Sir Walter Scott

As many servants so many enemies.

As many servants so many enemies.

St. Leon raised his kindling eye,
And lifts the sparkling cup on high;
"I drink to one," read more

St. Leon raised his kindling eye,
And lifts the sparkling cup on high;
"I drink to one," he said,
"Whose image never may depart,
Deep graven on this grateful heart,
Till memory be dead."
. . . .
St. Leon paused, as if he would
Not breathe her name in careless mood
Thus lightly to another;
Then bent his noble head, as though
To give the word the reverence due,
And gently said, "My mother!"

Breathes there the man with soul so dead,
Who never to himself hath said,
This is my read more

Breathes there the man with soul so dead,
Who never to himself hath said,
This is my own, my native land!
Whose heart hath ne'er within him burn'd,
As home his footsteps he hath turn'd,
From wandering on a foreign strand!

Contentions fierce,
Ardent, and dire, spring from no petty cause.

Contentions fierce,
Ardent, and dire, spring from no petty cause.

One hour of life, crowded to the full with glorious action, and filled
with noble risks, is worth whole years read more

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.