Rowena's Fiery Furnace.

Now all this while Rowena struggled still, Bound fast by fever's chain.

There seemed no hope!

No leech nor nurse could ease her tortured brain, Or help her frail and sinking frame to cope With all the fiery imps that sported there at will.

She sank at last in stupor so profound They deemed her dead indeed, And forthwith sent A messenger to Ragnor's Tower with speed.

But as the heavens no light propitious lent, The morn beheld the rider horseless on the ground.

Him bleeding sore, the smuggler found; his steed Was grazing close at hand.

His master groaned, And begged with tears, as one by fear unmanned To die, for then his life will have atoned For what may hap unless his note were sent with speed!

The Dungeon's Angel.

The smuggler promised, but when Eric read The note, he knew Sir Guy Was far away.

No need of guide, the horse did homewards fly And at St. Hilda's gate alone made stay.

This was the night young Eric stood beside Rowena's bed.

Soon after midnight, life once more returned; Her pulse beat full and fast.

The fever's power, Some mystic spell had bound but not to last, Save for one long more dead than living hour; And now with force renewed, it once more raged and burned.

"Fly, Eric, fly," she cried, and pointed where The morn's sweet dawning gleamed.

And as upright She stood, the living counterpart she seemed Of her whose presence made h.e.l.l's dungeons bright, O G.o.d! his angel guide now raved in madness there!

Rediviva.

"Dear mistress mine," young Eric cried and rose; Then took and kissed her hand, As he had done, That night he had received her last command-- To make her place of refuge known to none.

O blessed charm which brought her life and sweet repose!

When she awoke next morn she gazed on all Around with look so calm And smile so sweet, As fell upon each soul like holy balm Of healing. Yet their eyes could only greet Her look of grateful love with tears unbidd'n to fall.

"That voice I heard last night," she weakly said, "Whose tones familiar sent A magic thrill Through all my veins and fever's fetters rent, Was Eric's, faithful youth, whom they would kill In Ragnor's deadly vaults! O say he is not dead?"

Convalescent.

"He'll come anon," the holy mother said, And kissed her death-white cheek.

"Now sleep! and while We swiftly send your gallant page to seek, Let holy thoughts and dreams the time beguile!"

She woke and lo! he stood 'mong those beside her bed.

She clasped his hand and whispered low. He bent Once more to hear that voice He must obey, E'en though 'twixt life and death, no choice It might him leave. She only bade him stay Nor leave her more. The lady mother gave a.s.sent.

As flowers to sun respond with blushing hues And grateful scents distil Their voiceless praise; So now as through her veins life's pulses thrill Amid the breath of flowers and wood-choirs' lays, She could, no more than they, her hymn of thanks refuse.

Rowena's Te 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 G.o.d, '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 n.o.ble 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 h.e.l.l.

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.