Part 17

It contains about four acres of ground, is planted with firs and other trees, and has a curious octagonal cottage built with unhewn stones, and artificially mossed over and thatched. This was erected many years ago by the late Sir Wilfred Lawson, to whose representative the island at present belongs. A few yards from its site are the ruins of the hermitage formerly occupied by the recluse. These vestiges, being of stone and mortar, give the appearance of its having consisted of two apartments; an outer one, about twenty feet long and sixteen feet broad, which has probably been his chapel, and another, of narrower dimensions, his cell, with a little garden adjoining.

The scene around was well adapted to excite the most solemn emotions, and was in unison with the severity of his religious life. His plot of ground and the waters around him supplied his scanty fare; while the rocks and mountains inspired his meditations with the most sublime ideas of the might and majesty of the Creator. It is no wonder that "St. Herbert, a priest and confessor, to avoid the intercourse of man, and that nothing might withdraw his attention from unceasing meditation and prayer, chose this island for his abode."

There is no history of St. Herbert's life and actions to be met with, or any tradition of his works of piety or miracles, preserved by the inhabitants of the country. His contemporary existence with St. Cuthbert, and his equo-temporary death with him obtained by the prayers of the saint, at the time and in the manner related below, according to the old legends, is all that is known of him.

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.