For Love Will Still Be

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

What Can They See In The Longest Kingly Line In Europe, Save That It Runs Back To A Successful Soldier?

He Who Indulges His Sense In Any Excesses Renders Himself Obnoxious To His Own Reason; And, To Gratify The Brute In Him, Displeases The Man, And Sets His Two Natures At Variance.

The Way Was Long, The Wind Was Cold, The Minstrel Was Infirm And Old; His Withered Cheek, And Tresses Gray, Seemed To Have Know A Better Day.

There Are Those To Whom A Sense Of Religion Has Come In Storm And Tempest; There Are Those Whom It Has Summoned Amid Scenes Of Revelry And Idle Vanity; There Are Those, Too, Who Have Heard Its "still Small Voice" Amid Rural Leisure And Placid Retirement. But Perhaps The Knowledge Which Causeth Not To Err Is Most Frequently Impressed Upon The Mind During The Season Of Affliction.