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.

He made all countries where he came his own.

So the loud torrent, and the whirlwind's roar, But bind him to his native mountains more.

The infant, on opening his eyes, ought to see his country, and to the hour of his death never lose sight of it.

There ought to be 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.

Who dare to love their country, and be poor.