Classic Poem

The smuggler's patient skill soon fanned life's spark
Into a feeble flame.
Sir Harold first
The solemn quiet broke to breathe the name
Of Ruth, the Saracene who had him nurs'd
And hid with all a sister's love and care within her ark.

"She's saved? Thanks be to God," he said, and wept.
"And she, my lady bride!
O can you say
She too doth live? Or better yonder tide
Now held this hopeless wreck of life its prey!"
"She lives, brave knight," they said. He smiled his thanks
and slept.

A messenger of life, young Eric sped
And death's fell courier caught
At Hilda's gate.
The sisters' tears foretold the mischief wrought,
"She's swoon'd," they said. He curs'd his cruel fate.
They led him to her couch whereon she lay as dead.