The death-bell thrice was heard to ring, An aerial voice was heard to call, And thrice the raven flapp'd its wing Around the towers of Cumnor Hall. - William Julius Mickle

My father joy'd to show the pleasant road,
That leads thro' nature, up to nature's God.
While others teach their sons the love of gold,
He to my opening judgment would unfold
The classic page.—My mother would inspire
And fan the sallies of the muse's fire:
She taught me to be great, was to be good;
That goodness far excell'd the noblest blood.

For there's nae luck about the house,
There's nae luck at a';
There's little pleasure in the house
When our gudeman's awa'.

The best of parents blest my younger days;
What others teach with frowns, they taught with praise.