And begged with tears, as one by fear unmanned

To die, for then his life will have atoned

 

 

 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. 

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.

 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. 

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;

 "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! 

"Fly, Eric, fly," she cried, and pointed where

The morn's sweet dawning gleamed.

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