Blair Collection > Celtic magazine > Volume 4

436 THE CELTIC MAGAZINE.
drawn in quick convulsive gasps ; but still their eyes glare on each other
with unfliiiching defiance ; the tremendous exertions they are making soon
begins to tell on both ; their limbs tremble, their heads are giddy, but
still they wrestle like two gladiators thirsting for each other's blood.
Turning and twisting they reach the edge of an ugly rock, which at that
place shelved down to a great distance. As they reach the brink of this
frightfid precipice, Grant sees a yet fiercer gleam in the bloodshot eye of
the alien, who, collecting all his remaining strength, makes a final elibrt,
and attempts to throw Grant over the rock down to the yawning chasm
below. Our hero was unable to resist the sudden, impetuous attempt of
his foe, but determining that if he died, at least his enemy should not
survive to boast of his victory, he clung to the alien with a vice-like grip,
and together they roUed over the frightful precipice and disappeared.
M. A. EOSE.
(To he Continued.)
PEINCE CHARLIES FAEEWELL TO SCOTLAND.
Farewell, my loved Scotland, the land of my sires.
An exile I leave thee, ah ! ne'er to return ;
No more shall a Stuart awaken the fires
That still in thy children exultingly burn.
Ye bold Highland Chieftains, devoted and leal.
My warrior companions on dire battlefields,
I go broken-hearted, tears cannot reveal
The sadness my parting for evermore yields.
Farewell, bonnie Scotland, Culloden's dark day
Dispelled the bright visions I cherished with years.
The sun of my hope has gone down in dismay,
The merciless Saxon triumphant appears.
Ye valorous clansmen who fought as ye loved,
Who gloriously bled for the cause of the true,
Ah ! little I thought when as conquerors we moved,
That vanquished I'd bid ye in sorrow adieu.
Farewell, Caledonia, I weep for thy woes,
The chains of the tyrant around me are laid.
Thy cottages blaze 'neath the brand of thy foes,
Thy children are homeless, thy glory is fled.
Alas ! I must leave thee to vengeance and scorn,
No more in the land of the brave I must dwell ;
I go, and Avhen weardy wandering forlorn.
My heart shall be with thee forever, farewell !
Sunderland. WM. ALLAN.