Classic Poem

Now all this while Rowena struggled still,
Bound fast by fever's chain.
There seemed no hope!
No leech nor nurse could ease her tortured brain,
Or help her frail and sinking frame to cope
With all the fiery imps that sported there at will.

She sank at last in stupor so profound
They deemed her dead indeed,
And forthwith sent
A messenger to Ragnor's Tower with speed.
But as the heavens no light propitious lent,
The morn beheld the rider horseless on the ground.

Him bleeding sore, the smuggler found; his steed
Was grazing close at hand.
His master groaned,
And begged with tears, as one by fear unmanned
To die, for then his life will have atoned
For what may hap unless his note were sent with speed!