Great Throughts Treasury

"The study of proverbs may be more instructive and comprehensive than the most elaborate scheme of philosophy."

"The Midnight Wind - Mournfully, oh, mournfully This midnight wind doth sigh, Like some sweet plaintive melody Of ages long gone by: It speaks a tale of other years-- Of hopes that bloom'd to die-- Of sunny smiles that set in tears, And loves that mouldering lie. Mournfully, oh, mournfully This midnight wind doth moan; It stirs some chord of memory, In each dull heavy tone: The voices of the much-loved dead Seem floating thereupon-- All, all my fond heart cherished, Ere death hath made it lone. Mournfully, oh, mournfully This midnight wind doth swell, With its quaint pensive minstrelsy, Hope's passionate farewell. To the dreamy joys of early years, Ere yet grief's canker fell On the heart's bloom--ay, well may tears Start at that parting knell! "

"’T was then we luvit ilk ither weel, ’t was then we twa did part: sweet time—sad time! twa bairns at scule— twa bairns and but ae heart. "

"And we, with Nature's heart in tune, concerted harmonies."

"I've wandered east, I've wandered west, I've borne a weary lot; but in my wanderings far or near ye never were forgot. The fount that first burst frae this heart still travels on its way and channels deeper at it rins the luve o' life's young day."

"Men say that in this midnight hour, the disembodied have power to wander as it liketh them, by wizard oak and fairy stream."

"Mournfully, oh, mournfully, the midnight wind doth sigh, like some sweet plaintive melody of ages long gone by."

"Kiss--kiss-thou hast won me, bright, beautiful sin."

"In the gloamin' o' the wood the throssil whusslit sweet."

"Fame,--a flower upon a dead man's heart."

"O dear, dear Jeanie Morrison, the thochts o' bygane years still fling their shadows ower my path, and blind my een wi' tears."

"What is glory? What is fame? The echo of a long-lost name; a breath, an idle hour's brief talk; the shadow of an arrant naught; a flower that blossoms for a day, dying next morrow; a stream that hurries on its way, singing of sorrow."