SIR WALTER SCOTT. THE PRIORY BLEEDING STONE.

Te Aroha News, Volume II, Issue 92, 7 March 1885, Page 6

SIR WALTER SCOTT.

THE PRIORY BLEEDING STONE.

For tho blessod rood of Sir Gervnse the Rood Tho nuns of Kilburn pray. But for the wretch who shed his blood No tongue a prayer shall say. The bells shall ring and the nuns shall Bing Sir Gervase to the blest. But holiest rites shall never bring His murderer's soul to rest. Now tell me, I pray, thou palmer grey, Why thou kneelestat this shrine I And why dost thou cry go eagerly Upon the help divine ? Oh, tell me who the man may be, And what his deadly sin, That tho church's prayer for his aoul despair The mercy of Christ may win. I cry at this shrine on the help divine To save the soul of one Who in death shall Ue ere morning light Upon this anolent stone.

Sir Gervase rode forth far in tho North To Whitby's holy see ; In nor bower alono his lady made moan, A fairer could not be. His false brother came to tho weeping dame ; Oh, I love you dearer than lite— Honoe, would you win to shame and sin Thy brother's wedded wife? He is far away, thou sweet ladio, And none may hear or see. So, ladio bright, this very night, Oh, open your door to me.

Sir GervaßO rides forth far in the North, 'Tis long ore he comes back, And thine eyes abine out like stars by Dight, From thy hair of raven blaok. The flre shall burn at the door stone Ere I open the door to thoe, And thy suit of hell to Sir Gervase I'll, tell, And a traitor's death thou wilt die. Than fare thee well, Dame Isabel, Thou lady of mickle pride, Thou shalt rue the day thou saidst me nay When back to thoe I ride. The day declined, the rising wind Sang shrill on Whitby's sands ; With ear down laid and ready blade, Behind a rock he stands. Sir Gervase rodo on in thought alone, Leaving his men behind ; The blow was sure, the flight secure, But a voice was in the wind. Falso brother, spur thy flying steed, Thou can't t not fly to fast, But on this stone where now I bleed, Thyself Shall bleed thy laßt. That stone was then on Whitby's shore, And now behold it here ! And ever that blood is in mine eyo. And over that voice in mine oar !

Now, thou palmer grey, now turn thee, I pray, And lot me look in thine eye ; Alas ! it burns bright with a fearful light Liko guilt about to die. That stone is old, and o'er it has rolled Tho tempest of many years ; But fiercer rage than of tempest or age In thy furrowed face appears. Oh, speak not thus, thou holy man. But bond and pray for mo, And give mo your aid in this hour of need, Till I my penance dree. With books and beads, with aye and creed, Oh, help me while you may ; When tho bell tolls one. oh, leave me alone, For with mo you may not stay. So prayed the friar by the grey palmer, As both knelt o'er tho stone, And redder grew tho blood-red huo, As they heard a fearful groan. Friar, leave me now, on my trembling brow The drops of sweat run down, And alone with his spirit I must deal this night My deadly guilt to utono. By the morning light the good friar camo By the sinner's side to pray ; But his spirit had ilown, and strotched on the stone A corse tho palmer lay.

And still from the stone at the hour of oneGo visit it who dare — Thq blood runs red and a Miriek of dread Pierces the midnight air. -This hitherto unpublished ballad by Sir Walter Scott appeared recently in the London " Athemeum," accompanied toy the following note : " 1, Quai do la Donaue, Boulogne-sur-Mor. "I have some unpublished lines of Sir Walter Scott which you may like to give to the public. Their origin is interesting equal in an artistic, literary, and psychological point of view, showing out of what few and simple elements a genius like Scott could, with hardly an effort, concoct a pleasing story. My lato father, an architect, was a friend of Scott, and helped him as a friend in the decoration and finishings of Abbotaford. Scott would often dine with my father in London, and was greatly interested in the garden. In one corner there was some rock work, in which were inserted some fragments of stone ornaments from the ruins of Kilburn priory ; and crowning all was a large, irregularly shaped stone, having a deep red stain, no doubt of ferruginous origin. This stone was sent to my father by Lord Mulgrave in one of his cement vessels, my father having been struck with its appearance on the shore at Whitby ; and from these simple, really unconnected facts Scott made out the following story, in verses, which might bo regarded as a kind of friendly offering in return for services rendered. I had supposed the ballad lost, but my sister, in turning over some old papers, found a copy. " As a little boy I determined to go and sit on the stone in the night, and at last conquered my fear and sat there triumphantly, and have nover feared anything since. M H. G. Atkinson."