Classic Poem

As I gaed down the water side,
I heard a maiden sing,
All in the lee-lone Sabbath morn,
And the green glen answering, —
" No longer hosts encountering hosts,
Shall clouds of slain deplore,
They hang the trumpet in the hall,
And study war no more. "

Dead men of ancient tumults lay
In dust below her feet,
Their spirits breathed to her but scents
Of mint and the meadow-sweet.
Singing her psalm, her bosom calm
As the dappled sky above,
She thought the world was dedicate
For evermore to love!

O God! my heart was like to break,
Hearing her guileless strain,
For pipes screamed through the Highland hills,
And swords were forth again.
And little did the lassie ken
Banff's battle-bells were ringing;
Her lad was in the gear o' war,
While she was happy singing!