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