"Scottish virtues were due...to Wallace, who started the idea of independence, to John Knox for the ineradicable reverence for the Kirk, and to Robert Burns for that feeling of brotherhood and sense of humanity that got below all differences of rank."

"Now, Robert Burns was a great man and a great poet, and the influence of his truly tremendous satiric and lyrical genius has been one of the great factors in the disintegration of Scottish superstition."

"Their great national poet spoke to Scotland in her language, that he read the hearts of her people, and gave eloquent utterance to their dumb thoughts. In his scathing words he was able to condemn everything that was ignoble, selfish, and mean; and he stimulated everything that was noblest and best in the hearts of the people. He gave lessons of the loftiest patriotism and of aspirations for political freedom, while at the same time he maintained a steadfast devotion to the cause of everything that savoured of uncompromising hatred of oppression and wrong."

"But to see her was to love her; Love but her, and love for ever. Had we never lov'd sae kindly, Had we never lov'd sae blindly, Never met—or never parted, We had ne'er been broken-hearted."

"Burns stood, as regarded the old and the new world of poetry, both in Scotland and in England, at the parting of the ways. He was at once the climax of the old and the harbinger of the new. He brought to perfection what many of his Scottish predecessors and models had practised with much charm and ability. In the vernacular Scottish song, in the satire, in the familiar Epistle, in dramatic narrative, he rose to a height which no successor could depose him. He was the greatest of Scottish poets. ... More than any one else, more than Cowper or Wordsworth, did he serve to break up the frost that seemed to be settling upon the lyric flow in England at the end of the last century. The renaissance of poetry early in this century owed much to him, and those who owed to poetry no small part of their higher education would not grudge him their thoughtful gratitude."

"The white moon is setting behind the white wave, And Time is setting with me, O!"

"Beauty's of a fading nature Has a season and is gone!"

"There is no such uncertainty as a sure thing."

"It's guid to be merry and wise, It's guid to be honest and true, It's guid to support Caledonia's cause And bide by the buff and the blue."

"In durance vile here must I wake and weep, And all my frowsy couch in sorrow steep."

"If there's another world, he lives in bliss; If there is none, he made the best of this."

"God knows, I'm no the thing I should be, Nor am I even the thing I could be."

"Life is all a , We regard not how it goes; Let them cant about , Who have characters to lose."

"A fig for those by law protected! 's a glorious feast! Courts for cowards were erected, Churches built to please the ."

"Partly wi' o'ercome sae sair, And partly she was drunk."

"I once was a maid, tho' I cannot tell when, And still my delight is in proper young men."

"For a' that, and a' that An' twice as muckle 's a' that, I've lost but ane, I've twa behin', I've wife eneugh for a' that."

"Ah, Tam! Ah! Tam! Thou'll get thy fairin! In hell they'll roast you like a herrin!"

"Tam tint his reason a' thegither, And roars out — "Weel done, Cutty-sark!""

"Her cutty sark, o' Paisley harn, That while a lassie she had worn, In longitude tho' sorely scanty, It was her best, and she was vauntie."

"As Tammie glow'red, amazed, and curious, The mirth and fun grew fast and furious."

"Inspiring bold John Barleycorn! What dangers thou canst make us scorn! Wi' tippenny, we fear nae evil; Wi' usquabae, we'll face the devil!"

"That hour, o' night's black arch the keystane."

"Nae man can tether time or tide."

"But pleasures are like poppies spread— You seize the flow'r, its bloom is shed; Or like the snow falls in the river— A moment white—then melts forever."

"Kings may be blest, but Tam was glorious, O'er a' the ills o' life victorious."

"His ancient, trusty, drouthy crony: Tam lo'ed him like a vera brither— They had been fou for weeks thegither."

"The landlord's laugh was ready chorus."

"Stern Ruin's plowshare drives elate, Full on thy bloom."

"Ae fond kiss, and then we sever; Ae farewell, alas, forever!"

"Chords that vibrate sweetest pleasure Thrill the deepest notes of woe."

"But my fause luver staw my rose, And left the thorn wi' me."

"Ye banks and braes o' bonny Doon, How can ye bloom sae fresh and fair? How can ye chant, ye little birds, And I sae weary fu' o' care! Thou'll break my heart, thou warbling bird, That wantons thro' the flowering thorn! Thou minds me o' departed joys, Departed never to return."

"Contented wi' little and cantie wi' mair."

"Oh, my Luve is like a red, red rose, That's newly sprung in June. O, my Luve is like the melodie, That's sweetly played in tune."

"A gaudy dress and gentle air May slightly touch the heart; But it's innocence and modesty that polished the dart."

"And may you better reck the rede, Than ever did the adviser!"

"The fear o' hell 's a hangman's whip To haud the wretch in order; But where ye feel your honour grip, Let that aye be your border."

"From scenes like these, old Scotia's grandeur springs, That makes her loved at home, revered abroad: Princes and lords are but the breath of kings, "An honest man's the noblest work of God.""

"Perhaps Dundee's wild-warbling measures rise, Or plaintive Martyrs, worthy of the name."

"He wales a portion with judicious care; And "Let us worship God" he says, with solemn air."

"The sire turns o'er, wi patriarchal grace, The big ha'-Bible, ance his father's pride."

"The halesome parritch, chief o Scotia's food."

"Beneath the milk-white thorn that scents the evening gale."

"They never sought in vain that sought the Lord aright."

"Gars auld claes look amaist as weel's the new."

"Th' expectant wee-things, toddlin, stacher through To meet their dad, wi flichterin noise and glee."

"What's a' your jargon o' your schools, Your Latin names for horns and stools? If honest Nature made you fools What sairs your grammars? Ye'd better taen up spades and shools Or knappin hammers. Gie' me ae spark o' Nature's fire! That's a' the learning I desire: Then, tho' I drudge thro' dub and mire At plough or cart, My muse, though homely in attire, May touch the heart."

"We labour soon, we labour late, To feed the titled knave, man; And a' the comfort we're to get, Is that ayont the grave, man."

"Don't let the awkward squad fire over me."