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.
And the heartless seasons vanished,
Other twain were nearly sped;
Then at last his suit seemed answered,
Silently she bent her head.
Gaily, loudly, laughing o'er her,
Named the Baron hour and day.
But she said: "No, for this wedding
First I'll build a castle gay.
"When its halls are built, we'll tarry
Where our guests can praise our cheer;
When the feast-smoke from its chimneys
Rises, then the day is near."
So the building rose, and slowly
Walls and stairway, keep and tower
Stone by stone completed, sadly
Heralded the wedding hour.
Shall it come, and never mercy
Shown of God avert the doom?
Shall the longing for the absent
Turn to feasting o'er his tomb?
Yes. The Castle's new possessor
Soon shall follow thronging guests:
As the Lake reflects the turrets
Men shall second his behests.