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

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

Of some whose hands and ankles, staple-bound,

Had graved thereon the sign

Of crucified.

"My God!" he cried, "such fate may yet be mine!"

He turned and lo! close at his feet he spied

 "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!" 

"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,

 

 

 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! 

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