Classic Poem

If grief had wrung Sir Guy's stern heart that night,
He stood among his dead;
'Twixt grief and ire,
He now a maniac grew. Sleep from him fled;
He passed the night with warders round their fire,
While every turret-room was all ablaze with light.

Days, weeks, and months thus passed, but still,
No sign Rowena gave.
She's dead, he thought;
Yon yawning sea no doubt conceals her grave.
And then his rage a direful vengeance wrought,
For him whose steadfast love had made her thwart his will.

No turret lights now burned at night, save one,
And that a feeble speck,
Straight o'er Hell Rock.
On this a noble ship, one night, became a wreck;
The cliffs resounded with the awful shock--
The Demon-Wrecker thought too well his work was done!