Sir Walter Scott

What skilful limner e'er would choose
To paint the rainbow's varying hues,
Unless to mortal it were read more

What skilful limner e'er would choose
To paint the rainbow's varying hues,
Unless to mortal it were given
To dip his brush in dyes of heaven?

Woe to the youth whom Fancy gains,
Winning from Reason's hand the reins,
Pity and woe! for read more

Woe to the youth whom Fancy gains,
Winning from Reason's hand the reins,
Pity and woe! for such a mind
Is soft contemplative, and kind.

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!

Time rolls his ceaseless course.

Time rolls his ceaseless course.

Scared out of his seven senses.

Scared out of his seven senses.