That suitors rich and princely sought her bower,

 

 

 Sir Guy de Warre. 

 Like Ragnor's rocks. He swore that she should wed Sir Ralph of Normanhurst, His sister's son. Would not the Holy Church deem her accursed, Dared she defy his will and marry one Of her own choice! Were't so, 'twere better she were dead! 

Like Ragnor's rocks. He swore that she should wed

Sir Ralph of Normanhurst,

His sister's son.

Would not the Holy Church deem her accursed,

Dared she defy his will and marry one

 "Dear father, mine," Rowena pleaded sore, On bended knee, "The heart Belongs to God. To wed where hallowed love can; have no part Were sin, deserving His all-chastening rod, Whose blessing on such tie 'twere impious to implore." 

"Dear father, mine," Rowena pleaded sore,

On bended knee, "The heart

Belongs to God.

To wed where hallowed love can; have no part

Were sin, deserving His all-chastening rod,

 "Sir Guy, my spouse, a mother's prayers, I too Would blend with hers. O yield, Our only child, Possession sweet of woman's holy field— Affection's glebe—a virgin soil denied When wedlock makes those one whose hearts can ne'er beat true." 

"Sir Guy, my spouse, a mother's prayers, I too

Would blend with hers. O yield,

Our only child,

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