Rank with its treason, priesthood with its craft,
Turned Scotland's war-lance to a willow-wand.
But war arose in Scotland—civil war;
Serf warred with chief, and father warred with son,
The church too warred with all: her evil star
That rules o'er sinking realms shone like the sun—
Her lights waxed dim and died out one by one—
Woe o'er the land hung like a funeral pall:
The sword the bold could brave, the coward shun,
But famine followed fast and fell on all—