Nemesis.
Sir Guy's dire act of awful vengeance ta'en
A ravenous brood of prey,
To make their nest,
Seemed gnawing at his heart-strings night and day;
With croaks like drowning cries they filled his breast
And raised with fluttering wing the ghosts of those he'd slain.
No dove of peace on wings of morn returned.
He watched with eager eyes
Day's amber birth
And saw, or thought he saw, a form arise;
'Twas his—Sir Harold's—just as when on earth
He came to plead his suit and was with insult spurned.
"O God, have mercy! Grant it may be true
That he indeed doth live!
Oh! warders, fly,
Proclaim—a thousand livres I will give
To know the Knight of Wynnwood did not die
In that night's fearful wreck. If found, I'll make it two!"
The Demon Exorcised.
As beasts and lands welcome the rain they craved
And ope their parch-ed lips
To drink their fill;
So felt Sir Guy the demons loose their grips,
As warders, one by one, the news distil,
To quench their hell-lit fires—'that all on board were saved'!
Like savage beasts when bite and roar grow weak,
Seek out some lonely nook
Wherein to die;
So now Sir Guy, whose thunderous voice once shook
Old Ragnor's walls and made the bravest fly,
Would feebly cry: "My child!" then, death-like, swoon away.
Full ten days passed ere conscious life again
Illum'd those once stern eyes,
With rays serene,
Now mildly placid as the azure skies,
On which one grateful turns from sun's fierce sheen;
Refreshing, too, his milder tones as summer rain.