  N 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 "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; 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, 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." |
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