The Lights of Home.
With sails full set to catch the western breeze,
The stout ship, Holy Cross,
The Channel ploughed;
Nor dreamt those noble hearts on board of loss;
Or that those silvered waves might prove their shroud;
As o'er her staunch bulwarks they pictured home and ease.
"What light is that which glimmers on yon height?"
The gallant captain cried,
"'Tis Ragnor's Tower,"
Sir Harold said, "where dwells my lady bride.
That light she vowed should never quit her bower.
Haste, captain, haste, I pray, and land me there this night."
"Steer straight for yonder light on Ragnor's crown!"
The captain made reply.
They set the helm;
And now with wings outstretched they swiftly fly,
Where demons will with mocking laugh o'erwhelm
And dance with fiendish glee to see them sink and drown.
The Lamp of Death.
Sir Guy had heard afar the tidings fell
Of Harold Wynn's return
From Holy Land.
The news more fiercely made his wrath to burn.
Hence hot with hate he sought Old Ragnor's strand,
Whose peaceful haunts became again a very hell.
By Eric fed, the beacon lamp once more
Shone o'er the treach'rous sea
Which hid Death's maw.
Rowena had a secret gate whose key,
Her page had used. Her light, Sir Guy first saw.
O madd'ning sight! "If saved, Rowena dies," he swore.
The light of life, he quenched, and straightway hung
A lamp to lure to death.
His eyes shot fire
As straight he saw her come. He held his breath,
At length he heard the crash. No Nero's lyre
Across his work of death such yells of triumph flung!