"And now her eyes grew bright, and brighter still, Too bright for ours to look upon, suffused With many tears, and closed without a cloud. They set as sets the morning star, which goes Not down behind the darkened west, nor hides Obscured among the tempests of the sky, But melts away into the light of heaven."

"Sorrows remembered sweeten present joy."

"Most wondrous book! bright candle of the Lord! Star of Eternity! The only star By which the bark of man could navigate The sea of life and gain the coast of bliss Securely."

"He touched his harp, and nations heard, entranced, As some vast river of unfailing source, Rapid, exhaustless, deep, his numbers flowed And opened new fountains in the human heart."

"He laid his hand upon "the Ocean's mane," And played familiar with his hoary locks."

"Ah! when shall it dawn on the night of the grave!"

"And beauty immortal awakes from the tomb."

"'Tis night, and the landscape is lovely no more; I mourn, but you woodlands I mourn not for you! For spring is returning your charms to restore, Perfumed with fresh fragrance and glittering with dew. Nor yet for the ravage of winter I mourn, Kind nature the embryo blossom shall save; But when shall spring visit the mouldering urn?"

"By the glare of false science betray’d, That leads to bewilder, and dazzles to blind."

"At the close of the day when the hamlet is still, And mortals the sweets of forgetfulness prove, When naught but the torrent is heard on the hill, And naught but the nightingale’s song in the grove."

"He thought as a sage, though he felt as a man."

"Mine be the breezy hill that skirts the down, Where a green grassy turf is all I crave, With here and there a violet bestrewn, Fast by a brook or fountain’s murmuring wave; And many an evening sun shine sweetly on my grave!"

"To the pure soul by Fancy's fire refined, Ah, what is mirth but turbulence unholy, When with the charm compared of heavenly melancholy."

"But when shall spring visit the mouldering urn? Oh when shall it dawn on the night of the grave?"

"What is a law, if those who make it Become the forwardest to break it?"

"Ah, who can tell how hard it is to climb The steep where Fame’s proud temple shines afar?"

"Laws, as we read in ancient sages, Have been like cobwebs in all ages: Cobwebs for little flies are spread, And laws for little folks are made; But if an insect of renown, Hornet or beetle, wasp or drone, Be caught in quest of sport or plunder, The flimsy fetter flies in sunder."

"When squint-eyed Slander plies the unhallow'd tongue, From poison'd maw when Treason weaves his line, And Muse apostate (infamy to song!) Grovels, low muttering, at Sedition's shrine."

"Every man of learning wishes, that his son may be learned; and that not so much from a view to pecuniary advantage, as from a desire to have him supplied with the means of useful instruction and liberal amusement."

"Though richest hues the peacock's plumes adorn, Yet horror screams from his discordant throat. Rise, sons of harmony, and hail the morn, While warbling larks on russet pinions float; Or seek at noon the woodland scene remote, Where the gray linnets carol from the hill: O let them ne'er, with artificial note, To please a tyrant, strain the little bill, But sing what heaven inspires, and wander where they will."

"Wilt thou debase the heart which God refined? No; let thy heaven-taught soul to heaven aspire, To fancy, freedom, harmony, resigned; Ambition's groveling crew forever left behind."

"Zealous, yet modest; innocent, though free; Patient of toil, serene amidst alarms; Inflexible in faith, invincible in arms."

"Old age comes on apace to ravage all the clime."

"Mournfully, oh, mournfully, The midnight wind doth sigh, Like some sweet plaintive melody Of ages long gone by."

"I ’ve wandered east, I ’ve wandered west, Through mony a weary way; But never, never can forget The luve o’ life’s young day!"

"’T was then we luvit ilk ither weel, ’T was then we twa did part: Sweet time—sad time! twa bairns at scule— Twa bairns and but ae heart."

"Tho' the world could turn from you, This, at least, I learn from you: Beauty and Truth, tho' never found, are worthy to be sought, The singer, upward-springing, Is grander than his singing, And tranquil self-sufficing joy illumes the dark of thought. This, at least, you teach me, In a revelation: That gods still snatch, as worthy death, the soul in its aspiration."

"And we, with Nature’s heart in tune, Concerted harmonies."

"Lo, the book I hold here, In the city cold here !I hold it with a gentle hand and love it as I may; Lo, the weary moments! Lo, the icy comments! And lo, false Fortune's knife of gold swift-lifted up to slay!Has the strife no ending? Has the song no meaning?Linger I, idle as of old, while men are reaping or gleaning?"

"Upward my face I turn to you, I long for you, I yearn to you, The spectral vision trances me to utt'rance wild and weak; It is not that I mourn you, To mourn you were to scorn you, For you are one step nearer to the beauty singers seek. But I want, and cannot see you, I seek and cannot find you, And, see! I touch the book of songs you tenderly left behind you!"

"I, who loved and knew you, In the city that slew you, Still hunger on, and thirst, and climb, proud-hearted and alone:Serpent-fears enfold me, Syren-visions hold me, And, like a wave, I gather strength, and gathering strength, I moan; Yea, the pale moon beckons, Still I follow, aching, And gather strength, only to make a louder moan, in breaking!"

"Even on the white English crags A few strong spirits, in a race that binds Its body in chains and calls them Liberty, And calls each fresh link Progress, stood erect With faces pale that hunger'd to the light."

"Their hearts and sentiments were free, their appetites were hearty."

"Believing hath a core of unbelieving."

"Full of a sweet indifference."

"I ask no more from mortals Than your beautiful face implies,— The beauty the artist beholding Interprets and sanctifies. Who says that men have fallen, That life is wretched and rough? I say, the world is lovely, And that loveliness is enough. So my doubting days are ended, And the labour of life seems clear; And life hums deeply around me, Just like the murmur here, And quickens the sense of living, And shapes me for peace and storm,— And dims my eyes with gladness When it glides into colour and form!"

"“O Balder, he who fashion’d us, And bade us live and move, Shall weave for Death’s sad heavenly hair Immortal flowers of love. “Ah! never fail’d my servant Death, Whene’er I named his name,— But at my bidding he hath flown As swift as frost or flame. “Yea, as a sleuth-hound tracks a man, And finds his form, and springs, So hath he hunted down the gods As well as human things! “Yet only thro’ the strength of Death A god shall fall or rise — A thousand lie on the cold snows, Stone still, with marble eyes. “But whosoe’er shall conquer Death, Tho’ mortal man he be, Shall in his season rise again, And live, with thee, and me! “And whosoe’er loves mortals most Shall conquer Death the best, Yea, whosoe’er grows beautiful Shall grow divinely blest.” The white Christ raised his shining face To that still bright’ning sky. “Only the beautiful shall abide, Only the base shall die!”"

"I saw the starry Tree Eternity Put forth the blossom Time."

"Along the melting shores of earth An emerald flame there ran, Forest and field grew bright, and mirth Gladdened the flocks of man. Then glory grew on earth and heaven, Full glory of full day! Then the bright rainbow's colours seven On every iceberg lay!In Balder's hand Christ placed His own, And it was golden weather, And on that berg as on a throne The Brethren stood together!And countless voices far and wide Sang sweet beneath the sky — "All that is beautiful shall abide, All that is base shall die."."

"On ilk beugh till embrace Writtin in a bill was O Dowglass, O Dowglass Tender and trewe!"

"Thus for ane Dow of Dunbar drew I this Dyte, Dowit with ane Dowglass, and boith war thei dowis."

"I have observed in foolish awe The dateless mid-days of the law And seen indifferent justice done By everyone on everyone."

"They do not live in the world, Are not in time and space. From birth to death hurled No word do they have, not one To plant a foot upon, Were never in any place."

"There is a road that turning always Cuts off the country of Again. Archers stand there on every side And as it runs time's deer is slain And lies where it has lain."

"The world's great day is growing late, Yet strange these fields that we have planted So long with crops of love and hate."

"Long time he lay upon the sunny hill, To his father's house below securely bound."

"The curse of Scottish literature is the lack of a whole language, which finally means the lack of a whole mind."

"For you alone I ride the ring, For you I wear the blue; For you alone I strive to sing, O tell me how to woo!"

"There's a famous seaside place called Blackpool, That's noted for fresh air and fun."

"A grand little lad was young Albert, All dressed in his best; quite a swell. With a stick with an 'orse's 'ead 'andle, The finest that Woolworth's could sell."