Rowena Harold | Page 6

Deum.
"O flowers," she sang, "sweet flowers,
Where beauty hath her throne,
Yea, smile away life's hours;
For you they'll soon be flown!
Then
nursed awhile in womb of mother earth,
Ye'll rise, to taste with me,
the joys of second birth!
O birds of happy wing!
With flowers' sweet incense blend
Your joyous notes and sing;
For soon your songs will end!
When
summer's warmth again awakes your trills,
Ye too may know the joy
which now my bosom fills!
The world seems one great heart,
Whose pulses move my soul.
I feel a feeble part
Of some mysterious whole!
Thy mighty heart, O
God, 'tis thine alone,
That makes all things now breathe, responsive

to mine own!"
The Lights of Home.
With sails full set to catch the western breeze,
The stout ship, Holy
Cross,
The Channel ploughed;
Nor dreamt those noble hearts on board of
loss;
Or that those silvered waves might prove their shroud;
As o'er
her staunch bulwarks they pictured home and ease.
"What light is that which glimmers on yon height?"
The gallant
captain cried,
"'Tis Ragnor's Tower,"
Sir Harold said, "where dwells my lady bride.

That light she vowed should never quit her bower.
Haste, captain,
haste, I pray, and land me there this night."
"Steer straight for yonder light on Ragnor's crown!"
The captain
made reply.
They set the helm;
And now with wings outstretched they swiftly fly,

Where demons will with mocking laugh o'erwhelm
And dance
with fiendish glee to see them sink and drown.
The Lamp of Death.
Sir Guy had heard afar the tidings fell
Of Harold Wynn's return
From Holy Land.
The news more fiercely made his wrath to burn.

Hence hot with hate he sought Old Ragnor's strand,
Whose peaceful
haunts became again a very hell.
By Eric fed, the beacon lamp once more
Shone o'er the treach'rous
sea
Which hid Death's maw.
Rowena had a secret gate whose key,
Her

page had used. Her light, Sir Guy first saw.
O madd'ning sight! "If
saved, Rowena dies," he swore.
The light of life, he quenched, and straightway hung
A lamp to lure to
death.
His eyes shot fire
As straight he saw her come. He held his breath,

At length he heard the crash. No Nero's lyre
Across his work of death
such yells of triumph flung!
The Wreck of the "Holy Cross."
The noble ship had freight of nobler men,
Whose crosses bore the
stain
Of deadly strife
With Turc and Saracen, on Acre's plain
And
wounded sore had scarce escaped with life.
How beat their hearts
with joy at sight of home again.
At home, alas! did foes more deadly wait
Than Saladin's fierce crew.
The lamp of love
Was changed for one of hate, which threw
Its
false and fatal skein of light above.
A shuddering shock, a fearful
crash, foretold the vessel's fate.
For many nights before, two lonely men
Stood ready, boat at hand.
God speed them now!
As swift they row and quick return to land,

Bearing a lifeless form with sword-cleft brow,
Whose arms fast
clutch a maid. They bore them to their den.
Grief at Wynnwood Hall.
The news soon spread from coast to country round
That lost was
every soul.
At Wynnwood Hall,
Sir Harold's home, their grief knew no control.


That he should be the first Wynn not to fall
In battle's heated fray;
but should be basely drowned!
His helmet, cloak, and sword he'd cast aside,
To save the girl who
clung
Around his neck.
These relics dear were found and silent hung

Beneath the rest. None sought grief's tears to check
To see the
blood-stained cross for which he'd fought and died.
Alack! The ill-starred news had reach the shrine
Where sat mid birds
and flowers,
His new-born bride.
To her the lead-winged moments seemed as
hours;
And yet her bounding hope her baleful fears belied.
What
tidings would morn bring. O could she but divine!
Saved.
The smuggler's patient skill soon fanned life's spark
Into a feeble
flame.
Sir Harold first
The solemn quiet broke to breathe the name
Of
Ruth, the Saracene who had him nurs'd
And hid with all a sister's love
and care within her ark.
"She's saved? Thanks be to God," he said, and wept.
"And she, my
lady bride!
O can you say
She too doth live? Or better yonder tide
Now held
this hopeless wreck of life its prey!"
"She lives, brave knight," they
said. He smiled his thanks
and slept.
A messenger of life, young Eric sped
And death's fell courier caught

At Hilda's gate.
The sisters' tears foretold the mischief wrought,

"She's swoon'd," they said. He curs'd his cruel fate.
They led him to
her couch whereon she lay as dead.
Two Lives in One.
"Sir Harold saved!" Like drops of heavenly balm,
With healing
quickening power,
The tidings thrilled
Her soul with joy intense as in that hour,
The
rush of new-found life her pulses filled.
Her anxious fears allayed,
she felt a holy calm.
Two lives in one, although they dwelt apart.
A sympathetic glow,
Each seemed to feel,
To pass from soul to soul; a constant flow
Of
thought and feeling made their wounds to heal;
As though betwixt the
two there beat one common heart.