 | Poems, Ballads and Bucolics |  |
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THE LEGEND OF ST. BEES.
It fell upon the very day
When God's dear Son was given,
That looking westward through the spray,
Men saw a vessel driven,
Its boats and bulwarks swept away,
Oars shattered, mainsail riven.
When God's dear Son was given,
That looking westward through the spray,
Men saw a vessel driven,
Its boats and bulwarks swept away,
Oars shattered, mainsail riven.
And who is this with book in hand
Stands ever at the helm?
Though waves roll mountains to the land,
Her heart no fear can whelm.
Sure such a presence, such command
Would rule a stormier realm!
Stands ever at the helm?
Though waves roll mountains to the land,
Her heart no fear can whelm.
Sure such a presence, such command
Would rule a stormier realm!
Across the bar they crash! they gride!
When, mightier than before,
Upon the shoulders of the tide
One wave the vessel bore;
Back from her hull the waters glide
And leave her safe ashore!
When, mightier than before,
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One wave the vessel bore;
Back from her hull the waters glide
And leave her safe ashore!
Then out and stepped the ladye fair,
She was but one of three,
The foam-pearls fell from her red hair,
As she sank upon her knee,
And there they knelt in silent prayer
Beside the surly sea.
She was but one of three,
The foam-pearls fell from her red hair,
As she sank upon her knee,
And there they knelt in silent prayer
Beside the surly sea.
“Now who is here,” the ladye said,
“That knows of Christ our Lord?
And who will give us home and bread
For sake of His dear Word?
Nought have we left, but loom and thread,
Of all we brought aboard.”
“That knows of Christ our Lord?
And who will give us home and bread
For sake of His dear Word?
Nought have we left, but loom and thread,
Of all we brought aboard.”
Forth from the crowd, upon the beach
There stepped an aged hind,
Quoth he, “To-day our churches teach
Christ came for all mankind.
If our great ladye's hall ye reach,
Christ's pity ye shall find.
There stepped an aged hind,
Quoth he, “To-day our churches teach
Christ came for all mankind.
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Christ's pity ye shall find.
“For at her gates or rich or poor
To-day find equal dole,
There men, or knight, or priest, or boor,
Are one—God keep her soul!
If but you win her castle door
Your sorrows shall be whole.”
To-day find equal dole,
There men, or knight, or priest, or boor,
Are one—God keep her soul!
If but you win her castle door
Your sorrows shall be whole.”
The ladye, never a word she said,
But beckoned him to guide,
And up along the cliffs so red,
Above the sounding tide,
She followed where the shepherd led,
Her maidens at her side.
But beckoned him to guide,
And up along the cliffs so red,
Above the sounding tide,
She followed where the shepherd led,
Her maidens at her side.
Above the hill, across the moor,
To Egremond they hie;
Without is dusk, within the door
The lights burn merrily;
Inside are gathered rich and poor
For Yule-tide jollity.
To Egremond they hie;
Without is dusk, within the door
The lights burn merrily;
Inside are gathered rich and poor
For Yule-tide jollity.
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“For Jesu's sake,” the porter cried,
The steward clanked his keys,
The lord he swore, a royal tide
Had brought him such as these.
And the ladye led them straight aside
And bade their hearts have ease.
The steward clanked his keys,
The lord he swore, a royal tide
Had brought him such as these.
And the ladye led them straight aside
And bade their hearts have ease.
Anon she asked them of their race
And of their late distress,
Why emblems of the gospel grace
Were broidered in their dress;
But most she questioned face by face
Of its pure saintliness.
And of their late distress,
Why emblems of the gospel grace
Were broidered in their dress;
But most she questioned face by face
Of its pure saintliness.
And little, or of yea or nay,
The strangers made reply,
But the ladye did them all array
In robes most courteously,
And bade her ship-wrecked guests to stay
Till winter should go by.
The strangers made reply,
But the ladye did them all array
In robes most courteously,
And bade her ship-wrecked guests to stay
Till winter should go by.
Now comes the spring, and now the swift
Screams over land and lea,
The ragged edges of the thrift
Are pink against the sea,
And where the rosy ledges lift
Is gold as gorse can be.
Screams over land and lea,
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Are pink against the sea,
And where the rosy ledges lift
Is gold as gorse can be.
The goat-herds up at Rothington
Have oft the strangers seen,
The heart of many a weary one
For the sight has gladder been;
They say that one is a holy nun,
Yet seems a very queen.
Have oft the strangers seen,
The heart of many a weary one
For the sight has gladder been;
They say that one is a holy nun,
Yet seems a very queen.
But queen or nun, with maidens twain
The fisher folk aver
She earns her bread, with more of pain
Than the busy gossamer;
They know how oft she winds the skein,
How late the spindles whirr.
The fisher folk aver
She earns her bread, with more of pain
Than the busy gossamer;
They know how oft she winds the skein,
How late the spindles whirr.
For lowly, in a lowly cot,
These high-souled maidens spin,
Contented with their humble lot
If they their bread may win—
So happy that the busy spot
Seems freed from touch of sin.
These high-souled maidens spin,
Contented with their humble lot
If they their bread may win—
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Seems freed from touch of sin.
Sometimes into the narrow room
Great lords and ladies pry,
To watch the wonder-working loom
Build up its tapestry,
Whereon the small sand-roses bloom
In deathless broidery.
Great lords and ladies pry,
To watch the wonder-working loom
Build up its tapestry,
Whereon the small sand-roses bloom
In deathless broidery.
Now sets more northerly the sun,
Glad Midsummer is near,
Unharmed the woodland boar may run,
The doe no arrow fear;
And Egremond's great lord is won
His lady's suit to hear.
Glad Midsummer is near,
Unharmed the woodland boar may run,
The doe no arrow fear;
And Egremond's great lord is won
His lady's suit to hear.
“Now by the child that shall be born,
A boon, Sir Knight, I crave,
Our farms are green with store of corn,
Much food for years we have;
Mind ye the shipwrecked maids forlorn
Who came across the wave?
A boon, Sir Knight, I crave,
Our farms are green with store of corn,
Much food for years we have;
Mind ye the shipwrecked maids forlorn
Who came across the wave?
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“Good sire, I ask thee not beyond
What duly may be given,
'Tis meet the lord of Egremond
Should treasure lay in heaven,
And from these holy maids have bond
That so his soul be shriven.”
What duly may be given,
'Tis meet the lord of Egremond
Should treasure lay in heaven,
And from these holy maids have bond
That so his soul be shriven.”
The lord, he laughed with such an oath
As made the wood-birds fly:
“If spinsters' prayers can save us both,
Then spinsters' prayers I'll buy,
But Dame, I like not, on my troth,
To found a nunnery.
As made the wood-birds fly:
“If spinsters' prayers can save us both,
Then spinsters' prayers I'll buy,
But Dame, I like not, on my troth,
To found a nunnery.
“This morn, the fells seemed far away
For quivering of heat,
The Ehn went winding through the hay
Right warmly to my feet;
And Dame, look west, how sultry grey
The sun and ocean meet!
For quivering of heat,
The Ehn went winding through the hay
Right warmly to my feet;
And Dame, look west, how sultry grey
The sun and ocean meet!
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“Midsummer's Vigil is to-night,
And ladye, I have sworn,
All lands whereon the snow lies white
Upon the morrow morn,
I give these wrecked ones out of right
To mend their case forlorn.”
And ladye, I have sworn,
All lands whereon the snow lies white
Upon the morrow morn,
I give these wrecked ones out of right
To mend their case forlorn.”
“Now God send grace, for well I trow,”
Quoth Egremond's ladye,
“The hand that holds, can loose the snow
From off the northern sea.
And many a godless oath ere now
Has won for Heaven a fee.”
Quoth Egremond's ladye,
“The hand that holds, can loose the snow
From off the northern sea.
And many a godless oath ere now
Has won for Heaven a fee.”
The lord, he whistled, from his wrist
The blinking hawk he shook,
That light-heart oath he little wist
Was written in God's book,
As homeward through the mellowing mist
His careless way he took.
The blinking hawk he shook,
That light-heart oath he little wist
Was written in God's book,
As homeward through the mellowing mist
His careless way he took.
But swift and sure beyond the moor
The lord's promise has sped,
Has entered in the little door
Beneath the rocks so red,
And all night long, beside the shore,
Are prayers and “aves” said.
The lord's promise has sped,
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Beneath the rocks so red,
And all night long, beside the shore,
Are prayers and “aves” said.
The lord has gotten him to rest,
His ladye at his side,
He little dreams the dame's request
Shall bring back Christmas-tide—
That bitter winds at God's behest
Shall make his oath abide.
His ladye at his side,
He little dreams the dame's request
Shall bring back Christmas-tide—
That bitter winds at God's behest
Shall make his oath abide.
A black frost fell upon the hill,
A white frost on the wood,
The barn-owl felt the litter chill,
And stayed to warm her brood,
And the watchman durst not stand him still
For freezing of his blood.
A white frost on the wood,
The barn-owl felt the litter chill,
And stayed to warm her brood,
And the watchman durst not stand him still
For freezing of his blood.
But ere the night had passed about,
The warder he might know
From out the north, a fleecy rout
Of clouds came scudding low,
And when the morrow's sun shone out,
The grass was white with snow.
The warder he might know
From out the north, a fleecy rout
Of clouds came scudding low,
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The grass was white with snow.
Lord Lucy looked from out his tower,
While still the morn was red;
“Now by the holy angel's power
The ground is overspread—
I vow those maids have won for dower
From Esk to Tomline Head!”
While still the morn was red;
“Now by the holy angel's power
The ground is overspread—
I vow those maids have won for dower
From Esk to Tomline Head!”
He cares not for his loss, beyond
Hurt hay or blasted corn,
He only thinks him of the bond
With those three maids forlorn,
For the lord of faithful Egremond
Will do as he hath sworn.
Hurt hay or blasted corn,
He only thinks him of the bond
With those three maids forlorn,
For the lord of faithful Egremond
Will do as he hath sworn.
Then loud he called for chart and seal,
For seneschal and knight—
“Go, sires, and bring me answer leal
What lands the snow makes white,
For God has heard weak lips appeal
And answered them to-night.”
For seneschal and knight—
“Go, sires, and bring me answer leal
What lands the snow makes white,
For God has heard weak lips appeal
And answered them to-night.”
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And down he rode with half content
Toward the rose-rocked Bay,
Behind, on Herdus Hill and Dent
Was full Midsummer's day,
But every step he shorewards went
Was snow-white as the May.
Toward the rose-rocked Bay,
Behind, on Herdus Hill and Dent
Was full Midsummer's day,
But every step he shorewards went
Was snow-white as the May.
Now has he won to Tomline Head,
But his dame has won before,
The loom is hushed, unplied the thread,
The maids are on the shore,
And she whose hair is russet red
Is praying, one of four.
But his dame has won before,
The loom is hushed, unplied the thread,
The maids are on the shore,
And she whose hair is russet red
Is praying, one of four.
The lord, he leaned upon his rein—
“God give you grace,” he cried,
“As much as under snow has lain
This strange Midsummer tide
Is to your use, and shall maintain
An house of prayer beside.”
“God give you grace,” he cried,
“As much as under snow has lain
This strange Midsummer tide
Is to your use, and shall maintain
An house of prayer beside.”
Then up she rose from off her knees,
The Lady Bega hight,
And with those maidens whom the seas
Had wrecked on Christmas night,
She entered, Abbess of St. Bees,
Into an Abbey's right.
The Lady Bega hight,
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Had wrecked on Christmas night,
She entered, Abbess of St. Bees,
Into an Abbey's right.
And long as Egremond may wear
The Pike-fish in his crest,
Shall Cumbria's shepherd-sons declare
How Lucy's soul had rest,
And how the good St Bega's prayer
By summer's snow was blest.
The Pike-fish in his crest,
Shall Cumbria's shepherd-sons declare
How Lucy's soul had rest,
And how the good St Bega's prayer
By summer's snow was blest.
The remains of the monastery of St. Bees, some four miles south of Whitehaven, on the Cumberland coast, are situated about half-a-mile from the shore in a hollow, well sheltered from the north-west storms which sweep across the Irish Channel, by the broad-backed bluff of Tomline Head, more generally known as St. Bee's Head.
In respect to this religious foundation, Tanner says—“Bega, a holy woman from Ireland, is said to have founded, about the year 650, a small monastery in Copeland, where afterwards a church was built in memory of her.”
St. Bega is said to have been the daughter of an Irish king. She ran away from her father's house, having determined to be a nun; and in order to avoid marrying a Norse chieftain, she joined some strange sailors, and took ship and sailed to the coast of Cumberland. The traditionary account of the founding of the nunnery of St.
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