"On his bold visage middle age Had slightly pressed its signet sage, Yet had not quenched the open truth And fiery vehemence of youth; Forward and frolic glee was there, The will to do, the soul to dare, The sparkling glance, soon blown to fire, Of hasty love or headlong ire."

"O, Woman! in our hours of ease, Uncertain, coy, and hard to please, And variable as the shade By the light quivering aspen made; When pain and anguish wring the brow, A ministering angel thou!"

"To all, to each, a fair good-night, And pleasing dreams, and slumbers light!"

"The stag at eve had drunk his fill, Where danced the moon on Monan's rill, And deep his midnight lair had made In lone Glenartney's hazel shade."

"O, what a tangled web we weave, When first we practise to deceive!"

"Oh, young Lochinvar is come out of the West, Through all the wide Border his steed was the best."

"With head upraised, and look intent, And eye and ear attentive bent, And locks flung back, and lips apart, Like monument of Grecian art, In listening mood, she seemed to stand, The guardian Naiad of the strand."

"And darest thou then To beard the lion in his den, The Douglas in his hall?"

"The rose is fairest when 't is budding new, And hope is brightest when it dawns from fears. The rose is sweetest wash'd with morning dew, And love is loveliest when embalm'd in tears."

"That day of wrath, that dreadful day, When heaven and earth shall pass away, What power shall be the sinner's stay? How shall he meet that dreadful day?"

"Stood for his country’s glory fast, And nail’d her colours to the mast!"

"Just at the age 'twixt boy and youth, When thought is speech, and speech is truth."

"O Caledonia! stern and wild, Meet nurse for a poetic child! Land of brown heath and shaggy wood, Land of the mountain and the flood!"

"Call it not vain;—they do not err, Who say, that when the Poet dies, Mute Nature mourns her worshipper, And celebrates his obsequies."

"True love's the gift which God has given To man alone beneath the heaven: It is not fantasy's hot fire, Whose wishes, soon as granted, fly; It liveth not in fierce desire, With dead desire it doth not die; It is the secret sympathy, The silver link, the silken tie, Which heart to heart, and mind to mind In body and in soul can bind."

"Breathes there the man, with soul so dead, Who never to himself hath said, This is my own, my native land! Whose heart hath ne'er within him burn'd, As home his footsteps he hath turn'd, From wandering on a foreign strand! If such there breathe, go, mark him well; For him no Minstrel raptures swell; High though his titles, proud his name, Boundless his wealth as wish can claim; Despite those titles, power, and pelf, The wretch, concentred all in self, Living, shall forfeit fair renown, And, doubly dying, shall go down To the vile dust, from whence he sprung, Unwept, unhonor'd, and unsung."

"When, musing on companions gone, We doubly feel ourselves alone."

"Along thy wild and willow'd shore."

"Revenge—the sweetest morsel to the mouth that ever was cooked in hell!"

"Art thou a friend to Roderick?"

"When Prussia hurried to the field, And snatch'd the spear, but left the shield."

"For ne'er Was flattery lost on poet's ear: A simple race! they waste their toil For the vain tribute of a smile."

"Her blue eyes sought the west afar, For lovers love the western star."

"In peace, Love tunes the shepherd's reed; In war, he mounts the warrior's steed; In halls, in gay attire is seen; In hamlets, dances on the green. Love rules the court, the camp, the grove, And men below, and saints above; For love is heaven, and heaven is love."

"Steady of heart, and stout of hand."

"Such is the custom of Branksome Hall."

"If thou would'st view fair Melrose aright, Go visit it by the pale moonlight."

"One hour of life, crowded to the full with glorious action, and filled with noble risks, is worth whole years of those mean observances of paltry decorum, in which men steal through existence, like sluggish waters through a marsh, without either honour or observation."

"Heaven knows its time; the bullet has its billet."

"Thy hue, dear pledge, is pure and bright As in that well-remember'd night When first thy mystic braid was wove, And first my Agnes whisper'd love."

"Come fill up my cup, come fill up my can, Come saddle your horses, and call up your men; Come open the West Port, and let me gang free, And it's room for the bonnets of Bonny Dundee!"

"There is a vulgar incredulity, which in historical matters as well as in those of religion, finds it easier to doubt than to examine."

"All men who have turned out worth anything have had the chief hand in their own education."

"My dear, be a good man — be virtuous — be religious — be a good man. Nothing else will give you any comfort when you come to lie here. ...God bless you all."

"Ride on prosperously — do not stop — do not call a halt — do not quit the saddle — pursue the scattered fliers — sound the trumpet — not a levant or a flourish, but a point of war — sound, boot and saddle — to horse and away — a charge!"

"The eye of the yeoman and peasant sought in vain the tall form of old Sir Henry Lee of Ditchley, as, wrapped in his laced cloak, and with beard and whiskers duly composed, he moved slowly through the aisles, followed be the faithful mastiff, or bloodhound, which in old time had saved his master by his fidelity, and which regularly followed him to church. Bevis indeed, fell under the proverb which avers, ‘He is a good dog, which goes to church’; for, bating an occasional temptation to warble along with the accord, he behaved himself as decorously as any of the congregation, and returned much edified, perhaps, as most of them."

"If you keep a thing seven years, you are sure to find a use for it."

"Woman's faith and woman's trust, Write the characters in dust."

"A miss is as good as a mile."

"What can they see in the longest kingly line in Europe, save that it runs back to a successful soldier?"

"The way was long, the wind was cold, The Minstrel was infirm and old; His withered cheek, and tresses gray, Seemed to have known a better day."

"O fading honours of the dead! O high ambition, lowly laid!"

"There is a southern proverb—fine words butter no parsnips."

"Although too much of a soldier among sovereigns, no one could claim with better right to be a sovereign among soldiers."

"Oh, poverty parts good company."

"Vacant heart, and hand, and eye, Easy live and quiet die."