forth, young man! Sir Guy awaits above.
We dare not tarry long;
He's mad this morn.
Keep up your heart, my son! Be firm, be strong!
A page, yet truer knight was never born!
Betray her not, brave youth, as you esteem her love!"

Eric to be Crucified.

"Have rats and goblins eaten up your pride
And will you tell me now
What well you know?
The holy father, here, can loose your vow.
Still silent!" roared Sir Guy, "O there! Below
With him, and if rack fail, let him be crucified."

"I fear not crucifixion, master mine,
As oath forsworn from fear
Of death. No pangs
Shall ever make me breathe to mortal ear
Her safe retreat. Transfix me with your fangs
With speed; my life for hers I freely will resign."

"Fear not, brave youth, Sir Guy doth go
This night to meet Prince John,
Who claims the crown.
But we do hear our king will come anon;
Then woe to all who have incurred his frown!
For sure he'll vengeance take on John and every foe."

To Die or Live?

At least he knew his fate—Condemned to die!
He bade farewell to all,
Then went below.
The darkness closed around him like a pall
The dead. Yet drain the bitter cup of woe
For her, e'en to the dregs, he would without a sigh.

Yet did he not despair. Athwart the gloom
A gleam of hope there stole.
As clothed in light,
He saw the form that could his fears control,
And which the darkness only made more bright—
It was her angel presence lit his rock-hewn tomb!

It beckoned him; he boldly followed till,
Beside the narrow cleft,
His axe had wrought,
It stood. He saw the fissure wider reft.
To challenge death then fly—ignoble thought!—
He knelt and prayed: "O God, but show me now Thy will!"

Eric Escapes.

He rose and turned a quick retreat to make,
When lo! that presence bright
Still barred his way,
And stood with hand stretched towards the rift's pale light—
A sign which Eric felt in words would say—
"What God, in mercy sends, dare you refuse to take?"

As Cherubim with flaming sword it kept
The gates of death. How could
He pass them now?
Enough, that she would know his will was good,
From, what he'd suffered for his loyal vow.
"Heaven's will be done!" he cried, and through the portal crept.

The sudden call to life from out the tomb;
Death's bands thus swiftly rent,
Life's tidal force
Undammed, had rushed with too impetuous vent,
Did not a tortuous cave arrest its course,
Ere he at length emerged beneath night's starless gloom.

The Smuggler's Den.

Along the shore he sped nor stopped his flight
Until a burly voice,
His fleet foot stayed.
That voice he knew full well. He had no choice
But one—to yield himself—nor felt afraid,
Within the smuggler's den to rest at least, the night.

So sweetly sound his sleep, without a dream
To shorten his repose;
The watcher's eye
Could scarce perceive he breathed save as arose
And fell his manly chest with deep-drawn sigh;
Which sign the smuggler caught beneath his lantern's gleam.

His story told, young Eric found a friend
And guide in one he feared;
Who bade him stay
Until he'd seen the coast of foes was cleared,
Then to St. Hilda's shrine he'd lead the way,
Those saintly walls to him would peace and succour lend.

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