The Way Was Long, The Wind Was

Still Are The Thoughts To Memory Dear.

Heap On More Wood! - The Wind Is Chill; But Let It Whistle As It Will, We'll Keep Our Christmas Merry Still.

Soldier, Rest! Thy Warfare O'er.

The Lover's Pleasure, Like That Of The Hunter, Is In The Chase, And The Brightest Beauty Loses Half Its Merit, As The Flower Its Perfume, When The Willing Hand Can Reach It Too Easily. There Must Be Doubt; There Must Be Difficulty And Danger.

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