Sir Walter Scott

What skilful limner e'er would choose
To paint the rainbow's varying hues,
Unless to mortal it were read more

What skilful limner e'er would choose
To paint the rainbow's varying hues,
Unless to mortal it were given
To dip his brush in dyes of heaven?

I cannot tell how the truth may be;
I say the tale as 'twas said to me.

I cannot tell how the truth may be;
I say the tale as 'twas said to me.

St. Leon raised his kindling eye,
And lifts the sparkling cup on high;
"I drink to one," read more

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!"

Hard toil can roughen form and face,
And want call quench the eye's bright grace.

Hard toil can roughen form and face,
And want call quench the eye's bright grace.

Oh what a tangled web we weave, when first we practice to deceive!

Oh what a tangled web we weave, when first we practice to deceive!