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 burned,
As home his footsteps he hath turned,
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 forfeit fair renown,
And, doubly dying, shall go down
To the vile dust, from whence he sprung,
Unwept, unhonoured, and unsung.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
This poem epitomizes the heart of patriotism. Back in the '40's - -the time when I was in school- - we memorized this and it has stayed with me over the years. Our lives were enriched by these words- - -and pride in our country was at its zenith. It is as meaningful today as it was then. Maybe even more so.