To one who has been long in city pent,
'Tis very sweet to look into the fair
And open face of heaven,—to breathe a prayer
Full in the smile of the blue firmament.
And as I read
I hear the crowing cock, I hear the note
Of lark and linnet, and from every page
Rise odors of ploughed field or flowery mead.
The country is lyric,—the town dramatic.
When mingled, they make the most perfect musical drama.
Somewhat back from the village street
Stands the old-fashion'd country seat,
Across its antique portico
Tall poplar-trees their shadows throw;
And from its station in the hall
An ancient time-piece says to all,—
"Forever! never!
Never—forever!"
| author = Longfellow
| work = The Old Clock on the Stairs.
| topic =
| page = 141
}}
{{Hoyt quote
| num = 5
| text = Rus in urbe.
| trans = Country in town.
| author = Martial
| work = Epigrams.
| place = Bk. XII. 57. 21.
| topic =
| page = 141
}}
{{Hoyt quote
| num =
| text = <poem>Mine be a cot beside the hill;
A beehive's hum shall soothe my ear;
A willowy brook, that turns a mill,
With many a fall, shall linger near.
Sam'l Rogers—A Wish.
Nec sit terris ultima Thule.
Nor shall Thule be the extremity of the world.
Seneca—Med. Act. III. 375. Vergil*—
Georgics. I. 30.
Thule, the most remote land known to the
Greeks and Romans, perhaps Tilemark,
Norway, or Iceland. One of the Shetland
Islands. Thylensel, according to Camden.
COUNTRY (LOVE OF)
| seealso = (See also Patriotism)
| topic =
| page =
}}
{{Hoyt quote
| num =
| text = <poem>There ought to be a system of manners in
every nation which a well-formed mind would
be disposed to relish. To make us love our
country, our country ought to be lovely.
Burke—Reflections on the Revolution in France.
Vol. III. P. 100.
My dear, my native soil!
For whom my warmest wish to Heav'n is sent,
Long may thy hardy sons of rustic toil
Be blest with health, and peace, and sweet
content!
Burns—Cotter's Saturday Night. St. 20.
I can't but say it is an awkward sight
To see one's native land receding through
The growing waters; it unmans one quite,
Especially when life is rather new.
| author = Byron
| work = Don Juan. Canto II. St. 12.
.
Oh, Christ! it is a goodly sight to see
What Heaven hath done for this delicious land!
Byron—Childe Harold. Canto I. St. 15.
Yon Sun that sets upon the sea
We follow in his flight;
Farewell awhile to him and thee,
My native land—Good Night!
Byron—Childe Harold. Canto I. St. 13.
There came to the beach a poor Exile of Erin,
The dew on his thin robe was heavy and chill;
For his country he sigh'd, when at twilight repairing.
To wander alone by the wind-beaten hill.
Campbell—The Exile of Erin.
From the lone shielding on the misty island
Mountains divide us, and the waste of seas—
But still the blood is strong, the heart is Highland,
And we in dreams behold the Hebrides.
Canadian Boat Song. First appeared in
Blackwood's Magazine, Sept., 1829. Attributed to John G. Lookhart, John Galt
and Earl of Eglington (died 1819).
Founded on Eglington's lines according to
Prof. Macklnnon. Also in article in
Tail's Magazine. (1849) Wording changed
by Skelton.
Patria est, ubicunque est bene.
Our country is wherever we are well off.
Cicero—Tusculan Disputations. V. 37.
Quoting Pacuvtos. Same quoted by Aristophanes, Plautus, Euripides—Fragmenta
Incerta.
| seealso = (See also Voltaire)
| topic =
| page =
}}
{{Hoyt quote
| num =
| text = <poem>He made all countries where he came his own.
Dryden—Astrcea Redux. L. 76.
And nobler is a limited command,
Given by the love of all your native land,
Than a successive title, long and dark,
Drawn from the mouldy rolls of Noah's Ark.
Dryden—Absalom and Achitophel. Pt. I.
L. 299.
| author =
| work =
| place =
| note =
| topic =
| page =
}}
{{Hoyt quote
| num = 15
| text = So the loud torrent, and the whirlwind's roar,
But bind him to his native mountains more.
| author = Goldsmith
| work = The Traveller. L. 207.
They love their land, because it is their own,
And scorn to give aught other reason why;
Would shake hands with a king upon his throne,
And think it kindness to his majesty.
Fitz-Greene Halleck—Connecticut.
To be really cosmopolitan a man must be at
home even in his own country.
T. W. Higginson—Short Studies of American
Authors. Henry James, Jr.
Patriae quis exul se quoque fugit.
What exile from his country is able to
escape from himself?
Horace—Carmina. II. 16. 19.
Our hearts, our hopes, are all with thee,
Our hearts, our hopes, our prayers, our tears,
Our faith triumphant o'er our fears,
Are all with thee,—are all with thee!
| author = Longfellow
| work = The Building of the Ship.
