Rowena Harold | Page 7

Who nightly scared the darkness-loving owl
And made the hills
resound
With watch-dogs' bark?
But he who faithful unto death was found;

Who'd buried been in Ragnor's dungeons dark,
While round him
Death's grim shades pursued their midnight prowl.
The Lost Missive.
One night as Eric rode, a bolt whizzed by,
With well-nigh fatal aim.
He faster flew,
Until, alack! his faithful steed fell lame.
He leapt
aground and o'er his arm he drew
The reins. What joy to find the
smuggler's den was nigh!
For Eric's belt then held in close embrace,
As erst long months ago,
A precious note.
'Twas gone! and its contents would clearly show


His lurking place and hers--Alas! who wrote
To beg she soon might
see her Harold face to face.
The smuggler begged young Eric show the road
He'd come. Then
armed they go;
But without need;
For where Rowena's page alighted, lo!
The
missive lay. They hasten back with speed;
And as they give God
thanks, more eyes than one o'erflowed.
Another Dungeon Tenant.
"We e'en must quit, dear Mike, thy safe retreat;
'Tis clear, they're on
our track.
Of this be sure,
That you henceforth in life shall nothing lack
That
heart can wish or wealth of mine procure.
Swift send to Wynnwood
Hall, a trusty man and fleet!"
"I'll go myself, Sir knight," old Michael said;
"For Eric here must stay
And hide awhile.
You'll see me back again by break of day;
With
talk and sleep you can the hours beguile;
But one at least much
[Transcriber's note: must?] watch,
for mischief broods o'erhead!"
When Mike returned, his den indeed was there
But tenants only one
Who bound him fast
And bade him take his leave of yonder sun,

For sure enough this look would be his last;
In Ragnor's gloomy
vaults he'd find nor light nor air.
Nemesis.
Sir Guy's dire act of awful vengeance ta'en
A ravenous brood of prey,

To make their nest,
Seemed gnawing at his heart-strings night and
day;
With croaks like drowning cries they filled his breast
And
raised with fluttering wing the ghosts of those he'd slain.
No dove of peace on wings of morn returned.
He watched with eager
eyes
Day's amber birth
And saw, or thought he saw, a form arise;
'Twas
his--Sir Harold's--just as when on earth
He came to plead his suit and
was with insult spurned.
"O God, have mercy! Grant it may be true
That he indeed doth live!
Oh! warders, fly,
Proclaim--a thousand livres I will give
To know
the Knight of Wynnwood did not die
In that night's fearful wreck. If
found, I'll make it two!"
The Demon Exorcised.
As beasts and lands welcome the rain they craved
And ope their
parch-ed lips
To drink their fill;
So felt Sir Guy the demons loose their grips,
As
warders, one by one, the news distil,
To quench their hell-lit
fires--'that all on board were saved'!
Like savage beasts when bite and roar grow weak,
Seek out some
lonely nook
Wherein to die;
So now Sir Guy, whose thunderous voice once shook

Old Ragnor's walls and made the bravest fly,
Would feebly cry:
"My child!" then, death-like, swoon away.
Full ten days passed ere conscious life again
Illum'd those once stern
eyes,

With rays serene,
Now mildly placid as the azure skies,
On which
one grateful turns from sun's fierce sheen;
Refreshing, too, his milder
tones as summer rain.
Father and Child.
"Rowena, Harold, Eric, friends, forgive!
And could I hear her say
'Dear father mine,
We all forgive'--I would no longer pray
For life;
but to atone my all resign
To those I've wronged: for this alone I fain
would live."
"They live, Sir Guy, and ere the sun has set
Will hither come!" they
said.
He crossed his hands
While o'er his face a smile complacent spread

And docile as a child to their commands
To sleep he yields his eyes
with gracious tear-drops wet.
Rowena's kiss, yet sweeter far the sound
She breathed of 'Father
mine'
The knight awoke;
Another moment and their arms entwine.
She
checked the word ere from his lips it broke
'Forgive'! Father and child
long-lost, again were found.
Reconciliation.
His outstretched hands did next forgiveness seek
Of one who long
had prayed
This hour to see.
With hands close clasp'd, no words the knight
essayed;
In tears he quenched a life-long enmity.
Thus did the
Saxon's love triumphant vengeance wreak!
Then last, though not the least who'd borne the cross
And bravely
gone to die

In flower of youth,
Young Eric caught the knight's atoning sigh,

Who joined his hands with those of faithful Ruth
Thus triumphed
faith and love o'er pain and death and loss.
And what of him whose kind and skilful care
Had saved the life of
three?
Forget they him?
Not so! a gracious pardon, full and free,
With
thankful joy they bear to dungeons grim;
And one more doomed to
die from death's fierce grip they tear.
A Royal Visitor.
Unfurl the banner, let it court the breeze
Once more, on Ragnor's
Towers.
A wedding peal
Now ring. Come virgins, strew with flowers
Their
bridal path, whose woes this day will heal!
Look bright, ye frowning
cliffs and laugh ye moaning seas!
What means that wild