Then to St. Hilda's shrine he'd lead the way,

 

 

 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. 

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

 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. 

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,

 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! 

Him bleeding sore, the smuggler found; his steed

Was grazing close at hand.

His master groaned,

 Prev. P 31/54 next