Part 7

Denton (MS.) speaking of Whitehaven or White-Toft Haven, says "It was belonging to St. Beghs of antient time, for the Abbot of York, in Edward I.'s time was impleaded for wreck, and his liberties there, by the King, which he claimed from the foundation, to be confirmed by Richard Lucy, in King John's time, to his predecessors."

That Whitehaven was anciently a place of resort for shipping appears from some particulars respecting it mentioned in those remarkable Irish documents, called the _Annals of the Four Masters_, much of which was written at the Abbey of Monesterboice, in the county of Louth--nearly opposite, on the Irish shore. In the account of the domestic habits and manufactures of the Irish, it is stated that their _coracles_, or _Wicker Boats_, their Noggins, and other domestic utensils, were made of wood called _Wythe_ or _Withey_, brought from the opposite shore of _Baruch_ (i.e. rocky coast) and that a small colony was placed there for the purpose of collecting this wood. That Barach mouth, or Barrow mouth, and Barrow mouth wood is the same as that alluded to by the Four Masters, is evident from the legend of St. Bega, which places it in the same locality; and that the colony of Celts resided in the neighbourhood of the now _Celts_, or _Kell's Pit_, in the same locality also, is manifest from the name. About the year 930, it appears that one of the Irish princes or chiefs, accompanied an expedition to this place for wood (for that a great portion of the site of the present town and the neighbouring heights were formerly covered with forest trees there can be no doubt) and that the inhabitants who were met at _Whitten_, or _Wittenagemote_, fell upon and look the chief and several of the accompanying expedition prisoners from a jealousy of their sanctuary being invaded. Many of the Irish utensils were imported hither, particularly the _noggin_, or small water pail, which was made of closely woven wickerwork, and covered inside with skin, having a projecting handle for the purpose of dipping into a river or well. The same article, in its primitive shape, though made of a different material, called a _geggin_, is still used by some of the farmers in that neighbourhood. When _Adam de Harris_ gave lands at Bransty Beck to the church of Holm Cultram, he also gave privilege to the monks to cut wood for making geggins or noggins.

From an old history of the county of Durham, Whitehaven appears to have been a resort for shipping in the tenth century; and when the Nevills of Raby were called upon to furnish their quota of men to accompany Henry in his expedition to Ireland in 1172, they were brought to _Wythop-haven_, or _Witten-haven_, and transported thence in ships to the Irish coast. When Edward was advancing against Scotland, in the fourteenth century, he found a ship belonging to this place, in which he sent a cargo of oats, to be ground by the monks of St. Bees.

In nearly all histories of Cumberland, the name of Whitehaven has been attributed either to some imaginary whiteness of the rocks on the east side of the harbour, or to the cognomen of an old fisherman who resided there about the year 1566, at which time the town is said to have had only six houses. In 1633 it consisted of only nine thatched cottages. Sir Christopher Lowther, second son of Sir John Lowther, purchased Whitehaven and the lands lying in its neighbourhood, and built a mansion on the west end of the haven at the foot of a rock. He died in 1644, and was succeeded by his son, Sir John Lowther, who erected a new mansion on the site of the present castle, described by Mr. Denton, in 1688, as a "stately new pile of building, called the Flatt," and having conceived the project of working the coal mines, and improving the harbour, he obtained from Charles the Second, about the year 1666, a grant of all the "derelict land at this place," which yet remained in the crown; and in 1678, all the lands for two miles northward, between high and low water mark, the latter grant containing about 150 acres. Sir John having thus laid the foundation of the future importance of Whitehaven, commenced his great work, and lived to see a small obscure village grow up into a thriving and populous town.

There is a traditionary account of the existence of an ancient ruin where the castle stands (probably Druidical; or, where at a later period, the Whitten, or Wittenagemote, was held) the remains of which were broken up about the year 1628. Respecting these real or imaginary stones it has been related, that the inhabitants believed them to be enchanted warriors, and gave them the appellation of "_Dread Ring_, or _Circle_," and occasionally "_Corpse Circle_"--corrupted into the word _Corkickle_, the name which the locality now bears.

A reminiscence of the old mansion of the Lowthers is preserved by the road which skirts the precincts of the castle. This is still called, by the older townspeople, the Flatt Walk.

CREWL-WORK.

_Krull_, or _Crewel_, is a word evidently derived from the old Norse _Krulla_, signifying to blend, to mix, and also to curl; in fact, "crewel" work is embroidery, the Berlin wool work of modern days; but the word is generally applied, in this locality, to the covering of a hand ball with worsted work of various colours and devices, the tribute of mothers and sisters in our boyhood.

FOOTNOTES:

[3] See Note on page 80.

[4] Advenerat annua revolutione quædam celebritas quam sacro sancto sabbato in vigilia pentecosten homines illius terræ ob quædam insignia sanctitatis sanctæ virginis tunc illic inventa, et signa ibidem perpetrata solent solempnizare; et ecclesiam illius visitando orationum et oblationum hostiis honorare.

Vita S. Begæ, et de Miraculis Ejusdem, p. 73.

HART'S-HORN TREE.

When wild deer ranged the forest free, Mid Whinfell oaks stood Hart's-Horn Tree; Which, for three hundred years and more, Upon its stem the antlers bore Of that thrice-famous Hart-of-Grease That ran the race with Hercules.

The King of Scots, to hunt the game With brave de Clifford southward came: Pendragon, Appleby, and Brough'm, Gave all his bold retainers room; And all came gathering to the chase Which ended in that matchless race.

Beneath a mighty oak at morn The stag was roused with bugle horn; Unleashed, de Clifford's noblest Hound Rushed to the chase with strenuous bound; And stretching forth, the Hart-of-Grease Led off with famous Hercules.

They ran, and northward held their way; They ran till dusk, from dawning grey; O'er Cumbrian waste, and Border moor, Till England's line was speeded o'er; And Red-kirk on the Scottish ground Mark'd of their chase the farthest bound.

Then turned they southward, stretching on, They ran till day was almost gone; Till Eamont came again in view; Till Whinfell oaks again they knew; They ran, and reached at eve the place Where first began their desperate race.

They panted on, till almost broke Each beast's strong heart with its own stroke! They panted on, both well nigh blind, The Hart before, the Hound behind! And now will strength the Hart sustain To take him o'er the pale again?

He sprang his best; that leap has won His triumph, but his chase is done! He lies stone dead beyond the bound; And stretched on this side lies the Hound! His last bold spring to clear the wall Was vain; and life closed with his fall.

The steeds had fail'd, squires', knights', and king's, Long ere the chase reached Solway's springs! But on the morrow news came in To Brough'm, amidst the festive din, How held the chase, how far, how wide It swerved and swept, and where they died.

Ah! gallant pair! such chase before Was never seen, nor shall be more: And Scotland's King and England's Knight Looked, mutely wondering, on the sight, Where with that wall of stone between Lay Hart and Hound stretched on the green.

Then spoke the King--"For equal praise This hand their monument shall raise! These antlers from this Oak shall spread; And evermore shall here be said, That Hercules killed Hart-of-Grease, And Hart-of-Grease killed Hercules.

"From Whinfell woods to Red-kirk plain, And back to Whinfell Oaks again, Not fourscore English miles would tell! But"--said the King--"they spann'd it well. And by my kingdom, I will say They ran a noble race that day!"--

Then said de Clifford to the King-- "Through many an age this feat shall ring! But of your Majesty I crave That Hercules may have his grave In ground beneath these branches free, From this day forth called Hart's-Horn Tree."

And there where both were 'reft of life, And both were victors in the strife, Survives this saying on that chase, In memory of their famous race-- "Here Hercules killed Hart-of-Grease, And Hart-of-Grease killed Hercules."

NOTES TO "HART'S-HORN TREE."

I.--The memorable Westmorland Forest, or Park of Whinfell, anciently written Qwynnefel, was a grant to Robert de Veteripont from King John. This grant restrained him from committing waste in the woods, and from suffering his servants to hunt there in his absence during the king's life. Till the beginning of last century it was famous for its prodigious oaks; a trio of them, called The Three Brothers, were the giants of the forest; and a part of the skeleton of one of them, called _The Three Brothers' Tree_, which was thirteen yards in girth, at a considerable distance from the root, was remaining until within a very recent period.

On the east side of this park is Julian's Bower, famous for its being the residence of Gillian, or Julian, the peerless mistress of Roger de Clifford, about the beginning of the reign of Edward III. The Pembroke memoirs call it "a little house hard by Whinfell-park, the lower foundations of which standeth still, though all the wall be down long since." This record also mentions the Three Brother Tree and Julian's Bower, as curiosities visited by strangers in the Countess of Pembroke's time, prior to which a shooting seat had been erected near these ruins, for she tells us, that her grandson, Mr. John Tufton, and others at one time, "alighted on their way over _Whinfield_ park at Julian's Bower, to see all the rooms and places about it." Its hall was spacious, wainscotted, and hung round with prodigious stags' horns, and other trophies of the field. One of the rooms was hung with very elegant tapestry; but since it was converted into a farm-house all these relics of ancient times have been destroyed.

A large portion of the park was divided into farms in 1767; and the remainder in 1801, when its deer were finally destroyed. It was thus stripped of its giant trees, and consigned to its present unsheltered condition.

II.--A fine oak formerly stood by the way side, near Hornby Hall, about four miles from Penrith on the road to Appleby, which, from a pair of stag's horns being hung up in it, bore the name of Hart's-Horn Tree. It grew within the district which to this day is called Whinfell Forest. Concerning this tree there is a tradition, confirmed by Anne, Countess of Pembroke in her memoirs, that a hart was run by a single greyhound (as the ancient deer hound was called) from this place to Red-Kirk in Scotland, and back again. When they came near this tree the hart leaped the park paling, but, being worn out with fatigue, instantly died; and the dog, equally exhausted, in attempting to clear it, fell backwards and expired. In this situation they were found by the hunters, the dog dead on one side of the paling, and the deer on the other. In memory of this remarkable chase, the hart's horns were nailed upon the tree, whence it obtained its name. And as all extraordinary events were in those days recorded in rhymes, we find the following popular one on this occasion, from which we learn the name of the dog likewise:--

Hercules killed Hart-o-Grease, And Hart-o-Grease killed Hercules.

This story appears to have been literally true, as the Scots preserve it without any variation, and add that it happened in the year 1333 or 1334, when Edward Baliol King of Scotland came to hunt with Robert de Clifford in his domains at Appleby and Brougham, and stayed some time with him at his castles in Westmorland. In course of time, it is stated, the horns of the deer became grafted, as it were, upon the tree, by reason of its bark growing over their root, and there they remained more than three centuries, till, in the year 1648, one of the branches was broken off by some of the army, and ten years afterwards the remainder was secretly taken down by some mischievous people in the night. "So now," says Lady Anne Clifford in her Diary, "there is no part thereof remaining, the tree itself being so decayed, and the bark so peeled off, that it cannot last long; whereby we may see time brings to forgetfulness many memorable things in this world, be they ever so carefully preserved--for this tree, with the hart's horn in it, was a thing of much note in these parts."

The tree itself has now disappeared; but Mr. Wordsworth, "well remembered its imposing appearance as it stood, in a decayed state by the side of the high road leading from Penrith to Appleby."

This remarkable chase must have been upwards of eighty miles, even supposing the deer to have taken the direct road.

Nicolson and Burn remark, when they tell the story, "So say the Countess of Pembroke's Memoirs, and other historical anecdotes. But from the improbable length of the course, we would rather suppose, that they ran to Nine Kirks, that is the Church of Ninian the Scottish Saint, and back again, which from some parts of the park might be far enough for a greyhound to run." These writers have overlooked the circumstance, that the animal which in those days was called a greyhound was the ancient deerhound, a large species of dog having the form of the modern greyhound, but with shaggy hair and a more powerful frame. The breed is not yet extinct: Sir Walter Scott's Maida was of the species.

Dr. Burn deals another blow at the tradition; for he goes on to say, "And _before_ this time there was a place in the park denominated from the _Hart's horns_; which seem therefore to have been put up on some former occasion, perhaps for their remarkable largeness. For one of the bounder marks of the partition aforesaid between the two daughters of the last Robert de Veteripont is called _Hart-horn sike_".

III.--Dr. Percy, referring to the expression _hart-o-greece_ in a verse given below from the old ballad of "Adam Bell," explains it to mean a fat hart, from the French word _graisse_.

"Then went they down into a lawnde, These noble archarrs thre; Eche of them slew a hart of greece, The best that they cold se."

Clarke, in an appendix to his "Survey of the Lakes," speaking of the Red Deer which is bred upon the tops of the mountains in Martindale, gives _Hart of Grease_ as the proper name of the male in the eighth year.

In Black's "Picturesque Guide to the English Lakes," it is stated in a note upon this subject, that there is an ancient broadside proclamation of a Lord Mayor of London, preserved in the Archiepiscopal Library at Lambeth, in which, after denouncing "the excessyve and unreasonable pryses of all kyndes of vytayles," it is ordered that "no citizen or freman of the saide citie shall sell or cause to be solde," amongst other things, "Capons of grece above XXd. or Hennes of grece above VIId."

BEKAN'S GHYLL.

Dim shadows tread with elfin pace The nightshade-skirted road, Where once the sons of Odin's race In Bekan's vale abode; Where, long ere rose Saint Mary's pile, The vanquish'd horsemen laid Their idol Wodin, stained and vile, Beneath the forest's shade.

There hid--while clash of clubs and swords Resounded in the dell, To save it from the Briton's hordes When Odin's warriors fell-- It lay with Bekan's mightiest charms Of magic on its breast; While Sorcery, with its hundred arms, Had sealed the vale in rest.

It woke when fell with sturdy stroke The Norman axe around, And builders' hands in fragments broke The Idol from the ground;

And hewed therefrom that corner stone Which yet yon tower sustains, Where Wodin's Moth sits, grim and lone, And holds the dell in chains.

There youth at love's sweet call oft glides By cloister, aisle, and nave, To stop above the stone that hides The beauteous Fleming's grave:-- Fair flower of Aldingham--the child Of old Sir William's days,-- Low where the Bekan straggling wild Its deadly arms displays.

There in the quiet more profound Than sleep, than death more drear, Her shadow walks the silent ground When leaves are green or sere; When autumn with its cheerless sky Or winter with its pall, Puts all the year's fair promise by With fruits that fade and fall.

And where the Bekan by the rill So bitter once, now sweet, Its lurid purples ripens still While ages onward fleet, She tastes the deadly flower by night,-- If yet its juices flow Sweet as of yore; for then to light And rest her soul shall go.

Ah, blessed forth from far beyond The Jordan once he came,-- Her Red-cross Knight,--the marriage bond To twine with love and fame: His meed of valour, Beauty's charms, Pledged with one silvery word, Beneath the forest's branching arms And by the breezes stirred.

Another week! and she would stand In Urswick's halls a bride: Another week! the marriage band Had round her life been tied: When wild with joyfulness of heart That beat not with a care, She carolled forth alone, to start The grim Moth from its lair.

She bounded from his heart elate! But Urswick's halls of light, And Aldingham's embattled gate No more shall meet her sight. For her no happy bridal crowd Press out into the road, But Furness monks with dirges loud Bend round her last abode.

To chase the moth that guards the flower That makes the dell its own, Flew forth the maid from hall and tower Through wood and glen alone.

Where Odin's men had left their god In earth, long overgrown With tangled bushes rude, she trod Enchanted ground unknown.

The abbey walls before her gaze At distance rising fair, While deep within the magic maze She wandered unaware: She loitered with the song untired Upon her lips, nor thought What foes against her peace conspired, While love his lost one sought!

They found her with close-lidded eyes, Watched by that Moth unblest, Perched high between her and the skies, And nightshade on her breast. There lay she with her lips apart In peace; by Wodin's power Stilled into death her truest heart With Bekan's lurid flower.

Woe was it when Sir William's hall Received the mournful train: No more her voice with sweetest call His morns to wake again! No more her merry step to cheer The days when clouds were wild! No more her form on palfrey near When sport his noons beguiled!

Worse woe when Furness monks with dole-- While gentle hands conveyed Her body--for a parted soul The solemn ritual said; And laid her where the waving leaves Breathed low amidst the calm, When loud upon the fading eves Rolled organ-chant and psalm.

With Urswick's hand in fondest grasp Said Fleming--"Vainly rise My days for me: my heart must clasp Her image, or it dies! Through mass and prayer I hear her voice; I know the fiends have power-- That chant and dole and choral noise Can purge not--o'er that flower!"

They wandered where Engaddi's palms And Sharon's roses wave; Where Hebrew virgins chant their psalms By many a mountain cave: Mid rock-hewn chambers by the Nile, Where Magian fathers lay;-- The secret of the spell-struck pile To drag to realms of day.

In vain! His gallant heart sleeps well, Beneath the Lybian air; And still the enchantment holds the dell, And her so sweet and fair.

Still on yon loop hole stretched by night, The tyrant-moth is laid: While circling in their ceaseless flight The ages rise and fade.

There sometimes as in nights of yore, Heard faint and sweet, a sound Peals from yon tower, while o'er and o'e The vale repeats it round. And down the glen the muffled tone Floats slowly, long upborne; Answered as if far off were blown A warrior's bugle-horn.

Yet one day, with unconscious art, May some rude hand unfold Great Wodin's breast, and rend apart The fragment from its hold. Then, while the deadly nightshade's veins In bitter streams shall pour Their juices, his usurped domains Shall own the Moth no more.

Then him a milk white swallow's power Shall timely overthrow. And fair, as from a beauteous bower, In raiment like the snow, The Flower of Aldingham--the child Of old Sir William's days-- Shall break the bondage round her piled; But not to meet his gaze.

Nor forth beneath the dewy dawn, All radiant like the morn, Shall Urswick's Knight lead up the lawn Beside the scented thorn, His bride into the blighted halls Whence once she wildly strayed In ages past, by Furness walls, And with the Bekan played.

The sea-snake through the chambers roves Of old Sir William's home-- Fair Aldingham, its bowers, and groves, And fields she loved to roam: And where the gallant Urswick graced His own ancestral board, Now ferns and wild weeds crowd the waste, The creeping fox is lord.

But gracious spirits of the light Shall call a welcome down On her, the beauteous lady bright, And lead her to her own. Not to that home o'er which the tide Unceasing heaves and rolls; But through that porch which opens wide Into the land of souls.

NOTES TO "BEKAN'S GHYLL."

In the Chartulary of Furness Abbey, some rude Latin verses, written by John Stell a monk, refer to a plant called _Bekan_, which at some remote period grew in the valley in great abundance, whence the name of Bekansghyll was anciently derived. The etymology is thus metrically rendered:

"Hæc vallis, tenuit olim sibi nomen ab herba Bekan, qua viruit; dulcis nunc tunc sed acerba, Inde domus nomen Bekanes-gill claruit ante."