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Scottish novelist, poet and historian
(1771 - 1832)
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My foot is on my native heath, and my name is MacGregor.
      - Rob Roy (ch. XXXIV) [Love of Country : Names]

Sea of upturned faces.
      - Rob Roy (vol. II, ch. XX) [Face]

Woe to the youth whom Fancy gains,
  Winning from Reason's hand the reins,
    Pity and woe! for such a mind
      Is soft contemplative, and kind.
      - Rokeby (canto I, st. 31) [Fancy]

Still are the thoughts to memory dear.
      - Rokeby (canto I, st. 33) [Thought]

Oh, Brignall banks are wild and fair,
  And Greta woods are green,
    And you may gather garlands there
      Would grace a summer queen.
      - Rokeby (canto III, st. 16) [Nature]

With every change his features play'd,
  As aspens show the light and shade.
      - Rokeby (canto III, st. 5) [Change]

There was a soft and pensive grace,
  A cast of thought upon her face,
    That suited well the forehead high,
      The eyelash dark, and downcast eye.
      - Rokeby (canto IV, st. 5) [Beauty]

Thus aged men, full loth and slow,
  The vanities of life forego,
    And count their youthful follies o'er,
      Till Memory lends her light no more.
      - Rokeby (canto V, st. 1) [Age]

As hope and fear alternate chase
  Our course through life's uncertain race.
      - Rokeby (canto VI, st. 2) [Change]

No pale gradations quench his ray,
  No twilight dews his wrath allay.
      - Rokeby (canto VI, st. 21) [Anger]

The tear, down childhood's cheek that flows
  Is like the dewdrop on the rose;
    When next the summer breeze comes by
      And waves the bush, the flower is dry.
      - Rokesby (canto IV, st. 11) [Tears]

Fat, fair and forty.
      - St. Ronan's Well (ch. VII) [Wives]

You whirled them to the back of beyont.
      - The Antiquary [Proverbs]

It's no fish ye're buying--it's men's lives.
      - The Antiquary (ch. XI) [Fish]

The Chronicles, from which this narrative is extracted, assure us, that during the long period when the Welsh princes maintained their independence, the year 1187 was peculiarly marked as favorable to peace betwixt them and their warlike neighbors, the Lord Marchers, who inhabited those formidable castles on the frontiers of the ancient British, on the ruins of which the traveller gazes with wonder.
      - The Betrothed [Books (First Lines)]

Widowed life and wedded maid.
      - The Betrothed (ch. XV),
        part of the Tales of the Crusaders

Woman's faith, and woman's trust,
  Write the characters in dust.
      - The Betrothed (ch. XX),
        part of the Tales of the Crusaders

Where lives the man that has not tried,
  How mirth can into folly glide,
    And folly into sin!
      - The Bridal of Triermain (canto I, st. 21)
        [Folly : Proverbs]

Few have been in my secret while I was compiling these narratives, nor is it probable that they will ever become public during the life of their author.
      - The Bride of Lammermoor
        [Books (First Lines)]

Thou knowest the maiden who ventures to kiss a sleeping man, wins of him a pair of gloves.
      - The Fair Maid of Perth (ch. V) [Kisses]

Jock, when he hae naething else to do, ye may be aye sticking in a tree; it will be growing, Jock, when ye're sleeping.
      - The Heart of Midlothian (ch. VIII)

Good even, good fair moon, good even to thee;
  I prithee, dear moon, now show to me
    The form and the features, the speech and degree,
      Of the man that true lover of mine shall be.
      - The Heart of Midlothian (ch. XVII) [Moon]

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!"
      - The Knight's Toast [Toasts]

Harp of the North! that mouldering long hast hung
  On the witch-elm that shades Saint Fillan's spring
    And down the fitful breeze thy numbers flung,
      Till envious ivy did around thee cling,
        Muffling with verdant ringlet every string,--
          Mid rustling leaves and fountains murmuring,
            Still must thy sweeter sounds their silence keep,
              Nor bid a warrior smile, nor teach a maid to weep?
      - The Lady of the Lake (canto I)
        [Books (First Lines)]

On his bold visage middle age
  Had slightly press'd its signet sage,
    Yet had not quenched the open truth
      And fiery vehemence of youth;
        Forward and frolic glee was there,
          The will to do, the soul to dare.
      - The Lady of the Lake (canto I, pt. XXI)
        [Age : Face]

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