C.N. Douglas, comp. Forty Thousand Quotations: Prose and Poetical. 1917.


Stands Scotland where it did?


  • Hear, Land o’ Cakes and brither Scots
  • Frae Maiden Kirk to Johnny Groat’s.
  • Burns.

  • Give me but one hour of Scotland;
  • Let me see it ere I die.
  • Wm. E. Aytoun.

    That garret of the earth—that knuckle end of England—that land of Calvin, oatcakes and sulphur.

    Sydney Smith.

    From scenes like these old Scotia’s grandeur springs.


  • O Scotia! my dear, my native soil!
  • For whom my warmest wish to heaven is sent!
  • Long may thy hardy sons of rustic toil
  • Be blest with health, and peace, and sweet content.
  • Burns.

  • The Scots are poor, cries surly English pride,
  • True is the charge, nor by themselves denied,
  • Are they not, then, in strictest reason clear,
  • Who wisely come to mend their fortunes here.
  • Churchill.

  • Scots, wha hae wi’ Wallace bled,
  • Scots, wham Bruce has aften led;
  • Welcome to your gory bed,
  • Or to victory!
  • Burns.

  • O Caledonia! stern and wild,
  • Meet nurse for a poetic child!
  • Land of brown heath and shaggy wood,
  • Land of the mountain and the flood,
  • Land of my sires! what mortal hand
  • Can e’er untie the filial band,
  • That knits me to thy rugged strand!
  • Scott.

  • And though, as you remember, in a fit
  • Of wrath and rhyme, when juvenile and curly,
  • I railed at Scots to show my wrath and wit,
  • Which must be owned was sensitive and surly,
  • Yet ’tis in vain such sallies to permit,
  • They cannot quench young feelings fresh and early:
  • I “scotched, not killed” the Scotchman in my blood,
  • And love the land of “mountain and of flood.”
  • Byron.