In that part of the Forest near Stony Cross, at a short distance from Castle Malwood, formerly stood an oak, which tradition affirmed was the tree against which the arrow glanced that caused the death of Rufus. Charles II. directed the tree to be encircled by a paling: it has disappeared; but the spot whereon the tree grew is marked by a triangular stone, about five feet high, erected by Lord Delaware, upwards of a century ago. The stone has since been faced with an iron casting of the following inscription upon the three sides:--
"Here stood the oak-tree on which an arrow, shot by Sir Walter Tyrrel at a stag, glanced and struck King William II., surnamed Rufus, on the breast; of which stroke he instantly died, on the 2nd of August, 1100.
"King William II., surnamed Rufus, being slain, as before related, was laid in a cart belonging to one Purkess, and drawn from hence to Winchester, and buried in the cathedral church of that city.
"That where an event so memorable had happened might not hereafter be unknown, this stone was set up by John Lord Delaware, who had seen the tree growing in this place, anno 1745."
Stony Cross is a favourite spot for pic-nic parties in the summer. It lies seven miles from Ringwood, on a wide slope among the woods. From the road above, splendid views over the country present themselves.
The spearman heard the bugle sound, And cheerily smiled the morn; And many a brach, and many a hound, Attend Llewellyn's horn.
And still he blew a louder blast, And gave a louder cheer: "Come, Gelert! why art thou the last Llewellyn's horn to hear?
"Oh, where does faithful Gelert roam-- The flower of all his race! So true, so brave--a lamb at home, A lion in the chase?"
That day Llewellyn little loved The chase of hart or hare; And scant and small the booty proved, For Gelert was not there.
Unpleased Llewellyn homeward hied, When, near the portal-seat, His truant Gelert he espied, Bounding his lord to greet.
But when he gained the castle-door, Aghast the chieftain stood; The hound was smear'd with gouts of gore-- His lips and fangs ran blood!
Llewellyn gazed with wild surprise, Unused such looks to meet; His favourite check'd his joyful guise, And crouch'd and lick'd his feet.