Rowena & Harold Part 3

The Rift in h.e.l.l Gate.

The first hole pierced, his head grew sick and faint.

To pray he tried; no word Escaped his lips.

Yet sure he felt his spirit's groanings heard, As p.r.o.ne he lay and gasped the air by sips; For that he'd breathed so long, was foul with dead men's taint.

His strength now grew with every stroke he plied.

At sound of sea and men, Death's clammy sweat Was changed for drops that told of health again, While through his languid frame life's current swept, It only made him feel how nearly he had died.

At last his living tomb of rock was rent; Though but a narrow rift He yet had made Enough; it did a horrid monster lift, That clutched him close and held aloft a blade; He felt himself undone, when, lo! G.o.d had deliv'rance sent.

The Crucified One.

So wildly beat his heart and throbbed his veins, As morn's first struggling gleam.

His rift net caught, He e'en must follow its meandering beam, Till something on the walls his footsteps brought To rest. He shuddered as he saw the death-throe stains

Of some whose hands and ankles, staple-bound, Had graved thereon the sign Of crucified.

"My G.o.d!" he cried, "such fate may yet be mine!"

He turned and lo! close at his feet he spied A note. A piercing wail then woke the echoes round.

"To-morrow, Eric, will decide your fate.

Confess and you are free; Else will you die A death of torture, marks of which you'll see Upon the walls around. Fly, Eric, fly, This night, this very night, or it will be too late!"

Eric Faithful Unto Death.

When Eric woke to thought, the light had flown, With Hope upon its wing And left Despair.

One thought alone could light and comfort bring-- His secret--This, not death should from him tear.

Rowena's safe retreat, he never would make known!

The rasp of grating chains and rush of air Awoke the sleeping page From frightful dreams.

A voice he heard. Alas! 'twas fierce with rage, While on his sight there flashed the fitful gleams Of warders' arms. In haste they clangour down the stair.

"Come 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--ign.o.ble thought!-- He knelt and prayed: "O G.o.d, 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 G.o.d, in mercy sends, dare you refuse to take?"

As Cherubim with flaming sword it kept The gates of death. How could He pa.s.s 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 sh.o.r.e 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.