I cannot tell how the truth may be; I say the tale as it was said to me.

Ridicule often checks what is absurd, and fully as often smothers that which is noble.

On his bold visage middle age Had slightly press'd its signet sage, Yet had not quench'd the open truth And fiery vehemence of youth: Forward and frolic glee was there, The will to do, the soul to dare.

Wounds sustained for the sake of conscience carry their own balsam with the blow.

There are those to whom a sense of religion has come in storm and tempest; there are those whom it has summoned amid scenes of revelry and idle vanity; there are those, too, who have heard its "still small voice" amid rural leisure and placid retirement. But perhaps the knowledge which causeth not to err is most frequently impressed upon the mind during the season of affliction.

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

My foot is on my native heath, and my name is MacGregor.