DEAR Scotland! my country, mine own rugged land, When in childhood thy mountains I wander'd, No blue-bell was torn from its couch by this hand, On the breezes abroad to be squander'd. Thy heather, thy thistle, were sacred to me; And the mist-plaided mountains above me Seem'd the haunt of the souls of the fearless and free -- Dear Scotland! my country, I love thee. A stripling, I stray'd on a far foreign strand, And dreamt of the days of my childhood; And in fancy re-gazed on the cliff-guarded land, Where the fierce eagle nurtures her wild brood. My heart gave a bound, and my pulses beat high, I frown'd on the clear blue above me; I sigh'd for the mist, while a tear dimm'd mine eye -- Dear Scotland! my country, I love thee. In manhood I tread thee, mine own cloudy land, Love's fire in my soul brightly burning; She touches my heart with her weird-wizard wand, Thy name in its chambers in-urning. I bow to my mistress -- I kneel to my God -- And I smile on the grey sky above me, While the wild blood leaps high as I spring o'er thy sod, Dear Scotland! my country, I love thee. Dear Scotland! my country, though Time's shrivell'd hand Be heavily laid on my forehead; Though sapp'd be youth's fire, still love for thy strand Will re-kindle the eyes in my hoar-head. Though Death strikes me down, still live shall my strain, While my soul from its haven above thee, Defying his power, shall murmur again, "Dear Scotland! my country, I love thee." | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ODES: BOOK 2: ODE 1 by MARK AKENSIDE A SONG OF SALVATION by HARRY RANDOLPH BLYTHE HELEN'S FACE A BOOK by FRANK GELETT BURGESS LAMENT OF MARY, QUEEN OF SCOTS, ON THE APPROACH OF SPRING by ROBERT BURNS REMEMBRANCE by GEORGE GORDON BYRON ENTERTAINMENT GIVEN BY LORD KNOWLES: SYLVANUS SPEAKS by THOMAS CAMPION |