AN annual regatta takes place on Derwentwater, when the several sports of racing, rowing, and wrestling, are maintained with great spirit. The following is an excellent description of one of these occasions in former times:—"At eight o'clock in the morning a vast concourse of ladies and gentlemen appeared on the side of Derwent Lake, where a number of marquees, extending about 400 yards, were erected for their accommodation. At twelve, such of the company as were invited by Mr. Pocklington passed over in boats to the island which bears his name; and, on their landing, were saluted by a discharge of his artillery, consisting of five "About three o'clock preparations were made for a sham attack on Pocklington's Island. The fleet, consisting of several barges, armed with small cannon and muskets, retired out of view, behind Friar Crag, to prepare for action; previous to which a flag of truce was sent to the governor, with a summons to surrender on honourable terms. A defiance was returned; soon after which the fleet was seen advancing with great spirit before the batteries, and instantly forming a curved line, a terrible cannonading began on both sides, accompanied with a dreadful discharge of musketry. This continued for some time, and being echoed from hill to hill in an amazing variety of sounds, filled the ear with whatever could produce astonishment and awe. All nature seemed to be in an uproar; which impressed, on the awakened imagination, the most lively ideas of "the war of elements" and "crush of worlds." After a severe conflict, the enemies were driven from the "The garrison at last capitulated; and the entertainment of the water being finished, towards the evening the company rowed to Keswick, to which place, from the water's edge, a range of lamps was fixed, very happily disposed, and a number of fire-works played off. An assembly room, which was built for the purpose, next received the ladies and gentlemen, and a dance concluded this annual festivity. "Whilst we sat to regale, the barge put off from shore, to a station where the finest echoes were to be obtained from the surrounding mountains. The vessel was provided with six brass cannon, mounted on swivels; on discharging one of these pieces the report was echoed from the opposite rocks, where, by reverberation, it seemed to roll from cliff to cliff, and return through every cave and valley, till the decreasing tumult died away upon the ear. "The instant it ceased the sound of every distant waterfall was heard; but for an instant only; for the momentary stillness was interrupted by the returning echo on the hills behind; where the report was repeated like a peal of thunder bursting over our heads, continuing for several seconds, flying from haunt to haunt, till once more the sound gradually declined. Again the voice of waterfalls possessed the interval, till to the right the more distant thunders arose upon some other mountains, and seemed to take its way up every winding dale and creek; sometimes behind, on this side, or on that, in wondrous speed running its dreadful course; when the echo reached the mountains The following descriptive poem appeared on the occasion of a regatta at Keswick:— "Scarcely had day's bright god begun his course, And chas'd the misty vapours from the lake, When, ardent all for pleasure, forth there sprung A bright assemblage of firm, active youths, And virgins blushing like the op'ning bud. Nay, some there were who sought the sportive scene Whom frozen age had bow'd with iron hand; Drawn by the force of curiosity, Or by the workings of parental care, To watch and guard their blooming daughter's steps. The neigh'bouring rustics, too, with massy limbs, Inur'd to toil, inur'd to fun and rain; Each led his fav'rite damsel to the sight, And talk'd of love, or laugh'd with hearty roar. "And now the vessels all in order range, To try the fortune of the wat'ry race. The rowers sit; their eyes with ardour glow, Attentive watching the appointed sign. And now the gun, the signal for the course. Rends with its iron voice th' o'ervaulting sky, And distant rocks, redoubling, echo back The horrid note. Instantly they start, And, adverse looking, try their utmost skill. Big swells each bulky muscle, strain'd with toil; O'er their knit brows the drops of labour pour, Whilst on their faces anxious fear and hope Alternate sit depicted. Now they come Then, then what rapture fires the victor's mind, When with his toil-strained arm he shakes the flag, And shouts, applauding, echo all around. "Now o'er the azure lake the horrid din Of mimic war resounds; the echoing cliffs Reverberate, in doubled thunder, back The awful sounds: fierce peal succeeds to peal, In savage dire confusion. Had the rocks, Which awful frown above this limpid plain, Been shaken from their venerable seats, Rift by the bolts of Jove, and scattered round, No sound more loud, more awful, could be heard! The hero, who, inur'd to bloody war, Has stood by Elliot, or by Rodney's side, Whilst million-winged deaths were whistling round, Now feels his heart beat high; strong throbs each pulse, His kindling eyes flash fire: upright he stands, As when on some dread, memorable day He saw the Frenchmen strike, or Spaniards burn. His tender spouse, the dear, the soft reward Of all his toils, astonish'd with the din, Clings to his side, half-pleased and half-afraid; When softer echoes roll the distant roar, She smiles; but when the air-affrighting guns With iron clamours shake th' impending rocks, She trembling presses hard her husband's hand, And weeps to think the perils he has 'scap'd. "But hark! 'tis silent! see, the fleet retires! The mellow horns now pour victorious sounds, Whilst every rock returns the softened strain. O! now for Shakspeare, or for Milton's muse, To paint this mingled tide of harmony! Each cliff, each rock, each mountain, wood, and dale, It mixes, meets, returns; 'tis soft, 'tis loud: As if th' unnumber'd spirits of the rock Held their aËrial concerts 'midst the hills; And to his golden harp each join'd his voice, To welcome to their bower the 'Fairy Queen.' "Thus joyous and delightful pass'd the day, Yet not unruffled was this tide of joy: The fair, the innocent Amelia was The pride and flower of all the virgin throng! Her long Damoetas loved, she too loved him, But looks alone revealed the mutual flame, For virgin modesty had bound their thoughts In chains, as yet unbroken. On this day, Whilst she in rapture viewed th' enchanting scene (Urged by the motion of the limpid wave), Her vessel rolling, headlong plunged her in The blue profound! She sank, then rose again; Then sank, to rise no more! Damoetas, near, Beheld her fall: of life regardless then, He leaped into the flood; with nervous arm He cut the crystal deep, and plunging down, Seized, and brought her up again to life. "Restored now, she op'd her radiant eyes, And looking gratitude ineffable, 'Is it then you, Damoetas? you whom long My virgin heart hath own'd!' She could no more: The rosy hue again forsook her cheek, The light her eyes, and pallid death awhile Seemed to return and re-demand his prey. What then, Damoetas, were the dire alarms That rent thy manly bosom? Love, despair, Grief, and astonishment, exert at once The utmost of their force to tear thy soul! Upon her cheek! again her op'ning eye Beams softened lustre! Kneeling by her side Damoetas press'd her hand; in falt'ring words Propos'd his am'rous suit. Her parents near, Relieved now from the heart-corroding fear, First poured in tender words their grateful hearts, Then to Damoetas gave the willing hand Of their beloved Amelia. Instant joy Flushed lively in his cheek, and fired his heart With all the rapt'rous bliss of mutual love. He tried in vain to speak, for words, alas! Could ill express tumultuous joys like his; He stammer'd, blush'd, and thanked them in thought. "And now the fiery charioteer of day Drove down the western steep his blazing car, When homeward all return to close their sports, And usher in with dance the sable night. The sprightly music sounds, the youths advance, And blooming virgins from the beauteous group: Then joined in couples, active as the light, They tread the mazy dance; the swains the while Join in sweet toil, and press the given hand, And slyly talk of love; or else, askance, Speak by their looks the feelings of the heart." |