Soldier, rest! Thy warfare o'er, Sleep the sleep that knows not breaking, Dream of battled fields no more. Days of danger, nights of waking.
There is a southern proverb - fine words butter no parsnips.
The heart-sick faintness of the hope delayed!
Literature is a great staff, but a very sorry crutch.
Where is the coward that would not dare to fight for such a land as Scotland?
War is the only game in which both sides lose.