Chapter VIII: Part 8

Bede, in his History of the Church of England, writes thus of the
saint:--"There was a certain priest, revered for his uprightness
and perfect life and manners, named Herberte, who had a long time
been in union with the man of God (St. Cuthbert of Farn Isle) in
the bond of spiritual love and friendship; for living a solitary
life in the isle of that great and extended lake from whence
proceeds the river Derwent, he used to visit St. Cuthbert every
year, to receive from his lips the doctrines of eternal life. When
this holy priest heard of St. Cuthbert's coming to Luguballea
(Carlisle), he came, after his usual manner, desiring to be
comforted more and more with the hopes of everlasting bliss by his
divine exhortations. As they sat together, and enjoyed the hopes
of heaven, among other things the Bishop said, 'Remember, brother
Herberte, that whatsoever ye have to say and ask of me, you do it
now, for after we depart hence, we shall not meet again, and see
one another corporeally in this world, for I know well the time of
my dissolution is at hand, and the laying aside of this earthly
tabernacle draweth on apace.' When Herberte heard this, he fell
down at his feet, and, with many sighs and tears, beseeched him,
for the love of the Lord, that he would not forsake him, but to
remember his faithful brother and associate, and make intercession
with the gracious God, that they might depart hence into heaven
together, to behold his grace and glory whom they had in unity
of spirit served on earth; for you know I have ever studied and
laboured to live according to your pious and virtuous instructions;
and in whatsoever I offended through ignorance or frailty, I
straightway used my earnest efforts to amend after your ghostly
counsel, will, and judgment.'--At this earnest and affectionate
request of Herberte's, the Bishop went to prayer, presently
being certified in spirit that this petition to heaven would be
granted--'Arise,' said he, 'my dear brother; weep not, but let your
rejoicing be with exceeding gladness, for the great mercy of God
hath granted to us our prayer.'--The truth of which promise and
prophecy was well proved in that which ensued; for their separation
was the last that befell them on earth; on the same day, which was
the 19th day of March, their souls departed from their bodies, and
were straight in union in the beatific sight and vision--and were
transported hence to the kingdom of heaven by the service and hands
of angels."

It is probable that the hermit's little oratory, or chapel, might
be kept in repair after his death, as a particular veneration seems
to have been paid by the religious of after ages to this retreat,
and the memory of the Saint.

There is some variation in the account given by authors of the
day of the Saint's death; Bede says the 19th day of March: other
authors the 20th day of May, A. D., 687; and by a record given in
Bishop Appleby's Register, it would appear that the 13th day of
April was observed as the solemn anniversary.

But, however, in the year 1374, at the distance of almost seven
centuries, we find this place resorted to in holy services and
procession, and the hermit's memory celebrated in religious
offices. The Vicar of Crosthwaite went to celebrate mass in his
chapel on the island, on the day above mentioned, to the joint
honour of St. Herbert and St. Cuthbert; to every attendant at which
forty days' indulgence was granted as a reward for his devotion.
"What a happy holiday must that have been for all these vales,"
says Southey; "and how joyous on a fine spring day must the lake
have appeared, with the boats and banners from every chapelry; and
how must the chapel have adorned that little isle, giving a human
and religious character to the solitude!"

In the little church of St. John's in the Vale, which is one of the
dependent chapelries of the church of Crosthwaite, is an old seat,
with the date 1001 carved on the back of it, to which tradition
assigns, that it was formerly in St. Herbert's Chapel, on the
island in Derwent Lake.

These figures correspond with those on the bell in the Town Hall at
Keswick, said to have been brought from Lord's Island.

II.--Bowscale Tarn is a small mountain lake, lying to the
north-east of Blencathra. It is supposed by the country people
in the neighbourhood, with whom it has long been a tradition, to
contain two immortal fish; the same which held familiar intercourse
with, and long did the bidding of, the Shepherd Lord when he
studied the stars upon these mountains, and gathered that more
mysterious knowledge, which, matured in the solitude of Barden
Tower, has till this day associated his name with something of
supernatural interest in this district, where he so long resided.[9]

From some lines of Martial (lib. iv. 30) it appears that there were
some fishes in a lake at Baiæ in Campania consecrated to Domitian,
and like the undying ones of Bowscale Tarn, they knew their
master:--

"Sacris piscibus hæ natantur undæ,
Qui norunt dominum, manumque lambunt;
---- ---- ---- et ad magistri
Vocem quisquis sui venet citatus."

III.--It has been stated with reference to the river Greta,
that its channel was formerly remarkable for the immense stones
it contained; and that by their concussion in high floods were
caused those loud and mournful noises which not inappropriately
have gained for it the characteristic title of "Mourner."
Mr. Southey has given the following description of it in his
"Colloquies";--"Our Cumberland river Greta has a shorter course
than even its Yorkshire namesake. St. John's Beck and the
Glenderamakin take this name at their confluence, close by the
bridge three miles east of Keswick on the Penrith road. The former
issues from Leathes Water, in a beautiful sylvan spot, and proceeds
by a not less beautiful course for some five miles through the
vale from which it is called, to the place of junction. The latter
receiving the stream from Bowscale and Threlkeld Tarns, brings
with it the waters from the south side of Blencathra. The Greta
then flows toward Keswick; receives first the small stream from
Nathdale; next the Glenderaterra, which brings down the western
waters of Blencathra and those from Skiddaw Forest, and making a
wide sweep behind the town, joins the Derwent under Derwent Hill,
about a quarter of a mile from the town, and perhaps half that
distance from the place where that river flows out of the lake, but
when swollen above its banks, it takes a shorter line, and enters
Derwent Water.

"The Yorkshire stream was a favourite resort of Mason's, and
has been celebrated by Sir Walter Scott. Nothing can be more
picturesque, nothing more beautiful, than its course through the
grounds at Rokeby, and its junction with the Tees;--and there is a
satisfaction in knowing that the possessor of that beautiful place
fully appreciates and feels its beauties, and is worthy to possess
it. Our Greta is of a different character, and less known; no poet
has brought it into notice, and the greater number of tourists
seldom allow themselves time for seeing anything out of the beaten
track. Yet the scenery upon this river, where it passes under the
sunny side of Latrigg, is of the finest and most rememberable kind:

--Ambiguo lapsu, refluitque fluitque,
Occurrensque sibi venturas aspicit undas.

There is no English stream to which this truly Ovidian description
can more accurately be applied. From a jutting isthmus, round which
the tortuous river twists, you look over its manifold windings, up
the water to Blencathra; down it, over a high and wooded middle
ground, to the distant mountains of Newlands, Cawsey Pike, and
Grizedale."

FOOTNOTE:

[9] Vide Notes to Sir Lancelot Threlkeld, for a notice of Lord Clifford the Shepherd.

GUNILDA;
OR, THE WOEFUL CHASE.

A joyful train left Lucy's halls
At morning, cheer'd with bugle calls,
That long ere eve, a mournful train,
Returned to Lucy's halls again.

They went with hound and spear and bow,
To lay the prowling wild-wolf low.
They came with hound and bow and spear--
And one fair daughter on her bier.

Her prancing palfrey starting wide,
She gallop'd from Lord Lucy's side,
A shining huntress, gay, and bold,
And fair as Dian's self of old.

The quarry cross'd her lover's view;
He led the chace with shrill halloo,
Through brake and furze, by stream and dell,
Nor stopp'd until the quarry fell.

Far off aloud rang out his horn
The triumph on the echoes borne,
Long ere the listening maid drew rein
To woo it to her ear in vain.

Bright as a phantom, far astray,
She stood where broad before her lay
Wilton's high wastes and forest rude,
And all the Copeland solitude.

Far off, and farther, rang the horn:
Farther the echoes seem'd to mourn.
"Now, my good Bay, thy frolic o'er,
Thy swiftest and thy best once more!"

By Hole of Haile she turned her steed:
Coursed gaily on by Yeorton Mead;
Glanced where St. Bridget's hamlet show'd;
And down into the coppice rode.

And singing on in gladness there,
She pass'd beside the she-wolf's lair;
When furious from her startled young
The wild brute on Gunilda sprung.

From frighted steed dragg'd low to ground,
The she-wolf, with her cubs around,
Made havoc of that peerless form,
And heart with bounding life so warm.

Clearer rang out their horn, to cheer
Their lost one; and proclaim'd them near.
Proudly they said--"Gunilda's eyes
Will brighten when she sees our prize!"--

They found her; but their words were "Woe!"
"Woe to the bank where thou liest low!
Woe to the hunting of this day,
That left thy limbs to beasts, a prey!"

With downcast faces, eyeballs dim,
They bore her up that mount--to him
A Mount of Sorrow evermore,
Too faithful to the name it bore.

They made in Bega's aisle her tomb,
And laid her in the convent gloom;
And carved her effigy in stone,
And hew'd the she-wolf's form thereon--

In pity to this hour to wake
The pilgrim's sorrow for her sake,
And his who blew the lively horn,
Expecting her--and came to mourn.

NOTES TO "GUNILDA; OR, THE WOEFUL CHASE."

A traditional story in the neighbourhood of Egremont relates the
circumstance of a lady of the Lucy family being devoured by a wolf.
According to one version this catastrophe occurred on an evening
walk near the Castle; whilst, a more popular rendering of the
legend ascribes it to an occasion on which the lord of the manor,
with his lady and servants, were hunting in the forest; when the
lady having been lost in the ardour of the chase, was after a long
search and heart-rending suspense, found lying on a bank slain by
a wolf which was in the act of tearing her to pieces. The place is
distinguished by a mound of earth, near the village of Beckermet,
on the banks of the Ehen, about a mile below Egremont. The name of
Woto Bank, or Wodow Bank as the modern mansion erected near the
spot is called, is said to be derived by traditionary etymology,
from the expression to which in the first transports of his grief
the distracted husband gave utterance--"Woe to this bank."

Hutchinson is inclined to believe "that this place has been witness
to many bloody conflicts, as appears by the monuments scattered on
all hands in its neighbourhood; and by some the story is supposed
to be no more than an emblematic allusion to such conflicts during
the invasion of the Danes. It is asserted that no such relation is
to be found in the history of the Lucy family; so that it must be
fabulous, or figurative of some other event."

There are, however, yet to be seen in the burial ground attached to
the Abbey Church of St. Bees, the remaining parts of two monumental
figures which may reasonably be presumed to have reference to some
such event as that recorded by tradition. The fragments, which are
much mutilated, are of stone; and the sculpture appears to be of
great antiquity. Common report has assigned to these remains the
names of Lord and Lady Lucy.

In their original state, the figures were of gigantic size. The
features and legs are now destroyed. The Lord is represented with
his sword sheathed. There is a shield on his arm, which appears to
have been quartered, but the bearings upon it are entirely defaced.
On the breast of the Lady is an unshapely protuberance. This was
originally the roughly sculptured limb of a wolf, which even so
lately as the year 1806, might be distinctly ascertained. These
figures were formerly placed in an horizontal position, at the top
of two raised altar tombs within the church. The tomb of the Lady
was at the foot of her Lord, and a wolf was represented as standing
over it. The protuberance above mentioned, on the breast of the
Lady, the paw of the wolf, is all that now remains of the animal.
About a century since, the figure of the wolf wanted but one leg,
as many of the inhabitants, whose immediate ancestors remembered it
nearly entire, can testify. The horizontal position of the figures
rendered them peculiarly liable to injuries, from the silent and
irresistible ravages of time. Their present state is, however,
principally to be attributed to the falling in of the outer walls
of the priory, and more particularly to their having been used,
many years since, by the boys of the Free Grammar School, as a mark
to fire at. There can be little doubt that the limb of the wolf has
reference to the story of one of the Ladies Lucy related above.

It may not however be unworthy of remark, that the Lucies were
connected, through the family of Meschines, with Hugh d' Abrincis,
Earl of Chester, who in the year 1070 is said to have borne azure a
wolf's head erased argent, and who had the surname of Lupus.

The wife of Hugh Lupus was sister to Ranulph de Meschin.

The family of Meschines has been said to be descended from that
at Rome called by the name Mæcenas, from which the former one is
corrupted. "Certainly," says a recent writer, "it has proved itself
the Mæcenas of the Priory of St. Bees, not merely in the foundation
of that religious house, but also in the charters for a long course
of years, which have been granted by persons of different names,
indeed, but descended from, or connected with, the same beneficent
stock." This is shown in the following extract from a MS. in the
Harleian Collection:--

"Be y^t notid that Wyllyam Myschen son of Ranolf Lord of Egermond
founded the monastery of Saint Beysse of blake monks, and heyres to
the said Meschyn y^s the Lords Fitzwal, the Lord Haryngton, and the
Lord Lucy, and so restyth founders of the said monastery therle of
Sussex the Lord Marques Dorset, therle of Northumberland as heyres
to the Lords aforesaid."

The religious house thus restored, consisting of a prior and six
Benedictine monks, was made a cell to the mitred Abbey of Saint
Mary, at York. And under this cell, Bishop Tanner says, there was a
small nunnery situated at Rottington, about a mile from St. Bees.

At the dissolution, the annual revenues of this priory, according
to Dugdale, were £143 17_s._ 2_d._; or, by Speed's valuation, £149
19_s._ 6_d._; from which it appears there were only two religious
houses in the county more amply endowed, viz. the priory of
Holme-Cultram, and the Priory of St. Mary, Carlisle; which latter
was constituted a cathedral church at the Reformation.

The conventual church of St. Bees is in the usual form of a cross,
and consists of a nave with aisles, a choir, and transepts, with a
massive tower, at the intersection, which until lately terminated
in an embattled parapet. This part of the building is now
disfigured by an addition to enable it to carry some more bells.
The rest of the edifice is in the early English style, and has been
thoroughly restored with great taste and feeling. On the south
side of the nave there was formerly a recumbent wooden figure, in
mail armour, supposed to have been the effigy of Anthony, the last
Lord Lucy of Egremont, who died A. D. 1368. The Lady Chapel, which
had been a roofless ruin for two centuries, was fitted up as a
lecture-room for the College established by Bishop Law in 1817.

The priors of this religious house ranked as barons of the Isle of
Man; as the Abbot of the superior house, St. Mary's, at York, was
entitled to a seat amongst the parliamentary barons of England.
As such he was obliged to give his attendance upon the kings and
lords of Man, whensoever they required it, or at least, upon every
new succession in the government. The neglect of this important
privilege would probably involve the loss of the tithes and lands
in that island, which the devotion of the kings had conferred upon
the priory of St. Bees.

In the library of the Dean and Chapter of Carlisle is the following
curious account of the discovery of a giant at St. Bees:--

"A true report of Hugh Hodson, of Thorneway, in Cumberland, to S^r
Rob Cewell (qy. Sewell) of a Gyant found at S. Bees, in Cumb'land,
1601, before X^t mas.

"The said Gyant was buried 4 yards deep in the ground, w^{ch} is
now a corn feild.

"He was 4 yards and an half long, and was in complete armour: his
sword and battle-axe lying by him.

"His sword was two spans broad and more than 2 yards long.

"The head of his battle axe a yard long, and the shaft of it all of
iron, as thick as a man's thigh, and more than 2 yards long.

"His teeth were 6 inches long, and 2 inches broad; his forehead was
more than 2 spans and a half broad.

"His chine bone could containe 3 pecks of oatmeale.

"His armour, sword, and battle-axe, are at Mr. Sand's of Redington,
(Rottington) and at Mr. Wyber's, at St. Bees."--

Machel MSS. Vol. vi.

THE SHIELD OF FLANDRENSIS.

The Knight sat lone in Old Rydal Hall,
Of the line of Flandrensis burly and tall.
His book lay open upon the board:
His elbow rested on his good sword:
His knightly sires and many a dame
Look'd on him from panel and dusky frame.
High over the hearth was their ancient shield,
An argent fret on a blood-red field--
"Peace, Plenty, Wisdom."--"Peace?" he said:
"Peace there is none for living or dead."

The Autumnal day had died away:
The reapers deep in their slumbers lay:
The harvest moon through the blazoned panes
From Scandale Brow poured in the stains:
His household train, and his folk at rest,
And most the child that he loved best:
His startled ear caught up the swell
Of distant sounds he knew too well.
By his golden lamp to the shield he said,
"Peace? Peace there is none for living or dead."

The Knight he came of high degree,
None better or braver in arms than he:
Worthy of old Flandrensis' fame,
Whose soul not battle nor broil could tame.
That neighing and trampling of horses late,
That hubbub of voices round his gate,
That sound of hurry along the floors,
That dirge-like wail through distant doors,
Tempestuous in the calm, he heard:
And he looked on the shield, nor spoke, nor stirr'd.

From inmost chambers far remote
Responsive flow'd one dirge-like note:
Loud through the arches deep and wide
One little voice did sweetly glide;
Its sad accords along the gloom
Swelled on towards that lordly room--
"We wait not long, our watch we keep,
We all are singing, and none may sleep:
When stone on stone nor roof remain,
The unresting shall have rest again."

The Knight turned listening to the door.
His little maid came up the floor.
Her nightly robe of purest white
Gleamed purer in the faded light.
The blazoned moonbeams slowly swept
The spaces round, as on she stept.
And lo! in his armour from head to toe,
With his beard of a hundred winters' snow,
Stood old Flandrensis burly and tall,
With his breast to the shield, and his back to the wall.

The six score winters in his eyes
Unfroze, as on through the blazoned dyes,
Sable, and azure, and gules, she came.
Through his heaving beard low fluttered her name.
But slowly and solemnly, leading or led
By phantoms chanting for living or dead,
Pass'd on the little voice so sweet--
"We all are singing: we all must meet"--
And into the gloom like a fading ray:
And the form of Flandrensis vanished away.

The Knight, alone, in his ancient hold,
Sat still as a stone: his blood ran cold.
For his little maiden was his delight.
Then forth he strode in the face of the night.
His dogs were in kennel, his steeds in stall:
His deer were lying about his hall:
His swans beneath the Lord's Oak Tree:
The silvery Rotha was flowing free.
He set his brow towards Scandale hill:
The vale was breathing, but all was still.

He thought of the spirits the snow-winds rouse,
The Piping Spirits of Sweden Hows,
That wail to the Rydal Chiefs their fate--
That pipe as they whirl around lattice and gate,
With their grey gaunt misty forms: but now,
There was not a stir in the lightest bough:
The winds in the mountain gorge were laid;
No sound through all the moonlight stray'd.
He turned again to his ancient Keep:
There all was silence, and calm, and sleep.

But all grew changed in the gloomy pile.
His little maiden lost her smile.
The menials fled: that knightly race
Was left alone in its ancient place:
The pride of its line of warriors quailed--
Those sworded knights once peerless hailed:
To the earth broke down from its hold their shield.
With its argent fret and its blood-red field:
And they fled from the might of the powers that strode
In the darkness through their old abode.

And Sir Michael brooded an autumn day,
As he looked on the slope at his child at play,
On the green by the sounding water's fall:
And often those words did he recall--
"We wait not long, our watch we keep;
We all are singing, and none may sleep.
When stone on stone nor roof remain,
The unresting shall have rest again."
And the Knight ordained, as he brooded alone--
"There shall not be left of it roof or stone."

And Sir Michael said--"I will build my hall
On the green by the sounding waterfall:
And an arbour cool at its foot, beside.
And I'll bury my shield in the crystal tide,
To cleanse it from blood perchance, that so
Peace, Plenty, and Wisdom again may flow
Round old Flandrensis' honours and name."
And the pile arose: and the sun's bright flame
Was pleasant around it: and morn and even
It lay in the light and the hues of heaven.

And Sir Michael sat in the arbour cool,
Where the waters leapt in the crystal pool;
Saying--"Gone is yon keep to a grim decay.
And now, my little one, loved alway!
Whence came thy singing so wild and deep?"--
--"We all were singing, and none might sleep,
Till all the Unmerciful heard their strain.
But now the unresting have rest again."--

So the keep went down to the dust and mould.
And the new pile bore the blazon of old--
The pride of the old ancestral shield--
The argent fret on the blood-red field;
"Peace, Plenty, Wisdom"
Beneath enscrolled.

NOTES TO "THE SHIELD OF FLANDRENSIS."

The ancient Manor house at Rydal stood in the Low Park, on the top
of a round hill, on the south side of the road leading from Keswick
to Kendal. But on the building of the new mansion on the north side
of the highway, in what is called the High Park, the manor house
became ruinous, and got the name of the Old Hall, which, says Dr.
Burn, in his time, "it still beareth." Even then there was nothing
to be seen but ruinous buildings, walks, and fish ponds, and other
marks of its ancient consequence; the place where the orchard stood
was then a large enclosure without a fruit tree in it, and called
the Old Orchard. At the present day few indications of its site
remain. Tradition asserts that it was deserted from superstitious
fears.

The present mansion was erected by Sir Michael le Fleming in the
last century. It stands on the north side of the road, on a slope
facing the south, is a large old fashioned building, and commands a
fine view of Windermere. Behind it rises Rydal Head, and Nab-Scar
a craggy mountain 1030 feet above the level of the sea. The Park
is interspersed with abundance of old oaks, and several rocky
protuberances in the lawn are covered with fine elms and other
forest trees. The Lord's Oak, a magnificent specimen, is built
into the wall on the lower side of the Rydal Road over which it
majestically towers. "The sylvan, or rather forest scenery of Rydal
Park," says Professor Wilson, "was, in the memory of living men,
magnificent, and it still contains a treasure of old trees."

The two waterfalls, the cascades of the rivulet which runs through
the lawn, are situated in the grounds. The way leads through the
park meadow and outer gardens by a path of singular beauty and
richness. They are in the opinion of Gilpin and other tourists
unparalleled in their kind. The upper fall is the finest, in the
eyes of those who prefer the natural accessories of a cascade: but
the lower one, which is below the Hall, is beheld from the window
of an old summer house. This affords a fine picture frame; the
basin of rock and the bridge above, with the shadowy pool, and the
overhanging verdure, constituting a perfect picture.

The heraldic distinction, the fret, is found more than once in
Furness Abbey, and is undoubtedly the ancient arms of le Fleming.
An entire seal appended to a deed from Sir Richard le Fleming
of Furness dated 44 Edward the Third (1371) shews a fret hung
cornerwise, the crest, on a helmet a fern, or something like it.
The seal annexed to another deed dated 6 Henry V. (1419) is the
same as above described; the motto, _S. Thome Flemin_, in Saxon
characters.

The present crest and motto are of modern date, and explain each
other: the serpent is the emblem of wisdom, as the olive and
the vine are of peace and plenty. But upon what occasion this
distinction was taken does not appear.

THE ROOKS OF FURNESS.

"Caw! Caw!" the rooks of Furness cry.
"Caw! Caw!" the Furness rooks reply.
In and about the saintly pile,
Over refectory, porch, and aisle,
Perching on archway, window, and tower,
Hopping and cawing hour by hour.
Saint Mary of Furness knows them well!
They are souls of her Monks laid under a spell.
They were once White Monks; ere the altars fell,
And the vigils ceased, and the Abbey bell
Was hush'd in the Deadly Nightshade Dell.

"Caw! Caw!" for ever, from morn
Till night they trouble the ruins forlorn:
Roger the Abbot, parading in black,
Briand the Prior, and scores at his back
Of those old fathers cawing amain,
All robed in rooks' black feathers, in vain
Waiting again for the Abbey to rise,
For matins to waken the morning skies,
And themselves to chant the litanies.

"Caw! Caw!" No wonder they caw!
To see--where their vigorous rule was law--
Fair Love with his troops of youths and maids,
With holiday hearts, through greenwood shades
Come forth, and in every Muse's name,
With songs, a joyful time proclaim;
And to hear the car-borne Demon's yell,
The Steam-Ghoul screeching the fatal knell
Of peace in the Deadly Nightshade Dell.

"Caw! Caw!" still over the walls
You wheel and flutter, with ceaseless calls;
Thinking, no doubt, of your cells and holes,
You poor old Monks' translated souls!
Sad change for you to be cawing here,
And black, for many a hundred year!
But haunt as you may your ancient pile,
You will never more chant in the holy aisle;
You never will kneel as you knelt of yore;
Nor the censer swing, nor the anthem pour;
And your souls shall never shake off the spell
That binds you to all you loved so well,
Ere the altars fell, and the Abbey bell
Was hush'd in the Deadly Nightshade Dell.

"Caw! Caw!" In the ages gone,
When the mountains with oak were overgrown,
Up the glen the Norskmen came,
Lines of warriors, chiefs of fame--
With Bekan the Sorcerer, earthward borne,
By toil, and battle, and tempest worn--
Crowding along the dell forlorn.
Over the rill, high on the steep,
There in his barrow wide and deep,
With axe and hoe those armed men
Buried him down, by the narrow glen,
With the flower, at his feet, of wondrous spell:
Buried him down, and covered him well,
And left him hid by the lonely Dell.

"Caw! Caw!" O would the wise Monks had known
Who slept his sleep in that barrow alone,
When they gathered the bekan he made to grow,
And bore it to bloom in the dell below.
For they pulled at the heart of the mighty Dead;
And they broke his peace in his narrow bed;
And on fibre and root the Sorcerer's power
Fasten'd the spell that changed the flower;
From sweet to bitter its juices pass'd;
And the deadly fruit on the poisoned blast
Scattered its sorcery ages down.
And where once with cowl and gown,
Hymning the Imperial Queen of Light,
Went forth the Monks--the shade of night
Was spread more deadly than tongue can tell.
Witchery walked where all had been well:
Well with all that hymned and prayed;
Well with Monk, and well with maid
That sought the Abbey for solace and aid.
But the lethal juices wrought their spell:
One by one was rung their knell:
One by one from choir and cell
They floated up with a hoarse farewell;
And the altars fell, and the Abbey bell
Was hush'd in the Deadly Nightshade Dell.

NOTES TO "THE ROOKS OF FURNESS."

In the southern extremity of Furness, about half a mile to the west
of Dalton, a deep narrow vale stretches itself from the north, and
opens to the south with an agreeable aspect to the noonday sun; it
is well watered with a rivulet of fine water collected from the
adjacent springs, and has many convenient places for mills and
fish-ponds. This romantic spot is the Vale of Deadly Nightshade,
or, as it is sometimes called, Bekangs-Gill.

The solitary and private situation of this dell being so well
formed and commodious for religious retreat had attracted the
attention of Evanus, or Ewanus, a monk, originally belonging to
the monastery of Savigny in Normandy, from which he and a few
associates had migrated, and had recently seated themselves at
Tulket, near Preston in Amounderness, where Evanus was chosen to
be their first abbot. Accordingly, they were induced to change
their residence; and exactly three years and three days after their
settling at Tulket on the fourth of the nones of July, 1124, they
removed to the sequestered shades of Bekangs-Gill, and there began
the foundation of the magnificent Abbey of St. Mary in Furness,
in magnitude only second of those in England belonging to the
Cistercian Monks, and the next in opulence after Fountains Abbey in
Yorkshire, being endowed with princely wealth and almost princely
authority, and not unworthy of the style in which its charter
records the gifts and grants, with all their privileges, of its
Royal founder, "to God and St. Mary," in the following words:--

"In the name of the Blessed Trinity, and in honour of St. Mary
of Furness, I Stephen, earl of Bulloign and Mortaign, consulting
God, and providing for the safety of my own soul, the soul of my
wife the countess Matilda, the soul of my lord and uncle Henry
king of England and duke of Normandy, and for the souls of all the
faithful, living as well as dead, in the year of our Lord 1127 of
the Roman indiction, and the 5th and 18th of the epact:

"Considering every day the uncertainty of life, that the roses and
flowers of kings, emperors, and dukes, and the crowns and palms
of all the great, wither and decay; and that all things, with an
uninterrupted course, tend to dissolution and death:

"I therefore return, give and grant, to God and St. Mary of
Furness, all Furness and Walney, with the privilege of hunting;
with Dalton, and all my lordship in Furness, with the men
and everything thereto belonging, that is, in woods and in
open grounds, in land and in water; and Ulverston, and Roger
Braithwaite, with all that belongs to him; my fisheries at
Lancaster, and Little Guoring, with all the land thereof; with
sac[10], and soc[11], tol[12], and team[13], infangenetheof[14],
and every thing within Furness, except the lands of Michael Le
Fleming; with this view, and upon this condition, That in Furness
an order of regular monks be by divine permission established:
which gift and offering I by supreme authority appoint to be for
ever observed: and that it may remain firm and inviolate for ever,
I subscribe this charter with my hand; and confirm it with the sign
of the Holy Cross.

"Signed by

Henry, King of England and Duke of Normandy.
Thurstan, Archbishop of York.
Audin, } Bishops.
Boces, }

Robert, Keeper of the Seal.
Robert, Earl of Gloster."

The magnitude of the Abbey may be known from the dimensions
of the ruins; and enough is standing to show the style of the
architecture, which breathes the same simplicity of taste which
is found in most houses belonging to the Cistercian monks, which
were erected about the same time with Furness Abbey. The round and
pointed arches occur in the doors and windows. The fine clustered
Gothic and the heavy plain Saxon pillars stand contrasted. The
walls shew excellent masonry, are in many places counter-arched,
and the ruins discover a strong cement. But all is plain: had the
monks even intended, the stone would not admit of such work as has
been executed at Fountains and Rieval Abbeys. The stone of which
the buildings have been composed is of a pale red colour, dug from
the neighbouring rocks, now changed by time and weather to a tint
of dusky brown, which accords well with the hues of plants and
shrubs that everywhere emboss the mouldering arches.

The church and cloisters were encompassed with a wall, which
commenced at the east side of the great northern door, and formed
the strait enclosure; and a space of ground, to the amount of
sixty-five acres, was surrounded with a strong stone wall, which
enclosed the porter's lodge, the mills, granaries, ovens, kilns,
and fish-ponds belonging to the Abbey, the ruins of which are
still visible. This last was the great enclosure, now called the
deer-park, within which, placed on the crown of an eminence that
rises immediately from the Abbey, and seen over all low Furness,
are the remains of a beacon or watch-tower, raised by the society
for their further security, and commanding a magnificent prospect.
The door leading to it is still remaining in the enclosure wall, on
the eastern side.

During the residence of the monks at Tulket, and until the election
of their fifth Abbot (Richard de Bajocis) they were of the order
of Savigny under the rule of St. Benedict; and from their habit
or dress were called Grey Monks; but at the time of the general
matriculation of the Savignian monasteries with that of Citeaux,
the monks of Furness also accepted of the reform, exchanged their
patron St. Benedict for St. Bernard, changed their dress from grey
to white, and so became White Monks, Bernardins, or Cistercians,
the rule of which order they religiously observed until the
dissolution of the monasteries.

The Cistercian order in its origin was devoted to the practice
of penance, silence, assiduous contemplation, and the angelical
functions (as Mr. West expresses it) of singing the divine praises;
wherefore it did not admit of the ordinary dissipation which
attends scholastic enquiries. St. Bernard who was himself a man of
learning, well knowing how far reading was necessary to improve
the mind even of a recluse, took great care to furnish his monks
with good libraries. Such of them as were best qualified were
employed in taking copies of books in every branch of literature,
many of which, beautifully written on vellum, and elegantly
illuminated, are at this time to be seen in their libraries. They
used neither furs nor linen, and never eat any flesh, except in
time of dangerous sickness; they abstained even from eggs, butter,
milk, and cheese, unless upon extraordinary occasions, and when
given to them in alms. They had belonging to them certain religious
lay brethren, whose office was to cultivate their lands, and attend
to their secular affairs: these lived at their granges and farms,
and were treated in like manner with the monks, but were never
indulged with the use of wine. The monks who attended the choir
slept in their habits upon straw; they rose at midnight, and spent
the rest of the night in singing the divine office. After prime
and the first mass, having accused themselves of their faults in
public chapter, the rest of the day was spent in a variety of
spiritual exercises with uninterrupted silence. From the Feast of
the Exaltation of the Holy Cross (the 14th of September) until
Easter they observed a strict fast: and flesh was banished from
their infirmaries from Septuagesima until Easter. This latter
class of monks was confined to the boundary wall, except that on
some particular days the members of it were allowed to walk in
parties beyond it, for exercise and amusement; but they were very
seldom permitted either to receive or pay visits. Much of these
rigorous observances was mitigated by a bull of Pope Sixtus IV.,
in the year 1485, when among other indulgencies the whole order
was allowed to eat flesh three times in every week; for which
purpose a particular dining-room, separate and distinct from the
usual refectory, was fitted up in every monastery. They were
distinguished for extensive charities and liberal hospitality; for
travellers were so sumptuously entertained at the Abbey, that it
was not till the dissolution that an inn was thought necessary in
this part of Furness, when one was opened for their accommodation,
expressly because the Monastery could no longer receive them. With
the rules of St. Bernard the monks had adopted the white cassock,
with a white caul and scapulary. Their choral dress was either
white or grey, with caul and scapulary of the same, and a girdle
of black wool; over that a hood and a rocket, the front part of
which descended to the girdle, where it ended in a round, and the
back part reached down to the middle of the leg behind: when they
appeared abroad, they wore a caul and full black hood.

The privileges and immunities granted to the Cistercian order in
general were very numerous: and those to the Abbey of Furness were
proportioned to its vast endowments. The Abbot held his secular
court in the neighbouring castle of Dalton, where he presided,
with the power of administering not only justice, but injustice,
since the lives and property of the villain tenants of the lordship
of Furness were consigned by a grant of King Stephen to the
disposal of the lordly Abbot! The monks also could be arraigned,
for whatever crime, only by him. The military establishment of
Furness likewise depended upon the Abbot. Every mesne lord and free
homager, as well as the customary tenants, took an oath of fealty
to the Abbot, to be true to him against all men, except the king.
Every mesne lord obeyed the summons of the Abbot, or his steward,
in raising his quota of armed men; and every tenant of a whole
tenement furnished a man and a horse of war for guarding the coast,
for the border service, or any expedition against the common enemy
of the king and kingdom. The habiliments of war were a steel coat,
or coat of mail, a falce, or falchion, a jack, the bow, the byll,
the crossbow, and spear.

What wonder, says a lively writer, that Abbot Pele, or any other
man, owning such vast possessions and having such temporal and
spiritual privileges as the following, should have grown proud and
gross, and contumacious! Within the limits of his own district
he was little short of omnipotent. The same oath of fealty was
taken to him as to the king himself; he had no less than twelve
hundred and fifty-eight able men armed with coats of mail, spears,
and bows and arrows, upon the possessions of the Monastery, ready
for active service, four hundred of whom were cavalry; besides
manorial rights, he had extended feudal privileges, appointment of
sheriff, coroner, and constable, wreck of the sea, freedom from
suit of county; a free market and fair at Dalton, with a court of
criminal jurisdiction; lands and tenements exempt from all toll
and tax whatever; the emoluments incidental to wardship, such as
the fining of young ladies who married against his will, &c. He
had the patronage of all the churches save one; no bailiff could
come into his territories under any pretence whatever; and no man
was to presume in any way to molest or disturb him on pain of
forfeiting ten pounds to the king. In addition to its rich home
territory in the North Lonsdale, the Abbey possessed the manor
of Beaumont in the south; land and houses at Bolton, and in many
other places near Lancaster; five villages in Yorkshire, with much
land and pasturage; and a mansion for the abbot, in York itself;
all beautiful Borrowdale in Cumberland was their property; houses
at Boston in Lincolnshire; land in the Isle of Man; and houses
in Drogheda and two other towns in Ireland. The home lordship
comprehended the rich district of Low Furness and all the district
included between the river Duddon on the one side, and the Elter
(beginning at the Shire Stones on the top of Wrynose), Lake
Windermere and the Leven on the other; with the isles of Walney and
Foulney, and the Pile of Fouldrey. They had an excellent harbour
of refuge fitted to accommodate the largest vessels of that era at
any time of tide, and they had four good iron mines in their near
neighbourhood, the ore of which, however, they do not seem to have
exported. The total income of the society appears, at the time of
its dissolution in 1537, to have been more than nine hundred pounds
a-year; which would be represented by about ten times that value in
our time, or _nine thousand a-year_.

But in the reign of Edward the First, its revenues seem to have
been nearly as large again. According to the late Mr. Beck, the
author of _Annales Furnesienses_, to which we are indebted for much
of these particulars, the tenants of the Abbey paid great part of
their rents by provisioning the monks with grain, lambs, calves,
&c., or bartered them for beer, bread, iron, wood, and manure. More
than two hundred gallons of beer were distributed weekly among
these tenants upon tunning days, accompanied with about three score
of loaves of bread; the expenditure in this particular alone, per
annum, must have been at least one thousand pounds of our present
money: one ton of malleable iron was also given to the same people
for the repair of their ploughs, and wood for that of their houses
and fences. They might take, too, all the manure--amounting yearly
to four or five hundred cartloads--with the exception of that from
the Abbot's and high stables. The tenants paid by way of fine, or
admission to their tenements, but one penny, called "God's Penny,"
and were sworn to be true to the king and to the convent. What alms
were distributed amongst the poor by this wealthy and pious society
we have no means of discovering. It was bound, upon the anniversary
of Saints Crispin and Crispinian, to distribute two oxen, two cows,
and one bull among the poor folks who assembled for that purpose
at the Porter's Lodge. At the same place, ninety-nine shillings'
worth of bread, and six maze of _fresh_ herrings, valued at forty
shillings, were also given in alms every Monday and Tuesday; the
convent maintained from its very commencement thirteen poor men,
allowing each of them thirty-three shillings and fourpence yearly:
and eight widows received a similar allowance of provisions to that
allowed for the same number of monks. They had five flagons of ale
weekly, and each of them a _clibanus_,[15] which it is supposed
must have been a certain quantity of bread. Lastly, there were two
schools held in some part of the monastery, where the children
of those tenants who paid their rent in provisions, and who it
is probable lived in the neighbourhood, received their education
gratuitously, and dined in the hall during their attendance as
well. If one of these showed symptoms of superior intelligence, he
had the privilege of being elected into the society in preference
to all others, by which step he might rise by good fortune or
_finesse_ even to be Lord of Furness.

The society numbered three and thirty monks at the time of its
dissolution, and about one hundred converts and servants, and
no convert was admitted who could not pay for the labour of an
hireling. To have been head of such a colony at home, and to have
wielded such a power abroad, must have made even the most pious of
abbots "draw too proud a breath;" and yet with all the faults and
all the vices of that cowled priesthood, we cannot now forbear to
pity their sad fate, when bidden by the remorseless king to leave
their grand old residences and quiet ways of life wherein they had
lived so long!

It must be added, that to so much power and so great prosperity,
with all the beneficence and usefulness of the society there
had come to be allied an amount of profligacy and irreligion
proportionate to the many advantages which it had enjoyed.

The early part of the sixteenth century found the morality of the
monastery represented in many instances by social arrangements
in direct violation of the injunctions laid upon all monastic
institutions, "in the king's behalf;" amongst others, of that
one which especially enjoins that "women of what state or degree
soever they be, be utterly excluded from entering into the limit
or circuit of this monastery or place, unless they first obtain
license of the King's Highness, or his visitor." It was stated,
and apparently well authenticated, that Rogerus Pele (abbot) had
two wives, or what amounted to the same thing, two concubines;
and amongst his subordinate monks, Johannes Groyn had one, whilst
Thomas Hornsby had five. Thus, evil days in one sense had already
come; and others were fast drawing nigh. The mandate, moreover, had
been prepared for their destruction independently of these and such
like shortcomings; but they afforded a powerful handle by which to
wrest them to destruction.

First came the commissioners appointed by the King for visiting
the monasteries in the North of England, with their searching
examination into everything connected with each separate society:
next, the list of crimes charged on the monks at the time of the
visitation: then the devices of the Earl of Sussex "advertised" in
his letter to the King, wherein "I, the said erle, devising with
myselfe, yf one way would not serve, how, and by what other means,
the said monks might be ryd from the said abbey;" the summons to
Whalley of the unhappy Abbot to make his proposal, in his own
handwriting, according to the "ded enrolled, which A. Fitzherbert
hath drawn" for the surrender of his monastery to the King: and
then the final consummation of all. For come it must. On the 7th
day of April, 1537, in spite of prayers to the "kynge," in spite
of many a "shillinge in golde" given to the "right honerable and
our singler goode Mr. Mayster Thomas Cromwell, secretarie to the
Kynge's highness," the royal commissioners came down upon their
prey. After hanging the Abbot of Whalley, and the royal injunction
that "all monks and chanons, that be in any wise faultie, are _to
be tyed uppe without further delay or ceremonie_," the Abbot of
Furnesse is found "to be of a very facile and ready minde," and
all hope of averting his doom being over, and his sense of peril
hastening his submission, "it coming freely of himself and without
enforcement," he signed the fatal deed of surrender, confessing
with contrition "the mysorder and evil lyfe both to God and our
prynce of the brethren of this monasterie;" the pen passed from the
hand of the Superior to each monk in succession, and the "lamp on
the altar of St. Mary of Furness was extinguished for ever."

With forty shillings given to them by the King, and clad in
"secular wedes" (that is, lay garments), without which they were
not permitted to depart, they turned their faces from their
magnificent home in the Nightshade Dell. To the degraded Abbot was
given the Rectory of Dalton, valued at £33 6s. 9d. yearly, obtained
with difficulty, and even of which he was not allowed undisturbed
possession. But no traces of his associates at the Abbey appear to
have survived their departure from it, unless we dimly discern them
in the miserable record which relates that sixteen years after the
period of their dissolution, fifteen pounds[16] were still paid in
annuities out of the revenues of the late monastery; that noble
possession which the hapless Thirty surrendered to the King.

Of the three and thirty monks of which the society at Furness was
composed, the names of the Abbot, the Prior, and twenty-eight of
the brethren, were appended to the deed: two had been committed to
ward and sure custody in the King's castle of Lancaster, for being
"found faultye:"[17] and one of the number remains unaccounted for.

FOOTNOTES:

[10] _Saccum._--The power of imposing fines upon tenants and vassals within the lordship.

[11] _Soccum._--The power and authority of administering justice.

[12] _Tollum._--A duty paid for buying and selling, &c.

[13] _Theam, Team._--A royalty granted for trying bondmen and villains, with a sovereign power over their villain tenants, their wives, children, and goods, to dispose of them at pleasure.

[14] _Infangenetheof._--The power of judging of thefts committed within the liberty of Furness.

[15] _Clibanus_, a portable oven: the term probably represents the quantity of bread contained in it at one baking.

[16] This sum is stated by West to be £151, which Mr. Beck says is a mistake. The deed of surrender of Bolton Priory was signed by the Prior and fourteen canons. Of the subscribers to this instrument, two, in 1553, which would be about sixteen years after their dissolution, continued to receive annuities of £6 13s. 4d.; one, £6; seven, £5 6s. 8d. each: and one, £4. The other canons were dead, or otherwise provided for.

[17] For treason. One of them, Henry Talley, had said that no secular knave should be head of the Church; and the other had declared that the king was not the true king, and no rightful heir to the crown.

KING DUNMAIL.

They buried on the mountain's side
King Dunmail, where he fought and died.
But mount, and mere, and moor again
Shall see King Dunmail come to reign.

Mantled and mailed repose his bones
Twelve cubits deep beneath the stones;
But many a fathom deeper down
In Grisedale Mere lies Dunmail's crown.

Climb thou the rugged pass, and see
High midst those mighty mountains three,
How in their joint embrace they hold
The Mere that hides his crown of gold.

There in that lone and lofty dell
Keeps silent watch the sentinel.
A thousand years his lonely rounds
Have traced unseen that water's bounds.

His challenge shocks the startled waste,
Still answered from the hills with haste,
As passing pilgrims come and go
From heights above or vales below.

When waning moons have filled their year,
A stone from out that lonely Mere
Down to the rocky Raise is borne,
By martial shades with spear and horn.

As crashes on the pile the stone,
The echoes to the King make known
How still their faithful watch they hold
In Grisedale o'er his crown of gold.

And when the Raise has reached its sum,
Again will brave King Dunmail come;
And all his Warriors marching down
The dell, bear back his golden crown.

And Dunmail, mantled, crowned, and mailed,
Again shall Cumbria's King be hailed;
And o'er his hills and valleys reign
When Eildon's heights are field and plain.

NOTES TO "KING DUNMAIL."