new generation comes up that will know them not, except as a memory in a song, they passed with the things that seemed good
to them with loves and desires that grow dim and alien in the days to be. It
was the old Scotland that perished then, and we may believe that never again will the old
speech and the old songs, the old curses and the old benedictions, rise but with alien effort to our lips.
Lewis Grassic Gibbon: Sunset