Classic Poem

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.

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.

"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!