My Native Land Poem by Sir Walter Scott

My Native Land

Rating: 3.5


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 forfeit fair renown,
And, doubly dying, shall go down
To the vile dust, from whence he sprung,
Unwept, unhonour'd, and unsung.

COMMENTS OF THE POEM
Holt Louque 29 June 2009

'Beneath the veneer of armor of every Warrior, Beats the Heart of a true Romantic.' HRL

19 15 Reply
Bill Wright 05 September 2016

Brilliant, what a superb poem. I have been away from Scotland for over 40 years and will never forget where I came from.

12 6 Reply
Felix 10 June 2018

Add a comment.you are awesome ��🗽�

5 2 Reply
SREGANESH 05 August 2020

Burn'd, Turn'd Words like these are pronounced Burned, Turned

1 0 Reply

this is a poem my class is studying right now, but I have already learned it.

2 1 Reply
Ratib 13 December 2020

now thats what i call pro gaming

1 0 Reply
myself 24 September 2019

i'm just commenting on myself

1 0 Reply
W. Wiley 29 March 2019

Found this poem in 1888 north carolina history book recently.

2 2 Reply
Lyn Bayley 21 January 2019

Learnt this poem as a school girl not knowing that years later it would ring so true..the pull of my native land gets stronger with the years.

4 3 Reply
tanmoy 20 June 2018

awesome

4 2 Reply

Sir Walter Scott

Edinburgh / Scotland
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