Rhodes' fair island saw his valour;
'Mid her gardens he had bled;
Glowing as her sun, his love-words
Homeward to his lady sped.

Ah, they reached her not, to banish
Days of care, and nights of woe;
Their warm sunshine never parted
Clouds that darkened o'er Lochow,

Weary is her lot whose favour
For her wealth is held a prize;
Oft she finds no truthful homage,
Sees no love in pleading eyes.

Man gains strength from gold, but woman
Worse than dross her wealth may call;
Avarice is her haunting suitor,
Giving naught and seeking all.

Messages from the Crusader
Fell into a Baron's hands;
Who, with subtle treason working,
Coveted dark Colin's lands:

Spread the base and cruel rumours,
Preyed upon the aching heart,
Asked her year by year in marriage,
Falsely played the lover's part.