Still are the thoughts to memory dear. — Walter Scott

"Randolph, thy wreath has lost a rose."

"You have power, rank, command, influence; we have wealth, the source both of our strength and weakness; the value of these toys, ten times multiplied, would not influence half so much as your slightest wish."

"One hour of life, crowded to the full with glorious action, and filled with noble risks, is worth whole years of those mean observances of paltry decorum, in which men steal through existence, like sluggish waters through a marsh, without either honour or observation."

"Time rolls his ceaseless course."

"Soldier, rest! thy warfare oer, Sleep the sleep that knows not breaking; Dream of battled fields no more, Days of danger, nights of waking."

"Breathes there the man, with soul so dead, Who never to himself hath said, This is my own, my native land! Whose heart hath neer within him burnd, As home his footsteps he hath turnd, From wandering on a foreign strand! If such there breathe, go, mark him well; For him no Minstrel raptures swell; High though his titles, proud his name, Boundless his wealth as wish can claim; Despite those titles, power, and pelf, The wretch, concentred all in self, Living, shall forfeit fair renown, And, doubly dying, shall go down To the vile dust, from whence he sprung, Unwept, unhonord, and unsung."