Page:Sir Neil & Glengyle.pdf/4

 4 But this and many a well aimed blow, The generous Baron warded ; Being loach to harm so dear a friend, Himself he only guarded.

Till mad at being sore abused, A furious push he darted ; Which pierced the brains of bold M‘Van, Who with a groan departed.— Curse on my skill ! What have I done Rush man !—but, thou wouldst have You’ve foreed a friend to take thy life. Who would have bled to save it.

Why should I mourn or this sad deed, Since now it can’t he mended ; My happiness that seemed so nigh. By one rash stroke is ended. An exile into some strange land. To fly I know not whither, I must not sea my lovely Ann, Since I have slain her brother.