O, What A Tangled Web We Weave

Love Rules The Court, The Camp, The Grove, And Men Below, And Saints Above: For Love Is Heaven, And Heaven Is Love.

We Often Praise The Evening Clouds, And Tints So Gay And Bold, But Seldom Think Upon Our God, Who Tinged These Clouds With Gold.

Never Was Flattery Lost On A Poet's Ear; A Simple Race, They Waste Their Toil For The Vain Tribute Of A Smile.

Like The Dew On The Mountain, Like The Foam On The River, Like The Bubble On The Fountain, Thou Art Gone, And For Ever!

My Foot Is On My Native Heath, And My Name Is Macgregor.