'Tis an old tale, and often told; But did my fate and wish agree, Ne'er had been read, in story old, Of maiden true betray'd for gold, That loved, or was avenged, like me! — Walter Scott Copy Share Image
“Of all the train, none escaped except Wamba, who showed upon the occasion much more courage than those who pretended to greater sense.” — Walter Scott Copy Share Image
Where shall the lover rest, Whom the fates sever From his true maiden's breast, Parted for ever? Where, through groves deep and high, Sounds… — Walter Scott Copy Share Image
O! many a shaft, at random sent, Finds mark the archer little meant! And many a word, at random spoken, May soothe or wound… — Walter Scott Copy Share Image
And better had they ne'er been born, Who read to doubt, or read to scorn. — Walter Scott Copy Share Image
Where is the coward that would not dare to fight for such a land as Scotland? — Walter Scott Copy Share Image
Loud o'er my head though awful thunders roll, And vivid lightnings flash from pole to pole, Yet 'tis Thy voice, my God, that bids… — Walter Scott Copy Share Image
“but he had only received that sort of answer usually given by those who are more obstinate in following their own course, than strong… — Walter Scott Copy Share Image
“Love rules the court, the camp, the grove, and men below, and the saints above, for love is heaven, and heaven is love. ” — Walter Scott Copy Share Image
Fortune may raise up or abuse the ordinary mortal, but the sage and the soldier should have minds beyond her control. — Walter Scott Copy Share Image
In peace, Love tunes the shepherd's reed; In war, he mounts the warrior's steed; In halls, in gay attire is seen; In hamlets, dances… — Walter Scott Copy Share Image
Honour is a homicide and a bloodspiller, that gangs about making frays in the street; but Credit is a decent honest man, that sits… — Walter Scott Copy Share Image
“The lovers of the chase say that the hare feels more agony during the pursuit of the greyhounds, than when she is struggling in… — Walter Scott Copy Share Image
I am she, O most bucolical juvenal, under whose charge are placed the milky mothers of the herd. — Walter Scott Copy Share Image
