When the huge stone sunk o’er the tomb. 
The night return’d in double gloom;
For the moon had gone down, and the stars were few;
And, as the Knight and Priest withdrew. 
With wavering steps and dizzy brain,
They hardly might the postern gain. 
’Tis said, as through the aisles they pass’d,
They heard strange noises on the blast;
And through the cloister-galleries small,
Which at mid-height thread the chancel wall,
Loud sobs, and laughter louder, ran,
And voices unlike the voices of man;
As if the fiends kept holiday,
Because these spells were brought to day. 
I cannot tell how the truth may be;
I say the tale as ’twas said to me.

* * * * *

“Now, hie thee hence,” the Father said,
“And when we are on death-bed laid,
O may our dear Ladye, and sweet St. John,
Forgive our souls for the deed we have done!”—­
The Monk return’d him to his cell,
And many a prayer and penance sped;
When the convent met at the noontide bell—­
The Monk of St. Mary’s aisle was dead! 
Before the cross was the body laid,
With hands clasp’d fast, as if still he pray’d.

What became of Sir William Deloraine and the wonderful book on his return journey we had no time to read that evening, but we afterwards learned he fell into the hands of the terrible Black Dwarf.  We had decided to walk to Hawick if possible, although we were rather reluctant to leave Melrose.  We had had one good tea on entering the town, and my brother suggested having another before leaving it, so after visiting the graveyard of the abbey, where the following curious epitaph appeared on one of the stones, we returned to the inn, where the people were highly amused at seeing us return so soon and for such a purpose: 

  The earth goeth to the earth
    Glist’ring like gold;
  The earth goeth to the earth
    Sooner than it wold;
  The earth builds on the earth
    Castles and Towers;
  The earth says to the earth,
    All shall be ours.

Still, we were quite ready for our second tea, and wondered whether there was any exercise that gave people a better appetite and a greater joy in appeasing it than walking, especially in the clear and sharp air of Scotland, for we were nearly always extremely hungry after an hour or two’s walk.  When the tea was served, I noticed that my brother lingered over it longer than usual, and when I reminded him that the night would soon be on us, he said he did not want to leave before dark, as he wanted to see how the old abbey appeared at night, quoting Sir Walter Scott as the reason why: