rock in the middle of the river, commend himself to Providence and to the might of his sword, first making a solemn vow, if successful, to slay the first living thing he met, or if he failed to do so, the Lords of Lambton for nine generations would never die in their beds.

He made the solemn vow in the chapel of his forefathers,* and had his coat studded with the blades of the sharpest spears. He took his stand on the rock in the middle of the river, and unsheathing his trusty sword, which had never failed him in time of need, he commended himself to the will of Providence.

At the accustomed hour, the worm uncoiled its lengthened folds, and leaving the hill, took its usual course towards Lambton Hall, and approached the rock where it sometimes reposed. The Knight, nothing dismayed thereat, struck the monster on the head with all his "might and main," but without producing any other visible effect, than by irritating and "vexing" the worm, which, closing on the Knight, clasped its frightful "coils" around him, and endeavoured to strangle him in its poisonous embrace.†

Between his hede and his tayle
Was xxii fote withouten fayle;
His body was like a wine tonne,

He shone full bright ageynst the sunne;
His eyes were bright as any glasse,

His scales were hard as any brasse."

The other figure is that of a female, who wears an ancient coronet, much mutilated. It is singular that the upper part of her dress is carefully preserved, yet the lower part of her robe appears to be either unfinished, or perhaps agitated by the wind; and a part of her right foot is visible, without shoe or sandal. Tradition has not connected her name with the story, except, indeed, that she may be intended to represent the Sibyl.

* The Chapel of Bridgeford, within the Manor, of which "the Lambtons (Surtees, p. 170, vol. 2) were patrons from a very early period: sometimes from its situation called the Chapel of Brugeford (Bridgeford). The shell of this little oratory lately stood near the New-bridge on the left of the road, immediately within the entrance of Lambton Park."

When Hutchinson wrote his second volume of the History of Durham (1785), Lambton Chapel was still in existence, near the New-Bridge. "At a farm-house leading to Lambton, are the remains of a Chapel, the stone work of the eastern window yet perfect: and in the front of the house, in a circle, is the figure of a man to the waist in relief, with elevated hands, the inscription defaced."

"The Lambtons were amongst the first families in the north who embraced the reformed religion, and this Chapel of the bridge was probably disused after the dissolution of chantries. The endowment is totally lost; popular tradition, however, connects both the endowment of the Chapel, and the figure sculptured on the wall, with the romance of the Worm of Lambton."

But the Knight was provided against this expected extremity, for the more closely he was pressed by the worm, the more deadly were the wounds inflicted by his coat of spear blades, until the river ran with a crimson "gore of blood."

The strength of the worm diminished as its efforts increased to destroy the Knight, who, seizing a favourable opportunity, made such good use of his sword that he cut the monster in two:-the severed part was immediately carried away by the force of the current, and the worm being thus unable to reunite itself, was, after a long and desperate conflict, finally destroyed by the gallantry and courage of the Knight of Lambton.

The afflicted household were devoutly engaged in prayer during the combat; but on the fortunate issue, the Knight, according to promise, blew a blast on his bugle, to assure his father of his safety, and that he might let loose his favourite hound, which was destined to be the sacrifice. The aged parent, forgetting every thing but his parental feelings, rushed forward to embrace his son.

When the Knight beheld his father, he was overwhelmed with grief; he could not raise his arm against his parent, yet, hoping that his vow might be accomplished, and the curse averted, by destroying the next living thing he met, he blew another blast on his bugle : his favourite hound broke loose, and bounded to receive his caresses; when the gallant Knight, with "grief and reluctance," once more drew, his sword, still reeking with the gore of the monster, and plunged it unto the heart of his faithful companion.* But in vain :

But when he saw the armed Knight

He gathered all his pride,

And coil'd in many a radiant spire,

Rode buoyant o'er the tide.

When he darted at length his Dragon strength,

An earthquake shook the rock;

And the fire flakes bright fell around the Knight,

As unmov'd he met the shock.

Tho' his heart was stout, it quiver'd no doubt,

His very life blood ran cold,

As around, around, the wild worm wound,

In many a grappling fold."

Fragment of an Old Ballad.

"And to the hilt his vengeful sword

He plung'd in Gelert's side.

His suppliant looks, as pione he fell,
No pity cou'd impart ;

Yet still his Gelert's dying yell

Pass'd heavy o'er his heart."

Beth Gelert.

the prediction was fulfilled, and the Sibyl's curse pressed heavily on the house of Lambton for nine generations."*

"The precise date of the story is of course uncertain." It is stated by some, that the heir of Lambton had gone to the Holy Wars; and there are circumstances preserved in the narrative difficult to reconcile, which are evidently interpolations of modern times. Popular tradition, though in general true in the main, is seldom correct in details, and the precise time when the event happened which gave birth to the Legend, must be dated much earlier than the period assigned. Be this as it may, nine ascending generations from Henry Lambton, of Lambton, Esq. M.P. (elder brother to the late General Lambton) would exactly reach Sir John Lambton, Knight of Rhodes-and the popular tradition holds, that none of the Lords of Lambton during the period of the 'curse" ever died in their beds. Sir Wm. Lambton, who was Colonel of a regiment of foot in the service of Charles I., was slain at the bloody battle of Marston Moor, and his son William (his eldest son by his second wife) inheriting the patriotism and gallantry of his father, "received his death's wound at Wakefield," at the head of a troop of dragoons, in 1643. The fulfilment of the curse was inherent in the ninth of descent, as above stated, and great anxiety prevailed during his life-time, amongst the hereditary depositaries of the traditions of the county, to know if the curse would hold good to the end.” He died in his chariot, crossing the New-Bridge-thus giving the last connecting link to the chain of circumstantial tradition connected with the history of the Worme of Lamb

THE LEGEND OF THE LAMBTON WORM.

FROM "TAIT'S EDINBURGH MAGAZINE."

REVISED BY THE AUTHOR.

The Sinning.

T is the joyful Easter morn,

And the bells ring loud and clear,
Sounding the holy day of rest

Through the quiet vale of Wear.

Forth at its sound, from his stately hall,
Hath the Lord of Lambton come,
With knight and squire, in rich attire,
Page, seneschal, and groom.

The white-hair'd peasant and his dame
Have left their woodland cot:
Children of toil and poverty,

Their cares and toil forgot.

And buxom youth and bashful maid,

In holiday array,

Thro' verdant glade and greenwood shade,
To Brigford bend their way.

And soon within its sacred dome
Their wandering steps are stayed;
The bell is rung, the mass is sung,
And the solemn prayer is prayed.

But why did Lambton's youthful heir
Not mingle with the throng?
And why did he not bend his knee,
Nor join in the holy song?

Oh, Lambton's heir is a wicked man!
Alike in word and deed;

He makes a jest of psalm and priest,
Of the Ave and the Creed.

He loves the fight; he loves the chase;
He loves each kind of sin;

But the holy church, from year to year,
He is not found within.

And Lambton's heir, at the matin prayer,
Or the vesper, is not seen;

And on this day of rest and peace

He hath donned his coat of green;

And, with his creel slung on his back,
His light rod in his hand,

Down by the side of the shady Wear
He took his lonely stand.

There was no sound but the rushing stream;
The little birds were still,

As if they knew that Lambton's heir
Was doing a deed of ill.

Many a salmon and speckled trout

Through the quiet waters glide;
But they all sought the deepest pools,
Their golden scales to hide.

The soft west wind just rippled the brook,
And the clouds flew gently by,

And gleamed the sun-'twas a lovely day
To the eager fisher's eye.

He threw his line, of the costly twine,
Across the gentle stream;

Upon its top the dun-flies drop
Lightly as childhood's dream.

Again, again—but all in vain,

In the shallow or the deep;
No trout rose to his cunning bait;
He heard no salmon leap.

And now he wandered east the stream,
And now he wandered west;

He sought each bank or hanging bush
Which fishes love the best.