Maxioms by Sir Walter Scott
Breathes there the man with soul so dead,
Who never to himself hath said,
This is my read more
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!
I cannot tell how the truth may be;
I say the tale as 'twas said to me.
I cannot tell how the truth may be;
I say the tale as 'twas said to me.
Ah, County Guy, the hour is nigh,
The sun has left the lea,
The orange flower perfumes read more
Ah, County Guy, the hour is nigh,
The sun has left the lea,
The orange flower perfumes the bower,
The breeze is on the sea.
But with the morning cool repentance came.
But with the morning cool repentance came.
In listening mood she seemed to stand,
The guardian Naiad of the strand.
In listening mood she seemed to stand,
The guardian Naiad of the strand.
