Peace, peace!—the Pilgrim as he went
Forgot the minstrel's song;
But the blessing that his wan lips sent
Will guard the minstrel long;
And keep his spirit innocent,
And turn his hand from wrong.
Belike the child had little thought
Of the moral the minstrel drew;
But the dream of a deed of kindness wrought—
Brings it not peace to you?
And doth not a lesson of virture taught
Teach him that reaches too?
And if the Lady sighed no sigh
For the minstrel or his hymn;—
But when he shall lie 'neath the moonlit sky,
Or lip the goblet's brim,
What a star in the mist of memory
Her smile will be to him!
* * * * *
THE COVENANTER'S LAMENT FOR BOTHWELL BRIGG.
The men of sin prevail!
Once more the prince of this world lifts his horn:
Judah is scattered, as the chaff is borne
Before the stormy gale.
Where are our brethren? where
The good and true, the terrible and fleet?
They whom we loved, with whom we sat at meat,
With whom we kneeled in prayer?
Mangled and marred they lie,
Upon the bloody pillow of their rest:
Stern Dalzell smiles, and Clavers with a jest
Spurs his fierce charger by.
So let our foes rejoice;—
We to the Lord, who hears their impious boasts.
Will call for comfort: to the God of Hosts
We will lift up our voice.
Give ear unto our song;
For we are wandering o'er our native land,
As sheep that have no shepherd: and the hand
Of wicked men is strong.