Classic Poem

"Dear mistress mine," young Eric cried and rose;
Then took and kissed her hand,
As he had done,
That night he had received her last command--
To make her place of refuge known to none.
O blessed charm which brought her life and sweet repose!

When she awoke next morn she gazed on all
Around with look so calm
And smile so sweet,
As fell upon each soul like holy balm
Of healing. Yet their eyes could only greet
Her look of grateful love with tears unbidd'n to fall.

"That voice I heard last night," she weakly said,
"Whose tones familiar sent
A magic thrill
Through all my veins and fever's fetters rent,
Was Eric's, faithful youth, whom they would kill
In Ragnor's deadly vaults! O say he is not dead?"