my native land - sir walter scott - richard mitchley lyrics
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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!
if such there breathe, go, mark him well;
for him no minstrel raptures swell;
high though his titles, proud his name
boundless his wealth as wish can claim;
despite those titles, power, and pelf
the wretch, concentred all in self
living, shall forfеit fair renown
and, doubly dying, shall go down
to the vile dust, from whеnce he sprung
unwept, unhonour’d, and unsung
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