“I will but confess the sins of my green cloak to my grey friar's frock, and all shall be well again.”

“And my father!-oh, my father! evil is it with his daughter, when his grey hairs are not remembered because of the golden locks of youth!”

“PatriotismBreathes there the man with soul so dead, Who never to himself hath said, 'This is my own, my native land!' Whose heart hath ne'er within him burn'd As home his footsteps he hath turn'dFrom wandering on a foreign strand? If such there breathe, go, mark him well; For him no Minstrel raptures swell; High though his titles, proud his name, Boundless his wealth as wish can claim;Despite those titles, power, and pelf, The wretch, concentred all in self, Living, shall forfeit fair renown, And, doubly dying, shall go down To the vile dust from whence he sprung,Unwept, unhonour'd, and unsung.”

“The wretch, concentred all in self,Living, shall forfeit fair renown,And, doubly dying, shall go downTo the vile dust, from whence he sprung,Unwept, unhonored, and unsung.”

“I will tear this folly from my heart, though every fibre bleed as I rend it away!”

“Many a law, many a commandment have I broken, but my word never.”

“Breathes there the man with soul so dead, Who never to himself hath said, This is my own, my native land.”