Sir Walter Scott

Hard toil can roughen form and face,
And want call quench the eye's bright grace.

Hard toil can roughen form and face,
And want call quench the eye's bright grace.

A foot more light, a step more true,
Ne'er from the heath-flower dashed the dew.

A foot more light, a step more true,
Ne'er from the heath-flower dashed the dew.

Delightful praise!--like summer rose,
That brighter in the dew-drop glows,
The bashful maiden's cheek appear'd,
read more

Delightful praise!--like summer rose,
That brighter in the dew-drop glows,
The bashful maiden's cheek appear'd,
For Douglas spoke, and Malcolm heard.

He, who holds out but a doubtful hope of succour to the
afflicted, denies it.

He, who holds out but a doubtful hope of succour to the
afflicted, denies it.

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!"