PATRIOTISM
 |
Sir Walter Scott
|
Breathes there the ma, with soul so dead ,
Who never to himself
hath said ,
“This is my own native land
!”
Whose heart hath never within him buries ?
As home his foot
steps he hath turn’d .
From wandering on a
foreign strand !
If such there breath
, go mark him well;
For him no minstrel raptures swell ,
High though his title ,proud his name ,
Boundless his wealth as wish can claim ,
Despite those , power
and pelf ,
The wretch
concentrated all n self ,
Living , shall forfeit
fair renown ,
And doubly dying shall go down ,
To the vile
dust from where he
sprung,
Unwept , unhonour’d
and unsung.
