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| SLOWLY England’s sun was setting o’er the hilltops far away, | |
| Filling all the land with beauty at the close of one sad day, | |
| And the last rays kissed the forehead of a man and maiden fair,— | |
| He with footsteps slow and weary, she with sunny floating hair; | |
| He with bowed head, sad and thoughtful, she with lips all cold and white, | 5 |
| Struggling to keep back the murmur,— | |
| “Curfew must not ring to-night.” | |
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| “Sexton,” Bessie’s white lips faltered, pointing to the prison old, | |
| With its turrets tall and gloomy, with its walls dark, damp, and cold, | |
| “I ’ve a lover in that prison, doomed this very night to die, | 10 |
| At the ringing of the Curfew, and no earthly help is nigh; | |
| Cromwell will not come till sunset,” and her lips grew strangely white | |
| As she breathed the husky whisper:— | |
| “Curfew must not ring to-night.” | |
| |
| “Bessie,” calmly spoke the sexton,—every word pierced her young heart | 15 |
| Like the piercing of an arrow, like a deadly poisoned dart,— | |
| “Long, long years I ’ve rung the Curfew from that gloomy, shadowed tower; | |
| Every evening, just at sunset, it has told the twilight hour; | |
| I have done my duty ever, tried to do it just and right, | |
| Now I ’m old I will not falter,— | 20 |
| Curfew, it must ring to-night.” | |
| |
| Wild her eyes and pale her features, stern and white her thoughtful brow, | |
| As within her secret bosom Bessie made a solemn vow. | |
| She had listened while the judges read without a tear or sigh: | |
| “At the ringing of the Curfew, Basil Underwood must die.” | 25 |
| And her breath came fast and faster, and her eyes grew large and bright; | |
| In an undertone she murmured:— | |
| “Curfew must not ring to-night.” | |
| |
| With quick step she bounded forward, sprung within the old church door, | |
| Left the old man threading slowly paths so oft he ’d trod before; | 30 |
| Not one moment paused the maiden, but with eye and cheek aglow | |
| Mounted up the gloomy tower, where the bell swung to and fro | |
| As she climbed the dusty ladder on which fell no ray of light, | |
| Up and up,—her white lips saying:— | |
| “Curfew must not ring to-night.” | 35 |
| |
| She has reached the topmost ladder; o’er her hangs the great dark bell; | |
| Awful is the gloom beneath her, like the pathway down to hell. | |
| Lo, the ponderous tongue is swinging,—’t is the hour of Curfew now, | |
| And the sight has chilled her bosom, stopped her breath, and paled her brow. | |
| Shall she let it ring? No, never! flash her eyes with sudden light, | 40 |
| As she springs, and grasps it firmly,— | |
| “Curfew shall not ring to-night!” | |
| |
| Out she swung—far out; the city seemed a speck of light below, | |
| There ’twixt heaven and earth suspended as the bell swung to and fro, | |
| And the sexton at the bell-rope, old and deaf, heard not the bell, | 45 |
| Sadly thought, “That twilight Curfew rang young Basil’s funeral knell.” | |
| Still the maiden clung more firmly, and with trembling lips so white, | |
| Said to hush her heart’s wild throbbing:— | |
| “Curfew shall not ring to-night!” | |
| |
| It was o’er, the bell ceased swaying, and the maiden stepped once more | 50 |
| Firmly on the dark old ladder where for hundred years before | |
| Human foot had not been planted. The brave deed that she had done | |
| Should be told long ages after, as the rays of setting sun | |
| Crimson all the sky with beauty; agèd sires, with heads of white, | |
| Tell the eager, listening children, | 55 |
| “Curfew did not ring that night.” | |
| |
| O’er the distant hills came Cromwell; Bessie sees him, and her brow, | |
| Lately white with fear and anguish, has no anxious traces now. | |
| At his feet she tells her story, shows her hands all bruised and torn; | |
| And her face so sweet and pleading, yet with sorrow pale and worn, | 60 |
| Touched his heart with sudden pity, lit his eyes with misty light: | |
| “Go! your lover lives,” said Cromwell, | |
| “Curfew shall not ring to-night.” | |
| |
| Wide they flung the massive portal; led the prisoner forth to die,— | |
| All his bright young life before him. ’Neath the darkening English sky | 65 |
| Bessie comes with flying footsteps, eyes aglow with love-light sweet; | |
| Kneeling on the turf beside him, lays his pardon at his feet. | |
| In his brave, strong arms he clasped her, kissed the face upturned and white, | |
| Whispered, “Darling, you have saved me,— | |
| Curfew will not ring to-night!” | 70 |
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