"A Creature not too bright or good For human nature's daily food; For transient sorrows, simple wiles, Praise, blame, love, kisses, tears and smiles."

"She was a Phantom of delight When first she gleamed upon my sight; A lovely Apparition, sent To be a moment's ornament; Her eyes as stars of twilight fair, Like twilights too her dusky hair, But all things else about her drawn From May-time and the cheerful dawn."

"From Stirling Castle we had seen The mazy Forth unravelled; Had trod the banks of Clyde and Tay, And with the Tweed had travelled; And when we came to Clovenford, Then said "my winsome marrow," "Whate'er betide, we'll turn aside, And see the braes of Yarrow.""

"A brotherhood of venerable trees."

"The Eagle, he was lord above, And Rob was lord below."

"The good old rule Sufficeth them, the simple plan, That they should take, who have the power, And they should keep who can."

"Burn all the statutes and their shelves: They stir us up against our kind; And worse, against ourselves."

"Yet was Rob Roy as wise as brave; Forgive me if the phrase be strong;— A Poet worthy of Rob Roy Must scorn a timid song."

"A famous man is Robin Hood, The English ballad-singer's joy."

"I listened, motionless and still; And, as I mounted up the hill, The music in my heart I bore, Long after it was heard no more."

"And stepping westward seemed to be A kind of heavenly destiny."

"Sweet Mercy! to the gates of Heaven This minstrel lead, his sins forgiven; The rueful conflict, the heart riven With vain endeavour, And memory of earth's bitter leaven Effaced forever."

"Not Chaos, not The darkest pit of lowest Erebus, Nor aught of blinder vacancy, scooped out By help of dreams — can breed such fear and awe As fall upon us often when we look Into our Minds, into the Mind of Man."

"Is there not An art, a music, and a stream of words That shalt be life, the acknowledged voice of life?"

"Happier of happy though I be, like them I cannot take possession of the sky, Mount with a thoughtless impulse, and wheel there One of a mighty multitude whose way Is a perpetual harmony and dance Magnificent."

"The harvest of a quiet eye, That broods and sleeps on his own heart."

"And you must love him, ere to you He will seem worthy of your love."

"He murmurs near the running brooks A music sweeter than their own."

"A reasoning, self-sufficing thing, An intellectual All-in-all!"

"A fingering slave, One that would peep and botanize Upon his mother's grave."

"If I should be, where I no more can hear Thy voice, nor catch from thy wild eyes these gleams Of past existence, wilt thou then forget That on the banks of this delightful stream We stood together; And that I, so long A worshipper of Nature, hither came, Unwearied in that service: rather say With warmer love, oh! with far deeper zeal Of holier love. Now wilt thou then forget, That after many wanderings, many years Of absence, these steep woods and lofty cliffs, And this green pastoral landscape, were to me More dear, both for themselves, and for thy sake."

"Nor, perchance, If I were not thus taught, Should I the more Suffer my genial spirits to decay: For thou art with me here upon the banks Of this fair river; thou, my dearest Friend, My dear, dear Friend; and in thy voice I catch The language of my former heart, and read My former pleasures in the shooting lights Of thy wild eyes. Oh! yet a little while May I behold in thee what I was once, My dear, dear Sister! And this prayer I make, Knowing that Nature never did betray The heart that loved her; 'tis her privilege, Through all the years of this our life, to lead From joy to joy: for she can so inform The mind that is within us, so impress With quietness and beauty, and so feed With lofty thoughts, that neither evil tongues, Rash judgments, nor the sneers of selfish men, Nor greetings where no kindness is, nor all The dreary intercourse of daily life, Shall e'er prevail against us, or disturb Our cheerful faith that all which we behold Is full of blessings."

"Action is transitory—a step, a blow— The motion of a muscle—this way or that— 'Tis done; and in the after-vacancy We wonder at ourselves like men betrayed."

"Love had he found in huts where poor men lie; His daily teachers had been woods and rills, The silence that is in the starry sky, The sleep that is among the lonely hills."

"Two Voices are there; one is of the sea, One of the mountains; each a mighty Voice."

"He sang of love, with quiet blending, Slow to begin, and never ending; Of serious faith, and inward glee; That was the song,—the song for me!"

"We must be free or die, who speak the tongue That Shakespeare spake; the faith and morals hold Which Milton held."

"Thy soul was like a Star, and dwelt apart: Thou hadst a voice whose sound was like the sea: Pure as the naked heavens, majestic, free, So didst thou travel on life's common way, In cheerful godliness."

"Milton! thou should'st be living at this hour: England hath need of thee: she is a fen Of stagnant waters."

"Thou has left behind Powers that will work for thee,—air, earth, and skies! There 's not a breathing of the common wind That will forget thee; thou hast great allies; Thy friends are exultations, agonies, And love, and man's unconquerable mind."

"Men are we, and must grieve when even the Shade Of that which once was great, is passed away."

"Once did She hold the gorgeous east in fee; And was the safeguard of the west: the worth Of Venice did not fall below her birth, Venice, the eldest Child of Liberty."

"Thou liest in Abraham's bosom all the year; And worship'st at the Temple's inner shrine, God being with thee when we know it not."

"It is a beauteous evening, calm and free, The holy time is quiet as a Nun Breathless with adoration; the broad sun Is sinking down in its tranquillity; The gentleness of heaven broods o'er the Sea."

"Every great and original writer, in proportion as he is great and original, must himself create the taste by which he is to be relished."

"Dreams, books, are each a world; and books, we know, Are a substantial world, both pure and good: Round these, with tendrils strong as flesh and blood, Our pastime and our happiness will grow."

"Come, blessed barrier between day and day, Dear mother of fresh thoughts and joyous health!"

"Where lies the Land to which yon Ship must go? Fresh as a lark mounting at break of day, Festively she puts forth in trim array."

"Great God! I'd rather be A Pagan suckled in a creed outworn; So might I, standing on this pleasant lea, Have glimpses that would make me less forlorn; Have sight of Proteus rising from the sea; Or hear old Triton blow his wreathèd horn."

"The world is too much with us; late and soon, Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers: Little we see in Nature that is ours; We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon!"

"In truth the prison, unto which we doom Ourselves, no prison is."

"Like—but oh, how different!"

"She hath smiles to earth unknown— Smiles that with motion of their own Do spread, and sink, and rise."

"But an old age serene and bright, And lovely as a Lapland night, Shall lead thee to thy grave."

"Thou, while thy babes around thee cling, Shalt show us how divine a thing A Woman may be made."

"Dear Child of Nature, let them rail!"

"The light that never was, on sea or land, The consecration, and the poet's dream."

"Oft on the dappled turf at ease I sit, and play with similes, Loose types of things through all degrees."

"Thou unassuming Common-place Of Nature, with that homely face, And yet with something of a grace, Which Love makes for thee!"

"No bird, but an invisible thing, A voice, a mystery."