PERSECUTION OF THE SCOTTISH COVENANTERS

When Alpine Vales threw forth a suppliant cry,

The majesty of England interposed

And the sword stopped; the bleeding wounds were closed;

And Faith preserved her ancient purity.

How little boots that precedent of good,

Scorned or forgotten, Thou canst testify,

For England's shame, O Sister Realm! from wood,

Mountain, and moor, and crowded street, where lie

The headless martyrs of the Covenant,

Slain by Compatriot-protestants that draw

From councils senseless as intolerant

Their warrant. Bodies fall by wild sword-law;

But who would force the Soul, tilts with a straw

Against a Champion cased in adamant.