A corse the palmer lay.
And still from that stone at the hour of one—
Go visit it who dare—
The blood runs red, and a shriek of dread
Pierces the midnight air.
Mr. Timbs’ prose variant of the story, briefly told, is as follows:
At a place called Kilburn Priory, near St. John’s Wood, there was a stone of a blood colour, which stain was caused by the blood of Sir Gervase de Morton, or de Mortonne, who was slain by his brother centuries ago. The latter, Stephen de Morton, had sinfully fallen in love with the beautiful wife of Sir Gervase, whom he persecuted with his illicit passion, till at length she threatened to inform her husband. To prevent this, and enraged by hate and jealousy, the wicked brother lay in wait in a narrow lane through which Sir Gervase had to pass on his way home, and on one side of which was a quarry with some rocks projecting. Here Stephen de Morton lay in ambush, and, as soon as his brother passed, stepped from his concealment, and stabbed him in the back. Sir Gervase fell forward upon a part of the rock mortally wounded, and in dying recognised his brother in his murderer, who he solemnly predicted should also die upon that stone.
Stephen appears to have thought but lightly of his crime, and less of his murdered brother’s denunciation. He returned immediately to the prosecution of his design; but the lady was obdurate, and resented his insulting proposals with indignant scorn, upon which his base passion turned to hate, and he pitilessly consigned her to a dungeon.
Subsequently he strove to forget his crime, and the innocent cause of it, by riotous living, but all to no purpose; his conscience would not rest, and he suffered such an access of remorse that at length he caused the remains of his brother to be brought to Kilburn Priory, and ordered a handsome tomb to be erected to his memory. The stones used in building it were brought from the neighbourhood of the place where the murder was committed, and amongst them was the one on which the blood of Sir Gervase had flowed, and which, as soon as the wretched Stephen approached it, oozed out blood. Upon this the horrified man confessed his crime to the Bishop of London, submitted himself to severe penance, and bequeathed all his worldly possessions to Kilburn Priory. But all in vain; he soon after pined away and died, breathing his last upon the stone stained with the blood of his brother, and this miraculous stain was the ‘Bleeding Stone’ of Kilburn Priory. Not a word is said of the unfortunate lady’s release from her undeserved dungeon, from which we can only hope she was freed to find a place amongst the nuns, and be near the resting-place of her husband.
Mr. Atkinson, in writing of Sir Walter Scott’s verses, thinks their origin interesting, equally in an artistic, literary, and psychological point of view; but looking at Mr. Timbs’ independent presentation of the same story, the inference is that, the legend being known to Sir Walter, the juxtaposition of the red stone and the fragmentary relics from Kilburn Priory quickened the imagination of the poet, and helped him to produce the lines. In some place or other the tradition must have had an independent existence, or it could not have appeared in Timbs’ ‘Romance of London’ previous to its publication in the Athenæum.