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For a laggard in love, and a dastard in war, Was to wed the fair Ellen of Lochinvar.

Walter Scott

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Walter Scott
Age: 61 †
Born: 1771
Born: August 15
Died: 1832
Died: September 21
Baronet Scott
Biographer
Historian
Judge
Lawyer
Linguist
Literary Critic
Musicologist
Novelist
Playwright
Poet
Poet Lawyer
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Edinburgh
Scotland
Walter Skott
Jedediah Cleishbotham
Laurence Templeton
Somnambulus
Malachi Malagrowther
Sir Walter Scott
Bart.
Sir Walter Scott
Sir Walter Scott
1st Baronet
Great Magician
The Great Unknown
Love
Ellen
Fairs
Fair
War

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Without courage there cannot be truth, and without truth there can be no other virtue.
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In listening mood she seemed to stand, The guardian Naiad of the strand.
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For deadly fear can time outgo, and blanch at once the hair.
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Stood for his country's glory fast, And nailed her colors to the mast!
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The way was long, the wind was cold, The Minstrel was infirm and old His withered cheek, and tresses gray, Seemed to have know a better day.
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Never was flattery lost on a poet's ear a simple race, they waste their toil for the vain tribute of a smile.
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What can they see in the longest kingly line in Europe, save that it runs back to a successful soldier?
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Well, then--our course is chosen--spread the sail-- Heave oft the lead, and mark the soundings well-- Look to the helm, good master--many a shoal Marks this stern coast, and rocks, where sits the Siren Who, like ambition, lures men to their ruin.
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The sun never sets on the immense empire of Charles V.
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Dear to me is my bonnie white steed Oft has he helped me at pinch of need.
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The summer dawn's reflected hue To purple changed Lock Katrine blue, Mildly and soft the western breeze Just kiss'd the lake, just stirr'd the trees, And the pleased lake, like maiden coy, Trembled but dimpled not for joy.
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We often praise the evening clouds, And tints so gay and bold, But seldom think upon our God, Who tinged these clouds with gold.
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Thou and I are but the blind instruments of some irresistible fatality, that hurries us along, like goodly vessels driving before the storm, which are dashed against each other, and so perish.
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Time rolls his ceaseless course.
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The willow which bends to the tempest often escapes better than the oak which resists it.
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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!
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Warriors! and where are warriors found, If not on martial Britain's ground? And who, when waked with note of fire, Love more than they the British lyre?
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The time which passes over our heads so imperceptibly makes the same gradual change in habits, manners and character, as in personal appearance. At the revolution of every five years we find ourselves another and yet the same--there is a change of views, and no less of the light in which we regard them a change of motives as well as of action.
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Revenge, the sweetest morsel to the mouth that ever was cooked in hell.
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We are like the herb which flourisheth most when it is most trampled on.
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