Reference > Quotations > Hoyt & Roberts, comps. > Hoyt’s New Cyclopedia of Practical Quotations
Hoyt & Roberts, comps.  Hoyt’s New Cyclopedia of Practical Quotations.  1922.
Country (Love of)
  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!
        BurnsCotter’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.
        Byron—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. Lockhart, John Galt and Earl of Eglington (died 1819). Founded on Eglington’s lines according to Prof. Mackinnon. Also in article in Tait’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 Pacuvius. Same quoted by Aristophanes, Plautus, Euripides—Fragmenta Incerta.
He made all countries where he came his own.
        Dryden—Astræa 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.
So the loud torrent, and the whirlwind’s roar,
But bind him to his native mountains more.
        Goldsmith—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.
Patriæ 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!
        Longfellow—The Building of the Ship.
Who dare to love their country, and be poor.
        Pope—On his Grotto at Twickenham.
  Un enfant en ouvrant ses yeux doit voir la patrie, et jusqu’à la mort ne voir qu’elle.
  The infant, on first opening his eyes, ought to see his country, and to the hour of his death never lose sight of it.
Breathes there the man with soul so dead,
Who never to himself hath said,
This is my own, my native land!
Whose heart hath ne’er within him burn’d,
As home his footsteps he hath turn’d,
From wandering on a foreign strand!
        Scott—Lay of the Last Minstrel. Canto VI. St. 1.
Land of my sires! what mortal hand
Can e’er untie the filial band
That knits me to thy rugged strand!
        Scott—Lay of the Last Minstrel. Canto VI. St. 2.
  My foot is on my native heath, and my name is MacGregor.
        Scott—Rob Roy. Ch. XXXIV.
La patrie est aux lieux où l’âme est enchainée.
  Our country is that spot to which our heart is bound.
        Voltaire—Le Fanatisme. I. 2.

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