 
 
 A lamb, that in the pool is pent 
 
 Within that black and frightful rent. 
 
 The lamb had slipped into the stream, 
 
 And safe, without a bruise or wound. 
 
 The cataract had borne him down 
 
 Into the gulf profound. 
 
 His dam had seen him when he fell, 
 
 She saw him down the torrent borne ; 
 
 And, while with all a mother's love 
 
 She from the lofty rocks above 
 
 Sent forth a cry forlorn, 
 
 The Lamb still swimming round and round, 
 
 Made answer to that plaintive sound. 
 
 When he had learn'd what thing it was. 
 That sent this rueful cry, I ween. 
 The boy recover 'd heart, and told 
 The sight which he had seen. 
 Both gladly now deferred their task ; 
 Nor was there wanting other aid : 
 A poet, one wbo loves the brooks. 
 Far better than the sages' books. 
 By chance had thither strayed ; 
 And there the helpless lamb he found 
 By those huge rocks encompass'd round. 
 
 He drew it gently from the pool, 
 And brought it forth into the light : 
 The shepherds met him with his charge, 
 An unexpected sight I 
 
82 TALES AND LEGENDS OF THE 
 
 Into their arms tlie lamb they took, 
 
 Said they, " He's neither maim'd nor scarr'd," 
 
 Then up the steep ascent they hied, 
 
 And placed him at his mother's side ; 
 
 And gently did tlie bard 
 
 Those idle shepherd- boys upbraid, 
 
 And bade them better mind their trade. 
 
 CHAELES WILLIAMS, 
 
 THE POET OF KENTMERE. 
 
 Charles Williams was one of those individuals who are 
 " born to blush unseen." It is probable, 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 ances- 
 tors whose merits he could impute to himself. His great 
 grandfather had, to be sure, been the 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, " ef that hoos lied 
 helengd to them sometime lang sen.'" 
 
ENGLISH LAKES AND MOUNTAINS. 83 
 
 There was one circumstance wliicli we ought not to 
 omit ; particularly as it excited no inconsiderable interest, 
 at the time, through all the neighbourhood of Kentmere. 
 On the very day, and as far as we can ascertain, at the 
 very hour, when Charles was born, a liuge stone, self- 
 moved, rolled down Wallow Crag into liawes Vv'ater ! 
 The old women could and would account for it no other 
 way than that he Avas born to be droond. Mr. Gough, 
 who was then beginning to exhibit the first dawning of 
 that genius which has procured him the esteem and ad- 
 miration 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 of oar, 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 moun- 
 tain's ridge. But it might be said of him that " a strange 
 and wayward wight was he." While other buys were 
 ranging through the woods in j)ursuit of bird-nests, 
 Charles would stretch himself on a smooth-faced rock, 
 and pore on the adjacent landscape like one half crazed. 
 To retire into a lonely wood behind his father's house, 
 and teach a litde 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 sixteen winters over the vale 
 of Kentmere, since the stone rolled into Ilawcs Water, 
 and Charles was grown a tall and graceful boy. The 
 little time which his father had spared him to school, had 
 not been misemployed by the active youth ; and though 
 
84 TALES AND LEGENDS OF THE 
 
 he felt a diffidence about entering into conversation, it 
 Avas generally allowed tliat, when he did unloosen his 
 tongue, he could argue any man in the valley, except the 
 parson, who never stopt to hear any body speak but him- 
 self, and the schoolmaster, who never spoke at all. 
 
 Oiie 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 foot- 
 path 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 affrighted 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 
 anything superior to the other girls of the dale. But 
 this evening, as she hung on his arm and thanked him 
 Avith such a pair of soft blue eyes, so kindly — as the 
 colour varied so often on her check — and her bosom 
 throbbed so agitatedly, he discovered that Maria possessed 
 more charms than all the valley beside. 
 
 This evening's adventure formed an epoch in the life 
 Charles Williams. All his actions were now influenced 
 
ENGLISH LAKES AND MOUNTAINS. 85 
 
 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 peculi- 
 arly 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 graceful- 
 ness 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 he placed 
 the highest value. There was a sombre shade of serious- 
 ness, perfectly distinct from melancholy, which none could 
 behold without feeling interested. This seriousness, how- 
 ever, 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 procured her attention wherever she showed her- 
 self. This beautiful mixtm'e 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 in- 
 
86 TALES. AND LEGENDS OF THE 
 
 quire after their various wants and distresses, sooth them 
 with consolatory hopes of better days, offer all those Httle 
 assistances which old and decaying age accepts so grate- 
 fully 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. 
 
 Ill 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 per- 
 mitted to run to ruin, even the perpetual motion in the 
 room over the old kitchen, which Avas in a state of great 
 forwardness, was neglected for a time, and eventually 
 relmquished. 
 
 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," 
 (fee. 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 were made for me. 
 And I was made for you, my love, 
 Plow happy we should be ! 
 
 If all the graces were joiu'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 
 
ENGLISH LAKES AND MOUNTAINS. 87 
 
 pliilosophy and passion, learning and love. In the eleventh 
 page of the manuscript before us, we find as curious a 
 specimen of this kind as we ever recollect. It is much 
 interlined, and seems never to have been finished. 
 
 ON LOVE. ' 
 
 "Newton's keen observant eye, 
 Found a power pervade creation ; 
 Ignorant of Avhen 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 warbling in the grove ! 
 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. 
 
88 TALES AND LEGENDS OF THE 
 
 THE STRANGER AT THE LAKES. 
 
 " When summer suns lick up the dew, 
 And all the heavens are painted blue, 
 'Tis then with smiling cheeks we view, 
 The stranger at the Lakes. 
 
 When 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 phaeton flies, 
 The peasant gapes with mouth and eyes, 
 And to his wond'ring family cries, 
 ' 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.' 
 
ENGLISH LAKES AND MOUNTAINS. 89 
 
 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 strangers at the Lakes." 
 
 Time, it is said, has wings ; but Charles never observed 
 that it even moved, till he found himself in his twentieth 
 year. That love Avhich 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 
 sufficient 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 "dissolved like the baseless fabric of a vision;" 
 that Charles at lengtli 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, and 
 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 ecstacy, &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: — 
 
90 TALES AND LEGENDS OF THE 
 
 " Maria, this is just the day, 
 Some twenty years ago, they say, 
 
 You fill'd your mother's arms ; 
 A little puling sprig of love. 
 So kindly dropp'd from heaven above, 
 
 To bless me with your charms. 
 
 Obeying custom, I intend 
 
 Some little birthday gift to send — 
 
 But stay, what must it be ? 
 Of beauty you have quite a shave, 
 Accomplish'd too, as well as fair, 
 
 And richer far than me. 
 
 I would not ever have it said, 
 I offer 'd trinkets to the maid, 
 
 Which you might scorn to take ; 
 I '11 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 transi- 
 tion 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 
 yet 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 
 
ENGLISH LAKES AND MOUNTAINS. 91 
 
 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 approach- 
 ing, Charles still hoped she would soon be well. If she 
 was more than usually debilitated, he observed that tlie 
 fever had left her, and she only wanted her strength re- 
 cruiting, and they would then renew their walks. If the 
 hectic flush overspread her checks, 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 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 deceive, 
 What we wish to be true, love bids us believe." 
 
 When at last the pale hue of death overspread her 
 once-blooming check, 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 
 
92 TALES AND LEGENDS OF THE 
 
 liis features, the most gloomy and secluded places were 
 his favourite haunts. He avoided society as if the hreatli 
 of man was pestilential ; and occupied his time in brood- 
 ing over his own melancholy. In his manuscript we find 
 a number of melancholy effusions, 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 — 
 Ave 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. 
 
 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 ! 
 
ENGLISH LAKES AND MOUNTAINS. 93 
 
 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, thert, my weary head shall rest, 
 Here weep and sigh alone ; 
 And press the marble to my br'east. 
 And kiss the senseless stone. 
 
 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'riiig near. 
 
 Celestial stillness reigns around, 
 Serenely beats my breast ; 
 
 Maria's spirit treads this ground, 
 And hushes me to rest. 
 e2 
 
94 TALES AXD LE6EKDS OP THE 
 
 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 staj^ 
 
 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 Avoes, 
 
 And dry my ev'ry tear, 
 And rest as unconcern'd as those 
 
 Who sleep serenely here," 
 
 So far from having a salutary effect upon the mind of 
 Charles, time seems only to have increased the despond- 
 ency that had enveloped and clouded the reasoning facul- 
 ties of our poet. We find, in a subsequent part of the 
 volume, the following lines, which sIioav 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 ? 
 
ENGLISH LAKES AND MOUNTAINS. 95 
 
 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 vy^oes." 
 
 About six months did Charles continue in this deplo- 
 rable condition, attracting the sympathy of all who beheld 
 him. And often when he passed the cottage doors, 
 where, in happier days, he had accompanied Maria on her 
 erra.nds of benevolence, the objects of his former bounty 
 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, howcvsr, he 
 delayed his x'eturn ; his parents made every inquiry, but 
 in vain. He bad been seen on Harter-fell in the after- 
 noon, 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 very spot where the stone rolled down 
 when he was born. It appeal's that he had meditated 
 this act from the followinor lines, which shall conclude 
 our extracts: — 
 
96 
 
 TALES AND LEGENDS OF THE 
 
 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 CALGAETH. 
 
 This 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. 
 Tliis circumstance, in concurrence Avith 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. 
 
ENGLISH LAKES AND MOUNTAINS. 97 
 
 It has been a popular tale in these parts of immemorial 
 standing, tliat 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 eflfeet, "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 dispersed in the winds, and upon 
 the lake, several times, to no purpose as to their removal 
 or 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 neighbouring 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 pro- 
 fession ; and the skulls happening to meet with better 
 preservation than the rest of the bones, they were acci- 
 dentally 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. 
 
98 TALCS AND LEGENDS OF THE 
 
 THE LUCK OF EDEN HALL. 
 
 Eden Hall, the seat of the chief of the famous border 
 elan of Musgrave, is a large aud handsome edifice, on 
 the west bank of the river Eden, built in the taste whicli 
 prevailed about the time of the Charles's. Being bor- 
 dered with trees, it forms an elegant feature in the 
 pleasure grounds. There is here preserved, with scrupu- 
 lous 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 fortuaes 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 but- 
 ler), 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 super- 
 stition are found in ancient fable. There is a legend of 
 this kind attached to a pear, preserved in a silver box 
 
ENGLISH LAKES AND MOUNTAINS. 99 
 
 at Coalstoun, the seat of the Earl of Dalliousie, near 
 Haddington ; and there is, or was, a glass cap at Mun- 
 caster castle, given by Henry VI. to Sir John Penning- 
 ton, 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." 
 
 The initials, I. H. S., are marked upon the case con- 
 taining 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 — 
 
 TIIR DRINKING MATCH OF EDEN IlALL. 
 
 '* God prosper long, from being brolxc, 
 The 'Luck of Eden Hall V 
 A doleful drinking bout I sing, • 
 
 There lately did befal. 
 
 To chase the spleen with cup and cann, 
 
 Duke Philip took liis 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 ; 
 
100 TALES AND LEGENDS OF THE 
 
 And, with 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 you too. 
 We'll know this scurvy trick. 
 
 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 ns 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. 
 
ENGLISH LAKES AND MOUNTAINS. 101 
 
 To Andrews, and to Hotbam fair, 
 
 Then many 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 dowmvards sunk ; 
 My worthy friends, revenge my fall, 
 
 Duke Wharton sees me drunk. 
 
 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 
 
 Upon 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. 
 
102 TALES AND LEGENDS OF THE 
 
 That, unconcerned, he should sit by, 
 So, sheriff, I'm your man. 
 
 Nov7, when these tidings 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 sheriif, too. 
 
 Was fallen from his place. 
 
 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 stao-crer'd o'er the field. 
 
 Thus did this dare contention end. 
 
 And each man of the slain 
 Were quickly carried ofi^ 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. 
 
ENGLISH LAKES AND MOUNTAINS. 103 
 
 J. H. WifFen wrote a short poem upon the " Luck of 
 Eden Hall," and the German poet, Upland, lias 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 at Musgrave, in Westmorland ; then 
 at Hartley Castle, in the same county ; and, finally, at 
 their present residence at Eden Hall. Sir Philip Mus- 
 grave, who was commander-in-chief of the King's troops 
 for Cumberland and Westmorland, in the Parliamentary 
 war, just walks across the stage in Scott's legend of 
 Montrose ; but, by mistake, the novelist calls him Sir 
 Miles. 
 
 THE MAID OP HAEDEA SCAE. 
 
 In the early part of the summer of 1807, a very hand- 
 some 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 behaviour 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. A broad 
 pink ribbon was always tied round her waist, with two 
 ends behind, reaching to her feet. It was observed that 
 she took particular pleasui-e in seeing these ribbons 
 flutter in the wind, as she rambled over the adjoining 
 
104 TALES AND LEGENDS OF THE 
 
 fells. Curiosity, that busy personage in most places, 
 and particularly so in the village of Hawes, was eager 
 to trace tlie 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 disappointment in solitude ; indeed her conduct rather 
 sanctioned such an opinion, for she kept no company. 
 When she saw any one, it was to administer relief or to 
 inquire after their wants. 
 
 Others thought she might be some young widow, Avho 
 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, besides lodging with one. 
 
 Others again thought she was betrothed to some mili- 
 tary officer, and chose to escape the importunities of 
 other lovers, by hiding herself here till peace should 
 restore her 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 Avas 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. In- 
 quiries were made in all directions, but no one had seen 
 her. Several young men volunteered to search her 
 usual haunts, but nothing could be found. 
 
ENGLISH LAKES AND MOUNTAINS. 105 
 
 For several weeks, and even' months, the sucltlen dis- 
 appearance 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 i-omantic nature; yet the 
 liearts of the inhabitants are as open to the sympathies 
 of humadiity 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 wdien 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 waterfall. Every day, when ihe weather 
 Avould permit, did she traverse this glen. A fter viewing 
 the immense column of water which there is preci- 
 pitated over the projecting rock into the unfathomable 
 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 ovei'hanging rocks — the loose fragments at their 
 feet — the cascade itself, the finest in the country — the 
 
106 TALES AND LEGENDS OF 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 lovliest females I ever 
 saw, attired in flowing white drapery, which, with the 
 ribbons, fluttered and played upon the wind — could you 
 find a subject equal to this for interest, one equal to it 
 for sublimity and beauty ? 
 
 THE ENNERDALE BROTHERS. 
 
 " These 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 
 
 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, 
 
ENGLISH LAKES AND MOUNTAINS. 107 
 
 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 avooI 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 lingering 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 waters — Avith 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 shej)herd on the stormy seas. 
 Oft in the piping shrouds had Leonard heard 
 The tones of waterfalls, and inland sounds 
 Of caves and trees : — and, when the regular wind 
 Between the tropics fiU'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 '■"" 
 
108 TALES AND LEGENDS OF THE 
 
 Over the vessel's side, and gaze and gaze ; 
 
 And, while the broad green wave and sparkling foam 
 
 Flash'd round him images and hues that wrought 
 
 In union with the employment of his heart, 
 
 He, thus hy 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 Indian 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 turu'd aside : 
 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, 
 Tliat he began to doubt ; and he had hopes 
 
ENGLISH LAKES AND MOUNTAINS. 109 
 
 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 vralk'd 
 
 Through fields which once had been well known to him : 
 
 And 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 everlastiuD- 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 solitary 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 appear'd. 
 The good man might have communed with himself, 
 But that the stranger, who had left the grave, 
 Appro^ch'd ; he recognized the priest at once. 
 And, after greetings interchanged, and giveu 
 By 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 ; 
 
110 TALES AND LEGENDS OF THE 
 
 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 pass'd 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) 
 There were two springs which bubbled side by side, 
 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 waterspout 
 Will bring down half a mountain ; what a feast 
 
 * This actually took place on Kidstow Pike, at the head of 
 Hawes Water. 
 
ENGLISH LAKES AND MOUNTAINS. Ill 
 
 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 score 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. 
 Cross-bones nor skull — type 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 I 
 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. 
 
112 TALES AND LEGENDS OP THE 
 
 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 dou])t 
 You, Sir, could help me to the history 
 Of half these graves ? 
 
 PRIEST. 
 
 For eight-score winter's 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 
 Beneath yon ridge, the last of those three graves ? 
 It touches on that piece of native rock ^ 
 Left in the church-yard wall. 
 
 PRIEST. 
 
 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 
 
ENGLISH LAKES AND MOUNTAINS. 113 
 
 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 spurr'd 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 — 
 
 LEONARD. 
 
 But those two orphans ! 
 
 PRIEST. 
 
 Orphans ! — 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 hauntings from the infirmity of love. 
 Are aught of what 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, 
 
114 TALES AND LEGENDS OP THE 
 
 Heaven bless you when you are among your kindred I 
 Ay — you may turn that way — it is a grave 
 Which will bear looking 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, familiar 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 Louse the school 
 Is distant three short miles — and in the time 
 Of storm and thaw, when every water-course 
 And unbridged 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 
 Remain'd 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 th.e world 
 Would bless such piety — 
 
ENGLISH LAKES AND MOUNTAINS. 115 
 
 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 ! 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 they went bounding o'er the hills ; 
 
 They played like two young ravens on the crags : 
 
 Then they could write, ay, and speak too, as well 
 
 As many of their betters — and for Leonard ! 
 
 The very night before he went away. 
 
 In my own house I put into his hand 
 
 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 ? 
 
116 TALES AND LEGENDS OF THE 
 
 PRIEST. 
 
 'Tis of the elder brother I am speaking : 
 
 They had an uncle ; — he was at that time 
 
 A thriving man, and traffick'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 Avhich 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 Avas 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 Avere 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. 
 
 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, 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 
 
 * The Great Gavel, so called, I imagine, from its resemblance 
 to the gable end of a house, is one of the highest of the Cum- 
 berlaud 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 Enner- 
 dale ; 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. 
 
ENGLISH LAKES AND MOUNTAINS. 117 
 
 Upon the Barbary coast. 'T\vas 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 nae, 
 
 If ever the day came when he was rich. 
 
 He Avould 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 — 
 
 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 ! 
 
 f2 
 
il8 TALES AND LEGENDS OF TUB 
 
 PRIEST. 
 
 Ay, Sir, tliat 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 anotlier ; 
 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 move- 
 Forgive me, Sir: before I spoke to you, 
 I judged you most unkindly, 
 
 LEONARD. 
 
 But this youth 
 How did he die at last? 
 
 PRIEST. 
 
 One sweet May morning 
 (Tt will be twelve years since when Spring returns] 
 He had gone forth among the new-dropp'd lambs, 
 AVith 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 call'd 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. 
 
ENGLISH LAKES AND MOUNTAINS. 119 
 
 Ou tlieir return, tliey found tliat 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 — 
 
 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 ! 
 
120 TALES AND LEGENDS OF THE 
 
 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 cliff 
 
 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 away 
 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, 
 Aud, 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 
 
ENGLISH LAKES AND MOUNTAINS, 121 
 
 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 gray-headed mariner. 
 
 EMMA; OR, THE MURDERED MAID. 
 
 On 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 sup- 
 port her mother, if she could support herself. Deter- 
 mined 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 
 
122 TALES AND LEGENDS OF THE 
 
 privations, rather than her young and lovely daughter 
 should be reduced to this severe necessity — she would 
 work for hire — she would beg — she would borrow — she 
 would almost steal, rather than Emma should be com- 
 pelled to labour. Her mother's entreaties, however, so 
 far from having the desired effect of preventing her going 
 to service, only confirmed Emma in her previous resolu- 
 tion. 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 
 elegancies 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 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 affec- 
 tionate mother. It is not much, Heaven knows ; but I 
 could doubly enjoy it, were it less, if I had you to share 
 it." Emma assured her mother, that if any unforeseen 
 difficulty 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 
 
ENGLISH LAKES AND MOUNTAINS. 123 
 
 mother. She knew too well the independent spirit of 
 hei' 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 Avould come 
 over on Whitsun Sunday morning, and spend the week 
 \vith her. 
 
 Emma arose, with buoyant spirits, packed up a small 
 bundle of necessaries in a handkerchief, put her wages 
 in her bosom, and set out to see and cheer her affec- 
 tionate 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. Close to the place 
 where the water left the wood, one part of the rock shot 
 up to an immense height, bearing no very distant resem- 
 blance 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 
 
124 TALES AND LEGENDS OF THE 
 
 but of the joy lier 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 a 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 happiuess 
 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 was preparing to 
 pursue her journey, when the horrid thought entered his 
 head, that unless he added murder to his robbery, he 
 Avould be liable to punishment for his crime. There was 
 not a moment for deliberation; and the lovely, the young, 
 the innocent Emma feU a corpse at the wretch's feet. 
 Eear added wings to the speed of the villain, and he fled, 
 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 imhappiness increased; and she set out 
 to meet her daughter, for whose fate she felt most keenly, 
 without 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 
 
ENGLISH LAKES AND MOUNTAINS. 125 
 
 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 land- 
 scape 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 
 loveHest 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 the 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 arm." 
 
126 TALES AND LEGENDS OP THE 
 
 HISTORICAL, POETICAL, AND ROMANTIC 
 
 ASSOCIATIONS OF CARLISLE. 
 
 No one versed in ballad lore — no reader of old poetry 
 and romance, can approach Carlisle for the first time 
 without pleasvirable 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 traitoi'S and reivers. It 
 is, consequently, not to be pictm-ed 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, sur- 
 rounded 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, dis- 
 sipates 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 
 
ENGLISH LAKES AND MOUNTAINS. 127 
 
 numbers, pouring forth steam and smoke, and with 
 square buiklings and their numerous windows, prove 
 incontestably that modern CarHsle is a manufacturmg 
 city, and has associations very diflPerent 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 gates have disappeared ; that its 
 Streets are clean, wide, and comfortable, 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, remain to attest its 
 bygone grandeur and glory ; but these are not imme- 
 diately visible, and have to be sought out by the inquiring- 
 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 "merrie 
 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 "fiei'ce 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 Lugu- 
 hallium, 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 
 
128 TALES AND LEGENDS OF THE 
 
 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 : 
 
 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 conspicuous in tradition. 
 One of the most celebrated of our ancient 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 poeti- 
 cal antiquities of the place. 
 
 THE marriage OP SIR GAWAINE. 
 
 King Arthur lives in merry Carleile, 
 
 And seemly is to see ; 
 And there with him queene Guenever, 
 
 That bride so bright of blee. 
 
ENGLISH LAKES AND MOUNTAINS. 129 
 
 And there with him queene Guenever, 
 
 That hride 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. 
 
 A boone ! a boone ! 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 sinewes stronge, 
 
 * A note to this passage in 'Percy'' s Reliques (the editor of 
 which, it must be stated, modernized and added to this ballad), 
 informs us that Tearne-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. 
 
130 TALES AND LEGENDS OF THE 
 
 And on his backe lie 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 mce. 
 
 And when I told him, king Arthiire 
 
 As lyttle shold him spare ; 
 Goe tell, sayd hee, that cuckold kinge, 
 
 To meete mee if he dare. 
 
 Upp then sterted king Arthiire, 
 And sware by hille and dale. 
 
 He ne'er wolde quitt that grimme barone. 
 Till he had made him quail. 
 
 King Arthur sets oiF in a great 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 C?esar, 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 day, and bring "true word what thing 
 it was that women most desired." 
 
 Goe fetch my sword Excalibar: 
 
 Goe saddle mee my steede, 
 Nowe, by my faye, that grimme barone 
 
 Shall rue this ruthfuUe deede. 
 
ENGLISH LAKES AND MOUNTAINS. 131 
 
 And when he came to Tearne-Wadling, 
 
 Beneathe the castle-walle ; 
 "Come forth ; come forth ; thou proude barone, 
 
 Or yielde thyself my thralle." 
 
 On magicke grounde that castle stoode, 
 
 And fenc'd with many a spelle: 
 Noe valiant knighte coidd tread thereon, 
 
 But straite his courage felle. 
 
 Forth then rush'd that carlish knight, 
 
 King Arthur felte the charme : 
 His sturdy sinews lost their strengthe, 
 
 Downe suuke his feeble arme. 
 
 Nowe yield thee, yield thee, King Arthiire, 
 
 Nowe yield thee unto mee : 
 Or fighte with mee, or lose thy lande, 
 
 Noe better terms maye bee. 
 
 Unlesse thou sweare upon the rood, 
 
 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, Arthiire, 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. 
 
132 TALES AND LEGENDS OF THE 
 
 What thing it is all women crave, 
 And what thej 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 Avith his ringe ; 
 
 But still his minde.was helde in doubte, 
 Each tolde a difi'erent thinge. 
 
 As New Year's day approached, his ti-ibulation in- 
 creased; 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 the Lord 
 of Tarn-Wadling, who had set him to expound the 
 riddle. He would not give up, however, and one day: — 
 
 As ruthfuUe he rode over a more, 
 
 He saw a ladye sitte 
 Between an oke, and a greene holleye. 
 
 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 ! 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 viewe. 
 
ENGLISH LAKES AND MOUNTAINS. 133 
 
 This ill-conditioned damsel tells liim the secret, how- 
 ever, upon condition that he will hring her a "fair and 
 courtly knight to marry her," — a condition which, con- 
 sidering 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 Guenever, 
 who was outraged as well as her husband by the oppro- 
 brious 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 "merrye and 
 lighte," for he will marry her, however foni and loath- 
 some she may be. He does so accordingly :- 
 
 And when they were in wed-bed laid. 
 
 And all were done awaye : 
 " Come turne to mee, mine owne wed-lord. 
 
 Come turne to mee, Ipraye." 
 
 Sir Gawaine scant could lift his head, 
 
 For sorrowe and for care ; 
 When, lo ! instead of that lothelye dame, 
 
 Hee sawe a young ladye faire. 
 a 
 
134 TALES AND LEGENDS OF THE 
 
 Sweet bluslies stayn'd her I'ud-red clieeke, 
 Her eyen were blacke as sloe ; 
 
 The rijjeniug 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 slialt 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 tooke to wife a false ladye, 
 
 Whiche broughte me to this woe. 
 
 Shee witch'd mee, being a faire younge maide. 
 
 In the grene forest to dwelle ; 
 And there to abide in lothlye shape. 
 
 Most like a fiend of belle. 
 
 Midst mores and mosses, woods, and wilds ; 
 To lead a lonesome life : 
 
ENGLISH LAKES AND MOUNTAINS. 135 
 
 Till some yonge faire and courtlye knighte 
 Wolde marrye me for his wife : 
 
 Nor fully to gaine mine owne trewe sliape, 
 
 Sucli was her devilish skille ; 
 Until he wolde yielde to he ruled hy mee, 
 
 And let mee have all my wille. 
 
 She witch'd my brother to a carlish hoore, 
 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 baUad, equally celebrated, though not so 
 beautiful, also relates to King Arthur's residence at 
 Carlisle, and to the truth of the imputation cast upon 
 Queen Guenever by the *'grimme barone " of the last 
 story. It is entitled " The Boy and the Mantle," com- 
 mencing somewhat uncouthly : — 
 
 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 dames of the court. When Queen Guenever put 
 it on, it was suddenly rent from the top to the bottom, 
 
136 TALES AND LEGENDS OF THE 
 
 and turned in succession all manner of colours, and is 
 told as follows : — 
 
 God speed tliee, king Arthur, 
 
 Sitting at thy meate : 
 'And the goodly queene Guenever, 
 
 I cannott her forgett. 
 
 I tell you, lords, in this hall ; 
 
 I hid 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 witfe, 
 That hath once done amisse. 
 
 Then every knight in the king's court 
 Began to care for "his." 
 
 Forth came dame Guenever ; 
 
 To the mantle shee her " hied ; " 
 The ladye shee was newfangle, 
 
 But yett shee was aifrayd. 
 
 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. 
 
ENGLISH LAKES AND MOUNTAINS. 137 
 
 One while was it " gule ; " 
 
 Another while was itt greene ; 
 
 Another while was it wadded : 
 111 itt did her beseeme. 
 
 Another while was it blacke 
 
 And bore the worst hue : 
 By my troth, quoth king Arthur, 
 
 I thinke thou he not true. 
 
 Shee threw downe 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 crowne. 
 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 Guevener was noted for 
 breach of faith to her husband," especially with her hus- 
 band's friend. Sir Lancelot du Lake, the hero himself of 
 many a goodly ballad; and of some passages in the 3Iorte 
 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 suflFered from the incursions 
 of the Scots and Picts, by whom it was ultimately reduced 
 to ruins; it was rebuilt by Egfrid, King of Northuraber- 
 
138 TALES AND LEGENDS OF THE 
 
 land, who surrounded and fortified it with a wall ; 
 founded a monastery and a college of secular priests. 
 It was once more destroyed by the Danes, about the 
 year 900, who threw 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 Almvick, after concluding a peace with the turbu- 
 lent 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 strong- 
 hold 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 relating to 
 a bishop of Carlisle at this early period. It is entitled 
 "Bishop Thurston and the King of Scots :" and con- 
 tains 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 Scot- 
 land entered England in a hostile manner. Stephen's 
 Government was not in a position to resist an invasion at 
 that time ; and the miseries of war were averted by the 
 interposition of the venerable Bishop Thurston, who pre- 
 
ENGLISH LAKES AND MOUNTAINS. 139 
 
 vailed upon the Scotch King to meet him at Roxhurgh, and 
 used such arguments as induced him to return to his own 
 country in peace. They are said to have heen arguments 
 of Christian charity, and not the arguments of pohcy and 
 the sword, which hishops as well as barons could use in 
 those days. A few stanzas will show the excellent spirit 
 of the ballad. 
 
 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 ? 
 
140 TALES AND LEGENDS OF THE 
 
 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 ! 
 
 Now think thee well, 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 1289, a great 
 portion of it w^as 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 after- 
 wards 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's Annals, including, says the historian, 
 " eighty-seven earls and barons, twenty bishops, sixty- 
 one abbots, and eight priors, besides many deacons, arch- 
 
ENGLISH LAKES AND MOUNTAINS. 141 
 
 deacons, and other inferior clerks. The subject of their 
 deliberations was the Scottish war, and the sore annoy- 
 ance given by Robert Bruce. The King remained here 
 from January, when the Parliament was summoned, dur- 
 ing all the winter and summer, disposing of many things 
 concerning Scotland at his pleasure," but vexing him- 
 self 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 
 b}"^ gentle persuasion :" he had them summarily hanged, 
 drawn, and quartered, and placed their heads upon the 
 gates of Carlisle — those gates where the heads of so 
 many Scotchmen were afterwards to grin in ghastly 
 horror until 1745. 
 
 Among the poetical and historical associations con- 
 nected 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 II., 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 Dur- 
 ham : and grew so insolent as to render a vigorous effort 
 necessary to crush them, on the part of the English. 
 
 It fell about the Lammas tide 
 
 When yeomen win their hay, 
 The doughty Douglass 'gan to ride 
 
 In England to take a prey. 
 
142 TALES AND LEGENDS OF THE 
 
 The Earl of Fife withoute strife 
 
 He hound Mm 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 tlie 
 only one of the many versions extant which makes allu- 
 sion to the party that ravaged Carlisle. The main inte- 
 rest is centred ai'ound Newcastle, and on the doings of 
 the other division of the Scotch. There is, however, 
 another ballad of which Carhsle is more exckisively 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 fur a long 
 period. Mr. Gilbert has illustrated it by a picturesque 
 sketcli. The principal portions of this ballad, suffi- 
 cient to tell the storj^ are here transcribed. In the 
 year 1596, William Armstrong, of Kiumont, better 
 known as Kinmont Willie, a noted reiver, or border 
 trooper, and stealer of Englishmen's cattle, was taken 
 prisoner by 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 countryman. The " fause 
 Sakelde," alluded to in the ballad, was the then posses- 
 sor of Corby castle, and sheriff of Cumberland — the chief 
 
ENGLISH LAKES AND MOUNTAINS. 143 
 
 of the powerful family of the Salkeldes ; and " Hauibee" 
 was the slaug phrase for the place of execution at Car- 
 lisle. 
 
 KINMONT WILLIE. 
 
 have ye na heard o' the fause Sakelde, 
 
 have ye na heard o' the keen Loi'd 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 Kinmont 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, 
 T^ * * * 
 
 Now word is gone to the bold keeper 
 
 In 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. 
 
144 TALES AND LEGENDS OF THE 
 
 " is my helmet a widow's cap, 
 
 Or my lance a wand of the willow tree ? 
 
 Or ray arm a lady's lily hand, 
 
 That an English Lord should lightly me i 
 
 " And have they taken him, Kinmont Willie, 
 Against the truce of Border tide ? 
 
 And forgotten 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 ? 
 
 " were there war between the lands, 
 As Avell 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." 
 
 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. 
 
ENGLISH LAKES AND MOUNTAINS. 145 
 
 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 hank, 
 
 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 tlie 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 ivi me ?" 
 
 W^i' coulters and wi' forehammers 
 We garred the bars bang merrilie, 
 
 Until we came to the inner prison. 
 Where Kinmont Willie he did lie. 
 
 And Avhen 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 ? " 
 
146 TALES AND LEGENDS OF THE 
 
 " 0, I sleep saft, and I wake aft. 
 
 It's long since sleeping was flej'd frae me ; 
 Gle my service back to my wife and bairns, 
 
 And a' gude fellows tbat spier for me I " 
 
 The Red Rowan 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 ou 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 le^'s have ne'er bestrode ! " 
 
 We scarce had reached the Ilaneshaw bank, 
 When all the Carlisle hills were rung, 
 
 And a thousand men on horse and foot 
 Came wi' the keen Lord Scrope along, 
 
 Buceleugh has turned to Eden water, 
 
 Even where it flowed from bank to bi'imj 
 And he has plunged in wi' a' his band 
 And safely swam them thro' the stream. 
 
ENGLISH LAKES AND MOUNTAINS. 147 
 
 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 ! " 
 
 This was a daring exploit, and has been gallantly 
 sung. The words seem to come out of the mouth of one 
 of the very moss trooper? who had acted a part in the 
 achievement, and the whole composition is rough but 
 finely flavoured ; and strongly dramatic. Queen Eliza- 
 beth, 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. lie was presented 
 accordingly, and Elizabeth, in a rough and peremptory 
 manner, demanded of him how he had dared to under- 
 take an enterprise so desperate and presumptuous ! 
 " What is it,^' replied the undaunted Scot, " that a man 
 dare not do 1 " 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." 
 
 Thei'e is another ballad relating to the same Lord 
 Scrope, and the execution of a noted reiver, named 
 '* Hughie the Graeme," who had made woful havoc in 
 his time among the farmsteads of the Marches, and the 
 cattle of "merry England." Hughie did not escape 
 Hairibee, The actual oftence for which he suff'ered was 
 his stealing the Bishop of Carlisle's mare. The follow- 
 ing is the ballad :— 
 
 HUGHIE THE GRAEME. 
 
 Gude Lord Scroope's to the hunting gane, 
 He has ridden our moss and muir ; 
 
148 TALES AND LEGENDS OF THE 
 
 And he has grippit Hughie the Grseme, 
 For stealing o' the bishop's mare. 
 
 " Now, Good Lord Seroope, this may not be I 
 
 Here hangs a broadsword by my side ; 
 And if that thou canst conquer me, 
 
 The matter it may soon be tryed. 
 
 " I ne'er was afraid of a traitor thief, 
 
 Although ray name be Hughie the Grajnie ; 
 
 I'll make thee repent thee of thy deeds. 
 If God but grant me life and time. 
 
 " Then do your worst now, good Lord Seroope, 
 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 >vere dealing their blows so free. 
 
 And both so bloody at the time. 
 Over the moss came ten yeomen so tall, 
 
 All for to take bz^ave Hughie the Grfeine. 
 
 Then they ha'e gribbit Hughie the Grasme, 
 And brought him up through Carlisle town ; 
 
 The lasses and lads stood on the walls, 
 
 Crying, "Hughie the Gr;it'me,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 Grieme, thou must gae down ! " 
 
 Then up bespake him gucle Lord Hume, 
 
 As he sat by the judge's knee: 
 " Twenty Avhite owsen, my gude Lord, 
 
 If you'll grant Hughie, the Gramme to me." 
 
ENGLISH LAKES AND MOUNTAINS. 149 
 
 " no, no, my gude Lord Hume '. 
 
 Forsooth, and sae it mauna be ; 
 For were there but three Grsemes of the name, 
 
 They suld be hanged a' for me." 
 
 'Tvvas up and spake the gude Lady Hume, 
 
 As she sat by the judge's knee : 
 "A peck of white pennies, my gude lord judge, 
 
 If you'll grant Hughie the Graeme to me." 
 
 " no, no, my gude Lady Hume ! 
 
 Forsooth and so it mustna be ; 
 Were he but the one Graeme of the name. 
 
 He suld be hanged high 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. 
 
 " 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 inuir, 
 'TAvas thou bereft me of my life, 
 
 And wi' the bishop thou play'd the whore. 
 
 Here, Johnnie Armstrong, take thou my sword. 
 That is made o' the metal sae fine ; 
 
150 TALES AND LEGENDS OF THE 
 
 And when tliou comest to the English side, 
 Remember the death of Huffhie the Graeme. 
 
 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 English- 
 man ; who, finding less difference in the laws of "mine 
 and thine " on the Scotch side of the border, and more 
 sympathy with such loose notions of property as he pos- 
 sessed, established himself among the Scotch, and helped 
 them to ravage the country, to Carlisle southward, when- 
 ever 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 for 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. 
 
ENGLISH LAKES AND MOUNTAINS. 151 
 
 Now Hobbie was an Englishman, 
 
 And born in Bewcastle dale ; 
 But bis 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 bim weel. 
 
 Then Hobbie is down the water gane, 
 
 E'en as fast as he could hie ! 
 Tho' 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; 
 
152 TALES AND LEGENDS OF THE 
 
 The great E arl 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 he 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 mouy a down ; 
 
 Until they came to the Foulbogshiel, 
 
 And there, brave Noble, he lighted down. 
 
 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." 
 
 " Tlien Hobbie Noble is that deer ! 
 
 I wot he carries the style fu' hie ; 
 Aft has he driven our bluidhounds back, 
 
 And set ourselves at little lee. 
 
 ' ' Gar warn the bows of Hartlie burn ; 
 
 See they sharp their arrows on the wa'; 
 W^arn 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, Ave '11 get our prey. " 
 
ENGLISH LAKES AND MOUNTAINS. 153 
 
 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 wakened at that time, 
 
 In the Foulbogshiel he had been ta'en or slain. 
 
 " Awake, awake, my feres five ! 
 
 I trow here make a fu' iU 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 ; 
 They Avere beset by cruel men and keen 
 
 That away brave Hobbie might na gae. 
 
 " Yet follow me, my 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 ; 
 
154 TALES AND LEGENDS OF THE 
 
 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 forfoughen 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. 
 
 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. 
 
ENGLISH LAKES AND MOUNTAINS. 155 
 
 *' Now fare thee weel, sweet Mangerton ! 
 
 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 Mains ! 
 
 For gowd and gear he'll sell ye a'. 
 
 Yet wad I rather be ca'd Hohbie Noble, 
 In Carlisle where he suffers for his fau't, 
 
 Than 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 Cockburn of Plenderland, a noted disturber of 
 the Enghsh districts; who did not, however, suffer at 
 Carlisle, though he had ravaged its neighbourhood ; nor at 
 the hands of the English, whose laws he had violated. 
 James the 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 Scott of Tushielaw, and Cock- 
 burn 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 
 
156 TALES AND LEGENDS OF THE 
 
 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 the jiassages in italics 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 hnight, 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 thai way. 
 
 I took his body on my back, 
 And Avhiles I gaed, and whiles I sat, 
 / digged a grave and laid him in, 
 And happed him luith the sod sae green. 
 
ENGLISH LAKE8 AND MOUNTAINS. 157 
 
 But think na ye my heart loas 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 Ilenderland, 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 lyes Perys of Cokburne and his wyfe 
 Marjory." 
 
 During the civil wars with the "Roses," Carlisle 
 suflFered 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 king- 
 dom. In the formidable lising 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, know- 
 ing that the Duke of Norfolk was marching 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' 
 
158 TALES AND LKGENDS OF THE 
 
 others were 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 montlis. During the siege, the distress of the 
 garrison and the inhabitants was so severe, that the 
 flesh of horses, dogs, rats, and other vermin Avas eaten. 
 Bread was exhausted and hemp-seed substituted ; which 
 in its turn became so dear as to be unpurchasable 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 
 Tullie, 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." 
 
ENGLISH LAKES AND MOUNTAINS, 159 
 
 THE DRUIDS' TEMPLE. 
 
 Mark yon altar — 
 
 See this wide circus 
 
 Skirted with unhewn stone ; the}' 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 ffround — 
 
 The mighty pile of magic-planted i-ocks. 
 
 Thus ranged m mystic order, marks the place 
 
 Where but at times of holiest festival 
 
 The Druid led his train. Mason. 
 
 The 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 
 Bx'itain consist of forty-eight rude, unhewn blocks of 
 granite, thirty-eight of which are disposed in an oval 
 figure, of which the diameter is thirty-four yards from 
 north to south, and nearly thirty from east to west: the 
 remaining ten stones form an oblong square on the east- 
 ern 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 
 
160 TALES AND LEGENDS OF THfi 
 
 order, Avhere the priests assembled to perform their mys- 
 tical rites, and to determine on matters of government 
 and judicature. The largest of the stones is upwards 
 of seven feet in height, and may weigh about eiglit 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 througli 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 sum- 
 mits 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, credu- 
 lous, 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, 
 
ENGLISH LAKES AND MOUNTAINS. 161 
 
 *' By rites, of such strange potency, 
 As, done in open day, would dim the sun, 
 Though 'throned in noontide hrightness." 
 
 The tourist will tread this once hallowed circle, where 
 the Druids offered their adorations to Deity, and sat in 
 judgment 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 
 Stalk'd through this drear domain." 
 
 In spite of the ravages of time, assisted by the destruc-. 
 tive hand of man, many Druidical monuments still 
 remain amongst the seclusions of the lakes and moun- 
 tains 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 wild cow. and the wolf contested the master- 
 ship of the unclaimed property — when human feet had 
 never trod these hills or vales — a mighty warrior left 
 his companions in the south and journej^ed hither ward. 
 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. 
 
162 TALES AND LEGENDS OF THE 
 
 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, and in 
 fishing in the adjoining river ; and as they were not dis- 
 turbed by wars, they rapidly increased in strength and 
 numbers. 
 
 Their ancient priests or Druids retired farther north, 
 because their solemn rites required the greatest privacy ; 
 and the misletoe, 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 contemplation of the vindictive 
 character of the Deity — for they knew him only as a 
 Being capable of revenging every insult ofi'ered 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 pos- 
 sessed 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 pur- 
 chased of some Phenician merchants, along with 
 
ENGLISH LAKES AND MOUNTAINS. 163 
 
 some iron hatcLets, 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 hia 
 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 climbed the loftiest oak 
 to gain the cushat eggs — and the scarf of squirrel skins 
 which screened her from the cold, was the produce of 
 his most early adventures in the chase. Thus circum- 
 stanced, 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 w^arm 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 tov/n, 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 wicked- 
 ness 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 
 
164 TALES AND LEGENDS OF THE 
 
 pilgrimage to one of their largest temples, situated among 
 the mountains, in the midst of a vast forest. The Arch- 
 Druid, having gathered the misletoe, 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 daughters 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 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 com- ' 
 placency. 
 
 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 
 
ENGLISH LAKES AND MOUNTAINS. 165 
 
 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 hanks of a river, sm'rounded 
 by magnificent scenery. This dell was a curious cavity 
 in the rock, of considerable 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 tbe trees, waiting 
 the celebration of the awful ceremony. The bards, with 
 their heads crowned with oak, advanced to tlie north 
 side of the circle ; and after paying obedience to the 
 sun, they chanted the folloNving hymn: — 
 
 " Being great, who reign'st alone, 
 Veiled in clouds, unseen, unknown, 
 Centre of the vast profound. 
 Clouds of darkness close thee round. 
 
 " Tbv nod makes storms and tempests rise, 
 Tby breath makes thunder shake the skies. 
 Thy frown turns noon-day into night. 
 And makes the suu Avithdraw his liglit. 
 
 " Beneath thy anger we expire, 
 The victims of thy vengeful ire ; 
 Destruction rules at thy command, 
 And ruin blackens all tlie land." 
 
 A small cabhi of basket-work was erected near the 
 western side of the circle, in the lowest part of the 
 h2 
 
166 TALES AND LEGENDS OF THE 
 
 Jell, 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 misletoe 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 tliee. 
 Sinful man could ne'er appease thee." 
 
 SECOXD BAUD. 
 
 ** Round her brows the wild fluwers see, 
 Emblems of thy purity — 
 
 Touch'd by mortal's fingers never; — > 
 Round her breast the oak survey, 
 Which like thee can ne'er decay — 
 
 Innocence endures for ever." 
 
 THIRD BAUD. 
 
 " Spirit! who no birth has known, 
 Springing from thyself alone. 
 We thy living emblem show 
 In the mystic misletoe: — 
 Springs and grows without a root — 
 Yields without flower its fruit — 
 Seeks from earth no mother's care — 
 Lives and blooms the child of air." • : i; 
 
ENGLISH LAKES A.ND MOUNTAINS. 167 
 FOURTH BAUD. 
 
 *' 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 vras then enclosed in the wicker 
 cabin : a quantity 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 a 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 desired 
 effect— they took fire, . The sticks .and leaves round the 
 
168 TALES AND LEG-ENDS OF 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: — 
 
 " 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, spare, her native town ! 
 She was good, and she was kind. 
 And she possess'd a heavenly mind ; 
 Wicked man could no'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 th^ rites were suspended ; for at that moment a flood 
 of water burst out from the fissures of the roclc on every 
 side, and came rolling down the dell like a river. The 
 wicker hurdle in which Ella was confined was instantly 
 surrounded by the flood — the fire was quenched, and she 
 came out unhurt. It is said that a voice was heard by 
 the Arch-Druid of solemn impoi't, intimating that human 
 victims were not acceptable to the Deity — that a greater 
 sacrifice was about to be offered — and that the reign of 
 Druidism was at an end. The Arch-Druid, turning his 
 face towards the Bun for a moment, and then to the 
 other priests, remarked that some mighty change was 
 
ENGLISH LAKES AND MOUNTAINS. 1G9 
 
 surely about to take place among tliem ; 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 UNFORTUNATE TOURIST OF HELVELLYN, 
 
 AND HIS rAITHFUL DOG. 
 
 In making an ascent of Helvellyn, some tourists are bold 
 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 cer- 
 tainly not more than two yards broad, and a tremendous 
 precipice descending on each side makes it truly appall- 
 ing and perilous. 
 
 Mr. Baines, who, with a companion, ascended Helvel- 
 lyn 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 
 
170 TALES AND LEGENDS OF THE 
 
 actuates most men in fighting duels — a fear lest our 
 courage sliould 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 con- 
 tent 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 was 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 ridge itself. We now came in view of the most 
 formidable part of Striding Edge, and found that it rather 
 deserved to be compared to a narrow wall, several 
 hundred feet in height, connecting the hill which 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 plac'e 
 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 sitU9,tion where we 
 
ENGLISH LAKES AND MOUNTAINS. 171 
 
 could neither advance nor retreat, gave us considerable 
 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, 
 keeping all my eyes about me, and giving him such 
 instructions as his want of experience in climbing ren- 
 dered necessary. He said little or nothing, 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 
 way 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 Man- 
 chester, a 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 Patter- 
 dale to Wythburn by the pass of Striding Edge just 
 described. He set out late one afternoon early in the 
 spring of 1805, without any guide, and attended by no 
 companion but his faithful dog. Darkness, it i§ sup- 
 posed, 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 
 
172 TALES AND LEGENDS OF THE 
 
 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 months elapsed before his remains were dis- 
 covered ; when the faithful dog, which was his constant 
 attendant during frequent solitary rambles amidst the 
 wilds of Cumberland 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 Fidelity. 
 
 A barking sound the shepherd hears, 
 
 A cry as of a dog or fox ; 
 He lialts, 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 ; 
 
 Itsraotions too are wild and shy; 
 
 With something, as the shepherd thinks, 
 
 Unusual in its cry. 
 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 doing here ? 
 
 It was a cove, a huge recess. 
 
 That keeps till June December's snow ; 
 
 A lofty precipice in front, 
 A silent tarn below ! 
 
 (D 
 
ENGLISH LAKES AND MOUNTAINS. 1 i 6. 
 
 Far in tlie bosom of Helvellyn, 
 Remote 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, 
 In symphony austere ; 
 
 Thither the rainbow comes — the cloud — 
 
 And mists that spread the flying 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: 
 He instantly recall'd the name. 
 And who he was, and whence he came ; 
 Remember 'd too the very day, 
 On which the traveller pass'd tliis way. 
 
 But hear a wonder, for whose sake 
 
 This lamentable tale I tell ! 
 A lasting monument of words 
 
 Tliis wonder merits well. 
 
174 TALES AND LEGENDS OF THE 
 
 The dog, which still was hovering nigh, 
 Repeating the same timid crj, 
 This dog had been, through three months' space, 
 A dweller in. that savage place. 
 
 Yes, proof was plain, that since that dav, 
 
 When this ill-fated traveller died, 
 The dog' had watch'd 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 anec- 
 dote 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 never write 
 anything equal to this, on the same subject ;' and he 
 never attempted it." 
 
 I climbed the dark brow of the mighty Helvellyn, 
 
 Lakes and mountains beneath me gleamed misty and 
 wide; 
 
* ENGLISH LAKKS AND MOUNTAINS. 175 
 
 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 Avas 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. 
 The 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 ; 
 
 Through the courts, at deep midnight, the torches are 
 gleaming. 
 
 In the proudly arched chapel the banners are beaming, 
 
 Far adown the long aisle sacred music is streaming. 
 Lamenting a chief of the people should fall. 
 
176 TALES AND LEGENDS OF THE 
 
 But meeter for thee, gentle lover of nature, 
 
 To lay down thy head like the meek mountaui lamb, 
 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 tby dying, 
 In the arms of lielvellyn and Catchedecam. 
 
 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. 
 
 DEEWENTWATEE EEGATTA. 
 
 An annual regatta takes place on Derwentwater, on 
 the last Thursday and Friday in August, when the 
 several sports of racing, rowing, and wrestling, are main- 
 tained with great spirit. 
 
 The following is an excellent description of one of 
 these occasions : — " At eight o'clock in the morning a 
 vast concourse 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. Pockliugton 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 four pounders and one nine pounder. This might 
 
ENGLISH LAKES AND MOUNTAINS. if^ 
 
 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, presented 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 matchless vale. The 
 contending boats passed Pocklington's Island, and round- 
 ing 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, con- 
 sisting 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 
 lionourable terms. A defiance was returned ; soon after 
 which tbe 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 musketry. This continued 
 for some time, and being echoed from hill to hill in an 
 amazing variety of sounds, filled the ear with what- 
 ever coidd produce astonishment and awe. All nature 
 
178 TALES AND LEGENDS OF THE 
 
 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 con- 
 flict, the enemies were driven from the 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 mana3uvres, 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 easterly opening of that vast amphitheatre, as far as 
 Appleby. 
 
 " The garrison at last capitulated; and the entertain- 
 ment of the water being finished, towards the evening 
 the company rowed to Keswick, to which place, from 
 the water's edge, a range of lamps was fixed, very hap- 
 pily disposed, and a number of fire-AVorks played off. 
 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 pro- 
 vided 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 clifi", 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 
 waterfall was heard ; but for an instant only ; for the 
 
ENGLISri LAKES AND MOUNTAINS. 179 
 
 momentary stillness was interrupted by the returning 
 eclio on the hills behind ; where the report was repeated 
 like a peal of thunder bursting over our heads, continu- 
 ing 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 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 tlie occa 
 sion 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 iirm, active youths, 
 
 And virgins blushing like the op'ning bud. 
 
 Nay, some there were vrho 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 Avith hearty roar. 
 
 " And now the vessels all iu order range, 
 To try the fortune of the wat'ry race. 
 
180 TALES AND LEGENDS OF THE • 
 
 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 tli' 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 : 
 Then, then what rapture fires the victor's mind. 
 When with his toil-strained arm he shakes the flag, 
 And shouts, applauding, echo all around. 
 
 " Now, o'er the azure 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 savage 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 I 
 
 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, 
 
 Ilis kindling eyes flash fire : upright he stands, 
 
 As wlien on some dread, memorable day 
 
 lie 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, . 
 
ENGLISH LAKES AND MOUNTAINS. 181 
 
 She smiles ; but when the air-affrighting guns 
 With iron clamours shake th' impending rocks, 
 She trembHng 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. 
 
 ! now for Sbakspeare, or for Milton's muse, 
 
 To paint this mingled tide of harmony ! 
 
 Each cliff, each rock, each mountain, wood, and dale, 
 
 Return a varied note ; it floats in air ; 
 
 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 unnifiled was this tide of joy : 
 The fair, the innocent Amelia was 
 The pride and flower of all the virgin throng ! 
 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 sunk, then rose again ; 
 Then sunk, 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. 
 
182 TALES AND LEGENDS OF TUB 
 
 ' Is it then you, Damcetas ? you, avIioiu long 
 
 My virgin heart hath own'd !' She could uo more : 
 
 The rosy hue again forsook her cheek, 
 
 The light her eyes, and pallid death awhile 
 
 Seemed to return and i-e-demand his prey. 
 
 What then, Damoetas, were the dire alarms 
 
 That rent th}* mauly 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 
 
 Upon her cheek ! again her op'ning eye 
 
 Beams softened lustre ! Kneeling by her side 
 
 Damoetas press'd her hand ; in fault'ring words 
 
 Propos'd his am'rous suit. Her parents near, 
 
 Relieved now from the heart-corroding 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." 
 
ENGLISH LAKES AND MOUNTAINS. 183 
 
 THE SHEPHERD OF GREEN-HEAD GHYLL. 
 
 If 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 ascent 
 
 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 yet a boy 
 
 Careless of books, yet having felt the power 
 
 Of nature, by the gentle agency 
 
 Of natural objects led me on to feel 
 
184 TALES AND LEGENDS OF THE 
 
 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 he 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 Avhen 1 am gone. 
 
 Upon the forest-side in Grasmere Vale 
 There dwelt a shepherd, Michael was his name ; 
 An old man, stout of heart, and strong of limh. 
 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 Avas prompt 
 And watchful 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 svibterraneous music, like the noise 
 Of bagpipers on distant Highland hills. 
 The shepherd, at such warning, of his flock 
 Bethought him, and he 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 liis 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. 
 Fields, -where with cheerfvd spirits he had breathed 
 The common air ; the hills, which he so oft 
 
ENGLISH LAKES AND MOUNTAINS. 185 
 
 Had climbed with vigorous steps; Avhich 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 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 skinnned milk. 
 
186 TALES AND LEGENDS OF THE ' 
 
 Sat round tbeir 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 sjiindle, or repair 
 
 Some injury done to sickle, fiail, or scythe, 
 
 Or other im^^lement 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 imcounted hours, 
 AVhich going by from year to year had foimd 
 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 fiies. 
 This light was famous in its neighbourhood, 
 And w^as a public symbol of the life 
 The 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-Ftaise, 
 And westward to the village near the lake; 
 iVnd from this constant light, so regular 
 
ENGLISH LAKES AND MOUNTAINS. 18/ 
 
 And SO far seen, tlie 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; hut 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 bad rocked 
 His cradle with a woman's gentle hand. 
 
 « 
 
 And, in a later time, ere yet the boy 
 Had put on boy's attire, did Michael love. 
 Albeit of a stei-n unbending mind, 
 To have the young one in his sight, when he 
 Had work by his own door, or Avhen he sat 
 With sheep before him on his shepherd's stool. 
 Beneath that large old oak, which near their door 
 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. 
 
 * Clipping is the word used in the North of England for 
 shearing. 
 
188 TALES AND LEGENDS OF THE 
 
 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, makine; it throug-hout in all 
 Due requisites a perfect shepherd's staff, 
 And gave it to the boy; wherewith equip'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 staff, or voice, 
 Or looks, or threatening gestures could perform, 
 
 Eut 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 
 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. 
 
ENGLISH LAKES AND MOUNTAINS. 189 
 
 Thus in his father's sight the boy gre\v up : 
 And now when he had reached his eighteenth year. 
 He was his comfort and his daily hope. 
 
 While in tliis 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 boimd 
 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 little less 
 Than half his substance. This uulooked-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 streno-th 
 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 
 That I could not lie quiet in my grave. 
 Our lot is a hard lot; the sun himself 
 Has scarcely been more diligent than 1 ; 
 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 
 
 i2 
 
190 TALES AND LEGENDS OF THE 
 
 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 know'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 vis. 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 Avith 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 
 
 Beyond the seas ; where he grew wondrous rich. 
 
 And left estates and monies to the pooi-. 
 
 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 glad, 
 
 And thus resumed : — •' Well, Isabel ! this scheme 
 
 These two days has been meat and drink to me. 
 
ENGLISH LAKES AND MOUNTAINS. 191 
 
 Far more than we have lost is left us jet. 
 We have enough ; I wish indeed that I 
 Were younger ; hut this hope is a good hope. 
 Make ready Luke's hest garments, of the hest 
 Buy for him more, and let us send him forth 
 To-morrow, or the next day, or to-nighl : 
 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 
 Pleard 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, wben she had told her fears, 
 Recovered heart. That evening her best fare 
 Did she bring forth, and all together sat 
 Like happy people round a Christmas fire. 
 
 AYith 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 
 
192 TALES AND LEGENDS OF THE 
 
 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, 
 Por 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 stopped, 
 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. 
 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 eam'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 increasing love. 
 Never to living ear came sweeter sounds 
 Than when I heard thee by our own fireside 
 First uttering, without words, a natural tune ; 
 
EN'GLISH LAKES AND MOUNTAINS. 193 
 
 When thou, a feeding babe, didst in thy joy 
 
 Sing at thy mother's breast. Month 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 any 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. 
 
 1 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 laud was free. 
 
 It looks as if it never coukl 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, 
 
194 TALES AND LEGENDS OF THE 
 
 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 begin 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 Aveeks has been beating fast 
 
 With manj' 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 Avill be left to us ! But I forget 
 
 My purposes. Lay now the coi'ner-stone. 
 
 As I requested ; and hereafter, Luke, 
 
 When thou art gone away, should evil men 
 
 Be thy companions, think of me, my son. 
 
 And of this moment : hither tui-n thy thoughts. 
 
 And God Avill 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 
 
ENGLISH LAKES AND MOUNTAINS. 195 
 
 The first stone of the slieepfolcl. 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, many months passed on, and once again 
 The shepherd went about his daily work 
 With confident and cheerful thoughts ; and now 
 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 
 AVould 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 
 
196 TALES AND LEGENDS OF THE 
 
 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 many and many a day he thither went, 
 And never lifted up a single stone. 
 
 There, by the sheepfold, sometimes was he seen 
 Sitting alone, with that his faithful 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 
 Survive her husband : at her death the estate 
 Was sold, and went into a stranger's hand. 
 The cnttage, which was named the Evening Star, 
 Is gone; the ploughshai-e has been through the ground 
 On which it stood ; great changes have been wrouo-ht 
 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, 
 
ENGLISH LAKES AND MOUNTAINS. 197 
 
 THE INSCRIBED EOCKS. 
 
 Our boatman told us, that at a short distance on the 
 eastern side of Windermere lake, -were some inscriptions 
 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 forma- 
 tion — covered with inscriptions, engraved with much toil, 
 in letters varying from six to twenty or twenty-four inches 
 in height. On one large red stone of at least ten feet 
 square, was engraved " 1833. Money. Liberty. 
 Wealth. Peace;" — a catalogue of blessings veiy 
 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 charac- 
 ters, "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 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 
 orio-inal order : — " Sun. Bulwer. Dryden. Davy. 
 Burns. Scott. Burdett. Garrick. Kexiblb. 
 
198 tales and legends of the 
 
 Gray. Kban. Milton, Henry Brougham. James 
 Watt. Professor Wilson. Dr. Jenner." To 
 wliicb. were added the words in characters equally con- 
 spicuous, "The Liberty of the Press." "Magna 
 Charta." This slab was a testimony, apparently, of tlie 
 engraver's admiration of great intellect. One close 
 alongside side of it was of a different style, and bore the 
 date "1836," followed by the words, "William IV. 
 President Jackson, Lodis Philippe. Britannia 
 RCLES THE waves." Next to that again was a still 
 larger surface of rock on which was indented, "National 
 Debt, £800,000,000. save my Country, Heaven ! 
 George HI, and William Pitt." "Money is thk 
 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 lettere a yard long, and that was signi- 
 ficant enough — viz. "Steam." On inquiring of the 
 boatman who it was that had expended 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, 
 misapplied though they were, that it was a happy 
 circumstance that an afflicted creature could have found 
 
ENGLISH LAKES AND MOUNTAINS. 199 
 
 solace under 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 disordej'ly manner than in these inscrip 
 tions. 
 
 EDGAR, THE LORD OF ENllERDALE. 
 
 A TKADITION OF WOTOBANK, NEAR EGREMONT. 
 
 In 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 ori- 
 ginated. 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 very act of ravenously tearing it to 
 pieces. The sorrow of the husband, in the first tran- 
 sports of his grief, was expressed by the words — * Wo to 
 
200 
 
 TALES AND LEGENDS OF THE 
 
 this bank!' — whence the hill obtained the name of 
 Wotobank." Mrs. Cowley has adopted this legend foi- 
 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: — 
 
 — " 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 con- 
 tinues — 
 
 " He, the sole heir of Atheling was known, 
 
 Whose blood, stern Scotland ! 'midst thy heaths has flown. 
 
 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 hurst from the sky, 
 
 Bidding prismatic light before her fly ; 
 
 Soft purple radiance streamed around her car. 
 
 Absorbing all the beams of every star; — 
 
ENGLISH LAKES AND MOUNTAINS. 201 
 
 Roses awaken'd as she pass'd along, 
 And the high lai'k perform 'd his soaring song, 
 Whilst pinks, their fragrance shaking on the air, 
 The proud carnation's glories seem'd to share; 
 The hreezes snatched 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 blow, 
 
 And, hung in rich festoons, around her glow ; 
 
 In cooling grots her shellwork seized the eye, 
 
 With skill arrangM, 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^l 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 j^repar^d ; 
 
 She roused the wolf — the foaming boar she chased. 
 
 And Danger^s self was in her presence graced. 
 
 Thus rolFd two years on flowery wheels along, 
 
 Midst calm domestic bliss, and sport, and song. 
 
 0, Edgar ! from pernicious Gallia^s shore, 
 
 Hadst thou, immoral youth! return 'd no more, 
 
 Such years thro' lengthened time had sweetly run, 
 
 Down to the faintest beams of lifers 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. 
 
202 TALES AND LEGENDS OF THE 
 
 Edgar to Eniierdale 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 remarked 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. 
 
 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, 
 
 Wliilst 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 concealed : 
 
 'Whenever he appeared her air grew cold. 
 
 And awed to mute despair this baron bold ; 
 
 lie 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 assuao:e — 
 
 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 surrounding 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. 
 
ENGLISH LAKES AND MOUNTAINS. 20^ 
 
 Lord Henry heard — and from his pillow sprung, 
 And bold responsive notes he cheerly 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, 
 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 his descent from no ignoble sire ; 
 He sprung 'midst Araby's far distant plains. 
 Whose sands the bleeding violet never stains. 
 And now the day in all his glories drest, 
 Seem'd at the bugle's call to shake off rest. 
 He pom-'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 ; 
 
204 TALES AND LEGENDS OF THE 
 
 But ah ! in vain he creeps, the air so thin, 
 
 Catches th' effluvia from his reeking sldn, 
 
 The titillations to the hounds' keen nostrils fly, 
 
 Who instantly the hrown recesses try. 
 
 When turn'd before them into open view, 
 
 Quick transports from each hosom flew ; 
 
 The huiiismans law the churning savage found, 
 
 They suffer'd his escape twelve roods of ground. 
 
 Ere loose was let the eager mad'ning pack, 
 
 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 niouthings 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 Avith terror chill'd ; 
 
 Then in despair he turns to meet the foe, 
 
 And rage and madness in his eyeballs glow — 
 
 When Henry, 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 Avith the tusk-arm'd head upon his spear, 
 
 Lord Henry turn'd to Her — for ever dear I 
 
 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 sheltcr'd, near the torrent's fall she lay, 
 
 Nor on the forest's edge, escaped the day, 
 
 Nor Avas she on the plain — the valleys too, 
 
 Gave no Edwina to the aching A'iew. 
 
EN^GLISII LAKES AND MOUNTAINS. 205 
 
 Wonder and dread compress her husband's heart. 
 
 O'er the surrounding scene his eye-beams dart ; 
 
 lie 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 — 
 
 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 Ms 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 diiferent 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 — 
 
206 TALES AND LEGENDS OF THE 
 
 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 Avith pain, and all forlorn, 
 
 At length achiev'd a path, and saw a rill, 
 
 To which she mov'd, her ruby mouth to fiU ; — 
 
 Her taper'd hand immers'd beneath the stream, 
 
 riash'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, cauglit 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, play'd. 
 
 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 pole 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 Ennerdale confined : 
 
ENGLISH LAKES AND MOUNTAINS. 207 
 
 Clung round tlie 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, 
 Rude, snapt asunder their narcotic bands, 
 ♦ She started, and she found, — 0! hated sight, 
 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 I 
 
 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 thy eye indignant lightnings hung. 
 
 Swift came the vollied speech ; — grand was thy tone, 
 
 And Chastity in bright eifulgence 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 Avere 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. 
 
208 TALES AND LEGENDS OF THE 
 
 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 borro'iv from the wind its wings. 
 When from its southern portal first it springs — 
 Flying, as borne upon the billowy air, 
 Urged by distraction on, and black despair. 
 Her base pursuer spurr'd by dire intent. 
 Kept closely in the track the fair one went ; 
 ^Nor hurried much, but thought her failing feet 
 Would soon retard a course so wondrous fleet — 
 He thought aright, 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 stift' 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! — 0! now my pen forbear, 
 Nor with the shrieks of terror rend the air ! — 
 The wolf's fell teeth — but ! 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 uuglutted 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. 
 
ENGLISH LAKES AND MOUNTAINS. 209 
 
 Would shed a lustre on pale Sorrow's night — 
 
 Dumh was that honied mouth, whose graceful speech, 
 
 Beyond the schoolman's eloquence would reach! 
 
 The snowy arms which lately clasped her lord, 
 
 Now streaked with flowing blood — 0! thouo;ht abhorred! 
 
 Before his starting eyes, all lifeless hang, 
 
 And give him more than death's last, rending pang. 
 
 His cries of agony spread o'er the j^lain. 
 
 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, 
 
 In storm}'- 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 short 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 pitying shepherds caught the grief-fraught sound. 
 
 Thus, to this hour, through every changing age, 
 
 Through ev'ry year's still ever-varying stage, 
 
 The name remains ; and Wo-to-Bank is seen. 
 
 From ev'ry mountain bleak, and valley green — 
 
 Dim Skiddaw views it from his monstrous height, 
 
 And eagles mark it in their dizzy flight ; 
 
 The Bassenthwaite's soft murmurs sorrow round, 
 
 And rocks of Buttermere protect the ground, 
 
 Rills of Helvellyn raging in their fall, 
 
 Seem on Lodore's rough sympathy to call — 
 
 From peak to peak they wildly burst away. 
 
 And form, with rushing tone, a hollow, dirge-like lay. 
 
210 TALES AND LEGENDS OF THE 
 
 Not rocks, and cataracts, and alps alone, 
 
 Paint out the spot, and make its horrors known. 
 
 For faithful lads 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 song! 
 
 LADY EYA AND THE GIANT OF YEWDALE. 
 
 As 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 obsez've 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- 
 suggesting designation of " Girt Will's Grave." How 
 it came bj'' that name, and how Cauldron Dub and Yew- 
 dale Bi'idge came to be haunted, my task is now to tell. 
 Some few hundred years ago, the inhabitants of these 
 
ENGLISH LAKES AND MOUNTAINS, 211 
 
 contiguous dales were startled from their propriety, if 
 tliey 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 you have read the history and exploits of the 
 famous Tom Hickathrift, and remembering that he was 
 raised at Troutbeck, you will not be much surprised when 
 I tell you that it was always famous for a race of extra- 
 ordinaiy size and strength ; for even in these our own 
 puny days, the biggest man in Westmorland is to be 
 foimd 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 neigh- 
 bours as a capital labourer, ready for any such work as 
 was required in the rude and limited agricultural opera- 
 tions of the period and locality — answered to the cog- 
 nomen 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 Flem- 
 ings of Conistone, at the period of the giant's loca- 
 tion at the Tarns, was far advanced in years, and, in 
 addition to some six or eight gallant and stately sons, 
 had 
 
 " One fair daughter, and no more, 
 The which he loved passing well." 
 
212 TALES AND LEGENDS OF THE 
 
 And Eva le Fleming, called by the country people " tlie 
 Lady Eva," was famed through out 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 seemed to express as much admira- 
 tion 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 yoimg 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 love- 
 liness 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 suffi- 
 ciently 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 
 
ENGLISH LAKES AND MOUNTAINS. 213 
 
 some'wliat romantic iu licr tastes, and would often row 
 for hours upon the lake, and wander for miles through 
 the woods, or even upon the mountains, unattended, save 
 bj her favourite bower-maiden. And one evening ia 
 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 unob- 
 scured 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 shoidder 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, 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 indignation at this insolence, 
 when a gigantic figure sprang upon the pathway, and, 
 snatching up the screaming Barbara with the same ease 
 with which she herself Avould 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 com-se 
 through the coppice, and the half-stifled screams of his 
 captive, soon recalled her suspended faculties, and then 
 
 " Fair " Eva " through the hazel-grove 
 Flew, like a startled cushat dove,'^ 
 k2 
 
214 TALES AND LEGENDS OF THE 
 
 back to the hall, where, breathless with terror and exer- 
 tion, she gave the alarm that Barbara had been carried off 
 bj the giant. There was noisy and instantaneous com- 
 motion amongst the carousing gentles at the upper, and the 
 loitering lacquejs at thelowerendof the hall. DickHawks- 
 \ey, 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 
 vociferating for their horses. Scarce a minute passed, 
 ere half a dozen le 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 prize farther, 
 he stopped — uttered one terrible shout of rage and dis- 
 appointment—and whirled his shrieking victim into the 
 flooded beck, resuming his now unencumbered flight with 
 increased speed. Dick Hawksley rushed over the bank 
 a little lower down, and the horsemen, abandoning the 
 chase, galloped to the brink of the stream, which was 
 liigh with the recent rains. They saw the falconer 
 plunge into the torrent, as the bower 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 
 
ENGLISH LAKES AND MOUNTAINS. 215 
 
 gallop to keep them in sight, even while the exertions of 
 the hrave falconer sufficed to sustain their heads above 
 water, which Avas only till they came under the bridge, 
 wliere the water, pent in by the narroAv arch, acquired 
 four-fold force, and there they heard him utter a hoarse 
 cry of despair, and the gallant Ilawksley 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 they speedily surrounded him, and, amid a storm 
 of vengeful yells and bitter execrations, 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, 
 that, after such events as these, the localities where they 
 occurred must, of necessity, be haunted ; and, as the 
 ghosts of murderers, as well as of murderers, if they be 
 right orthodox apparitions, always appear to be re-enact- 
 ing the closing scene of their earthly career, it is scarcely 
 required of me to dilate farther upon the manner of their 
 
216 TALES AND LEGENDS OF THE 
 
 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 story, 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 main- 
 tain against all comers. 
 
 LEGEND OF KIRKBY LONSDALE BRIDGE. 
 
 Near 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 overshadowed by the 
 trees that grow upon its banks. Its current is rough- 
 ened by the rocks which 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 Avhich 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 
 
ENGLISH LAKES AND MOUNTAINS. 217 
 
 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 structm'e, but so nar- 
 row as almost to deserve the taunt cast upon the " auld 
 brig of Ayr :" — 
 
 " Where twa wheel-barrows trembled when they met:" 
 
 at least no two carriages of a larger size can pass each 
 other ; but, for the security of 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 unmentionahle 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," notwithstanding the improbability of his employ- 
 ing "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 neigh- 
 bouring 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. 
 
218 TALES AND LEGENDS OF THE 
 
 Then hear what old tradition says : — 
 Close by the Lune in former days 
 Lived an old maid, queer all her ways, 
 
 In Yorkshire bred ; 
 Thouo-h now forgot what she was named, 
 For cheating she was always famed, 
 
 'Tis truly said. 
 
 She had a cow, a pony too ; — 
 When o'er the huue, 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 whinn3\ 
 
 . Alack, alack a day ! she cries, 
 As overflowed her streaming eyes, 
 When.lo ! Avith her to sympathize, 
 
 Old Nick appears ; 
 ' Pray, now, good woman, don't despair, 
 But lay aside all anxious care. 
 And wipe your tears. 
 
 ' To raise a bridge 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 Avas a bargain, she consented. 
 For she was Yorkshire ; 
 
ENGLISH LAKES AND MOUNTAINS. 
 
 Now Lome she goes in mighty glee, 
 Old Satan, too, Avell pleased he, 
 Went to his work. Sir. 
 
 When Ilus' son surrounded Troy 
 With w^alls that nothing might destroy. 
 Two gods some time he did employ, 
 
 But never paid 'em ; 
 Here Satan, certain of his prize, 
 With huilding made a desp'rate noise. 
 
 So fast he laid on. 
 
 In short, the morning streaks appear, 
 The hridge is built, and Satan there, 
 When this old lady now drew neai', 
 
 Her lap-dog with her ; 
 * Behold the bridge,' tbe 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 dog. 
 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 Avith shame, 
 Squinted and grinued, tlien in a flame 
 
 He vanished quite." 
 
 !19 
 
220 TALES AND LEGENDS OF THE 
 
 THE SPECTEE AEMY OF SOUTRA FELL. 
 
 SouTEU Fell, or Soutra Fell, as it is sometimes called, 
 is a considerable momitain situated to the eastward of 
 Skiddaw and Blencatliara. The west and north sides 
 are barricaded with steep rocks, apparently 900 yards 
 in height, and everywhere difficiilt of access. 
 
 A very remarkable phenomenon has exhibited itself 
 on this mountain, which, though difficult to account for 
 satisfactorily, is too well authenticated by numerous 
 spectators to be discredited. We allude to the appear- 
 ance of troops of visionary horsemen, crossing the moun- 
 tains, 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 otir senses plain), 
 Sees on the naked hill or valley low, 
 The whilst in ocean Pliojbus dips his wain, 
 A vast assembly moving to and fro ; 
 Then all at once in air disolvcs the wondrous show." 
 
 Thomson. 
 
 The following account of this singular appearance, 
 which is scarcely paralleled in history, is contained in 
 
ENGLISH LAKES AND MOUNTAINS. 221 
 
 Hutchinson'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 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 for 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 appear- 
 ance, 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 following their 
 horses at a distance, as if they had been hunting; and 
 taking them for such, paid no regard to it, till about ten 
 minutes after, again turning his head 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 they quitted 
 their lines, and the figure that did so was generally one 
 
222 TALES AND LEGENDS OF THE 
 
 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 march- 
 ing off, as long as there was light to see them." 
 
 This phenomenon was no more observed till the 
 remarkably 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 report, were determined to call a greater num- 
 ber of witnesses of this strange phenomenon; and having 
 first observed it rigidly, and Avitli great caution them- 
 selves, and being fully assured they were not deceived 
 as to the actual appearances, they convened about 
 twenty-six persons from different places in the neighbour- 
 hood to bear testimony to the existence 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 interspersed. The numbers 
 of the troops were incredible, for they filled lengthways 
 nearly half a mile, and continued so in a brisk march 
 for above an hour, and would probably have done so 
 much longer had not the dai'kness of approaching night 
 interA^ened. 
 
 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 way. 
 
 Till the last banner of the long array 
 
ENGLISH LAKES AND MOUNTAINS. 223 
 
 Had disappeared, and every trace is fled 
 Of splendour — save the beacon's spiry head, 
 Tipt with eve's latest gleam of burning red." 
 
 Wordsworth. 
 
 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 any 
 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 Avere 
 the spectators 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 
 that neighbourhood up to this time.* 
 
 Though this part of the country, like every other 
 where cultivation has been lately introduced, abounds in 
 all the aniles fabellce of fairies, ghosts, and apparitions, 
 these are never eyenfaUed to liave 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 cell alike the same changes, 
 
 * From Hutcliinson's Risiort/ of Cumberland, and Eev. C. 
 C. Clarke's One Hundred JFonders of the World. 
 
224 TALES AND LEGENDS OF THE 
 
 and at the same time, as tliey 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 ap- 
 pearance must have lasted at least two hours and a half, 
 viz., from half-past seven, till the night coming on pre- 
 vented the further vieAv ; nor yet was the distance such 
 as could impose rude resemblances on the eyes of cre- 
 dulity. 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 
 difiicult 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. 
 
 As instances have frequently occurred in which the 
 forms and action of human beings have been pictured in 
 the clouds, or on vapour, it seems highly probable, on 
 a consideration of all the circumstances of the case, that 
 certain thin vapours must have hovered round the moun- 
 tain when these appearances 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 com- 
 bination then taking place in the atmosphere. 
 
 It has been remarked that these appearances were 
 
ENGLISH LAKES AND MOUNTAINS. 225 
 
 observed most particularly on the eve of the last Scotch 
 Rehellion, 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 transparent vapour similar to the Fata 
 Morgana."* ^ 
 
 Instances are recorded of the phenomena of spectral 
 armies having been occasionally witnessed in other loca- 
 lities. It has been stated that a troop of phantom horse- 
 men was seen coursing over the heights of Helvellyn the 
 day before the battle of Marston Moor.f Hutchinson, 
 hi 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 Leicestershire an appearance of an army 
 marching along, till going behind a great hill it disap- 
 peared. The forms of pikes and carbines were distin- 
 guishable ; tlie march was not entirely in one direction, 
 but Avas at the first like the junction of two armies, and 
 the meeting of generals. | There is also a well-authen- 
 ticated statement of a similar phenomenon, witnessed 
 not long ago, on the Mendip Hills, in Somersetshire;^ 
 and Speed tells us of something of a like nature as pre- 
 ceding a dreadful intestine war.ii Something of this 
 
 * Lonsdale Magazine, vol. ii. p. 313. 
 
 t Coniston Hall, by Hev. W. Gresley, M.A., p. 135. 
 
 X Hutchinson's History of Cumberland, p. 420, vol. i. 
 
 \ Westmoreland and Cumberland Illustrated, p. 217. 
 
 II Lonsdale Magazine, vol. ii. p. 125. 
 
226 TALES AND LEGENDS OF THE 
 
 kind may liave 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 illusti;ated in the following poem, written iu 
 conformity 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 sup- 
 posing, as this happened immediately before that rebellion 
 which was intended to subvert the liberty, the law, and 
 the religion of England, that though immediate prophe- 
 cies may have ceased, these visionary beings might be 
 directed to warn mankind of approaching tumults, 
 
 " Look how the worhFs poor people are amazed 
 
 At apparitions, signs, and prodigies. 
 Whereon with fearful eyes they long have gazed. 
 
 Infusing them with dreadful prophecies." 
 
 Sitakspeare's Ve7ius 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 obscm'e. 
 But fate has wrought the vision sui-e ; 
 Too soon explained, it bodes no good, 
 But desolation marks, and blood. 
 I saw at once in full career 
 Equestrian troops dire-armed appear, 
 Descending swift the mountain's steep 
 No earthly steed could footstep keep ; 
 
ENGLISH LAKES AND MOUNTAINS. 227 
 
 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 Avhen burst their dreadful gL/am 
 
 Faint my sunk soul emits a scream ; 
 
 And Walter Selby thus began — 
 
 (Walter still less, or more than man) 
 
 Shouting till every eclio round 
 
 The mountain nymjjhs appalled resound : 
 
 " Saw ever man such gallant sight ? 
 
 A thousand steeds on Soutra's height, 
 
 Its fierce 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 galloj) 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 ? 
 
 0, 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 syljjhy held the chace. 
 
 Alarm in every village dwells, 
 
 For we all know what this foretells — 
 
 A battle lost,' a ruined cause. 
 
 I heard my father say there was 
 
228 TALES AXD LEGENDS OF THE 
 
 Then seen on dread Ilelvellyn'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 now unfurls. 
 
 Menace the coronets of earls ; 
 
 The wode weird sisters waft each count. 
 
 And thanes ride wild at their surmount. 
 
 *' Now Heav'n'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, niisery — 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 1 believe. 
 As such I greet them and 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 
 
ENGLISH LAKES AND MOUNTAINS. 229 
 
 Resounds the bugle far and wide. 
 
 The spectred steedmen tlien 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 nmsician 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 forms as such they meant, 
 
 I then imagined that I knew 
 
 Of many men in dreadful hue — 
 
 Death's pale discolour — doomed the ghost to yield, 
 
 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, Drummonds, and Gordons famed, 
 
 Scots, Ogilvies, Camerons, Foresters, high named I 
 
 One youth there was — for now the battle raged, 
 A band more powerful, vengeance nigh presaged, 
 A fierce assault proclaims the adverse power — 
 One youth there was, amidst destruction's lour, 
 
230 TALES AXD LEGENDS OF THE 
 
 Turned still tlie 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 helm, and bm'st 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 tlien sounds the melody of woe. 
 
 Some few sad notes that reach the issue's flow. 
 
 E'er the seer's hand had checked his purpose bold ; 
 
 Such notes the furies whilsom did imfold, 
 
 When Plato gave to Proserpine his hand. 
 
 And Love stood awed, nor dared his force withstand 
 
 The tyrant's force — we Avait 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 ; 
 Li prose 'tis written, and in verse 'tis strung. 
 And SOUP'S funereal the dire diro-e have suno-. 
 The ruined castle, and the prostrate hall. 
 The exile's wand'ring, and the hero's fall; 
 Sons unattainted, sires suspicion haunts. 
 And childless sires their offspring's exit taunts ; 
 Where much 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. 
 
ENGLISH LAKES AND MOUNTAINS. 231 
 
 8ucli 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 vengeance filled their bosoms fraught with ire. 
 
 As if they sought a resj^ite 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 ; 
 
 'Twas thus each fought with still undaunted heart. 
 
 And each 'twas tliought 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 yet found the worst. 
 
 Then check this brutal rage, while yet there's power. 
 
 While yet the monster's something to devour ; 
 
 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 
 
232 TALES AND LEGENDS OF THE 
 
 year 1743, the servant of Mr. Wren, of AVilton Hali, 
 was sitting at the door with his master, when they hotlt 
 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 hisfooting upon it. These vision- 
 ary 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 moun- 
 tain, 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 some time concealed ; at length, however, they ven- 
 tured to relate it, and were (as might be expected) 
 heartily laughed at. 
 
 Nearly allied to this is another atmospheric pheno- 
 menon, occasionally seen among the mountains, though 
 of rare occurrence. It consists of an aerial figure, 
 depicted on a dense or misty atmosphere, not nnfre- 
 quently assuming a grotesque or highly magnified appear- 
 ance. The same phenomenon has been observed amongst 
 the Scotch mountains. Mr. Smith, M.P. for Norwich, 
 witnessed it in ascending 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 the World. 
 
 ■}■ Wiikiusou's Tours to the British Mountains, pp. til, (io. 
 
ENGLISH LAKES AND MOUNTAINS. 233 
 
 being no other tlian the image of a reality favourably 
 posited with relation to the refracting medium and the 
 observer's eye. This man-in-tJie-mist was doubtless the 
 shadow of the real man, created by kis 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 moun- 
 tains of Hanover, may be accounted for in the same 
 manner. The following is an interestino- account of this 
 phenomenon by M. 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 past without any obstruction over the 
 Heinrichshohe mountain. In the south-west, however, 
 towards the mountain Achtermannsholie, 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 mon- 
 strous size! A violent gust of wind having almost car- 
 ried 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 imme- 
 
234 TALES AND LEGENDS OF THE 
 
 diately made another movement, by bending mj body, 
 and tlie colossal figure before me repeated it. 1 Avas 
 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 Achter- 
 mannshohe. I then called the landlord of the neigh- 
 bouring imi, and having both taken the position which 
 I had taken alone, we looked towards the Achtermanns- 
 hohe, but did not perceive anything. We had not, 
 however, stood long, when two such colossal figures 
 Avere formed over the above eminence, which repeated 
 their compliments, by bending 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 Aveak and faint, sometimes strong and 
 Avell defined."* 
 
 * Clarke's Wonders of the World, pp. i3i, 435. 
 
EXGLISH LAKES AND MOUxNTAlNS. ^ 235 
 
 RUSTIC POETS OF THE LAKE DISTPJCT. 
 
 Among the various traits of local cliaracter in the 
 English Lake district, there is not, perhaps, one more 
 amusing than that propensity to rhyming which a 
 numher of individuals has exhibited, in all the rustic 
 grace of native ignorance. A few instances of this 
 nature can only be admitted within the limited compass 
 of these pages ; but they will not be without their in- 
 terest to those who feel a pleasure in tracing the unassisted 
 efforts of natural genius. 
 
 John Oldland was an inhabitant of Crosthwaite, exist- 
 ing about the beginning of the last century. Ilis pro- 
 pensity to rhyming was such, that many of his rhyiiies, 
 as they are ^provincially called, are still repeated by the 
 older inhabitants of the neighbourhood. A few, and 
 but a few of these rhymes, we shall here insert. 
 " When he attended Ulverston 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 : — 
 
236 TALES AND LEGENDS OF THE 
 
 "This clog he runs wi' his tail to the south, 
 But co' on the landlord, an' he'll gV mouth," 
 
 Once when his landlady, at the Dog, had urged him 
 to clear off a long score, which he had run ixp at the 
 house, he gave her the following promissory note, whieli 
 was accepted : — 
 
 " I, John Oldland, 
 
 Befoar I gang hence. 
 Owe Betty Woodburn 
 
 Just six and two j^ence. 
 An', Thursday come sennet. 
 
 Til pay off the auld scoar. 
 An' wha knas hut I may 
 
 Spend twice as micli moar. 
 
 The smartest of John's rhymes was made on the 
 occasion of liis being put to trouble (as it is properly 
 termed in the provincial dialect) by a lawyer, for some 
 debt which he had incurred at Ulverston ; a proof that 
 not only poets, but all who meddle with rhyme, are poor. 
 John repeated with emphasis — 
 
 "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 atU'ston and Daltau i' Forness. 
 
 We shall only have room to notice another of these 
 " rustic bards." He too was a CrosthAvaite man, but of 
 a more recent date. We do not intend to insinuate that 
 there is any predisposing cause about Crostliwaite, that 
 
ENGLISH LAKES AND MOUNTAINS. '237 
 
 inclines the inhabitants to rhyme, but it happens that 
 we remember these two at the present moment ; by an 
 association of ideas, the one has probably conjured up 
 the other. 
 
 Jamie Muekelt 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 faraier ; 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 froicl for which he was so remarkable, only 
 replied, 
 
 " Caerlessly, thou may depend — 
 Pooin' away at t' belter end." 
 
 A common footpath led through a field in which Jamie 
 had a crop of pease one year. These held out a tempta- 
 tion, Jamie considered, to passengers to be taking tithe 
 in kind. To prevent these depredations he fixed up a 
 board, on whicli 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." 
 
 Muekelt happened once to be at the Punch Bowl in 
 Crosthwaite, in company with Dr. Bell. Jamie's rhym- 
 ing abilities were pretty well known, and perhaps some- 
 times a httle envied. Be that as it may, the Doctor 
 challenged Jamie to rhyme him for a wager. Jamie, 
 
 l2 
 
238 TALES AND LEGENDS OF THE 
 
 without a moment's study, produced the following 
 stanza : — 
 
 " At your request, 
 
 I'll du me best; 
 ' But ya' thing I implore — 
 If Doctor Bell 
 Can du as well, 
 To trouble me no more." 
 
 The Doctor acknowledged himself outdone, and paid 
 his forfeit. 
 
 On 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 : — 
 
 " Thear is some men, for want o' sense, 
 AVill run ther sels to vast expense ; 
 An' I mesel, for want o' greaee, 
 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." 
 
 ]\Iany other instances of this rhyming propensity, 
 through all the country, might be produced, would oui- 
 limits permit. 
 
ENGLISH LAKES AND MOUNTAINS. 239 
 
 HAET'S-HORN TEEE, NEAE PENEITH. 
 
 Four miles from Penrith, near tlie road to Applebj, and 
 in tlio district whicli, to tliis day, bears the name of 
 Whinfell Forest, there formerly stood a flue oak, whicli 
 bore the name of HarC 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 stayed 
 some time with that Lord, at his castles of Appleby, 
 Brouojiam, 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-ffrease kill'd Hercules." 
 
 * Dr. Percy, iu a note to the poem, a stanza of whicli is 
 given below, explains "heart o' grease,'' or '■ greece," to mean 
 a fat animal, from the Preuch word graisse. 
 
 " Then went they down into a laund, 
 These noble nrchers three ; . 
 Eche of them slew a hart ofgreece, 
 The best that they could see." 
 
 Song of Adam Dell. 
 
240 TALES AND LEGENDS OF THE 
 
 In course of time, it is stated, tlie horns became grafted, 
 as it were, upon tlie tree, by reason of its bark growing 
 over their root, and there they remained more than three 
 centuries, till, in the year 1648, one of the branches was 
 broken off by some of the army ; and ten years after- 
 wards, 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 
 tlie 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. Ingle- 
 wood forest, &c., has no trace of what it has been but 
 the name, there stood, a few years ago, three enormous 
 oak-trees, known by the name of the " Three Brothers." 
 One of them measured thirteen yards in girth. 
 
 THE QUAKERESS BRIDE. 
 
 A TALE OF THE MOUNTAINS. 
 
 The 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 medi- 
 
ENGLISH LAKES AND MOUNTAINS. 241 
 
 tation. At an early age, by the deatli 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 office, and had since enabled him 
 to become the principal of a mercantile establishment. 
 He had now been for two years the master of a lucrative 
 and increasing business, and being naturally of a social 
 disposition, he began to court the company of those of 
 bis own i-ank. In this way he had spent the evenino-, 
 and, having accompanied some of his fair companions to 
 their homes, he was returning to his own lodgino-s in a 
 distant part of the metropoHs. The warm and genial 
 influence of society had called into action the softer 
 emotions of his lieart, 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 thouo-hts 
 to that far-distant period, when, in the twilio-ht 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 aniontr 
 the pleasant hills and valleys of Westmorland, and now 
 he was confined amid the din and bustle of the city. He 
 remembered one fair girl, who was more than his play- 
 mate, 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 
 
242 TALES AND LEGENDS OF THE 
 
 her lie uow knew notlihig — she too, probabl}'', was with 
 the (lead. 
 
 Then he thought of his school-days, with their mis- 
 chievous 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 bache- 
 lors, whilst others enjoyed the delights of domestic 
 felicity in the bosoms of their families. This last sub- 
 ject was one on which he had often deeply pondered. 
 Arrived at that time of life, when the enthusiasm of youth 
 has subsided, before the indifference of age has com- 
 menced, 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 parti- 
 cipation, to render the latter less irksome, instead of being 
 compelled to feel the whole weight of its gloom on his 
 ow^n mind, and to brood over his misfortunes in cheerless 
 solitude. His observation had convinced him that mar- 
 riage aloue would give full zest to joy, and soften the 
 stings of sorrow; and now, his heart, softened by the 
 
ENGLISH LAKES AND MOUNTAINS. 243 
 
 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 tliis time he had reached his own door. He had 
 passed through one moon-lit street after another, occupied 
 with his own reflections, imheeding 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 lieavy 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 mid- 
 night, tolled from the neighbouring belfry, had been suc- 
 ceeded by "thewee 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 abstrac- 
 tion, relieved only by a conviction that it was his duty to 
 exert himself more than ever. lie 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 approacli 
 of evening allowed him to escape, and to accept the 
 invitation of his fi-iend, Charles Manson, to walk with 
 him in the Eegent's Park. 
 
 Charles, who was some years his junior, and was 
 
2-14 TALES AND LEGENDS OF THE 
 
 studying for tlie medical profession, was a youth of san- 
 guine temperament — one of those who love to view things 
 on their bright side ; who sincerely enjo}'- 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 hira, and animated his converse. Scarcely an 
 equipage rolled by, or a horseman passed them, without 
 furnishing him Avith occasion for an approving or satirical 
 remark. Edward, however, seemed not to heed his ob- 
 servations, or, if he noticed them at all, it was by a cold 
 nod, or a single syllable of assent. 
 
 He passed in silence the various natural and archi- 
 tectural beauties of the place, on which he was accus- 
 tomed to dilate. The fine Doric portico, and massive 
 grandeur of the Colosseum, the splendid facade of Cum- 
 berland Place, the innumerable curiosities of the Zoolo- 
 gical Gardens, and the rural loveliness of the wooded 
 lake, were alike unheeded. 
 
 At length Charles stopped, and, looking his companion 
 attentively in the face, said to him, •' Edward, thou art 
 in love." 
 
 *'In love," he replied, with a feeble laugh, "not I 
 indeed, what can have given thee such an idea ?" 
 
 " Thy remarkably grave deportment, moping abstrac- 
 tion, 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 car- 
 riages, and some of our greatest public characters, to 
 
ENGLISH LAKES AND MOUNTAINS, 245 
 
 pass tliee unobserved, coldly assenting to my words, or 
 ' nodding thy head like a mandarin in a tea-shop' — I am 
 persuaded that thou art in love." 
 
 " Well, Charles, I own that ; though not yet in love, 
 I trust I soon shall he, and that my love will be consum- 
 mated by lasting union. I have long compared the 
 deligiits of marriage with the discomforts of the bache- 
 lor, and last night, bringing my notions to a point, I came 
 to the resolution to marry." 
 
 "Make no such rash resolve," said Cliarles, "but 
 consider the inconveniences as well as the comforts of 
 mati'imony. For my own part, having given myself up 
 to the pursuit of study, I am satisfied that a wife would 
 retard my progress. It would be impossible for me to 
 pay that undivided attention to my profession, which my 
 dntj, not more than my inclination demands. Few 
 eminent men have been married. The rule which pre- 
 vents Roman Catholic clergymen from being so, was 
 doubtless the result of great experience and deep con- 
 viction, 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 
 knowledge, 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 aifect 
 me, and, in fact, I should rather seek a wife to incite me 
 to great exertion, than merely continue in the spiritless 
 pursuit of wealth or knowledge." 
 
24G TALES AND LEGENDS OF THE 
 
 " And what," asked Charles, "are the requisite quali- 
 ties of such a wife?" 
 
 "She must," said Edward, "be a woman whose 
 virtues are the fruit of religious conviction ; she must 
 he modest without aifectation, and cheerful without bold- 
 ness ; 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 unob- 
 served 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 i-egardless of cultivating and improv- 
 ing them; enjoying 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 irregu- 
 larity in the fold of her kerchief, or some unevenuesa 
 in her sleeves, or trying some new posture to show her 
 form to advantage : and she who was filled vrith 
 
ENGLISH LAKES AND MOUNTAINS. 247 
 
 self-love would care little for the happiness of her 
 husband. 
 
 Mary ran into the opposite extreme. He admired 
 simplicity, hut he disliked negligence. Some part of her 
 dress was often ia disorder ; a string was wanting in her 
 cap, or a lock of hair hung loosely over her forehead ; 
 and neatness was an indispensable requisite for tlie 
 partner of his life. 
 
 Jane "was "a chatter-box;" gay and volatile, her 
 tongue ran on in ceaseless prattle, without giving utter- 
 ance to one idea, the result either of observation or 
 reflection. Her words sou.nded prettily enough to the 
 ear, but they left no impression on the mind ; and thought 
 and foresight ought to belong to every one who might 
 become the head of a family. 
 
 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 gene- 
 rous impulse, her hand was seldom stretched out in active 
 benevolence, and her mind Avas ignorant of the practical 
 operation of religion and piety. lie 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 con- 
 duct 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 
 
248 TALES AND LEGENDS OF THE 
 
 followed, even by those avIio never wish to be lovers. 
 Throw off this fastidiousness ; or, depend ujjon 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 stronger in the mind of Edward. He sought 
 society more eagerly than ever; but though, he felt a 
 transient gratification 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 wliich 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 sus- 
 ceptibilities ; yet when he thought of his early affections 
 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 left London for their seats in the country, 
 
ENGLISH LAKES AND MOUNTAINS. 249 
 
 nud Edward, tired of its suffocating beat, its forsaken 
 squares, and desolate streets, resolved also to leave it, 
 and revisit, for the first time since liis boyhood, the 
 beautiful scenery of his native Westmorl ind. 
 
 He took the coach to Kendal, and there left it; } referring 
 to proceed on foot, as allowing him greater liberty iu 
 choosing 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 the country, climbing its hills, while the 
 exercise and the bracing air improved his health ; row- 
 ing on its lakes, and treading its flowery meads, which 
 spoke of peace and comfort 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 tlie 
 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 Avalks. How 
 often had his mother sat there, occupied in tlie 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-suspi- 
 cious of some sinister intention. Amid all his distress, he 
 
250 TALES AND LEGENDS OF THE 
 
 liad 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 hun, he 
 remembered them as a gleam of sunsliine 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 Avas alone in tlie 
 woiid, 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 overcharged picture of the 
 past, and that doubt and uncertainty appertained 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 liis journey; and on the morrow, after a 
 long ramble across the hills, reached a small and secluded 
 village, where he thought to remain for a day or two. 
 Af,ter 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 with large stones, whose gray and 
 wrinkled fronts looked out fi'oni 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 
 
ENGLISH LAKES AND MOUNTAINS. 251 
 
 lake beyond tliem. A small avenue opening it to tlie 
 viiiw, and offering a smooth bank for his seat, he lay 
 down to repose. The green bouglis overhead shaded him 
 from the rays of the sun ; before him, in the distance, 
 were some of AYestraorland's . loftiest hills, standing 
 boldly out in the clear blue sky, heathery-clad at their 
 tops, but, at their base, yellow 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 villao-e church, or the bold front of some mao'nifieent 
 mansion ; while, immediately before him, the lake spread 
 its expanse of beauty, its waters calm as a mirror, or 
 cm-led 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 jjrofessed 
 sailor, and in the pause between the grating of the oars 
 on its side, and their splashing in the water, the sound 
 of a soft voice came in song from a lady sitting at the 
 stein. This " touched the string on which hung all his 
 sorrows." " 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 and weary life, a solitary, 
 friendless creature? I have formed my notions of excel- 
 lence at an elevation to which human nature does not 
 attain ; I will banish these vain ideas ; lower my scale 
 of excellence, as to the external and less important parts 
 of personal character, and return into the world, deter- 
 mined to be pleased, to imitate the example of my fellow- 
 men, and, like them, to be happy," He was roused by 
 a voice near him, and, on turning, he perceived a mendi- 
 cant asking alms of a young plainly-dressed lady. He 
 
252 TALES AND LEGENDS OF THE 
 
 arose from his recumbent posture, and, for the first time, 
 attracted her attention. She gave hut one inquiring 
 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 mag- 
 netism, existing in every bosom, by which we are instantly 
 and unaccountably attracted to one whom we have never 
 seen before, but wliom we feel an irresistible desire often 
 to meet — a feeling which time or distance may perhaps 
 diminish, bnt which nothing but death can extinguish — 
 Edw^ard 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-yard, surrounded by a 
 low wall and an humble wicket, on which the peasant 
 might lean and moralize ; for the dread of desecration 
 which encircles the burial places hi cities with palisadoes 
 and chevaux-de-frisehad not reached the inhabitants of that 
 peaceful land. Its interior corresponded with the neat- 
 ness and simplicity of its outward appearance. 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- 
 
ENGLISH LAKES AND MOUNTAINS. 253 
 
 fashioned drab coat, and tliree-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 adjoin- 
 ing form. The seat parallel to that on which Edward 
 sat, contained some young women, whose features he 
 could not discex'n ; 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 effect 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 
 strono-er 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 themselves 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, 
 defended by a green paling, was filled with pinks, roses, 
 campanulas, 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 
 
254 
 
 TALES AND LEGENDS OF THE 
 
 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 Edward, said, " but as I don't knaw 
 tha name, I can only haif 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 Rock- 
 gill, 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 EHza and 
 thou used to wander about together from morning till 
 night." 
 
 "What's gettenthem?" 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 man, "ye ran oif to-day, and 
 did'nt come an' help me hame as ye used to do!" 
 
ENGLISH LAKES AND MOUNTAINS. 255 
 
 "0! grandfatlier, " said Eliza, "we saw thou wast 
 too well assisted to need our aid." 
 
 " A J, and wha 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 cheerfulness 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 tliis 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 he conversed with her, 
 and found that her lans-uao^e 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, Avhen they walked 
 
256 TALES AND LEGENDS OP THE 
 
 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, on whom he had ever looked with a higher 
 feeling than that of esteem : he 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 close 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 
 joys of former days, of the many little incidents which 
 formed the chain of remembrance of their past pleasure, 
 of the mutual thoughts of each other which had lingered 
 in their bosoms ; and before the expiration of Edward's 
 sojourn the foundation was laid of a connection 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 Avith redoubled assiduity. But still his heart 
 Avas 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 Avith his 
 OAvn. She accepted the o^er of his hand ; the consent 
 of her parents was asked and received, the requisite for- 
 malities gone through, and the necessary arrangements 
 completed, when he asked his friend Charles to accompany 
 him to his marriage. After some demur, on account 
 
ENGLISH LAKES AND MOUNTAINS. 257 
 
 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 
 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 peace- 
 ful home, tender parents, and affectionate friends ; but 
 to-morrow she would be a bride : she would gain one 
 who was more to her thtin 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 turnino- her thouo-hts to Him who made, 
 and had preserved her, she uttered a sincere and fervent 
 prayer for his continued 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 such 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 "affec- 
 
258 TALES AND LEGENDS OF THE 
 
 tion until death" sound less solemnly and impressively on 
 the ears of the hushed assembly. 
 
 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 tlie 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. 
 
 'Twas there, all unveil'd, save by modesty, stood 
 The Quakeress Bride, in her pure satin hood, 
 Her charms unadorn'd by the garland or gem. 
 Yet fair as the lily just pluck'd 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 murmiu'ed accents recorded in heaven. 
 
 I've been at the bridal where wealth spread the board, 
 Where the sparkling red Avine in rich goblets was pour'd; 
 Where the priest in his surplice from ritual read, 
 And the solemn response was impressivel}'- said. 
 
 I've seen the fond sire, in his thin locks of gray, 
 Ciive the pride of his heart to the bridegroom away ; 
 Whilehe brush 'd the big tearfrom his deep-furrow'd cheek, 
 And bow'd the assent which his lips might not speak. 
 
ENGLISH LAKES AND MOUNTAINS, 
 
 250 
 
 But in all the array of the costlier scene. 
 
 Nought seem'd to 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 many a heartfelt joy, and many a 
 dear and tender feeling, which, in his days of speculative 
 bachelorhood, he Avas not able to anticipate. No longer 
 a dweller among strangers, living in the cold and cheer- 
 less atmosphere of a hired lodging, and meeting only 
 from the other inmates of the house with that common- 
 place regard Avhich 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 affec- 
 tion of his loved and lovely wife. He no longer sought 
 the company of others as a relief from his cares ; he found 
 an enchainino' attraction to his own fireside. No lono-er 
 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 supporting those who are 
 dependent upon him, and of relieving the distresses of 
 his fellow-creatures. In difficulty, his wife was a con- 
 stant, 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 endowments 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 feel- 
 
260 TALES AND LEGENDS OF THE 
 
 ing of his heart, wliile her piety assisted him in endea- 
 vouriag 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 Manson, that, having 
 become a convert to his opinions, and being convinced 
 that domestic life is the surest source of present happi- 
 ness, and a genial nursery of those qualities which fit us 
 for future felicity, had taken more than one trip among 
 the green hills of Y\^estraorland, in quest of a companion 
 for life. 
 
 My tale is simple, l)ut so are truth, and virtue, and 
 happiness ; and to enforce this moral is the purpose of 
 my fitorj. I might have filled my canvass with the bril- 
 liant 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. If in this humble colouring I have so 
 traced the picture of Edward and Eliza, as to show that 
 marriage is one of the first of blessings, and that its 
 joys, though removed fram 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. 
 
ENGLISH LAKES AND MOUNTAINS. 2G1 
 
 "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-horn, 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; 
 
 WITH AN ACCOUNT OF THE TRIAL AND EXECUTION OF 
 HATFIELD THE IMPOSTOR, WHO MARRIED HER. 
 
 John Hatfield, who acquired the appellation of the 
 Keswick Impostor, and whose extraordinary villany 
 excited universal hatred, was horn in 1759, at Mortram, 
 in Cheshire, of low parentage, but possessing great 
 natural abilities. His face was handsome, his person 
 genteel, his eyes blue, and his complexion fair. 
 
 After some domestic depredations — for in his early 
 m2 
 
262 TALES AND LEGENDS OF THE 
 
 days, he betrayed an iniquitous disposition — lie 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 hoiise in the neigh- 
 bourhood 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 ex- 
 plained 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 lier 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 ; he 
 immediately paid his respects at the farmer's, and having 
 represented himself as a young man of considerable 
 expectations in the wholesale linen business, his visits 
 were not discountenanced. The farmer, however, thought 
 it incumbent on him to acquaint his lordship with a 
 proposal made to him by Hatfield, that he would marry 
 the young woman, if her I'elations were satisfied with 
 their union, but on no other terms. This had so mucii 
 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 
 
ENGLISH LAKES AND MOUNTAINS. 263 
 
 himself, gave his consent at the first interview ; and, the 
 day after the marriage took place, presented the hride- 
 groom with a draft on his banker for £1500. This 
 took place about 1771 or 1772. 
 
 Shortly after the receipt of his lordship's bounty, 
 Hatfield set oft' for London ; hired a small phaeton ; was 
 perpetually at the coffee-houses in Covent Garden ; 
 described himself to Avhatever 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 £1G0. 
 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 unac- 
 countable disposition, that notwithstanding he knew 
 there were people present who were thoroughly ac- 
 quainted with his character, still he would continue to 
 describe his Yorkshire park, his estate in Rutlandshire, 
 settled upon 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, 
 
2Q4: TALES AND LEGENDS OF THE 
 
 at the very moment when he had thu-ty men employed 
 in cutting a piece of water near the family mansion in 
 Yorkshire. 
 
 At the time Hatfield hecame a prisoner in the King's 
 Bench, the unfortunate Valentine Morris, formerly 
 governor of St. Vincents, was confined in the same 
 place. This gentleman was frequently visited hy a 
 clergyman of the most henevolent and humane disposi- 
 tion. Hatfield soon directed his attention to this good 
 man, and one day earnestly invited to attend him to his 
 chamher ; after some preliminary apologies, he implored 
 the worthy pastor never to disclose what he was going 
 to communicate. The divine assured him the whole 
 should remain in his bosom. " Then," said Hatfield, 
 " you 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, 
 &€., <fcc.;) yet notwithstanding all this wealth, continued 
 he, I am detained in this wretched place for the insigni- 
 ficant 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 frankly describe how matters are, he will 
 at once send me the money by you ; and this mighty 
 business Avill 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. 
 
ENGLISH LAKES AND MOUNTALVS. 265 
 
 His Grace of Rutland, not recollecting at the moment 
 such a name as Hatfield, expressed his astonishment at 
 the application. This reduced, the worthy divine to a 
 very awkward situation, and he faltered in his speech, 
 when he hegan making an apology ; which the Duke 
 perceiving, he very kindly ohserved, that he believed 
 the whole was some idle tale of an impostor, for that he 
 never knew any person of the name mentioned, althougli 
 he had some faint recollection of hearing Lord Robert 
 Manners, his relation, say that he had married a natural 
 daughter of his to a tradesman 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 efi"ect 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 witli 
 £200, and had him released. 
 
 Li 1 784, 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, Avhich he ordered, before leaving 
 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 
 
266 TALES AND LEGENDS OF THE 
 
 consequence in his house, and matters were arranged 
 accordingly. This being adjusted, Hatfield soon found 
 his way to Lucas's cofi"ee-house, a place which people of 
 a certain rank generally frequent ; and, it heing a new 
 scene, the Yorkshire park, the Rutlandshire estate, and 
 the connection with the Rutland family, stood their 
 ground very well for ahout a month. 
 
 At the expiration of this time, the bill 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, &c., re- 
 quested 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, Avho 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 tlien 
 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 Londou 
 was that of a romantic simpleton, whose plausibilities 
 had imposed on several people, and plunged himself into 
 repeated difficulties. 
 
 The landlord retired, highly thankful for the informa- 
 tion, and immediately arrested his guest, who was 
 
ENGLISH LAKES AND MOUNTAINS. 267 
 
 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 Viceroy. 
 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. 
 
 During 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 
 neighbourhood, 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, Avhen a Miss Nation, 
 of Devonshire, to whom he had become known, paid his 
 debts, took him from prison, and gave him her hand in 
 marriage. 
 
 Soon after he was liberated, he had the good fortune 
 to prevail with some highly respectable merchants in 
 Devonshire to take him into partnership with them; 
 
268 TALES AND LEGENDS OF THE 
 
 and, with a clergyman, 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 borough of Queen- 
 borough. 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, ]\I.P., for Linlithgow. From Keswick, 
 as his head-quarters, he made excursions in every direc- 
 tion amongst the neighbouring valleys ; meeting, gene- 
 rally, a good deal of respect and attention, partly on 
 account of his handsome equipage, and still more from 
 his visiting cards, which designated lum as "the 
 Honourable Alexander Augustus Hope." Some persons 
 had discernment enough to doubt of this ; for his breed- 
 ing and deportment, tliough showy, had a tino-e 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 hehimself continually/ra;i/,;erf letters bv 
 that name. That being a capital offence, not only a forgery, 
 but (as a forgery on the post-office) sure to be prose- 
 cuted, nobody presumed to question his pretensions anv 
 longer; and, henceforward, he went to all places with 
 the consideration attached to an earl's brother. All 
 
ENGLISH LAKES AND MOUNTAINS. 269 
 
 doors flew open at his approach ; boats, boatman, nets, 
 and the most unhmited sportmg 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 Scotsman. 
 
 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 moun- 
 tains, exhibits on either side few traces of human neigh- 
 bourhood ; 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 gloomj'' impres- 
 sions. At the foot of this lake (that is, at the end where 
 its Avaters 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 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 
 offered the accommodations of an inn to traveller and 
 his horse. Rare, however, must have been the mounted 
 traveller in those days, 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, iu 
 
270 TALES AND LEGENDS OF THE 
 
 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 
 Mary, 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 .1 Fortnight's Ramble to the Lakes in Westmorland, 
 LancasJdre, 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, Butter- 
 mere, (fee. 
 
 Hatfield now became acquainted with an Irish gentle- 
 man, an M.P., who had been resident with his family 
 some months at Keswick. With tins 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 tbe 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 acquaintance daily o-ained 
 strength ; and he shortly paid his addresses to the 
 daughter of the above gentleman, and obtained her 
 consent. The wedding clothes were bought ; but pre- 
 viously 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 
 
ENGLISH LAKES AND MOUNTAINS. 271 
 
 letters ; and, while waiting for the answers, proposed to 
 employ that time in a trip to Lord Hopetoun's seat, (kc. 
 
 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 sby 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 pubHc-house at Buttermere ; and 
 he never attended the church at Keswick but once. 
 
 Finding his schemes baffled to obtain this young lady 
 and her 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 neighbours he made the most 
 minute inquiries into every circumstance 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 sbape 
 of a few natural words of partino- ano;er 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 2d 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 individuals in Scotland, wbo 
 knew that Colonel Hope, who was said to have married 
 
97 ■? 
 
 TALES AND LEGENDS OF THE 
 
 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 Hope- 
 toun), 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. , informing him, that he was under 
 
 the necessity 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. imme- 
 diately 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. M 's 
 
 suspicions were of course awakened. He instantly 
 remitted the draft to Mr. Crumpt, who immediately 
 
 accepted it. Mr. M , the friend of the young 
 
 lady to whom he first paid his addresses, Avrote to the 
 Earl of Hopetoun. Before the answer arrived, the 
 pretended honourable returned with his wife to Butter- 
 mere. 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 
 
ENGLISH LAKES AND MOUNTAINS. 273 
 
 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 Avith a note to the supposed 
 Colonel Hope, who observed, " that it was a 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 land- 
 lord at the Queen's Head had the courage to cash. 
 Of this sum he immediately sent the ten guineas to 
 
 Mr. , 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, <fcc., &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 days 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 I 
 " John Hatfield, who lately married a young woman, 
 commonly called the Beauty of Buttermere, under an 
 
274 TALES AND LEGENDS OF THE 
 
 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 rather a spring in his gait, with 
 apparently a little hitch in bringing u]:* one leg ; the two 
 middle fingers of his left hand are stifi" from an old 
 wound ; he has something of the Irish brogue in his 
 speech ; fluent and elegant in his language, great com- 
 mand of words, frequently puts his hand to his heart ; 
 very fond of compliments, and generally addressing 
 himself to persons most distinguished by rank or situa- 
 tion; 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 woimds and exploits there, and of military subjects, 
 as well as of Hatfield Hall, and his estates in Derby- 
 shire and Cheshire ; 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 Haly ; and, in short, 
 has a general knowledge of subjects, which, together 
 with his engaging manners, is well calculated to hnpose 
 on the credulous. He had art enough to connect him- 
 self with some very respectable merchants in Devon- 
 shire, as a partner in business, but having swindled 
 them out of large sums, he Avas 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 
 
ENGLISH LAKES AND MOUNTAINS. 275 
 
 had nearly ruined her father hy running up a deht 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, searching 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 ddldren, under the 
 name of Hatfield. The story of the detection imme- 
 diately became as notorious as the marriage had been. 
 
 Though he was personally known in Cheshire to many 
 of the inhabitants, yet this specious hypocrite had so 
 artfully disguised himself, that he quitted the town with- 
 out aiiy suspicions before the Bow Street officers reached 
 that place in quest of him. He was then traced to 
 Brielth, in Brecknockshire, and was at length appre- 
 hended about sixteen miles from Swansea, and committed 
 to Brecon jail. He had a cravat on, with his initials, 
 J. li., 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 officers, 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 HatfieJd 
 
276 TALES AND LEGENDS OF THE 
 
 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-ofKce, produced a warrant from Sir Frederick Vane, 
 Bart., a magistrate for the county of Cumberland, against 
 the prisoner, bj tlie name of the Hon. Alexander Angus- 
 tus 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 forgery, and the charge 
 for bigamy, were explained to him, but not entered into, 
 as he was committed 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 had 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 
 
ENGLISH LAKES AND MOUNTAINS. 277 
 
 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 mani- 
 fested 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 com- 
 posure." 
 
 He Avas 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 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 
 
278 TALES AND LEGENDS OF THE 
 
 for me, dated Buttermere, the 1st of October, at ten 
 days, and I will either give you cash for it here, or 
 remit to you in time, which ever 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 3'ou will manage so as to pass 
 a little time with me in Scotland, I will promise to make 
 Liverpool in my 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 15th, 1803, 
 at the Assizes for Cumberland, before the Honourable 
 Alexander Thompson, Kut. He stood charged upon the 
 three following indictments : — 
 
 1. With having assumed the name and title of the 
 Honourable Alexander Augustus Hope, and pretending 
 to be a member of parliament of the United Kingdom of 
 Great Britain and Ireland ; and with having, about the 
 month of October last, 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 siun of £20, payable to George Wood, of 
 Keswick, Cumberland, innkeeper, 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, 
 
ENGLISH LAKES AND MOUNTAINS. 279 
 
 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 right 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, in 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 Avas partner, who swore to his hand- writing. 
 The Rev. Mr. Nicholson swore that when the prisoner 
 Avas 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 
 sufferings terminated, as they 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. 
 
280 TALES AND LEGENDS OF THE 
 
 *' Whatever will be my fate," said he, "I am content ; 
 it is the award of justice, impartially and virtuously 
 administered. But I will solemnly declare, that in all 
 my transactions, I never intended to defi'aud or injure 
 the persons whose names have appeared in the prosecu- 
 tion. 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 commented upon such parts as peculiarly aflfected 
 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 ; and 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 influence the verdict they were sworn 
 to give." 
 
 The jury consulted about ten minutes, and then re- 
 turned a verdict — Guilty of Forgery. 
 
 During the whole of the trial, the court was exces- 
 sively 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 counsel. 
 
ENGLISH LAKES AND MOUNTAINS. 281 
 
 When the verdict of the jury was given, he manifested 
 no relaxation of his accustomed demeanour. After the 
 court adjourned, he retired from the bar, and was 
 ordered to attend the next morning to receive the sen- 
 tence 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 pi'isoner 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 ajipearance, manners, and actions, had excited a 
 most micommon degree of interest. After proceeding 
 in the usual form, the judge addi'essed the prisoner in 
 the following impressive terms : — 
 
 "John Hatfield, after the long and serious investiga- 
 tion 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 
 magnitude, as have seldom, if ever, received any mitiga- 
 tion of capital punishment ; and in your case, it is 
 impossible it can be limited. Assuming the person, 
 name, and character, of a w^orthy and respectable officer 
 of a noble family in this country, you have perpetrated 
 and committed the most enormous crimes. The long- 
 imprisonment you have undergone has aftbrded 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 
 
 * The jail and court-house were at that period divided by 
 the street. The jail, &c., has been rebuilt, and there is now 
 a passage from one to the other. 
 
282 TALES AND LEGENDS OP THE 
 
 inflicted upon you ; and I wish you to be seriously im- 
 pressed 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 imposi- 
 tions, and employ properly the short space you have to 
 live. I 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 judg- 
 ment. Hear, now, the sentence of the law : — That you 
 be carried from hence to the place from whence 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 your 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 Avith the greatest 
 interest or indiff"erence. 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 
 durina; his confinement. 
 
ENGLISH LAKES AND MOUNTAINS. 283 
 
 The alarming nature of the crime of forgery, in a 
 eommercial countrj^ had taught him, from the heginning, 
 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-Sands), attended and prayed 
 with him for about two hours, and drank coffee with 
 him. After they left him, about twelve, he wrote some 
 letters, and in one he enclosed his penknife ; it was 
 addressed to London. About this time he also shaved 
 himself ; though intrusted Avith 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 preferred 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 Corin- 
 thians. 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 
 
284 TALES AND LEGENDS OF THE 
 
 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 handkerchief on the plat- 
 form; 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 fare- 
 well of the clergyman, who attended him to the door of 
 the chaise, and mounted the steps with much steadiness 
 and composure. The jailer and executioner went in 
 along with him. The latter had been brought from 
 Dumfries upon a retaining 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 scaff'old. 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-sherifi", he alighted with his two companions. A 
 
ENGLISH LAKES AND MOUNTAINS. 285 
 
 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 waistcoat, fustian pantaloons, shoes, and 
 white cotton stockings. He was perfectly cool and 
 collected. At the same time, his conduct displayed 
 nothing of levity, of insensibility, 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 immediately untied his 
 neckkerchief, 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 Avave 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 about five minutes before five o'clock ; 
 it was 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. Havmg 
 been near three weeks under sentence of death, he must 
 have sufi"ered much, notwithstanding his external bear- 
 ing ; and a reflection of thie misery he had occasioned 
 must have given him many an agonizing throb. 
 
 »2 
 
286 TALES AND LEGENDS OF THE 
 
 Having taken leave of the jailer and sheriff, he pre- 
 pared 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 Avould 
 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 Avell, 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 Avas cut down after he had hung about an hour. 
 On the preceding Wednesday he had applied to one of 
 the clergymen who attended him, to recommend him a 
 tradesman to make his coffin. Mr. Bushby, of Carlisle, 
 took measure of him. He did not appear at all agitated 
 Avhile Mr, Bushby Avas so employed ; but told him that 
 he Avished the coffin to be a strong oak one, plain and 
 neat. " I request. Sir," he added, " that after I am 
 
ENGLISH LAKES AND MOUNTAINS. 287 
 
 taken do^yn, I may be put iuto tlie coffin inimediatelj, 
 Avitli the apparel I may have on, and afterwards closely 
 screwed down, put into the hearse which will he in wait- 
 ing, carried to the church-yard, and be interred in the 
 evening." 
 
 A spot 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 reli- 
 gious service. Notwithstanding Hatfield's various and 
 complicated enormities, his untimely end excited con- 
 siderable commiseration. 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 Avent from home 
 to avoid the impertinent visits of unfeeling curiosit3^ 
 She was much afi"ected ; and, indeed, Avithout 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 tlie day of his condemnation, Wordsworth and 
 Coleridge passed through Carlisle, and endeavoured to 
 obtain an interview Avith him. Wordsworth succeeded ; 
 but, for some unknown reason, the prisoner steadily 
 refused to see Coleridge ; a caprice Avhich could not be 
 penetrated. It was true that he had, during his Avhole 
 residence at KesAvick, avoided Coleridge with a solicitude 
 Avhich had revived the original suspicious against him in 
 some quarters, after they had generally subsided. How- 
 ever, if not him, Coleridge saw and examined his very 
 
288 TALES AND LEGENDS OF THE 
 
 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 affection for herself. The 
 other set was even more distressing ; they were written 
 under the first conflicts of suspicions, alternately repell- 
 ing with warmth the gloomy doubts which were fast 
 arising, and then yielding to their afflicting evidence ; 
 raving in one page under the misery of alarm, in another 
 courting the delusions of hope, and luring back the per- 
 fidious 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 days, amongst the multitudes 
 who ended their career in the same ignominious way, 
 and the majority for offences connected with the forgery 
 
ENGLISH LAKES AND MOUNTAINS. 289 
 
 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- 
 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 Avhich 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 they heard of his conduct to 
 their injured young fellow-countrywoman. 
 
 She, meantime, under the name of the Beauty of 
 Buttermere, became an object of interest to all England. 
 Dramas and melo-dramas were produced in the London 
 theatres upon her story ; 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 Avith 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 unmixed injury, reflecting shame on nobody 
 but the Avicked 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 
 
290 TALES AND LEGENDS OF THE 
 
 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." 
 
 AFFKAY OF THE BORDEE FREEBOOTERS 
 
 IN BORROWDALE. 
 
 In olden time, when the contiguous countries of England 
 and Scotland held no amicable relation to each other, it 
 may 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 inope- 
 rative character of the laws, arising from the disorders 
 of the feudal system, which filled both countries with 
 chiefs and petty governors, eager, and sufiiciently power- 
 ful, 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 obli- 
 gation and honourable feeling. Incursions were fre- 
 quently 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 
 
ENGLISH LAKES AND MOUNTAINS. 291 
 
 with much justice; for m course of time it was deemed 
 matter of indifference by either party whether they preyed 
 on their rival neighbours, or on their own countrymen. 
 Instances are, however, on record in which the Border 
 feuds were distinguished by a romantic and chivah'ous 
 feeling, that may well be supposed to have animated 
 great and noble minds, in an age when the most power- 
 ful sceptre was the sword, and martial prowess the most 
 estimable quality 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. 
 
 ! 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 o' 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 moun- 
 tain, and reported the sudden irruption of the Scottish 
 clan, that had swept before them a rich booty of cattle, 
 
292 TALES AND LEGENDS OF THE 
 
 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 observa- 
 tion 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 oppo- 
 nents, 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 
 small horses — which were both fleet and sufficiently 
 spirited to overcome a laborious ascent into the hills. 
 
 Among the Scottish freebooters, none were found pos- 
 sessed of greater skill and 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 Grajme, 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 enter- 
 prises of his past days, Avhen the feebleness of age had 
 not arrived. 
 
 All the Border clans cherished feelings of deadly ani- 
 mosity 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 Graemes, had succeeded in diverting the enemy from 
 the track which their comrades had taken, they sepa- 
 
ENGLISH LAKES AND MOUNTAINS. 293 
 
 rated 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 re- 
 solved to retaliate on the Scottish frontier ; and, accord- 
 ingly, collecting all their power, commenced their march 
 through the desolate region of Borrowdale. Information 
 was speedily conveyed to the younger Graeme, that the 
 enemy were approaching. The appointed signal was 
 then given, and the Highlanders 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 advantage 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 tliuader of war. 
 
 Tl>eir 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!" 
 
294 TALES AND LEGENDS OF THE 
 
 The Highlanders concealed themselves behind the rocky 
 fragments strewn on the side of Yew Crag, till the Eng- 
 lish troopers, advancing at a rapid rate, had reached the 
 point in Gatesgarthdale, which lay directly opposite to 
 their ambuscade. Young Graeme sprung on his feet, 
 and waved his claymore towards the enemy. The sig- 
 nal was answered by a volley of musketry from the hill ; 
 and instantly several horses, without riders, flew through 
 the defile. The elder Grseme 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 by the rein. 
 
 Furious at the loss of their leader, the troopers wheeled 
 their horses round the precipice on which the Graemes 
 and a few of their followers were stationed ; and before 
 the remainder of the Highland band could afi"ord succour, 
 the younger Grseme, together with several of his clan, 
 had met the death of heroes. The English then dashed 
 forward on 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 
 streaming 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 in 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 there- 
 after pass it with irreverence. 
 
ENGLISH LAKES AND MOUNTAINS. 295 
 
 JOSSY WITH WHIPS. 
 
 Joseph Robinson, better known by the name of " Jossy 
 with Whips," was a well-known character in the parish 
 of Orton in Westmorland, about sixty years ago. 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 six 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 Avith 
 a hayhand, was his usual upper garment ; his legs were 
 usually covered with hayhands, 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 blue ribbons 
 Avhich 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 
 
296 TALES AND LEGENDS OF THE 
 
 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 him 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, 
 Por 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 day. 
 When death shall yield his temporary prey — 
 By lords, by kings, his fate may be desired — 
 Where nothing's given, nothing is required." 
 
ENGLISH LAKES AND MOUNTAINS. 297 
 
 HELWISE; OR THE ILL-EATED LOYEES : 
 
 A TALE OF MUNCASTER HALL. 
 
 Though ample testimony is borne to the simple and en- 
 gaging 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 our old northern castles shone in all their splen- 
 dour; and their inhabitants possessed their original 
 power. " How much of their outward dignity have the 
 higher classes lost," observed my uncle, '« since litera- 
 
298 TALES AND LEGENDS OF THE 
 
 ture and commerce 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 realized as 
 the well-being of society could admit." " In some 
 respects it may be so," said my father; " but I think 
 that we might yet 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 sympathize in a love story 
 to be unfit for any social duty, and calculated for nothing 
 but the cloister or the cell." "By all means," ex- 
 claimed my sister, "let us hear it. If there be any- 
 thing 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 instruc- 
 tive," " If there be anything," said my father, " about 
 the villany of man in it, it must be true." "There 
 will be something aboiit 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 
 lialls and castles to retain each a jester in his mansion, 
 called by the common people a fool. According to cus- 
 tom Sir Allan Pennington had a jester, whose name was 
 
ENGLISH LAKES AND MOUNTAINS. 299 
 
 Thomas Skelton, but ■whose common appellation 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 enu- 
 merated 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 
 Avhom I was brought up ; and who never heard it with- 
 out 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 had 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 fine 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 commenced, the soul of innocent gaiety began to 
 expand. The festoons of flowers waving from the May- 
 pole, and the garlands of the damsels, all gently agi- 
 
300 TALES AND LEGENDS OF THE 
 
 tated by a sliglit breeze, gave a gracefulness to tbe 
 scene Avhich no language can describe. It seemed as if 
 the exhilarating breath of 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 Wild 
 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 gaieties; and, should 
 I share in them, I should wish to procure a more modest 
 partner." " A modest paHner .'" exclaimed Will, ''yan 
 et darnt luik at ya : yan etle stand eating his thooms, 
 and just whisperen la doon, ' will ya dance ? ' A poor 
 fecldess thing et darrit lait a sweetheart withoot its minny 
 ga loi it.'" " You will please to leave me, shepherd,'* 
 replied the maid, " and carry your raillery to other ears 
 where it maybe more agreeable." ''I'll hev a kiss 
 furst," said Will, ''for that canny feace and filed tongue 
 hez quite laid ma ith hrears." " Forbear your rudeness, 
 for God's sake," cried the damsel; " or you may repent 
 it." "By all the powers of love and beauty," exclaimed 
 the carpenter's son, stepping up at that moment, '* unless 
 he stands off he shall repent it. Will you take a dance 
 
ENGLISH LAKES AND MOUNTAINS. 301 
 
 with me, fair maiden?" She willingly complied. But 
 the elder and more experienced 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 miglit be, but in vain. Will retired in 
 a gloomy rage, swearing that he Avould discover who the 
 girl was, and have revenge on the carpenter, if it cost 
 him his life. 
 
 The lovers heard not his threats, but repaired to the 
 Maypole; and, as they danced around it, sang the follow- 
 ing roundelay: — 
 
 " What are monarch's courts, my dear? 
 Can their splendour yield 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 ; 
 Efeaven itself can ecarce surpass 
 
 Pleasures such as these we feel. 
 
 Dancing round the Maypole I 
 
 Now, returning spring, my dear, 
 Wakes the birds on every spray — 
 
 We, whose hearts are formed for love. 
 Sure may be as blithe as they, 
 
 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 ! 
 
302 TALES AND LEGENDS OF THE 
 
 Let our glowing hearts, my dear, 
 Revel in the burning bliss ; — 
 
 Speak our feelings through our eyes. 
 And seal our union with a kiss, 
 
 Dancing round the Maypole ! 
 
 Various were the conjectures respecting the unknown 
 shepherdess ; though all the country maids agreed that 
 she was not what she seemed. " Be wha she will," said 
 Wild Will of Whitbeck, " Fll 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 car- 
 penter^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, " / heo him o' the hip. For Sir 
 Ferdinand Hoddleston, of Milium Castle, tvants et wed thai 
 leddy ; an if I yance let him kna et this silly carpenter 
 folloivs her, he'll meaJc 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. 
 
ENGLISH LAKES AND MOUNTAINS. 303 
 
 The young women hoped and trusted that Sir Allan would 
 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 him away ; but they might 
 put him in a nunnery, or something 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 plau 
 to make Sir Ferdinand the avenger of the insult he had 
 received from the carpenter, and the repulse he had met 
 Avith from the lovely Helwise. 
 
 " We had fine spooart oHh first o' May,'' said Will; 
 "hut 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 neabody 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 
 oar an that, I followed em heam, an sa em give yan 
 another a kiss. When she put her arms roond his neck, I 
 war stark wood. What! war Dick belter ner me?" 
 
 The train was now laid. Will had roused Sir Fer- 
 dinand's vengeance, without giving the least hint that 
 
304 
 
 TALES AND LEGENDS OF THE 
 
 he suspected such a thing. " Shall I!" exclaimed Sir 
 Ferdinand, as soon as Will had retired, " Shall I he 
 made a fool of hy a carpenter's son? Shall such a 
 wretch as that presume to he my rival in the affections 
 of the lovliest maid in Cumberland? Curse the idea! 
 He shall be taught to know his duty better. No, T scorn 
 to apply 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 he mounted and rode for Muncaster 
 Hall. Few of the family were stirring when Sir Fer- 
 dinand 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 paying 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, " Fll make a man of thee. " " You'll 
 do what Sir Allan could never do then," repUed Tom, 
 with a laugh. " But who is it, pray?" " 'Tis the car- 
 penter," replied the knight. " I owe him a grudge 
 too," said Tom; "for I put those three shillings which 
 
ENGLISH LAKES AND MOUNTAINS. 305 
 
 you gave me into a hole, and 1 found them loeezend 
 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 influ- 
 enced him. And the next day, while the unsuspecting- 
 carpenter was taking his after-dinner nap, and dreaming 
 prohahly 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 
 tlierefore retired to the Benedictine Convent of Maiden 
 
306 TALES AND LEGENDS OF THE 
 
 Castle — the ruins of which are still visible behind the 
 higher end of Soulby Fell ; where she passed her few 
 remaining days in piety and silent solitude. 
 
 The conscience of 8ir 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 Bosworth Field, fighting against the Earl 
 of Richmond. He left a very handsome estate in the 
 neighbourhood of Kirksancton to St. Mary's Abbey of 
 Furness, to purchase masses for the repose of his ov/n 
 soul, and the soul of the young carpenter. 
 
 EMMA AND SIK EGLAMOEE. 
 
 A LEGEND OF AIRA FORCE, 
 
 About a quarter of a mile from Lyulph's Tower, a hunting 
 seat of the late Duke of Norfolk, on the banks of Ulles- 
 water, 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 
 
ENGLISH LAKES AND MOUNTAINS. 307 
 
 her sleep on the banks of the fall ; and that her lover, 
 who had unexpectedly returned after a long absence — 
 so long as to haTe 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 tlie 
 stream below. The knight plunged in after her, and 
 rescued her ; but, though consciousness returned for a 
 short period, and she recognized 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 iu 
 solitude for several years, shunning all intercourse with 
 the Avorld. 
 
 List, ye who pass by Lyulph's Tower 
 
 At eve, how softly then 
 Doth Aira Force, that torrent hoarse, 
 
 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 sight 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 ; 
 
308 TALES AND LEGENDS OF THE 
 
 Cage for a bird of plumage bright, 
 Sweet voiced, nor wishing for a flight 
 Beyond her native dell. 
 
 To 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 gl^n, 
 
 The brook, and bowers of holly ; 
 Where passion caught, what nature taught, 
 
 That all but love is folly ; 
 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; 
 
ENGLISH LAKES AND MOUNTAINS. 309 
 
 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. 
 
 Hope wanes with her, while lustre fills 
 
 Whatever path he chooses ; 
 As if his orb, that owns no curb, 
 
 Received the light her's 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 ?' 
 
 The tear in answer flows ; 
 Month falls on month with heavier weight ; 
 Day sickens round her, and the night 
 
 Is empfy of repose. 
 
310 TALES AND LEGENDS OF THE 
 
 In sleep slie sometimes walked abroad, 
 
 Deep sighs witli quick words blending, 
 Like that pale queen, whose hands are seen 
 
 With fancied spots contending ; 
 But sJie is innocent of blood : 
 
 The moon is not more pure 
 That shines aloft, while through the wood 
 She threads her way, the sounding flood 
 
 Pier 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, 
 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 which I swore 
 
 Unfading constancy? 
 Here am I, and to-morrow's sun, 
 
 To her I left, sliall prove 
 
ENGLISH LAKES AND MOUNTAINS. 311 
 
 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 recognized 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 ! ' 
 
 Soul-shatter 'd was the knight, nor knew 
 
 If Emma's ghost it Avere, 
 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. 
 
 In 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; 
 
312 TALES AND LEGENDS OF THE 
 
 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 
 
 Bj 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 ! 
 Dear art thou to the light of heaven. 
 
 Though minister of sorrow ; 
 Sweet is thy voice at pensive even ; 
 And thou, in lovers' hearts forgiven, 
 
 Shalt take thy place with Yarrow ! 
 
 GLASGOW: W. G. BLACKLE AND CO., PEINTERS, TILLArlELD.