Tales and Legends of the English Lakes Part 4

Celestial stillness reigns around, Serenely beats my breast; Maria's spirit treads this ground, And hushes me to rest.

I see Maria hov'ring there-- She waves her wings of light; Angelic music fills the air, And charms the ear of night.

Stay, lovely maiden, longer stay, And bless thy lover's eyes; And do not soar so fast away To seek thy native skies.

'Tis gone--the lovely vision's gone!

And night's dim shades prevail; Again, I feel myself alone, And pour my fruitless wail.

I seem like one who madly raves Among the silent dead; And start to hear the hollow graves Re-echo to my tread.

But I shall soon forget my woes, And dry my ev'ry tear, And rest as unconcern'd as those Who sleep serenely here."

So far from having a salutary effect upon the mind of Charles, time seems only to have increased the despondency that had enveloped and clouded the reasoning faculties of our poet. We find, in a subsequent part of the volume, the following lines, which show that his mind was giving way under the pressure of acute distress:--

"Ah! tell me not of busy life-- Its bustling folly--joyless strife-- Can these dispel my care?

No--let me seek some cavern drear, Where not a sound can meet my ear, But groans of death, and shrieks of fear, The music of despair?

The black'ning storm, the driving rain, Shall cool the fever in my brain, And lull me to repose: Then, when the thunders o'er me roll, And spirits scream and goblins howl, The tempest shall compose my soul, And cheat me of my woes."

About six months did Charles continue in this deplorable condition, attracting the sympathy of all who beheld him. And often when he pa.s.sed the cottage doors, where, in happier days, he had accompanied Maria on her errands of benevolence, the objects of his former bounty would look after him with a sigh, and say, "Poor Charles! Poor Charles!"

Though he generally spent the day in rambling about the woods and hills, the hour of his return seldom exceeded that of nightfall. One evening, however, he delayed his return; his parents made every enquiry, but in vain. He had been seen on Harter-fell in the afternoon, but no further tidings could be obtained. Early next morning the melancholy suspicion was confirmed--he was found drowned. It is rumoured in the vale, says our friend, but he will not vouch for its truth, that he was found in the very spot where the stone rolled down when he was born. It appears that he had meditated this act from the following lines, which shall conclude our extracts:--

"And what is death, that I should dread To mingle with the silent dead?

'Tis but a pang--and pangs are o'er; A throb--and throbbing is no more; One struggle--and that one my last: A gasp--a groan--and all is past!"

THE SKULLS OF CALGARTH.

A LEGEND OF WINDERMERE LAKE.

This old mansion of Calgarth, on the banks of Lake Windermere, is built much in the style of Levens and Sizergh. Some of the rooms have been elegantly finished; but, having been a long time in the possession of farmers, who occupy but a part of it, it is much gone out of repair, and has, on the whole, a melancholy appearance. This circ.u.mstance, in concurrence with the superst.i.tious notions which have ever been common in country places, and the particular mentioned hereafter, have probably given rise to a report, which has long prevailed, that the house is haunted. And many are the stories of frightful visions and mischievous deeds which the goblins of the place are said to have performed, to terrify and distress the harmless neighbourhood. These fables are not yet entirely disbelieved. Spectres still are seen, and there are two human skulls, which have lain in the window of a large room as long as can be remembered, whose history and reputed properties are too singular not to contribute something to this story of "the haunted house," and to let them be pa.s.sed over in this route.

It has been a popular tale in these parts of immemorial standing, that these skulls formerly belonged to two poor old people, who were unjustly executed for a robbery; to perpetuate their innocence, some ghost brought them there; and that they are, for that end, indestructible, and in effect, "immoveable." For, it is said, to what place soever they were taken, or however used, they were still presently seen again in their old dormitory, the window. As the report goes, they have been buried, burned, powdered, and dispersed in the winds, and upon the lake, several times, to no purpose as to their removal and destruction: so far, says common fame. Certain it is these human remains still exist, and it would be thought an impeachment of the taste and curiosity of the nymphs and swains of the neighbouring villages, if they could not say they had once seen the skulls of Calgarth.

As a more rational account of the matter (though still lame and unsatisfactory), it is told by some, that there formerly lived in the house a famous doctress, who had two skeletons by her, for the usual purposes of her profession; and the skulls happening to meet with better preservation than the rest of the bones, they were accidentally honoured with this singular notice. But, be their origin what it may, their legend is too whimsical and improbable to deserve being recorded, otherwise than as an instance of the never-failing credulity of ignorance and superst.i.tion.

THE LUCK OF EDEN HALL.

A TALE OF THE MUSGRAVES.

Eden Hall, the seat of the chief of the famous border clan of Musgrave, is a large and handsome edifice, on the west bank of the river Eden, built in the taste which prevailed about the time of the Charles's.

Being bordered with trees, it forms an elegant feature in the pleasure grounds. There is here preserved, with scrupulous care, an old and anciently-painted gla.s.s goblet, called the "Luck of Edenhall," which would appear, from the following traditionary legend, to be wedded to the fortunes of its present possessors. The butler, in going to procure water at St. Cuthbert's well, in the neighbourhood (rather an unusual employment for a butler) came suddenly upon a company of fairies, who were feasting and making merry on the green sward. In their flight they left behind this gla.s.s, and one of them returning for it, found it in the hands of the butler. Seeing that its recovery was hopeless, she flew away, singing aloud--

"If that gla.s.s should break or fall, Farewell the luck of Eden Hall."

The connection of the prosperity of the family with the integrity of an inanimate object, has frequently been one of the playthings of tradition, and traces of the superst.i.tion are found in ancient fable.

There is a legend of this kind attached to a pear, preserved in a silver box at Coalstoun, the seat of the Earl of Dalhousie, near Haddington; and there is or was, a gla.s.s cap at Muncaster castle, given by Henry VI.

to Sir John Pennington, which, from the general opinion of the King's sanct.i.ty, and that he entailed with the gift a blessing on the family, was called "the Luck of Muncaster."

The initials, I. H. S., are marked upon the case containing the goblet at Eden Hall, sufficiently showing the sacred uses to which it was originally appropriated. Philip, Duke of Wharton, alludes to it in his ballad, called--

THE DRINKING MATCH OF EDEN HALL.

"G.o.d prosper long, from being broke, The 'Luck of Eden Hall!'

A doleful drinking bout I sing, There lately did befal.

To chase the spleen with cup and cann, Duke Philip took his way; Babes yet unborn shall never see The like of such a day.

The stout and ever-thirsty duke A vow to G.o.d did make; His pleasure within c.u.mberland Those live-long nights to take.

Sir Musgrave, too, of Martindale, A true and worthy knight; Estoon with him a bargain made In drinking to delight.

The b.u.mpers swiftly pa.s.s about, Six in an hand went round; And, with their calling for more wine, They made the hall resound.

Now, when these merry tidings reach'd The Earl of Harold's ears, And am I, quoth he, with an oath, Thus slighted by my peers?

Saddle my steed, bring forth my boots, I'll be with them right quick, And, master sheriff, come you too, We'll know this scurvy trick.

Lo, yonder doth Earl Harold come, Did one at table say: 'Tis well, reply'd the mettl'd Duke, How will he get away?

When thus the Earl began:--Great Duke, I'll know how this did chance, Without inviting me:--sure this You did not learn in France.

One of us two, for this offence, Under the board shall lie: I know thee well; a Duke thou art, So some years hence shall I.

But trust me, Wharton, pity 'twere So much good wine to spill, As those companions here may drink, Ere they have had their fill.

Let thou and I, in b.u.mpers full, This grand affair decide, Accurs'd be he, Duke Wharton said, By whom it is deny'd.

To Andrews, and to Hotham fair, Then many a pint went round: And many a gallant gentleman Lay sick upon the ground.

When, at the last, the Duke found out He had the Earl secure, He ply'd him with a full pint-gla.s.s, Which laid him on the floor.

Who never spake more words than these, After he downwards sunk; My worthy friends, revenge my fall, Duke Wharton sees me drunk.

Then, with a groan, Duke Philip held The sick man by the joint; And said, Earl Harold, stead of thee, Would I had drank this pint.

Alack, my very heart doth bleed, And doth within me sink!

For surely a more sober Earl Did never swallow drink.

With that the sheriff, in a rage, To see the Earl so smit, Vow'd to revenge the dead-drunk peer Upon renowned St. Kitt.