Chapter V: Part 5

"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 burst from the sky,
Bidding prismatic light before her fly;
Soft purple radiance streamed around her car,
Absorbing all the beams of every star;--
Roses awaken'd as she pass'd along,
And the high lark perform'd his soaring song,
Whilst pinks, their fragrance shaking on the air,
The proud carnation's glories seem'd to share;
The breezes snatch'd their odours as they flew,
And gave them in their turn pellucid dew,
Which fed their colours to a higher tone,
Till all the earth a vegetative rainbow shone.

Beneath her husband's roof the matchless fair
Graced each delight, and each domestic care.
Her plastic needle bade fresh flow'rets grow;
And, hung in rich festoons, around her glow;
In cooling grots her shellwork seized the eye,
With skill arrang'd, to show each melting dye;
Her taste the garden everywhere sustain'd,
In each parterre her vivid fancy reign'd.
Submissive yews in solid walls she form'd,
Or bade them rise a castle, yet unstorm'd;
In love the eagle hover'd o'er its nest,
Or seem'd a couchant lion sunk to rest.
Her husband's sports his lov'd Edwina shar'd,
For her the hawking party was prepar'd;
She roused the wolf--the foaming boar she chased,
And Danger's self was in her presence graced.

Thus roll'd two years on flowery wheels along,
Midst calm domestic bliss, and sport, and song.
O, Edgar! from pernicious Gallia's shore,
Hadst thou, immoral youth! return'd no more,
Such years tho' lengthen'd time had sweetly run,
Down to the faintest beams of life's last sun.
But thou returnd'st! and thy voluptuous heart,
Which from temptation never knew to start,
Seized on Edwina as a lawful prize--
All dead to Honour's voice, and Conscience' secret cries.

Edgar to Ennerdale oft bent his way,
His form was courtly, and his manners gay;
To Henry he would speak of wars he'd seen,
Of tournaments, and gaudes, 'midst peace serene.
When for Edwina's ear the tale was fram'd
The beauties of bright Gallia's court were nam'd,
Their lives, their loves, all past before her view,
And many things were feign'd he never knew.
At length the prudent fair remark'd the style,
And saw beneath his ease distorted guile;--
For virtue in his tales ne'er found a place,
Nor maiden vigilance, nor matron grace,
But wild and loose his glowing stories ran,
And thus betray'd the black designing man.
As when, in eastern climes, 'midst hours of play,
A sweet boy (wand'ring at the close of day,
Along the margin of a gadding stream,
Whilst Hope around him throws her fairy dream)
Sudden beholds the panther's deadly eye,
And turns, by impulse strong, his step to fly--
So turn'd Edwina, when she saw, reveal'd,
The net th' ensnaring youth had hop'd conceal'd:
Whenever he appear'd her air grew cold,
And awed to mute despair this baron bold;
He by degrees forbore to seek her gate,
Who sat enshrin'd within, in Virtue's state.
But his wild wishes did not cease to rage,
Nor did he strive their fever to assuage--
For sinful love is ever dear to sin,
Its victims self-correction ne'er begin;
But, hurried on by hell, pursue their road,
Nor heed 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.
Lord Henry heard--and from his pillow sprung,
And bold responsive notes he cheerily sung;
Then, "Wake my love!" the happy husband cried,
To her, who, sweetly slumbering at his side,
Wish'd still, thus slumbering, to wear the morn,
And almost chid the tyrant horn--
Yet quick she rose, and quick her busy maids,
Folding her yellow locks in careless braids,
Equipp'd her for the field--sweeping she flew,
Like a slim arrow from the graceful yew.
Her jet-black steed more lively seem'd to bound,
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 pour'd his beams around in ample floods--
Rivers of light descended on the woods;
The plains, the valleys drank the radiant shower,
Each plant received it, and each gentle flower.
The Hunt inspir'd, the ambient æther rent
With varied sounds, as their keen course they bent:
The dogs, deep-mouth'd, in chorus form'd the cry,
And sent their forest greetings to the sky;
The horn's full tone swell'd each pervading note,
And harmony and joy around the country float.

At length a boar, thro' a dark coppice side,
Amidst the rustling bushes seem'd to glide;
Cautious he moved, like a fell thief of night,
Strung by his fears to unintended flight.
Close to the earth he softly crept along,
And shrubs, and underwood around him throng;
But ah! in vain he creeps, the air so thin,
Catches th' effluvia from his reeking skin,
The titillations to the hounds' keen nostrils fly,
Who instantly the brown recesses try.
When turn'd before them into open view,
Quick transports from each bosom flew;
The huntsman's 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 mouthings far behind,
Then scents them as around a beck they wind--
With dread and joy alternately is fill'd
Now high with hope, and now with terror chill'd;
Then in despair he turns to meet the foe,
And rage and madness in his eyeballs glow--
When 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 with the tusk-arm'd head upon his spear,
Lord Henry turn'd to Her--for ever dear!
To lay the bleeding trophy at her feet,
And make his triumph more sincerely sweet--
But horror! no Edwina could be seen,
Nor on the hill's soft slope, or pasture green;
Not shelter'd, near the torrent's fall she lay,
Nor on the forest's edge, escaped the day,
Nor was she on the plain--the valleys too,
Gave no Edwina to the aching view.
Wonder and dread compress her husband's heart,
O'er the surrounding scene his eye-beams dart;
He moves--stands still--terror lifts up his hair,
He seems the pale-cheek'd spectre of despair.
And now was heard her steed's sonorous neigh,
Whose voice the rocks' firm echoes would obey;
Bounding, he comes towards them from the plain,
But his sweet mistress held no guiding rein--
The reins float loosely, as he cleft the air,
No mistress sweet, with guiding hand, was there!
From all but Henry burst terrific cries,
Silent his dread--and quite suppress'd his sighs.
His manly features sink, his eyelids close,
And all his lineaments express his woes.
Speech! O, how weak, when mighty sorrows spring,
When fears excessive to the bosom cling!
Words may to lighter troubles give a show,
But find no place where griefs transcendent grow.
At length they each a different way diverge,
Some to the mountain's haughty brow emerge,
Others pursue the plain--the wood--the dell,
Appointing where to meet, their fortune dear, to tell.

And now, O Lady! Empress of the day,
My pensive pen pursues thee on thy way!
Amidst the heat and fury of the chace,
When the fleet horsemen scarce the eye could trace.
A road succinct Edwina meant to take,
And push'd her steed across an ancient brake;
But in the thicket tangled and dismayed,
And of the thorny solitude afraid,
Again she turn'd her horse--ah! turn'd in vain,
She miss'd the op'ning to the neighb'ring plain.
At length dismounting, tremblingly she strove,
To force a path, through briars thickly wove;
The horse releas'd, straight vanish'd from her eye,
And o'er opposing brambles seem'd to fly--
The distant hounds his prick'd-up ears invade,
And quick he skims o'er ev'ry glen and glade.
His mistress, thus forsook, with prickles torn,
And weeping oft with pain, and all forlorn,
At length achiev'd a path, and saw a rill,
To which she mov'd, her ruby mouth to fill;--
Her taper'd hand immers'd beneath the stream,
Flash'd through the glassy wave with pearly gleam,
It bore the living moisture to her lips,
And eagerly the panting beauty sips,
The shining freshness o'er her brow she threw,
And bless'd the current as it sparkling flew;
Then on its borders sought a short repose,
Whilst round her, doddergrass, and pansies rose.
Sleep soon, unbidden, caught her in his snare,
And folded in his arms the weary fair,
Two aspen trees in one smooth bark were bound,
And threw a thin and trembling shadow round,
The waters gently tinkled as they fell,
And a near sheep sustained a silvery bell,
Whilst breezes o'er her temples softly stray'd,
And 'midst her floating ringlets, leaping, played,
Who would not wish to linger in such rest,
Where waters, shades, and sounds, make sleeping blest?
But, Powers Sublime! who tread the burning air,
And give to sainted charity your care,
Where roved ye now?--Where waved your filmy wings,
Where struck your harps their million-bearing strings?
If on Light's rays, swift shot from 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:
Clung round the aspens where Edwina slept,
And o'er her form your anxious vigils kept--
Whose slumbers long spun out their rosy dreams,
And still consoled her 'midst the noontide beams.
When a hard grasp which seized her listless hands,
Rude, snapt asunder their narcotic bands,
She started, and she found,--O! 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!

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 effulgence shone.
Around the ivory form dark myrtles grew,
To snatch thee from the gazing monster's view;
Through their deep foliage came thy pointed words,
Thy glance was fire--thy sentences were swords!

Such were Edwina's tones, her look, her air,
Striking the young seducer with despair!
Yes, young he was, in beauty's fullest prime,
Untarnish'd yet, untouch'd by withering time!
O'er his red cheek soft dimples playful ran,
Whilst grace and sinewy strength proclaimed The man!
His charms, his passion, sweet Edwina spurned,
And with unfeigned abhorrence, stately turned;
Then walk'd with mien composed across the moor,
Though tremblings seized her heart, and doubtings sore.
But Edgar soon she heard, step quick behind,
And then to mad'ning fears her soul resigned.
She seemed to borrow from the wind its wings,
When from its southern portal first it springs--
Flying, as borne upon the billowy air,
Urged by distraction on, and blank despair.
Her base pursuer spurr'd by dire intent,
Kept closely in the track the fair one went;
Nor hurried much, but 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 stiff upon his chine,
Of ghastly, deathful joy, the horrid sign;
His clinging sides confessed his famished state,
And his deep howl proclaimed a victim's fate.
The coward fled!--O! now my pen forbear,
Nor with the shrieks of terror rend the air!--
The wolf's fell teeth--but O! I check the song,
Nor can the horrid, agonizing chord prolong.

The savage, starting from his bleeding prey,
Rush'd to his haunt, and briefly fled away;
Approaching steps declared swift danger nigh,
And forc'd--too late! the unglutted beast to fly.
Those steps were Henry's!--he first reached the spot,
For him to reach it, was the dreadful lot!
He saw her marble bosom torn--her mangled head;
He saw--mysterious fate! Edwina dead!
Those eyes were closed, whose rich and beamy light,
Would shed a lustre on pale Sorrow's night--
Dumb was that honied mouth, whose graceful speech,
Beyond the schoolman's eloquence would reach!
The snowy arms which lately clasped her lord,
Now streaked with flowing blood--O! thought 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 plain,
And reached the distant undulating main;
His screams of anguish struck with terror more
Than the lank wolf's most desolating roar.
Vain his attendants sooth--in vain they pray,
In stormy grief he wearied down the day.
A furious maniac now he raged around,
And tore the bushes from the embracing ground,
Then spent, all prone upon the earth he fell,
And from his eyes the gushing torrents swell;
When sorrow could articulate its grief,
When words allowed a transient 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.
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 EVA AND THE GIANT.

A LEGEND 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 observe it is somewhere between three and four yards long. That singular accumulation of lichen-clad rock has been known for centuries amongst the natives of Yewdale and the adjacent valleys, by the romance-suggesting designation of Girt Will's Grave. How it came by that name, and how Cauldron Dub and Yewdale Bridge came to be haunted, my task is now to tell.

Some few hundred years ago, the inhabitants of these contiguous dales were startled from their propriety, if they had any, by a report that one of the Troutbeck giants had built himself a hut, and taken up his abode in the lonely dell of the Tarns, above Yewdale Head. Of course 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 extraordinary size and strength; for even in these our own puny days, the biggest man in Westmoreland is to be found in that beautiful vale.

The excitement consequent upon the settlement of one of that gigantic race in this vicinity soon died away, and the object of it, who stood somewhere about nine feet six out of his clogs, if they were in fashion then, and was broad in fair proportion, became known to the neighbours as a capital labourer, ready for any such work as was required in the rude and limited agricultural operations of the period and locality--answered to the cognomen of "Girt (great) Will o' t' Tarns," and, once or twice, did good service as a billman under the Knight of Conistone, when he was called upon to muster his powers to assist in repelling certain roving bands of Scots or Irish, who were wont, now and again, to invade the wealthy plains of low Furness.

The particular Knight who was chief of the Flemings of Conistone, at the period of the giant's location at the Tarns, was far advanced in years, and, in addition to some six or eight gallant and stately sons, had

"One fair daughter, and no more,
The which he loved passing well."

And Eva le Fleming, called by the country people "the Lady Eva," was famed throughout the broad north for her beauty and gentleness, her high-bred dignity and her humble virtues; but it is not with her that my story has to do. She, like the mother of "the gentle lady married to the Moor," had a maid called Barbara, an especial favourite with her mistress, and, in her own sphere, deemed quite as beautiful. In fact, it was hinted that, when she happened to be in attendance upon her lady on festive or devotional occasions, the eyes of even knights and well-born squires were as often directed to the maid as to the mistress, and seemed to express as much admiration in one direction as the other.

And when mounted on the Lady Eva's own palfrey, bedecked in its gayest trappings, she rode, as she oftentimes did, to visit her parents at Skelwith, old and young were struck with her beauty, and would turn, as she ambled past, to gaze after her, and to wonder at the elegance of her figure, the ease of her deportment, and the all-surpassing loveliness of her features. Her lady, notwithstanding the disparity of their rank, loved her as a sister, and it was whispered amongst her envious fellow-servants, that her mistress's fondness made her assume airs unbecoming her station. True enough it was that she seemed sufficiently haughty and scornful in her reception of the homage paid to her charms by the young men of her own rank, and by many above it. The only one to whom she showed the slightest courtesy on these occasions was wild Dick Hawksley, the Knight's falconer, and he was also the only one who appeared to care no more for her favours than for her frowns.

The Lady Eva, as well befits high-born dames, was somewhat romantic in her tastes, and would often row for hours upon the lake, and wander for miles through the woods, or even upon the mountains, unattended, save by her favourite bower-maiden. And one evening in autumn, after having been confined for two whole days to the hall, by heavy and incessant rain, tired of playing chess with her father, and battledore with her younger brothers, or superintending the needlework of her maids, and tempted by the brilliant moonlight and now unobscured skies, she summoned Barbara, and set out upon a stroll by the lake side.

The pair were sauntering along a path cut through the dense coppice, the lady leaning in condescending affection upon the shoulder of her maiden, and listening to a recital of how, on her return from some of her visits to her parents, she had been waylaid by Great Will of the Tarns, and how 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 would have lifted an infant, vanished on the instant amongst the thick hazels.

The Lady Eva stood for a minute struck powerless with terror and astonishment at this audacious outrage; but the sound of the monster crashing his headlong course through the coppice, and the half-stifled screams of his captive, soon recalled her suspended faculties, and then

"Fair" Eva "through the hazel-grove
Flew, like a startled cushat dove,"

back to the hall, where, breathless with terror and exertion, she gave the alarm that Barbara had been carried off by the giant. There was noisy and instantaneous commotion amongst the carousing gentles at the upper, and the loitering lacqueys at the lower end of the hall. Dick Hawksley, and a few more, darted off in immediate pursuit on foot, while several rushed to the stables, in obedience to the call of their young masters, who were, one and all, loudly vociferating for their horses. Scarce a minute passed, ere half a dozen Flemings, attended by as many mounted followers, were spurring like lightning through the wood in the direction of Yewdale. They came in sight of the giant and his burthen as he neared Cauldron Dub, with the light-heeled falconer close behind, calling loudly upon him to stay his flight; but he held on with tremendous strides, till he reached the brow over the pool, when, finding that the horsemen were close upon him, and that it was hopeless to try to carry his prize farther, he stopped--uttered one terrible shout of rage and disappointment--and whirled his shrieking victim into the flooded beck, resuming his now unencumbered flight with increased speed.

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 high 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 gallop to keep them in sight, even while the exertions of the brave falconer sufficed to sustain their heads above water, which was only till they came under the bridge, where the water, pent in by the narrow arch, acquired four-fold force, and there they heard him utter a hoarse cry of despair, and the gallant Hawksley and the Lady Eva's beauteous favourite were seen no more, till their bodies were found, days after, on the shore far down the lake.

One or two of the horsemen continued to gallop down the side of the beck, in the bootless hope of being able even yet to render them some aid, but the most of them turned their horses' heads, and went off once more at their utmost speed in pursuit of the murderous giant. He, considering the chase at an end, had slackened his pace, and they were not long in overtaking him. Great Will struck out manfully with his club (time out of mind the giant's favourite weapon) as they rushed upon him, but 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 murderees, if they be right orthodox apparitions, always appear to be re-enacting the closing scene of their earthly career, it is scarcely required of me to dilate farther upon the manner of their appearance. Of course I do not expect, and certainly do not wish to be called upon to prove the even-down truth of every particular of the 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 maintain against all comers.

KIRKBY LONSDALE BRIDGE.

A LEGEND.

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 roughened 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 which close in the prospect, give it an air of seclusion. This stream is plentifully stocked with trout and salmon, and here the angler may sit and watch the gilded fly with a devotion worthy of a Davy or a Walton.

The singular construction of the bridge renders it an object of curiosity; and when viewed in connection with the river and valley of the Lune, it forms one of the most romantic prospects on which the eye can dwell. It is composed of three beautifully ribbed arches, the centre one rising to the height of thirty-six feet above the stream. It is a lofty, firm and handsome structure, but so narrow as almost to deserve the taunt cast upon the "auld brig of Ayr:"--

"Where twa wheelbarrows trembled when they met:" at least no two carriages of a larger size can pass each other; but, for the security of the foot passengers, there are angular recesses in the battlements, corresponding with the projecting piers.

Antiquity has cast her veil over this erection, and a consequent obscurity envelopes its history. If, however, we may rely on popular tradition, the building is to be ascribed to an unmentionable personage; of whom it is said, "that he built the bridge one windy night, and that in fetching the stones from a distance, he let fall the last apronfull as he flew over a fell hard by." This gentleman has been "a bridge-builder," "time out of mind," notwithstanding the improbability of his employing "himself in works of so much real utility to men." Such an historical fact may, however, account for the huge blocks of stone found in various parts of the neighbouring moors.

"Still grand, and beautiful, and good,
Has Lonsdale bridge unshaken stood,
And scorned the swollen, raging flood,
For many ages;
Though antiquaries, who have tried
Some date to find, in vain have pryed
In ancient pages.

Then hear what old tradition says:--
Close by the Lune in former days
Lived an old maid, queer all her ways,
In Yorkshire bred;
Though 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 Lune, upon the brow,
Had passed one night these fav'rites two,
'Twas dark and rainy;
Her cow was o'er, she knew her bellow,
Her pony too, poor little fellow,
She heard him whinny.

Alack, alack a day! she cries,
As overflowed her streaming eyes,
When lo! with her to sympathise,
Old Nick appears;
'Pray, now, good woman, don't despair,
But lay aside all anxious care,
And wipe your tears.

'To raise a 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 was a bargain, she consented,
For she was Yorkshire;
Now home she goes in mighty glee,
Old Satan, too, well pleased he,
Went to his work, Sir.

When Ilus' son surrounded Troy
With walls that nothing might destroy,
Two gods some time he did employ,
But never paid 'em;
Here Satan, certain of his prize,
With building made a desp'rate noise,
So fast he laid on.

In short, the morning streaks appear,
The bridge is built and Satan there,
When this old lady now drew near,
Her lap-dog with her;
'Behold the bridge,' the tempter cries,
'Your cattle, too, before your eyes,
So hie you thither.'

But mark! she well the bargain knew,
A bun then from her pocket drew,
And showed it first to little Cue,
Then overthrew it;
Now flew the bun, now ran the 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 with shame,
Squinted and grinned, then in a flame
He vanished quite."

THE SPECTRE ARMY.

A WEIRD TALE OF SOUTRA FELL.

Souter Fell, or Soutra Fell as it is sometimes called, is a considerable mountain situated to the eastward of Skiddaw and Blencathara. The west and north sides are barricaded with steep rocks, apparently 900 yards in height, and everywhere difficult of access.

A very remarkable phenomenon has exhibited itself on this mountain, which, though difficult to account for satisfactorily, is too well authenticated by numerous spectators to be discredited. We allude to the appearance of troops of visionary horsemen, crossing the mountains, advancing, retreating, and performing different military evolutions--an optical delusion which has been observed in this vicinity, to the great astonishment of the rustics of the vale.

"As when a shepherd of the Hebrid isles
Placed far amid the melancholy main
(Whether it be lone fancy him beguiles,
Or that aërial beings sometimes deign
To stand, embodied, to our senses plain),
Sees on the naked hill or valley low,
The whilst in ocean Phoebus dips his wain,
A vast assembly moving to and fro;
Then all at once in air dissolves the wondrous show."

THOMSON.

The following account of this singular appearance, which is scarcely paralleled in history, is contained in Hutchison's History of Cumberland, the particulars being collected by Mr. Smith, who observes that he went himself to examine the spectators, who asserted the facts very positively. "On midsummer eve, 1735, a servant in the employ of William 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 appearance, he was discredited and laughed at.

"Two years after, on midsummer eve also, between the hours of eight and nine, William Lancaster himself imagined that several gentlemen were 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 of the middlemost men in the rank. As it grew later, they seemed more regardless of discipline, and rather had the appearance of people riding from a market, than an army, though they continued crowding on, and marching off, as long as there was light to see them."

This phenomenon was no more observed till the 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 number of witnesses of this strange phenomenon; and having first observed it rigidly, and with great caution themselves, and being fully assured they were not deceived as to the actual appearances, they convened about twenty-six persons from different places in the neighbourhood 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 darkness of approaching night intervened.

"Anon appears a brave, a gorgeous show
Of horsemen shadows, moving to and fro.
* * * * *
Silent the visionary warriors go,
Wending in ordered pomp their upward way,
Till the last banner of the long array
Had disappeared, and every trace is fled
Of splendour--save the beacon's spiry head,
Tipt with eve's latest gleam of burning red."

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 aërial images to be real beings, because of the impracticability of a march over the precipices they seemed to traverse, where horses' hoofs had never trod before. They did not, however, appear to be any less real than on the former occasion; for so convinced were the spectators of the reality of what they had seen, that, as soon as the sun had dawned next morning, several of them climbed the mountain, through an idle expectation of finding the marks of horses' feet, after so numerous an army; but when they arrived at the supposed scene of action, not the mark of a single hoof was discernible, nor have any tidings been received of troops being in the neighbourhood up to this time.[6]

Though this part of the country, like every other, where cultivation has been lately introduced, abounds in all the _aniles fabellæ_ of fairies, ghosts, and apparitions, these are never even fabled to have been seen by more than one or two persons at a time, and the view is always said to be momentary. But in this case the twenty-six spectators saw all alike the same changes, and at the same time, as they discovered by asking each other questions as any change took place. Nor was this wonderful phenomenon observed by these individuals only; it was seen by every person, at every cottage, for a mile round; neither was it confined to a momentary view; for, from the time it was first observed, the appearance must have lasted at least two hours and a half, viz., from half-past seven, till the night coming on prevented the further view; nor yet was the distance such as could impose rude resemblances on the eyes of credulity. The whole story has certainly much of the air of a romance, and it may appear to some fittest for Amadis de Gaul, or Glenville's System of Witches, than for insertion here as a fact. But although it may be difficult 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 in vapour, it seems highly probable, on a consideration of all the circumstances of the case, that certain vapours must have hovered round the mountain 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 combination then taking place in the atmosphere.

It has been remarked that these appearances were observed most particularly on the eve of the last Scotch Rebellion, when troops of horsemen might be privately exercising at no great distance. Indeed, the Editor of the _Lonsdale Magazine_, without giving his authority, observes, that it was afterwards actually discovered "to have been the rebels exercising on the western coast of Scotland, whose movements had been reflected by some fine transparent vapour similar to the Fata Morgana."[7]

Instances are recorded of the phenomena of spectral armies having been occasionally witnessed in other localities. It has been stated that a troop of phantom horsemen was seen coursing over the heights of Helvellyn the day before the battle of Marston Moor.[8] Hutchinson, in his _History of Cumberland_, relates the following as a parallel instance with that of Soutra Fell. In the spring of 1707, early in a serene morning, was observed by two persons in Leicestershire an appearance of an army marching along, till going behind a great hill it disappeared. The forms of pikes, and carbines were distinguishable; the march was not entirely in one direction, but was at the first like the junction of two armies, and the meeting of generals.[9] There is also a well-authenticated statement of a similar phenomenon, witnessed not long ago, on the Mendip Hills, in Somersetshire;[10] and Speed tells us of something of a like nature as preceding a dreadful intestine war.[11] Something of this kind may have given rise to Ossian's grand and awful mythology.

These optical illusions, occurring on Soutra Fell, form a subject peculiarly adapted for "the poet's pen," and are finely illustrated in the following poem, written in 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 supposing, as this happened immediately before that rebellion which was intended to subvert the liberty, the law, and the religion of England, that though immediate prophecies may have ceased, these visionary beings might be directed to warn mankind of approaching tumults.

"Look how the world's poor people are amazed
At apparitions, signs, and prodigies,
Whereon with fearful eyes they long have gazed,
Infusing them with dreadful prophecies."

SHAKESPEARE'S _Venus and Adonis_.

A VISIONARY TALE OF THE SCOTCH REBELLION.

While yet I gazed on Soutra's fell,
A sight appeared (I live and tell!),
Strange, ominous, and yet obscure,
But fate has wrought the vision sure;
Too soon explained, it bodes no good,
But desolation marks, and blood,
I saw at once in full career
Equestrian troops dire-armed appear,
Descending swift the mountains steep
No earthly steed could footstep keep;
Yet many hundreds were their might.
The glitt'ring stars revealed the sight--
Lightnings, forbidding to conceal,
Burst, 'midst drawn swords and helmets' steel.
On me when burst their dreadful gleam
Faint my sunk soul emits a scream;
And Walter Selby thus began--
(Walter still less, or more than man)
Shouting till every echo round
The mountain nymphs appalled resound;
"Saw ever man such gallant 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 gallop down yon rock!--
What mortal eye can bear the shock?
The roe of Soutra's lightest bound
Shrinks from the delvy deep profound,
Where not the falcon strains her flight
Above the eagled eyrey's height.
O, for a steed so sure and swift
That might me with these horsemen lift--
These airy knights! My wanton brown,
Famed far and wide for fleet renown,
That darts o'er Derwent like a bird,
Matched with such palfrey and its lord
With wonder froze, its progress slow,
Would think the Derwent ceased to flow.
Ne'er gossamer in summer race
So swift, so sylphy held the chace.
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
Then seen on dread Helvellyn's side
An armed host like this to ride:
Yet difference marked--beneath a crown
The eye of royalty there frowns;
A regal glaive, like mailed Mars,
That streams a meteor thro' the wars,
Points at their head to Marston Moor,
Soon to be drenched with British gore.
On those whose standard new unfurls,
Menace the coronets of earls;
The wode weird sisters waft each count,
And thanes ride wild at their surmount.
"Now Heav'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, misery--death, to some--
Some who are present, sure will come
Death sudden, early--"
"Cease thy croak,
Thou northern raven," Walter spoke;
"If they are phantoms, let them pass--
For men of mist what care e'er was
In constant souls; if flesh and bone,
(Such by their bearing are alone
This gallant band) as I believe,
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
Resounds the bugle far and wide.
The spectred steedmen then descried
A mile's full quarter, seem'd to halt;
The youth again, with lips at fault,
Seized mad the ill-directed horn;
His hand the pedlar seized with scorn;
"Unhallowed, dare not thus deride
What heaven's all pregnant powers confide,
For man's instruction is this vision sent;"
(With that the bugle from his hand he rent);
"Young gentleman, be wise, be ruled:"
The lost musician stood in silence school'd.
The shadowy troops with sword and lance,
And martial pride elate, advance;
Within a hundred yards they seem;
Terrific now their hauberks gleam--
As dazzling more than mortal sight.
Yet 'midst my trance of wild affright,
I marked them, as along they went,
And living 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!
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,
Turned still the stream and every foe defied,
Oft raised his arm, and oft in blood 'twas dyed;
And, as his faint companions fell, he stood
Erect in arms, and drenched in hostile blood;
At last his prowess sunk--a falchion keen
Light' on his helmet, and burst the warrior's screen;
Then, as he fell, a visage too well known
Burst on my view, with death's stern front though prone,
'Twas Selby's self--his dread eidolon's form,
Like Brutus threatened in Philippi's storm.
Selby looked thunderstruck with wild amaze,
But mortal eye could not abide the gaze.
He sunk, forestalled the agonies of death,
And on the ground suspended was his breath;
His horn then sounds the melody of woe,
Some few sad notes that reach the issue's flow,
E're the seer's hand had checked his purpose bold;
Such notes the furies whilsom did unfold,
When Plato gave to Proserpine his hand,
And love stood awed, nor dared his force withstand
The tyrant's force--we wait all frenzied o'er,
And Selby yet alive, as dead, deplore.

All this was horror, but how faint the view
To what too soon all real must ensue,
Shall I relate how sunk each noble name?
Too well 'tis known in blasts of hideous fame;
In prose 'tis written, and in verse 'tis strung,
And songs funereal the dire dirge have sung.
The ruined castle, and the prostrate hall,
The exile's wand'ring, and the hero's fall;
Sons unattainted, sires suspicion haunts,
And childless sires their offspring's exit taunts;
Where such is heard in lamentation's air,
And more sunk deep in silence of despair;
Feelings of family perpetual burn,
And tears incessant fill the nation's urn.
Such was the scene ere dire Culloden's plain
The northern ravens glutted with the slain;
Nor rested then, for in the ebon car
The dire Erynnis of fell civil war
Held yoked her dark steeds from the fatal field,
A part succeeded reckless yet to yield,
With colours flying, and the pibroch's sound,
As if they scorned the violated ground,
As vengeance filled their bosoms fraught with ire,
As if they sought a respite to retire,
On adverse fortune scorned to waste their strength,
But thought calamity would reach its length;
Then, to return--but nobler thoughts evince,
Convinced by reason they salute their Prince,
Convinced, revere the majesty of laws,
Nor wreck their fortunes in a desperate cause;
'Twas thus each fought with still undaunted heart,
And each 'twas thought maintained the better part.

Now civil war has spent its savage rage,
Say, shall we now for anarchy engage?
Exhaust all purpose of heaven-granted life,
For no one purpose but the love of strife.
Rather than that, let's seek the pristine Cain,
Or rather seek with Lamech's force to reign,
Lamech, than Cain, the seven times told more curs'd,
For even Cain was not 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 year 1743, the servant of Mr. Wren, of Wilton Hall, was sitting at the door with his master, when they both saw the figure of a man with a dog, pursuing some horses along the mountain side, a place so steep that a horse could scarcely keep his footing upon it. These visionary forms appeared to run at an amazing pace, till they got out of sight at the lower end of the Fell. Mr. Wren and his servant next morning ascended the steep mountain, expecting to find the man dead, being persuaded he must be killed in galloping at so furious a rate; but to their surprise, they found not a shoe, nor even any vestige whatever of man, dog, or horse."[12] This story they sometime concealed; at length, however, they ventured to relate it, and were (as might be expected), heartily laughed at.

Nearly allied to this is another atmospheric phenomenon, occasionally seen among the mountains, though of rare occurrence. It consists of an aërial figure, depicted on a dense or misty atmosphere, not unfrequently assuming a grotesque or highly magnified appearance. 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.[13]

This appearance is most rationally explained on the principles of refraction and reflection, the shadowy form being no other than the image of a reality, favourably posited with relation to the refracting medium and the observer's eye. This man-in-the-mist was doubtless the shadow of the real man, created by his coming between the vapour and the sun; yet perhaps the aërial 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 aërial figure which is sometimes seen amongst the Hartz mountains of Hanover, may be accounted for in the same manner. The following is an interesting account of this 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 pass without any obstruction over the Heinrichshöhe mountain. In the south-west, however, towards the mountain Achtermannshöhe, 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 Achtermannshöhe, a human figure of a monstrous size! A violent gust of wind having almost carried away my hat, I clapped my hand to it: and in moving my arm towards my head, the colossal figure did the same.

"The pleasure which I felt at this discovery can hardly be described; for I had already walked many a weary step in the hope of seeing this shadowy image, without being able to gratify my curiosity. I immediately made another movement, by bending my body, and the colossal figure before me repeated it. I was desirous of doing the same thing once more, but my colossus had vanished. I remained in the same position, waiting to see whether it would return; and in a few minutes it again made its appearance on the Achtermannshöhe. I then called the landlord of the neighbouring inn, and having both taken the position which I had taken alone, we looked towards the Achtermannshöhe, but did not perceive anything. We had not, however, stood long, when two such colossal figures were 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 weak and faint, sometimes strong and well defined."[14]

[6] From Hutchinson's _History of Cumberland_, and Rev. C. C. Clarke's
_One Hundred Wonders of the World_.

[7] _Lonsdale Magazine_, vol. ii. p. 313.

[8] _Coniston Hall_, by Rev. W. GRESLEY, M.A., p. 135.

[9] Hutchinson's _History of Cumberland_, p. 420, vol. i.

[10] _Westmoreland and Cumberland Illustrated_, p. 217.

[11] _Lonsdale Magazine_, vol. ii. p. 425.

[12] Clarke's _Wonders of the World_.

[13] Wilkinson's _Tours to the British Mountains_, pp. 64, 65.

[14] Clarke's _Wonders of the World_, pp. 434, 435.

RUSTIC POETS OF THE LAKE DISTRICT.

JOHN OLDLAND AND JAMIE MUCKELT.

Among the various traits of local character in the English Lake district, there is not perhaps, one more amusing than that propensity to rhyming which a number of individuals has exhibited, in 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 interest to those who feel a pleasure in tracing the unassisted efforts of natural genius.