Sir Walter Scott

Crime oft recoils upon the author's head.

Crime oft recoils upon the author's head.

Within that awful volume lies
The mystery of mysteries!
Happiest they of human race,
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Within that awful volume lies
The mystery of mysteries!
Happiest they of human race,
To whom God has granted grace
To read, to fear, to hope, to pray,
To lift the latch, and force the way:
And better had they ne'er been born,
Who read to doubt, or read to scorn.

Like the dew on the mountain,
Like the foam on the river,
Like the bubble on the read more

Like the dew on the mountain,
Like the foam on the river,
Like the bubble on the fountain,
Thou are gone, and for ever!

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.