My knight, brave knight,
Gone from me o'er the sea;
Shine bright, shine bright,
Each night, each night,
Till he come back to me.

Death at Ragnor's Tower.

The flag on Ragnor's tower hung half-mast high
Smote old and young with grief.
A death it told.
They long had watched her wither like a leaf;
Her warm hands too had grown of late so cold.
So young, so fair, so good. Alas! that she should die.

But no! It was her lady mother. She
Full long had seen her child
Slowly decay.
Her father's temper, too, had grown more wild.
She could but pray that ere she passed away,
Rowena's knight would safe return from o'er the sea.

Her mother dead! Her one true guide and friend!
Her heart seemed reft in twain.
Would she had died!
A year at least it meant ere yet again,
She needs must list to suits to be denied.
O death, or Harold, come and let there be an end!

Rowena's Grief.

She straightway sought the dim-lit chamber, where,
Beside her mother's bier,
Her heart might break.
So frail her bark to stem life's sea so drear.
She fain would die, yet live for his dear sake.
But then "He might not live!" she cried in wild despair.

Rowena's Lament.

O mother, mine, no longer mine!
My life for thine, yea twice for thine!
O take it Death! Why not, O Death?
Why is our breath, life's fleeting breath,
Not ours to take, to give or take?
Life's cord will break, life's cord must break.
Why may we not, why dare we not,
Clean cut its knot, its painful knot?

The Holy Friar's Consolation.

A voice she hears, a tender voice,
Which says: No choice, my child, no choice
Is left for thee, for me or thee.
There's naught for thee, for thee or me,
But bear the cross, the bitter cross.
The cup of woe you now must drain,
Will bring sweet gain, for you sweet gain.
Pax vobiscum, my child; Pax vobiscum!
Heaven's peace, dear maid, be thine,
For evermore!
Go seek its home at good St. Hilda's shrine;
In holy mother's ears thy sorrows pour;
Within those peaceful gates no earthly ill can come."

Rowena Enters a Convent.

'Twas thus the holy friar of Senlac spoke.
His words the flood gates burst
And tears like rain
On land whose fissures stand agape with thirst,