come he slow or come he fast it is but death that comes at last

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

Land of my sires! what mortal hand Can e'er untie the filial band That knits me to thy rugged strand!

We shall never learn to feel and respect our real calling and destiny, unless we have taught ourselves to consider every thing as moonshine, compared with the education of the heart.

Threatened folk live long.

He that follows the advice of reason has a mind that is elevated above the reach of injury; that sits above the clouds, in a calm and quiet ether, and with a brave indifferency hears the rolling thunders grumble and burst under his feet.

Commend me to sterling honesty though clad in rags.