Silence, Maiden; Thy Tongue Outruns

Where Is The Coward That Would Not Dare To Fight For Such A Land As Scotland?

Soldier, Rest! Thy Warfare O'er, Sleep The Sleep That Knows Not Breaking, Dream Of Battled Fields No More. Days Of Danger, Nights Of Waking.

Besides, Rose Bradwardine, Beautiful And Amiable As We Have Described Her, Had Not Precisely The Sort Of Beauty Or Merit Which Captivates A Romantic Imagination In Early Youth. She Was Too Frank, Too Confiding, Too Kind; Amiable Qualities, Undoubtedly, But Destructive Of The Marvellous, With Which A Youth Of Imagination Delights To Dress The Empress Of His Affections.

Then Hush Thee, My Darling, Take Rest While You May, For Strife Comes With Manhood, And Waking With Day.

Here Eglantine Embalm'd The Air, Hawthorne And Hazel Mingled There; The Primrose Pale, And Violet Flower, Found In Each Cliff A Narrow Bower; Fox-glove And Nightshade, Side By Side, Emblems Of Punishment And Pride, Group'd Their Dark Hues With Every Stain The Weather-beaten Crags Retain.