Part 2

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 Hell's dungeons bright, O God! 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 assent.

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 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.

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 commotion an the strand? A stately vessel nears Old Ragnor's port! "King Richard comes!" Sir Guy with terror hears. "Haste, Harold, pay our sovereign royal court; Crave pardon for me! Say, I lie at death's command!"

"Welcome, my liege!" "Sir Harold, welcome, too, Is sight of thee, brave knight! But where is he. Sir Guy de Hastyngs,--flies he now my sight?" "Nay, nay, my liege! his sponsor will I be; His heart for thee, his king, doth bear allegiance true!"

The Royal Pardon.

"Your gracious pardon grant, my liege, I pray; He has atonement made For all he's done: And nature's last great debt will soon be paid; His life may even set with yonder sun!" "Lead on, Sir Knight, I'd see him, ere he pass away."

"Farewell," King Richard said, "Heaven's peace be thine! And you, Sir Harold, kneel! Hand me your sword! Now rise, for valiant deeds and service leal, Of Hastyngs' lands and Normanhurst the Lord! Till on young Eric's heels the spurs of knighthood shine!"

Once more old Ragnor's rocks resound with cries, Of grief? Nay--joy and pride! For on the sea, A noble, full-rigged ship doth stately ride-- The Orient Pearl--her white cross streaming free; Whose captain Mike and crew now laugh at frowning skies!

The Deserted Brides.

Hearts bound so late by love's sweet hallowed chain By war's fierce edicts rent, Lie bleeding sore; And scan with eyes from weeping well-nigh spent, Love's waning signals till they see no more. Heaven grant them soon to see those signals once again!

By Bertram's arrow pierced with fatal aim, The Lion-heart was torn. Beside him lay, Of strength, by pain and bleeding torn, One Eric whom the king had dubbed that day A knight--no worthier yet--adorned the roll of fame!

* * * * * *

Once more on Ragnor's brow the beacons blaze, The Orient Pearl to greet, On her return. Two brides wait mid a throng of friends to meet Their war-proof knights. The shades of rank they spurn; They'd vowed for each a sister's love for aye and aye.

Heart Chords.

Sweet harpings break the stilly night's repose. The seamen list once more, As from her bower, There fall those witching sounds they've heard before, In days long gone, from Ragnor's lofty tower. When hearts with voices blend what heavenly music flows!

Breathe fair, ye winds, breathe fair; My true love's on the sea. God, hear the lone one's prayer, And bring him back to me! God guide the helm, God fill the sails And waft him with propitious gales!

Breathe fair, ye winds, breathe fair, And bear my true love home! Love's bonds shall hold him there, No more, no more to roam. God guide the helm, God fill the sails, And speed him home propitious gales!

She flies the holy cross That talisman divine Shall shield from loss and harm. Her faithful knight and mine. "O Christ, bid thou the storm to cease And fill our hearts with joy and peace!"

Home, Sweet Home!

They light the beacon fires the hills around. All eyes are eager bent Across the sea, To cheer the night, a hundred voices blent To chase the gloomy hours with mirthful glee; Till shouts of "ship ahoy!" made every heart rebound.

* * * * * *

And now for many days round Ragnor's Towers, Life flowed in mirth away. "Let feast and song," Sir Harold said, "have free unbounded sway; For grief and gloom have lorded here too long. Let joy now rule the day and strew her path with flowers!"

And yet a year, the joy-bells ring again; For sons are born to sires Of knightly fame. Once more the swains, light up the beacon fires; Old Hastyngs flashed to Normanhurst the flame; For Harold had to Eric given Ruth's hand and Ralph's domain.

VALE!