Breathes there the man, with soul so dead,
Who never to himself hath said,
"This is my own, my native land!
Whose heart hath never within him buried?
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 title,proud his name,
Boundless his wealth as wish can claim,
Despite those titles, power and pelf,
The wretch concentrated all in self,
Living shall forfeit fair renown,
And doubly dying shall go down,
To the vile dust from where he sprung,
Unwept, unhonouredand unsung.
Sir Walter Scott has composed the poem.
The poem is entitled as Patriotism.
Native land is far better than heaven.