Classic Poem

Hewn out of solid rock, some fathoms deep
Old Ragnor's dungeons lay.
A massive chain
Which two men scarce could move a foot away,
Joined door above to door below. Its strain
Upon the stone-cut stairs still makes the flesh to creep.

Here faithful Eric found himself immured
To try if gloom and fear
Of tortures dire
Could wring from him a secret held more dear
Than life itself. Nay! Famine, rack, and fire,
Swift death or tortures slow--all, all should be endured

For his dear lady's sake. Though but a page
He'd learn to value truth
In word and deed
From her whose noble love inspired his youth
And taught him lessons from her living creed.
Her foe had thrown the glove he dared take up the gage.