Blood unforgiveable, and unforgiven:
But never power, since then, have I possessed
To plant my dagger in a Campbell’s breast.
Now, here’s a self-accusing partisan,
Steeped in the slaughter of Macdonald’s clan;
I scorn his civil speech and sweet-lipped show
Of pity—he is still our house’s foe:
I’ll perjure not myself—but sacrifice
The caitiff ere to-morrow’s sun arise.
Stand! hear me—you’re my son, the deed is just;