The bigots of the Iron time
Had called the harmless art a crime.
A wandering Harper, scorned and poor,
He begged his bread from door to door,
And tuned, to please a peasants ear,
The harp a king had loved to hear.
4. He passed where Newark’s stately tower
Looks out from Yarrow’s birchen bower;
The Minstrel gazed with wistful eye,
No humbler resting-place was nigh;