Patient of toil, serene amidst alarms;

Inflexible in faith, invincible in arms.

The Minstrel. Book i. Stanza 11.

Old age comes on apace to ravage all the clime.

The Minstrel. Book i. Stanza 25.

Mine be the breezy hill that skirts the down,

Where a green grassy turf is all I crave,

With here and there a violet bestrewn,

Fast by a brook or fountain's murmuring wave;

And many an evening sun shine sweetly on my grave!