Hurry No Man's Cattle; You May Come

Cats Are A Very Mysterious Kind Of Folk. There Is Always More Passing In Their Minds Than We Are Aware Of.

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.

Breathes There The Man With Soul So Dead, Who Never To Himself Hath Said, This Is My Own, My Native Land.

O Caledonia! Stern And Wild, Meet Nurse For A Poetic Child! Land Of Brown Heath And Shaggy Wood; Land Of The Mountain And The Flood!

Hope Is Brightest When It Dawns From Fears.