poets-from-scotland

"O to be like my Lord! Yet must I be Mine own self too, And to the nature He bestowed on me Be frankly true.The olive fruits not as the clustering vine; Nor may we get Scent of the rose or lily from woodbine, Or violet."

"Yes! I could find some comfort in the thought Of being scourged, Were there but hope that this defiling sin Which mars my life, and taints my heart within Could so be purged, And I might live, in virtue of the rod, The life in God."

"The devout and politically free inhabitant of New England is a kind of Laocoön who makes not the least effort to escape from the serpents which are crushing him. Mammon is his idol which he adores not only with his lips but with the whole force of his body and mind. In his view the world is no more than a Stock Exchange, and he is convinced that he has no other destiny here below than to become richer than his neighbor. Trade has seized upon all his thoughts, and he has no other recreation than to exchange objects. When he travels he carries, so to speak, his goods and his counter on his back and talks only of interest and profit. If he loses sight of his own business for an instant it is only in order to pry into the business of his competitors."

"The process in England...is to ring for the chambermaid; but in America there are no bells, and no chambermaids. You therefore walk to the bar and solicit the favor of being supplied with a candle, a request that is ultimately, though by no means immediately, complied with. You then explore the way to your apartment unassisted....Your number is 63, but in what part of the mansion that number is to be found you are of course without the means of probable conjecture. Let it be supposed, however, that you...at length discover the object of your search. If you are an Englishman, and too young to have roughed it under Wellington, you are probably what is called in this country 'almighty particular,' and rejoice in a couple of comfortable pillows to say nothing of a lurking prejudice in favor of multiplicity of blankets, especially with the thermometer some fifty degrees below the freezing point. Such luxuries, however, it is ten to one you will not find in the uncurtained crib in which you are destined to pass the night. Your first impulse is to walk downstairs and make known your wants to the landlord. This is a mistake. Have nothing to say to him. You may rely on it, he is too busy to have any time to throw away in humoring the whimsies of a foreigner; and should it happen, as it does sometimes, in the New England States, that the establishment is composed of natives, your chance of a comfortable sleep for the night is about as great as that of your gaining the Thirty Thousand pound prize in the lottery."

"There is a sort of republican plainness and simplicity in their address, quite in harmony with the institutions of their country. An American bows less than an Englishman; he deals less in mere conventional forms and expressions of civility; he pays few or no compliments; makes no unmeaning or overstrained professions; but he takes you by the hand with a cordiality which at once intimates, that he is disposed to regard you as a friend....Perhaps I was the more flattered by the kindness of my reception, from having formed anticipations of a less pleasing character. The Americans I had met in Europe had generally been distinguished by a certain reserve, and something even approaching to the offensive in manner, which had not contributed to create a prepossession in their favour. It seemed, as if each individual were impressed with the conviction that the whole dignity of his country was concentred in his person."

"Caller rain frae abune reeshles amang the epple-trees: the leaves are soughan wi the breeze, and sleep faas drappan doun."

"Minnie, I canna caa my wheel, or spin the oo or twine the tweel. It's luve a laddie whammles me. Ech, the wanchancie glamarie."

"Deid sall ye ligg, and ne'er a memorie sall onie hain, or ae regret for ye, sin that ye haena roses o Pierie. In Hades' howff a gangrel ghaist ye'll flee, amang derk ghaists stravaigan sichtlesslie."

"In the gloaming, oh, my darling! When the lights are dim and low, And the quiet shadows, falling, Softly come and softly go."

"Frustra ego te laudo, frustra me, Zoile, laedis: Nemo mihi credit, Zoile, nemo tibi."

"Mentitur veros facies tibi picta colores, Et speculi mendax te tibi imago referit. In digito annellus mentitur aëneus aurum, Mentitur gemmam vitrea gemma probam. Quicquid contigerit re cum mendacia discat, Miremur linguam dicere falsa tuam?"

"An incantation against nightmare was once used over me by old Mam-Kirsty famed for her witchcraft."

"I hear you're such a lazy bird, You cannot build a ; Perhaps you could, if you would try— We ought to do our best. The little bird that told me this Suspected something worse,— That you neglect your little ones, And put them out to nurse. Oh, Cuckoo! if this story's true, I think you're much to blame. Then talk no more about yourself; Go, hide yourself, for shame!"

"... The Corbie (or Raven) is sacred to the All-Father. The Katyogle (or Owl) is consecrated to the goddess of wisdom. ... I have too much respect for the Corbie and Katyogle to dwell in detail upon their . I care not for their "," according to the scientist. The and species to which they belong influence me not one whit. Why—when I know on the authority of a Shetland witch, that the Corbie can assume any form he pleases, and that the Katyogle is the inhabitant of another world in disguise–why should I trouble my spirit with assigning to either a place in the Darwinian circle?"

"We had been dressing the wee lassie one day is a graceful fairy-like of Aunt Ellen's devising, and maternal pride gave utterance to some (foolish) remarks about the child's appearance. Very sweetly came the rebuke from childhood's wisdom. "Yes, but it was very good of God to make me pretty.""

"Winds are raging fierce and high, Lurid lightnings wreathe the sky, Thunders roll and night is nigh, Ships 'mid storm-toss'd breakers lie At the ocean's will. Little ones there are who weep, Wives who weary vigils keep, When all else have gone to sleep. Father! to yon angry deep "Say Thou, Peace, be still.""

"The helm may rust, the laurel bough may fade, Oblivion's grasp may blunt the victor's blade: But that bright holy wreath which learning gives, Untorn by hate, unharm'd by envy lives."

"Nature gives a parting smile. As yet the blue-bells linger on the sod That copes the sheepfold ring; and in the woods A second blow of many flowers appears, Flowers faintly ting'd and breathing no perfume. But fruits, not blossoms, form the woodland wreath That circles Autumn's brow."

"How still the morning of the hallow'd day! Mute is the voice of rural labour, hush'd The ploughboy's whistle, and the milkmaid's song. The scythe lies glittering in the dewy wreath Of tedded grass, mingled with fading flowers, That yestermorn bloom'd waving in the breeze: The faintest sounds attract the ear, — the hum Of early bee, the trickling of the dew, The distant bleating, midway up the hill."

"How pleasant came thy rushing, silver Tweed! Upon my ear when, after roaming long In southern plains, I've reach'd thy lovely bank! How bright, renowned Sark, thy little stream, Like ray of column'd light chasing a shower, Would cross my homeward path! how sweet the sound When I, to hear the Doric tongue's reply, Would ask thy well-known name."

"'Tis thine to curb the passions' madd'ning sway, And wipe the mourner's bitter tear away; 'Tis thine to soothe when hope itself has fled, And cheer with angel smile the sufferer's bed; To give to earth its charm, to life its zest, One only task, — to bless, and to be blest."

"The human race are sons of sorrow born; And each must have his portion. Vulgar minds Refuse or cranch beneath their load: the brave Bear theirs without repining."

"O grant me, Heaven, a middle state, Neither too humble nor too great; More than enough, for nature's ends, With something left to treat my friends."

"Affliction is the wholesome soil of virtue: Where patience, honour, sweet humanity, Calm fortitude, take root, and strongly flourish."

"Who has not known ill fortune, never knew Himself, or his own virtue."

"It is of Inglis natioune The commone kend conditioune Of Trewis the wertu to forget, And rekles of gud Faith to be."

"There won’t be any revolution in America," said Isadore. Nikitin agreed. "The people are all too clean. They spend all their time changing their shirts and washing themselves. You can’t feel fierce and revolutionary in a bathroom."

"London's a dull town," said Magnus, ... "It's easy to live in," he said, "but the air's flat and stale and the people half-hearted. There's nothing to do there. You can make love without trouble or meaning, or get mildly drunk, or extract second-hand emotions from the cinema, or put your mind to sleep on a dance-floor, or play bridge, or throw yourself in front of a train on the Underground. There are forty ways of escaping from consciousness. But I want something more exciting than that."

"I find it difficult to recognize people. Human beings are so much alike."

"It was a day peculiar to this piece of the planet, when larks rose on long thin strings of singing and the air shifted with the shimmer of actual angels."

"I can remember coming bursting in from just having glimpsed eternity in a grain of sand and being told, curtly: 'Your tea's cold.' It may be that tea is the reality and glimpses of eternity only a temporary foolishness. If I ever thought so, it might be possible to give up resisting and to belong."

"... St Andrews, that placid centre of non-learning."

"The Borders loom in my mind as a small archipelago of stony towns in a placid sea of grass, woods and furrows, small, bristling islands in a state of armed truce with one another, with their village satellites, their lumbering bus-ferries, their pugnacious localisms."

"Among circuitboard crowsteps To be miniaturised is not small-minded. To love you needs more details than the Book of Kells — Your harbours, your photography, your democratic intellect Still boundless, chip of a nation."

"Thinking of Helensburgh, J. G. Frazer Revises flayings and human sacrifice; Abo of the Celtic Twilight, St Andrew Lang Posts him a ten-page note on totemism And a coloured fairy book."

"Ghetto-makars, tae the knackirs' Wi aw yir schemes, yir smug dour dreams O yir ain feet. Yi're beat By yon new Scoatlan loupin tae yir street..."

"James Murray combs the dialect from his beard And files slips for his massive Dictionary."

"When trees did bud and fields were green, And broom bloom’d fair to see, When Mary was complete fifteen, And love laugh’d in her ee, Blythe Davie’s blinks her heart did move To speak her mind thus free: Gang doun the burn, Davie love, An’ I will follow thee."

"Semiconductor country, land crammed with intimate expanses, Your cities are superlattices, heterojunctive Graphed from the air, your cropmarked farmlands Are epitaxies of tweed."

"I cannot praise the Doctor's eyes; I never saw his glance divine; He always shuts them when he prays, And when he preaches he shuts mine."

"Come, let us go forth to the mead, Let us see how the primroses spring; We’ll lodge in some village on Tweed, And love while the feather’d folk sing."

"... Listen — Not to dour centuries of trudging, Marching, and taking orders; Today I have heard the feet of my country Breaking into a run."

"Throw all your stagey chandeliers in wheel-barrows and move them north To celebrate my mother's sewing-machine And her beneath an eighty-watt bulb, pedalling Iambs on an antique metal footplate."

"My mother bids me bind my hair With bands of rosy hue, Tie up my sleeves with ribbons rare, And lace my bodice blue."

"My dear Isa, I now sit down on my botom to answer all your kind and beloved letters which you was so good as to write to me."

"Sentiment is what I am not acquainted with."

"I am going to turn over a new life and am going to be a very good girl and be obedient to Isa Keith, here there is plenty of gooseberries which makes my teeth watter."

"To-day I pronounced a word which should never come out of a lady’s lips it was that I called John a Impudent Bitch."

"I hope I will be religious again but as for regaining my character I despare."

"An annibabtist is a thing I am not a member of"