Could save the land that fateful day, "I may be wrong, as grant I may; These are the signs of sinful deed, And these are tokens that I dread. The demons of the fiery reign Have been abroad in Christ's domain, Roused, by some powerful heathen spell, From out the lurid vales of hell, The face of earth and heaven to mar, And hurl the elements in war. "But-note me, youth-the time will come That men shall stand, in terror dumb, And see the Almighty's arm of power But trust not all that prophets say; The best may err, and so may they. Predictions are but ticklish gear, Though specious, logical, and clear, Condensed, and penn'd in language strong, Where once aright, they're ten times wrong. This sage experience hath me taught, Whilst thou hast hooted, rail'd, and laugh'd. Alack! the credit due to seers, Too well is known to my compeers! Our travellers gain'd the farther shore Which made the holy father weep, And the rude boor to laugh, and leap, A vagrant outcast though he be, By Connel's tide they journey'd then, And met whole multitudes of men ; Some fleeing to the forest land, Some guarding firm, with sword in hand, Each path, and ford, that lay between Their fierce invaders and their queen. For much had happ'd, that I must tell, And you must read, if you do well. END OF BOOK THIRD. |