The Willow Which Bends To The Tempest

I Am She, O Most Bucolical Juvenal, Under Whose Charge Are Placed The Milky Mothers Of The Herd.

Love Will Subsist On Wonderfully Little Hope But Not Altogether Without It.

My Dear, Be A Good Man Be Virtuous Be Religious Be A Good Man. Nothing Else Will Give You Any Comfort When You Come To Lie Here. ...god Bless You All.

Jock, When Ye Hae Naething Else To Do, Ye May Be Aye Sticking In A Tree; It Will Be Growing, Jock, When Ye 're Sleeping.

Soldier, Rest! Thy Warfare O'er.