Quotes
Quotes - Scott
O woman! in our hours of ease
Uncertain, coy, and hard to please,
And variable as the shade
By the light quivering aspen made;
When pain and anguish wring the brow,
A ministering angel thou!
"Charge, Chester, charge! on, Stanley, on!"
Were the last words of Marmion.
Oh for a blast of that dread horn
On Fontarabian echoes borne!
To all, to each! a fair good-night,
And pleasing dreams, and slumbers light.
In listening mood she seemed to stand,
The guardian Naiad of the strand.
And ne'er did Grecian chisel trace
A Nymph, a Naiad, or a Grace
Of finer form or lovelier face.
A foot more light, a step more true,
Ne'er from the heath-flower dash'd the dew.
On his bold visage middle age
Had slightly press'd its signet sage,
Yet had not quench'd the open truth
And fiery vehemence of youth:
Forward and frolic glee was there,
The will to do, the soul to dare.
Sleep the sleep that knows not breaking,
Morn of toil nor night of waking.
Hail to the chief who in triumph advances!
Some feelings are to mortals given
With less of earth in them than heaven.
Time rolls his ceaseless course.
Like the dew on the mountain,
Like the foam on the river,
Like the bubble on the fountain,
Thou art gone, and forever!
The rose is fairest when 't is budding new,
And hope is brightest when it dawns from fears.
The rose is sweetest wash'd with morning dew,
And love is loveliest when embalm'd in tears.
Art thou a friend to Roderick?
Come one, come all! this rock shall fly
From its firm base as soon as I.
And the stern joy which warriors feel
In foemen worthy of their steel.
Who o'er the herd would wish to reign,
Fantastic, fickle, fierce, and vain!
Vain as the leaf upon the stream,
And fickle as a changeful dream;
Fantastic as a woman's mood,
And fierce as Frenzy's fever'd blood.
Thou many-headed monster thing,
Oh who would wish to be thy king!
Where, where was Roderick then?
One blast upon his bugle horn
Were worth a thousand men.
In man's most dark extremity
Oft succour dawns from Heaven.
Spangling the wave with lights as vain
As pleasures in the vale of pain,
That dazzle as they fade.
Oh, many a shaft at random sent
Finds mark the archer little meant!
And many a word at random spoken
May soothe, or wound, a heart that's broken!
Where lives the man that has not tried
How mirth can into folly glide,
And folly into sin!
Still are the thoughts to memory dear.
A mother's pride, a father's joy.
