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e danger was their meed. And what cared they for idle thanks From foreign prince and peer? What virtue had such honeyed words The exiles' hearts to cheer? What mattered it that men should vaunt, And loud and fondly swear, That higher feat of chivalry Was never wrought elsewhere? They bore within their breasts the grief That fame can never heal-- The deep, unutterable woe Which none save exiles feel. Their hearts were yearning for the land They ne'er might see again-- For Scotland's high and heathered hills, For mountain, loch, and glen-- For those who haply lay at rest Beyond the distant sea, Beneath the green and daisied turf Where they would gladly be! XII. Long years went by. The lonely isle In Rhine's impetuous flood Has ta'en another name from those Who bought it with their blood: And though the legend does not live, For legends lightly die, The peasant, as he sees the stream In winter rolling by, And foaming o'er its channel-bed Between him and the spot Won by the warriors of the sword, Still calls that deep and dangerous ford The Passage of the Scot. CHARLES EDWARD AT VERSAILLES Though the sceptre had departed from the House of Stuart, it was reserved for one of its last descendants to prove to the world, by his personal gallantry and noble spirit of enterprise, that he at least had not degenerated from his royal line of ancestors. The daring effort of Charles Edward to recover the crown of these kingdoms for his father, is to us the most remarkable incident of the last century. It was honourable alike to the Prince and to those who espoused his cause; and, even in a political point of view, the outbreak ought not to be deplored, since its failure put an end for ever to the dynastical struggle which, for more than half a century, had agitated the whole of Britain, established the rule of law and of social order throughout the mountainous districts of Scotland, and blended Celt and Saxon into one prosperous and united people. It was better that the antiquated system of clanship should have expired in a blaze of glory, than gradually dwindled into contempt; better that the patriarchal rule should at once have been extinguished by the dire catastrophe of Culloden, than that it should have lingered on, the shadow of an old tradition. There is nothing now to prevent us from dwelling wit
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