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May ev'n prove warm enough for Lowland flower Therein to flourish sweetly.

Thanks, noble Sir; but we must go to-morrow.

So soon! the daughter of my early friend Beneath my roof, seen like a Will o' th' wisp, Glancing and vanishing! It must not be. Were I but half the man that once I was, I'd fight thy stubborn brother hand to hand. And glaive to glaive, but he should tarry longer, Or leave his charge behind him.

Nay, blame him not: it was his own good will Which made him from our nearest homeward route, Though press'd for time, start these long miles aside, To pay his father's friend a passing visit; For Malcolm, he believed, was still in Glasgow, So rumour said.

I thank his courtesy; But, if my name be Fergus of Dunarden, Neither the morrow, nor next morrow's morrow Shall see thee quit my tower. I'll go and find him,