"In this wild and picturesque glen a skirmish took place between the Elliotts and the Graemes, in which the young leader of the Scottish clan was slain, though his party were victorious. They buried him in an opening on the hillside; and every clansman brought a fragment of rock, to raise a rude monument to his honour. On the summit of the pile they placed his bonnet, shield, and claymore, that neither friend nor foe should pass irreverently the youthful warrior's grave."
Not where the green grass hides
His kindred before him;
Not where his native trees
Droop to deplore him;
But in the stranger's land
Must we bestow him.
Leave there his sword and shield,
That all may know him.
Never was fairer youth,
Never was bolder;
Who would have met his sword
A few summers older?
Ne'er will our chieftain's line
Yield such another;
Who can, amid us all?
Tell it his mother.