For her lover was coming from foreign land
To give her his heart, and to claim her hand.
Ah! in foreign dungeon her lover lay,
Where stone on stone shut out every ray.
He never the hand of the maiden would clasp;
He was held by my SECOND’S iron grasp.
With feverish thirst he calls for drink—
Ere long he hears the rattle and clink
Of the jailer’s keys, as he brings the cup,
And bids the prisoner drink it up.