The Lost Missive.
One night as Eric rode, a bolt whizzed by,
With well-nigh fatal aim.
He faster flew,
Until, alack! his faithful steed fell lame.
He leapt aground and o'er his arm he drew
The reins. What joy to find the smuggler's den was nigh!
For Eric's belt then held in close embrace,
As erst long months ago,
A precious note.
'Twas gone! and its contents would clearly show
His lurking place and hers—Alas! who wrote
To beg she soon might see her Harold face to face.
The smuggler begged young Eric show the road
He'd come. Then armed they go;
But without need;
For where Rowena's page alighted, lo!
The missive lay. They hasten back with speed;
And as they give God thanks, more eyes than one o'erflowed.
Another Dungeon Tenant.
"We e'en must quit, dear Mike, thy safe retreat;
'Tis clear, they're on our track.
Of this be sure,
That you henceforth in life shall nothing lack
That heart can wish or wealth of mine procure.
Swift send to Wynnwood Hall, a trusty man and fleet!"
"I'll go myself, Sir knight," old Michael said;
"For Eric here must stay
And hide awhile.
You'll see me back again by break of day;
With talk and sleep you can the hours beguile;
But one at least much [Transcriber's note: must?] watch,
for mischief broods o'erhead!"
When Mike returned, his den indeed was there
But tenants only one
Who bound him fast
And bade him take his leave of yonder sun,
For sure enough this look would be his last;
In Ragnor's gloomy vaults he'd find nor light nor air.