“I’ve a lover in that prison, doomed this very night to die

At the ringing of the curfew; and no earthly help is nigh.

Cromwell will not come till sunset,” and her face grew strangely white,

As she spoke in husky whispers, “Curfew must not ring to-night.”

“Bessie,” calmly spoke the sexton (every word pierced her young heart

Like a thousand gleaming arrows, like a deadly poisoned dart),

“Long, long years I’ve rung the curfew from that gloomy, shadowed tower;

Every evening, just at sunset, it has told the twilight hour.

I have done my duty ever, tried to do it just and right:

Now I’m old, I will not miss it. Girl, the curfew rings to-night!”

[Pg 14]

Wild her eyes and pale her features, stern and white her thoughtful brow;

And within her heart’s deep centre Bessie made a solemn vow.

She had listened while the judges read, without a tear or sigh,—

“At the ringing of the curfew Basil Underwood must die.”

And her breath came fast and faster, and her eyes grew large and bright;

One low murmur, scarcely spoken, “Curfew must not ring to-night!”

She with light step bounded forward, sprang within the old church-door,

Left the old man coming slowly, paths he’d trod so oft before.

Not one moment paused the maiden, but, with cheek and brow aglow,

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