Rowena Harold | Page 2

May be the last!
God knows. That when his life felt death's eclipse,

Her angel-presence would its brightness cast
And dissipate its gloom.
O thus to die were bliss!
The Deserted Eyrie.
But how and where they twain could meet unseen,
Unknown! Love
found the way,

The place, the hour.
Rowena with her page was wont to stray
Along
the topmost cliffs. Here was a bower
Hemmed in by rocks, where
once an eagle's nest had been.
By Eric's loyal hand a note was brought.
Sir Harold scarce could bear
To break the seal.
"To-night at nine, be at the eagle's lair;
Let Eric
guide. Yours, aye, come woe, come weal."
Too slowly moved the
hours with love's dear issues fraught.
They met. No eye but Heaven's the secrets knew,
That sad, sweet
hour betrayed,
Their hearts nigh burst
'Twixt hope and fear. Yet now, no more afraid

To face the world and say "Yea, do your worst;
For aye, come weal,
come woe, each will to each be true."
Sir Harold Sails.
Sir Harold Wynn set sail for Holy Land
With Richard, Lion-heart,
Peerless, whose fame--
There, if he might, to act a leal knight's part

And add fresh lustre to his martial name,
Wherewith to move Sir Guy
and gain Rowena's hand.
Of Saxon race, Sir Harold Wynn was fair,
Noble in mien and gait,
Stalwart of frame;
In powers of mind and heart a worthy mate
For
any lady. Few beside could claim
Domains so large and rich, as could
with his compare.
The first knight's sword hung high in hall,
Had healed the feud of
race,
By val'rous deeds.
Beneath it in the same proud resting place,
The
sons fixed theirs with other warlike meeds,
To prove their martial line

had known nor break nor fall.
Rowena's Lonely Vigil.
She sought her chamber in yon spectral keep
With ivy wreaths now
crowned;
Whose casket rent
By Time's grim hand and strewn by fragments
round,
Once held a jewel whose rare beauty lent
Its light to cheer
the sailors toiling on the deep.
Her vestal lamp she nightly trimmed and fed,
A beacon light more
true
Than stars above;
For darkness only made the light it threw
More
bright--bless'd, too, as emblem of her love
For those who else might
make Hell's caves their last lone bed.
"Hist! Hist!" They'd cry: and straight the plash of oar, And creak of sail
were stilled;
And every ear
Was tent to catch the strains her sweet voice trilled.

Avast to gloomy thoughts and boding fear!
Alack the day when she
should witch their hearts no more!
Rowena's Song.
Sea, sea,
Bounding and free,
O soothe me to sleep with thy sweet
lullaby!
As when a child,
Sportive and wild,
Thy waves and I gamboll'd,
thou gem-crested sea!
Sea, sea,
Laugh on in glee;
How dear to the sailor thy sweet
monody!
Soul-soothing calm,
Soul-healing balm,
For hearts
beating fondly for hearts on the sea!

Sea, sea,
Tempest-lashed sea!
O spare in thy fury, smite not angrily
Hearts true and brave,
Breasting thy wave,
Who love as they trust
thee, thou beautiful sea!
Sea, sea,
Bring back to me
One that thou bearest to war's pageantry!
Bear him my love,
Life-lasting love,
For him and him only, then
speed him to me!
Sir Harold at Acre.
So sang Rowena, from her turret bower,
Her plaintive notes each
night,
In seamen's ears.
Their hearts sank deep. They long had watched her
white And care-worn cheeks; but now they knew her fears
And wept
with her to see the darkling storm-clouds lower.
Meanwhile her red-cross knight was lying prone,
Sore wounded, life
nigh spent,
On Acre's plains.
He'd swooned and woke to find him 'neath a tent.

With balm a maiden soothed his throbbing veins.
No other soul came
near save she a maid unknown.
Low whispers could he often hear without.
Fresh unctions were
applied;
His wounds soon healed.
Whene'er he groaned swift flew she to his
side:
At other times the maiden lay concealed.
At last she brought
the news of Saladin's great rout.
The Saracen Maid's Secret.
What secret spring had moved this maiden's heart
To save her
nation's fee,

At risk of life?
Far rather had he died than live to know
That
precious secret was to be his wife.
Too well she knew that now 'twas
death from him to part!
At length the lingering weeks of healing passed
He e'en must quit for
aye
Her angel tent.
"Take me, Sir knight, to be your slave alway!
O
leave me not, or my poor heart is rent!"
She said, and at his feet her
tender form she cast.
He bade her rise! then heard her fearful tale--
An orphan doomed to
be
A lifelong slave
And serve a tyrant's lust and infamy.
From such,
Sir Harold swore he would her save,
Whate'er the cost the deed might
to himself entail.
The Secret Assassin.
He smuggled her on board one darksome night.
In deepest hold she
lay,
Till safe at sea.
And when at last they found the stow-away
The
hearts of all rejoiced that she was free
While midst the sick she
moved a minist'ring sprite.
When, too, they heard she'd saved Sir Harold's life
And why she
wished to fly
Her native land,
They