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!
Hard toil can roughen form and face,
And want call quench the eye's bright grace.
Hard toil can roughen form and face,
And want call quench the eye's bright grace.
Delightful praise!--like summer rose,
That brighter in the dew-drop glows,
The bashful maiden's cheek appear'd,
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Delightful praise!--like summer rose,
That brighter in the dew-drop glows,
The bashful maiden's cheek appear'd,
For Douglas spoke, and Malcolm heard.
He who asks with timidity invites a refusal.
He who asks with timidity invites a refusal.
Fortune may rob us of our wealth, not of our courage.
Fortune may rob us of our wealth, not of our courage.
