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 'Bold Saxon! to his promise just,

Vich-Alpin has discharged his trust.

This murderuus Chief, this ruthless man,

This head of a rebellious clan,

Hath led thee safe, through watch and ward,

Far past Clan-Alpine's outmost guard.

Now, man to man, and steel to steel,

A Chieftain's vengeance thou shall feel.

See, here, all vantageless I stand,

Armed like thyself, with single brand;

For this is Coilantogle ford,

And thou must keep thee with thy sword.'

The Saxon paused:—'I ne'er delayed,

When foeman bade me draw my blade;

Nay more, brave Chief, I vowed thy death;

Yet sure thy fair and generous faith,

And my deep debt for life preserved,

A better meed have well deserved:

Can nought but blood our feud atone?

Are there no means?'—'No, Stranger, none!

And hear,—to fire thy flagging zeal,—

The Saxon cause rests on thy steel;

For thus spoke Fate by prophet bred

Between the living and the dead;

'Who spills the foremost foeman's life,

His party conquers in the strife.'

'Then, by my word,' the Saxon said,

'The riddle is already read,

Seek yonder brake beneath the cliff,—

There lies Red Murdoch, stark and stiff.

Thus Fate has solved her propheeyprophecy [sic],

Then yield to Pate and not to me.'

Dark lightning flashed from Rhoderick's eye—

'Soars thy presumption then so high.

Because a wretched kern ye slew,

Homage to name to Rhoderick Dhu?

He yields not, he, to man nor Fate!

Thou add'st but fuel to my hate;