“Your lines, I maintain it, are poetry, and good poetry. Friendship had I been so blest as to have met with you in time, might have led me – God of love only knows where.”

God knows, I’m no the thing I should be, Nor am I even the thing I could be.

The golden hours on angel wings Flew o’er me and my dearie, For dear to me as light and life Was my sweet Highland Mary.

My Son, these maxims make a rule An lump them ay thegither: The Rigid Righteous is a fool, The Rigid Wise anither.

Beauty’s of a fading nature. Has a season and is gone!

Life is but a day at most.

The honest man, though e’er sae poor, Is king o’ men, for a’ that!

There is no such uncertainty as a sure thing.

The snowdrop and primrose our woodlands adorn, and violets bathe in the wet o’ the morn.

When chill November’s surly blast Made fields and forests bare.

Now’s the day and now’s the hour.

Some books are lies frae end to end.

It ‘s guid to be merry and wise, It ‘s guid to be honest and true, It ‘s guid to support Caledonia’s cause, And bide by the buff and the blue.

To make a happy fireside clime To weans and wife, That’s the true pathos and sublime Of human life.

And like a passing thought, she fled In light away.

Inspiring bold JohnBarleycorn! What dangers thou canst make us scorn! Wi’ usquebae, we’ll face the devil!

I’m truly sorry man’s dominion has broken Nature’s social union.