Treason Seldom Dwells With Courage.

The Way Was Long, The Wind Was Cold, The Minstrel Was Infirm And Old; His Withered Cheek, And Tresses Gray, Seemed To Have Know A Better Day.

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.

Where Is The Coward That Would Not Dare To Fight For Such A Land As Scotland?

But Woe Awaits A Country When She Sees The Tears Of Bearded Men.

I Have Sometimes Thought Of The Final Cause Of Dogs Having Such Short Lives And I Am Quite Satisfied It Is In Compassion To The Human Race; For If We Suffer So Much In Losing A Dog After An Acquaintance Of Ten Or Twelve Years, What Would It Be If They Were To Live Double That Time?