She fain would die, yet live for his dear sake.

But then "He might not live!" she cried in wild despair.

Rowena's Lament.

O mother, mine, no longer mine!

My life for thine, yea twice for thine!

O take it Death! Why not, O Death?

Why is our breath, life's fleeting breath, Not ours to take, to give or take?

Life's cord will break, life's cord must break.

Why may we not, why dare we not, Clean cut its knot, its painful knot?

The Holy Friar's Consolation.

A voice she hears, a tender voice, Which says: No choice, my child, no choice Is left for thee, for me or thee.

There's naught for thee, for thee or me, But bear the cross, the bitter cross.

The cup of woe you now must drain, Will bring sweet gain, for you sweet gain.

Pax vobisc.u.m, my child; Pax vobisc.u.m!

Heaven's peace, dear maid, be thine, For evermore!

Go seek its home at good St. Hilda's shrine; In holy mother's ears thy sorrows pour; Within those peaceful gates no earthly ill can come."

Rowena Enters a Convent.

'Twas thus the holy friar of Senlac spoke.

His words the flood gates burst And tears like rain On land whose fissures stand agape with thirst, Now filled her soul with joy intense as pain Before. At length her whispered thanks the silence broke.

Within Old Ragnor's walls a chapel stood; And there, in crypt below, With Warre's proud race, His gentle wife they laid, while monks with slow And solemn steps, with incense filled the place.

The stern knight's sob was heard throughout the holy rood.

Next night, while weary warders timely slept, And snow fell thickly round, Rowena fled; Nor stayed till she had peace and safety found, Where good St. Hilda's lights her footsteps led.

Meanwhile the kindly snow her dreaded secret kept.

[Ill.u.s.tration: St. Hilda's Keep.]

Nigh Unto Death.

The lady mother pa.s.sed the live-long night Beside her bed whom sleep Deserted long.

Delirium seized her, when she'd leap And clutch, as if she'd rend the bars so strong Which girt the windows round, and cry "More light!"

She wanted not more light herself, but he, Her knight, so true and brave, Filled all her soul.

She thought she saw him drown yet none to save Him, bent an oar. Her brain burnt like a coal.

She cried: "O let me go and plunge in yon dark sea!"

Weeks pa.s.sed and still she only moaned and raved.

Nor slept by night or day.

One voice alone At last was found the fever's course to stay; 'Twas when she heard her faithful Eric's tone, When he in hot haste came and instant audience craved.

The Demon Wrecker.

If grief had wrung Sir Guy's stern heart that night, He stood among his dead; 'Twixt grief and ire, He now a maniac grew. Sleep from him fled; He pa.s.sed the night with warders round their fire, While every turret-room was all ablaze with light.

Days, weeks, and months thus pa.s.sed, but still, No sign Rowena gave.

She's dead, he thought; Yon yawning sea no doubt conceals her grave.

And then his rage a direful vengeance wrought, For him whose steadfast love had made her thwart his will.

No turret lights now burned at night, save one, And that a feeble speck, Straight o'er h.e.l.l Rock.

On this a n.o.ble ship, one night, became a wreck; The cliffs resounded with the awful shock-- The Demon-Wrecker thought too well his work was done!

Old Ragnor's Dungeons Grim.

Hewn out of solid rock, some fathoms deep Old Ragnor's dungeons lay.

A ma.s.sive chain Which two men scarce could move a foot away, Joined door above to door below. Its strain Upon the stone-cut stairs still makes the flesh to creep.

Here faithful Eric found himself immured To try if gloom and fear Of tortures dire Could wring from him a secret held more dear Than life itself. Nay! Famine, rack, and fire, Swift death or tortures slow--all, all should be endured

For his dear lady's sake. Though but a page He'd learn to value truth In word and deed From her whose n.o.ble love inspired his youth And taught him lessons from her living creed.

Her foe had thrown the glove he dared take up the gage.

Eric Entombed.

Entombed alive! A struggling streak of light Made visible the gloom,-- His living shroud.

He felt himself alive yet without room To live or breathe. He groaned, then cried aloud, "O G.o.d, while in this porch of h.e.l.l, be Thou my light!"

Next morn--if morn, it were--no count of hours, The dungeon-tenant kept,-- A silver ray Woke hope afresh, as down a cord there crept A basket full of meats, while 'neath them lay A lamp and tools, with hints where he might try their powers.

Henceforth work's pulses guaged his night and day, As sandstone rock he bored.

His ear supplied, By sound of sea, how much his axe had gored, As clearer came the welcome rush of tide.

Hope made his feeble lamp effulgent as sun's ray!