Behind a rock he stands.
‘Sir Gervase rode on in thought alone,
Leaving his men behind;
The blow was sure, the flight secure,
But a voice was in the wind:
‘“False brother, spur thy flying steed,
Thou canst not fly so fast;
But on this stone where now I bleed
Thyself shall breathe thy last.”
‘That stone was then on Whitby’s shore,